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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 2 months

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SKZ DRABBLE-Lee Minho

No one says 'no' to a God. That's what you've always been taught. But maybe, no one's just ever really had the chance. or A retelling of Poseidon and Amphitrite, if it were a little bit more modern and a lot more geared toward those of us who are total sluts for enemies to lovers. This one's for you, babe.

Tags: Skz, Stray Kids, Stay, Lee Minho, Minho, SKZ au, skz as greek gods series, lee know, minho x you, minho x reader, greek mythology, modern greek au, skz fluff, skz smut, skz angst, skz fic, skz fanfic, skz x you, skz x reader, femreader, y/n, enemies to lovers, greek gods, Poseidon

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Spit as Lube, Virginal Sex

Soundtrack:

🌊 Euclid by Sleep Token 🐚 Bad Habits by Nerv

Title: Wave After Wave

"Oh my gods, he's literally the hottest man I've ever seen."

You glance up from gathering wood for the celebratory bonfire at your sister's uttered words, and follow her gaze to the man reclined by the roaring fire next to your father.

You can't quite make out his features from here-they're made wavy and indistinct by the heat of the flames-but you know he's handsome, incredibly so.

Why wouldn't he be? He's one of the fucking Big Three after all.

You say as much, scoffing under your breath with a slight smile in your besotted sister's direction.

"He's one of the major Gods, Thetis. Of course he's going to be incredibly good looking. They've been made to appeal to every single one of the five senses." You hit her ass with one of the sticks you carry, and she gives you a little glare with a pout of her lips. Your voice turns teasing. "You're no better around him than a pitiful human, weak for his charms and falling right into his traps."

She crosses her arms over her ample bosom and pouts some more, even as you shove some of the gathered wood into her waiting arms. "Well, can you blame me? We only ever see sailors here, or the minor gods, if we're lucky. But one of the Big Three?" She huffs, following after you, trying to balance the bundle of sticks as she hurries to catch up. She's slightly out of breath when she says under her breath to you, her eyes flickering back to the man beside your father once more, "And I would argue he's the best looking out of all the Big Three."

You shoot her a sharp look. "Don't let anyone hear you say that, Thetis. Father will have you punished for blasphemy."

"You cannot punish me for saying the truth." She rolls her big blue eyes, lined with long, dark lashes, and flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. Her round cherubic cheeks are pink from exertion, her red lips pursed into a perfect pout.

You'd be shocked if your father didn't do his damndest to secure Thetis the God's hand before he leaves here tonight.

You set your logs down beside the fire and catch your breath, brushing the bark from the front of your finely made dress as you glance at your younger sister once more.

"You'd better go and charm the man then, because I'm fairly certain Glauce has already staked her claim." You motion with your head to your sister, who is practically in the God's lap, her long dark hair twined around her fingers as she leans over to playfully whisper something in his ear, the seashells around her neck dipping between her bare breasts.

Thetis's eyes narrow and she pushes past you with a huff. "We'll see about that."

You watch her go with slight amusement, content to enjoy the games of tonight from afar.

You've never been interested in the Gods like your sisters, nor marriage, and you have every intention of living your life out on Naxos, dancing and remaining free for the eons.

Being tied down as a Big Three's wife, constantly scrutinized and judged, cheated on with mortals?

No fucking thank you.

You adjust one of the ornamental pins in your hair with a sigh, trying to stop it from digging into your scalp, and wish for the thousandth time that you could let your hair down.

The breeze off the sea is calling your name, and you itch to pull off this ornamental gown and untie your hair and dive into its welcoming, azure depths.

You crave the silence the deep brings.

"Daughter."

You turn at the sound of your father's call and see him approaching, his hands tucked behind his back.

You give a brief duck of your head in deference as he walks toward you, a dip of the knee to show your respect.

"Father."

He places a finger beneath your chin, guiding you back to your feet. "Rise, child. I have something I wish to discuss with you."

You wait patiently for him to continue, your gaze holding his. The breeze tugs at your skirt, twisting it around your legs, as if it's a silent invitation to follow it into the embrace of the sea.

Your father's lips lift into the hint of a smile as he strokes his hand down your cheek. "My beautiful eldest, the coveted rare pearl that adorns my crown. I always said you would be a blessing from the Gods, and I was right."

You cock your head, nodding slightly. "Thank you, father. I hope I have made you proud."

"You have, my child. You have." Your father sighs, and his eyes soften slightly as he takes you in. "As have your sisters." He glances out at the sea, his eyes following the rise and fall of the waves for a moment.

Finally, he says, "He has made a decision."

You watch him-the way his brow furrows in thought, the way his dark eyes reflect the blue of the sea-and then you reply back confidently with another duck of your head, "Thetis will make an excellent wife for him and a stunning Goddess of the Seas."

Your father meets your gaze once more, and there's something there now that unsettles you, his lips curving down seriously, his expression somber.

"It is not Thetis who has been chosen."

You stare at him, confused. "Who then? Glauce? Maera?"

You cannot imagine one of your younger vapid, vain sisters ever catching the God's attention, but stranger things have happened.

Something sad flickers across your father's face, and he reaches for your hand.

Your stomach drops at the expression.

"He has chosen you."

You feel as if you've just been barreled by the waves, thrown beneath the surface, crashed helpless over and over again against the sharp, jutting cliffs.

You can't seem to catch your breath.

You're drowning.

"What?"

Your father gives you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Poseidon has chosen you."

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Minho watches you for a moment before making his presence known, his body hidden in the shadow of the column.

This is one of his favorite versions of you-sitting beside the sea, your feet buried in the sand, your dress wet as it clings to your curves, hair down and free, tangled slightly from the salt water.

He likes to imagine this is how you looked as a child, roaming the beaches of Naxos, causing mischief, dancing barefoot into the night.

Now, you are his queen, and yet, he still sees that untameable girl in you, even till this day.

You laugh out loud and splash salt water back at one of the dolphins as it breaches near the shore, showering you with a wave of the sea, and Minho's mouth curves into an unbidden smile as he steps out from behind the pillar.

He approaches you quietly, content to watch you admire the dolphins as they breach and play, fins the color of smoke cutting through the turquoise water like butter on a warm day.

He'd known, the moment he had the mansion built, that the secret cove beneath that let him have free access to his beloved sand and sea would quickly become his favorite place to spend the time.

As soon as he'd met you, he'd known it would be your favored place of refuge as well.

You were similar in that, escaping to the sea when everything became a little bit too much.

You glance up as he approaches, giving him a smile that almost blinds him, and not for the first time, Minho can't quite believe that something so beautiful, so perfect, belongs to him.

He is much like the sea-turbulent and fickle, intimidating and dark, dangerous when provoked-and you have been the only one in eons of years that has dared swim below his surface to explore the depths beneath.

He finds himself grateful for that every single day.

He sits down in the sand behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you back against him. The salt water on your dress dampens his pants, but he can't bring himself to care, burying his nose in your hair that smells of sea and sand and sun, running his lips along the curve of your neck just to taste the salt on his tongue.

You give a little hum of approval at his touch and lean into him, and Minho chuckles.

Glancing out at the dolphins playing in the waves, Minho's lips pull up into an amused curve.

"And what have you taught your little pets today, sweetheart?"

You lean your head back against his shoulder and he admires the way your nose crinkles as you give him a teasing smile, arching a brow.

He lets a finger trace down your throat, playing with the seashell strands you wear around your neck, his cock immediately paying attention to the way they disappear between the valley of your breasts, your skin sparkling with the sea.

"Oh, you'll love this one." You chirp back, standing up as you wave to get the dolphins attention. You glance over your shoulder at him, grin turning wicked. "I've taught them to flip you off."

You raise your hand, and a few of the dolphins immediately use their tails to propel them above the waves, their sleek bodies upright as they wave their fins in tandem back at you.

Minho chuckles, standing up, his arms going around your waist once more, as he leans in to murmur against your ear, "I don't think your trick is quite as impressive as you think. They lack fingers."

You give a little shrug, and lean back against him, and there it is again, that devastating smile that leaves Minho feeling like he can't breathe, like he's just gone beneath the waves and can't resurface.

"Well, you have to use your imagination a little bit." You whisper back, expression cheeky, as you tilt your head to be able to kiss the line of his jaw.

"Oh?" Minho remarks in bemusement, his brow inching upward as he looks down at you in his arms. He takes a fingertip and traces slowly down the column of your throat, the skin he leaves in his wake shining with conjured droplets of sea water, shimmering in the afternoon sun. "I can think of a lot more things I'd rather use my imagination for right now, sweetheart."

He lets his finger dip between your breasts, and he doesn't miss the way you shiver at his touch.

His lips curve into the start of a smirk.

"Like imagining you out of all these clothes."

You pull out of his arms and turn to face him, walking backward slowly so that your feet disappear into the frothing waves of the sea, your gaze never leaving his.

Something mischievous comes across your features as you stare at him, standing knee deep in the water, your dress like a living creature wrapped around your legs, the dolphins frolicking against the sunset.

"That can be arranged." You tease him, arching a brow, as you slowly slide the dress down one of your shoulders, revealing a swath of perfect skin.

And without another word, Minho leaves the shore behind and joins you in the waves.

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It's clear that though he may have chosen you, he doesn't like you.

Not in the slightest.

The man can't even look at you as you pull up to the mansion bordering the sea, and you're grateful-not for the first time during the drive-that he'd left the Stingray's old fashioned top down so that instead of focusing on the oppressive silence between the two of you, you could hear nothing but the wind whipping in your ears, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

The hum of the car purrs to a stop as he parks in some sort of underground garage cut into the seaside cliffs, and you're not certain whether you should let yourself out or wait for his move.

He doesn't look at you, or seem in a hurry to leave the car, so you remain still, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes ahead.

Fuck, this is awkward.

What does one say to an all powerful God that has just taken them-unwillingly, you might add-from the only home and family they've ever known?

Fuck if you know.

You clear your throat, and decide that if he won't break the silence, you will.

"If I may-" You start to say, startled to a stop when he gets out of the car abruptly, not even bothering to look in your direction as he stands.

"You'll be shown to your room. You'll be expected for dinner every evening at 8 sharp. It's on the veranda overlooking the sea, your maid will show you where. Feel free to go where you will, just don't go alone."

It's like he's talking to the wall, his hand on the open door, his eyes on anything else but you.

You feel the anger from earlier bubble upward into your throat as you regard his obvious disdain.

You reach for your own doorhandle.

"You've brought me all the way from Naxos, and I know no one here. Certainly you're not just going to leave me alone on our first night together-"

"I have work to do." He says coldly, cutting you off, and without another glance, shuts his door, before stalking off toward the stairs that must lead up into the mansion above.

You stare after his retreating form in shock for a moment, before you growl beneath your breath and get out of the car, moving to open the trunk where your luggage is stowed.

"Fine." You hiss beneath your breath. "I'll see myself to my room then."

And in that very moment, you decide you will ask the Great God Poseidon, one of the Big Three, for nothing so long as you both shall live.

It's going to be one long fucking eternity.

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He doesn't like it.

He doesn't like how you make him feel unsettled, as if every inch of control he's ever struggled to gain in his own damned, immortal existence is thrown out the window as soon as you walk into the room.

He's had to claw his way here, to where he is now, in charge of his own life, in charge of his own sea, and he doesn't intend to lose that, not now or not ever, and definitely not because of a pair of fucking beautiful doe eyes.

He'd known it as soon as he saw you-dancing with your sisters on your father's little island-that he was never going to escape your grasp.

You hadn't even looked at him, for gods' sake, hadn't even given him a moment of your attention, and he was instantly bewitched.

And Minho did not bewitch easily.

And now, here you were, in his house, in his domain, soon to be in his bed, and he was absolutely fucking terrified of what that meant.

You were his, and he didn't know if he could fucking handle that.

"Fuck." He swears beneath his breath, running his hands through his hair in an agitated motion, his elbows resting on his knees as he sits, collapsed in the sand.

The night is muggy, the warm air heavy with the saltiness of sea water, and he stares at the dark crests of the waves, rising and falling like a giant being breathing peacefully in slumber.

His fingers find a shell in the sand next to him, and he hurls it into the waves, watching as it disappears beneath the surface in a ring of ripples.

The water is reflecting the stars of the night sky back to him on its surface, and it feels as if he's sitting in the middle of a constellation, but his head is no clearer than when he first left the mansion for the cove beneath.

His mind wanders to you-are you settling in for the night? Your perfect skin sliding between the silk of the sheets as you curl up in the middle of the large bed, alone?

He wonders, briefly, what your hair looks like when it's not ornamentally pinned, what you wear when you sleep, how your face looks crinkled and barely awake in the morning.

He wonders how it would feel to hear you say his name-not his name gifted by the mortals, but his given name-in a murmur against his skin, your perfect breasts free from the sheer material of your dress, your hands, or gods forbid, your lips, on his aching cock-

"Fuck." He swears again, more vehemently this time, and falls back against the cool sand, staring at the jagged rocks overhead.

He can't lose his cool every time he sees you, he's worked too damn hard to get where he's at, and he's a fucking god for hell's sake. He needs to pull it together and stop thinking with his dick.

It's going to be one long fucking eternity.

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"You know-" You remark offhandedly as you glance out over the sea, red from the setting sun. You can smell the salt in the air, courtesy of the Stingray's open top, and the warm air whips your hair as Minho speeds along the deserted oceanside highway.

Minho glances over at you, a slight curve of amusement to his lips, a silent signal for you to go on, as he maneuvers the sports car around a curve.

You let your fingers float outside the open window, weaving along in the breeze like a dolphin skimming and jumping through the waves.

"-I hear skinny dipping is even better at night."

Minho chuckles, the sound low beneath the rush of the wind. "Oh? Who told you that?"

You shrug, biting back a smile, as you admire the way the nail polish glints on your fingers in the rosy tint of the sun, the flash of the pearl on your ring finger.

"A little fish."

Minho gives you another amused look, but it's clearly exasperated, his brow arching. "You're not getting out of this party, you know."

You sigh and let your head fall back against the seat.

"Well fuck."

Minho chuckles again, and reaches over with his free hand to rest the warmth of his palm on your thigh, his other hand easily maneuvering the car through the twists and turns of the road.

He gives your thigh a little squeeze, and you glance down at his hand-the tan, smooth skin, the rise and fall of his knuckles, the perfectly trimmed nails.

Your eyes flick to his other hand on the wheel-the golden glint of his wedding band contrasting the strip of inlaid pearl that matches your own.

Your skin heats underneath his touch, even though the fabric of your dress acts as a barrier.

It's a thin, flimsy barrier at most.

"I promised Hyunjin we'd be there." Minho sighs regretfully, and you know he's dreading this soiree just as much as you are, even more so. "But I swear to you, sweetheart, after this, no more parties for another decade."

You give a little laugh and squeeze his hand. "I'm going to hold you to that, your highness."

Minho smiles, his gaze moving down to your hand resting over his own. His eyes catch on the wedding ring you wear, and he raises your hand to his lips, brushing a light, lingering kiss across your knuckles.

"I know you will."

Your gaze drifts back longingly to the sea, fingers still encased in the warmth of his own.

Minho gives your thigh another squeeze, and when you turn to look at him once more, he gives you a dangerous smirk, perfect teeth flashing and dark eyes glinting.

"However, skinny dipping is never off the table, sweetheart. So trust me when I say I'll be holding you to that too."

You grin back at him.

"I would expect nothing less from the God of the Seas."

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Dinners with Minho are unbearable.

You spend the majority of your time on the veranda watching the waves crest in watercolor beneath the setting sun, the sleek, almost apparition like forms of the dolphins darting in and out of the frothing foam.

He never talks, and you never ask.

It's easier to eat in silence and excuse yourself to your room for the rest of the night while your new husband disappears gods knows where to do gods knows what.

Tonight, the dolphins are especially playful, leaping and chittering to each other, and you find yourself watching them longingly, wishing you could be as free as they seem to be, bound to no one and nothing.

The sound of a fork scraping obnoxiously across a plate draws your attention back to the table, and Minho is watching you, his expression unreadable, fork held loosely in his hand, his empty plate before him.

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down, as you set your own fork down next to your barely touched food.

His features remain blank as he wipes his mouth with the linen of his napkin, the maid scurrying in to quickly clear his empty place.

You've never noticed, but his eyes are dark-dark and stormy like the sea at night-and they're uncharacteristically cold, no warmth lurking in their depths.

"Do you like them?" He asks suddenly, voice flat, almost uninterested, as he waves away another servant approaching with more wine in a decanter.

You stare at him, schooling your expression. "Like what?"

You know you're addressing him casually, you should watch yourself-he's your husband and a god-but you can't seem to bring yourself to care in the face of his aloofness.

He won't give you anything, so you won't give him anything either.

He lets his gaze scan your face, giving nothing away, then motions with a glance toward the sea below.

"The dolphins."

You give a little shrug and glance down at your food, scraping it around your plate. You have no appetite suddenly, not when you can feel Minho's gaze boring into your skull.

"They're beautiful. The freedom and joy they possess intrigues me."

"Then you can have them."

You jerk your gaze back up to his in surprise, your mouth dropping slightly open, but he's already pushed back from the table, no longer looking at you, as he motions for one of the maids to begin to clear the table.

"I have work to do. You may retire when you are ready." His voice is emotionless, and he doesn't spare you another glance, as he turns and strides away.

You watch him go, anger beginning to bubble in the pit of your stomach. Your mouth tastes of bile.

'Then you can have them.'

He thinks he can just give living creatures to another just like that? Like they're property? Like they're his to own? Like they do not already belong to the sea?

Fuck him.

You push back from the table angrily and fling your napkin on the ground.

If he thinks he can give and take that which is not his, was never his, so easily, then you'd like to see him try.

You are not so easily tamed.

And it was time he knew.

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"I've never seen him this happy."

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass as you take a sip of your drink, following Hera's gaze to Minho where he stands across the room, discussing something with his brothers.

He looks fucking delicious tonight-dressed smartly in a navy three piece suit, his thick, dark hair smoothed back, his sun kissed skin golden beneath the lights.

Maybe these parties aren't a complete waste of time after all.

"What can I say?" You muse as you let your gaze fall back to Hera beside you, a smile gracing your lips now. "I'm good for him."

She gives a little tinkling laugh, raising her glass to meet your own with a gentle clink of cheers.

"I'll drink to that."

You take another long sip of your drink, and when you look up once more, Minho's gaze catches your own from across the room.

You arch a brow in response and mouth silently to him, already knowing the answer, Having fun?

He gives a slight shake of his head with a roll of his eyes, and you grin.

He holds your gaze, and with a miniscule movement, tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows raising in a silent question, as a smirk curves his lips.

You turn to Hera, setting your now empty glass down beside hers on the table, and touching her arm lightly to draw her attention.

"I'm going to use the little goddesses room."

She nods, turning back to her conversation with Aphrodite, and you excuse yourself from the room, noting that Minho's already managed to slip away from his own conversation on the other side of the room.

He's nowhere in sight.

The sounds of the party fade away as you slip out of the gaudy ballroom and make your way down the quiet hallway.

You're just passing the large, glass doors that look outside onto the darkened veranda and sprawling garden, when he finds you, coming out from the shadows and startling you slightly, his hands going on either side of your head as he traps you against the wall.

"Jesus, Min." You breathe out, your muscles relaxing, as you try your best to glare up at him. "Give a girl some warning."

His teeth flash as he grins in response, the expression dangerous, his dark eyes meeting yours in a predatory fashion.

"Where's the fun in that?" He murmurs back, as he lifts a hand to play with a strand of your hair, his fingers brushing over the seashell comb you wear. "I like when your hair is down."

You tilt your head back against the wall and look up at him, a smirk flickering across your lips. "Should've thought of that before you RSVPed us to this stupid party." You tease in a low voice.

Minho lets out a sigh. "Yeah well, I have duties and so do you, but right now-" His eyes darken, his body pressing into yours, flattening you against the wall at your back. "-right now it's just you and I, sweetheart."

"And about a hundred other people just in the other room." You retort back, reaching up to straighten the shell broach pinned to his suit jacket.

"Fuck them." Minho growls, leaning forward to run his nose up your throat, and you tilt your head back to give him better access as he begins to suck kisses into the skin beneath your jaw. "They can miss us for a couple of minutes."

"Speaking of hair-" You breathe out, as he continues to litter your skin methodically with love bites, his teeth making your skin tingle and your breath catch.

You reach up and run your fingers through his dark tresses, loosening the gel and mussing the strands until they fall around his face. You let salt water coat your fingertips, dampening your skin and wetting his hair until it looks as if he's just been for a swim.

"-I like yours best when it's wet."

Minho pulls back to smirk at you, his brow arched, his eyes dark.

"I like you best when you're wet, sweetheart. Especially for me."

You hold his gaze, his words sending fire like heat skittering across every inch of your skin.

"Well, then you're going to love what you find between my thighs."

"Oh?" Minho's smirk grows, his pupils blowing at your words. He leans into your space, pressing you back against the wall once more, his knee going between your legs to nudge them apart. "Show me then."

You hold his gaze, reaching down to lift your dress to give him access. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward, and slides a hand between your upper thighs.

You let out a stuttered gasp when he touches you, and you can feel the way you instantly coat his fingers, and it crosses your mind that maybe you should be embarrassed at how worked up he's already gotten you without even touching you, but you can't be, not when Minho pulls his fingers back and studies the shiny, sticky skin like it's one of the seven wonders of the mortals' modern world.

"Beautiful." He murmurs beneath his breath, still watching the way your slick slides down his fingers as if entranced.

You admire him for a moment, admiring you, and then your lips curve upward into the start of an amused smile.

"I suppose I do not need to mention the irony of a Sea God being obsessed with fluids?"

Minho's dark eyes flick to you, his fingers still raised. He arches a brow.

"You do not." He replies back pointedly, and then, holding your gaze, bends his middle finger so that he can dip it between his lips, licking it clean of your juices with even, long strokes of his tongue.

You clench your thighs together, suddenly in desperate need of friction as you watch him slowly, methodically clean his fingers, all the while, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Although-" He muses, pinning you beneath his heated gaze, his lips curving up into the hint of a smirk as he sees the flush of your cheeks, the subtle movements of your legs. "-if given the choice, I would choose you over the sea any day."

You shake your head teasingly, as he backs you up a few steps further down the hallway, away from the party in the ballroom, stalking you like a big cat, his movements lithe and fluid.

"That's shocking, coming from you."

"It's true though." He insists in a low tone, before he cages you in once more, his hands coming down forcefully on either side of your head, making you jump. "Every word of it."

Without warning, he slides his hands down your body and palms your ass before he lifts you up, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

You give a little yelp, and cling to him, your arms going around his neck for support.

He looks up at you, his eyes the color of the sea before a storm, and the sudden hungry look on his sharp features makes you shiver.

"Now. Be a good girl, sweetheart, and let me feel how wet you are for me from the inside."

He pushes your skirts aside, and hefts you a little higher into his arms.

You gasp when you realize for the first time as he shifts you, that your back is no longer pressed against the solidarity of the wall, no, your back is pressed against the cold pane of a window-the French doors to the garden.

"Minho." You hiss, struggling in his arms a little bit now. "Someone will see."

"Let them." He growls back, his voice sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine, before he bucks his hips and sheaths himself fully inside of you in one smooth motion.

You cry out, your back arching and your head falling back against the glass, safe to let your body react how it will in the strong embrace of Minho's arms.

"Fuck." You pant out, your hands tangling into his hair, as he continues to thrust in steady strokes.

"Oh gods-" He groans gutturally, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you in place. He looks up at you through dark strands of hair, his lips parted, as if he can't quite catch his breath, as if you're the most beautiful, wonderful thing he's ever seen.

When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, his words punctuated by harsh gasps that match his rhythm.

"Fuck, sweetheart. There's no one, no one-mortal or God-who can instantly make me lose every last shred of control like you can."

You tug on his hair to make him meet your eyes as both of your lips part in pleasure.

"Does that scare you?" You breathe out, your chest rising and falling as you heave for breath.

His lips curve upward into the start of a smile, and his voice takes on a tone of amused honesty that rings through your very being.

"Not anymore."

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It fucking terrifies him.

This thing you possess that makes him lose his mind, his every last thought, his final shreds of dignity and willpower.

But he doesn't know how to control it-or himself-and that scares him. So instead, he's avoided you, and obsessed until his feelings have grown sour, and forced a wedge between you that might never break.

It's easier to deal with you as an enemy from afar than someone who has the power to destroy him right?

It's been eight weeks-two months-of silent dinners, but who's counting?

He glances at you down the table-a table much too big for two people-and notes the way your eyes scan the horizon, looking for the dolphins.

Stupid fucking dolphins.

You've never once looked at him the way you look at those creatures, but then again, has he ever really given you reason to?

He clears his throat, and before he can talk himself out of it, announces, setting aside his fork, "I have work that must be seen to. Enjoy your evening."

He stands, pushing back his chair, and turns to leave, but before he can escape, you say, without turning your head, "Stimulating dinner conversation as always, husband. I so enjoy our time together."

He freezes, and something akin to annoyance bubbles in his chest as he stares at you, refusing to look at him, your eyes fixed on the sea.

"To have a conversation with one another, wife, requires you to engage in one." He replies back coolly, watching you for your next reaction.

He's not disappointed.

You whirl to face him, eyes flashing with anger, hands going into fists on top of the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was unaware you wanted anything to do with me, and I certainly didn't know you wanted to speak with me."

Minho grinds his teeth, and he feels a muscle clench and flicker in his jaw as he regards you.

He shouldn't flame the fire, but he's intrigued by this side of you, this fight, and interacting is interacting, regardless of the tone of the words being said.

"Forgive me, but I am not one of your precious dolphins, so I merely assumed you would find my company boring and droll."

His tone is sharp, goading, seething.

You stand, shoving your chair back so forcefully that it tips over onto the cobblestone, and glare him down with the force of a thousand suns.

If he were not a God, Minho probably would've been dead.

"I hate you."

He feels his lips curve upward into the start of a taunting sneer as he leans over the table toward you, palms flat against the cloth.

"Oh? Do you? Careful there, sweetheart, the line between hate and love is no thicker than the edge of a sharpened dagger."

"Oh, there is no mistaking the feelings I have for you. I hate everything about you." You spit back, words sharp and pointed.

Minho settles back down into his seat casually, crossing his leg over his knee. He sees surprise flicker across your expression, before the fury takes over once more.

He motions for you to go on with a wave of his hand. "Go on then. Tell me all the things you hate about me. I do love a good discussion." He leans forward and makes a show of listening, his chin propped on his fist.

He sees the way it pisses you off, and it makes something inside of him lurch.

Your gaze is hard as you begin.

"I hate your arrogance. I hate the way that you just assume that everyone-mortal and god alike-want to fall at your feet."

Minho watches you, the way your chest heaves with impassioned breaths as you lean forward across the table toward him, the way your hair is falling loose from the carefully curated style he's sure your maids spent hours on that morning.

He prefers it down.

His cock pays attention to the way your breasts fall heavily when you lean, the open neck of the dress you wear gaping open, revealing the necklace of seashells dipping between your cleavage.

Focus.

You narrow your glare in on him, and Minho realizes you've begun speaking once more while he was distracted.

"I hate the fact that you make me come to these goddamn dinners every night, just so you can make me into a fool."

He arches a brow. "Well, I hate the fact that you agree to come to dinner, if you're simply not going to even try to engage in conversation with me."

Your expression grows murderous.

"You have never once shown any interest in speaking to or getting to know me! Not once!" You fire back, eyes flashing. "And that brings me to my next point-I hate that you dragged me here, away from my home, away from my family, just to lock yourself away in your office and not even have the honor or decency to show me even an ounce of kindness!"

Minho feels himself start to grow irritated as your voice rises in volume, and your anger flare.

He clenches his teeth and breathes out slowly, staring you down.

"Honor and decency?" He repeats back, his tone cold, his words firm. "Kindness? When has the world-or the Fates for that matter-ever been kind? I hate that you are so naive that you would think the world would be handed to you like a polished pearl within an oyster. This is not Naxos."

"I hate the way you talk down to me, belittle me, as if I am a sheltered little girl who knows nothing." You retort back, staring him right back down. "I am a goddess of the sea, and now your queen, and you would do well to treat me as such."

He feels his lips twist upward into a humorless smile.

"Oh? Is that so? If you were a queen, you would not be addressing me in such a way, which in turn, proves my point that you indeed know nothing of the world."

"Bullshit." You hiss through clenched teeth. "Your views on life-and marriage-are dated and archaic."

Minho arches a brow. "Interesting. Do tell me more about my own views, sweetheart."

Minho watches the way you clench your hand into a fist, your knuckles whitening.

"I hate when you call me sweetheart."

"And I hate when you're contrary just for the sake of being contrary, sweetheart." Minho retorts right back.

You glare across the table at him.

"I'm not fucking doing this." You finally growl out, before you turn your back on him and head for the winding stairs that lead off the veranda, and down to the hidden cove below.

Minho follows you, his steps right behind yours.

When you reach the beach, you whirl on him, fury written across your features.

Minho stops, but he doesn't back down.

"What else?" He goads, watching you carefully.

You stare at him for a long, hard moment, and then he sees you take in a forceful breath.

"I hate the way you hold a fork. And that you decorated my room in jewel tones and that you've never even once asked me if I prefer my coffee with or without sugar. I hate the way the same exact muscle flickers in your jaw every single time when you're holding in your irritation about something."

Minho smirks. "Oh? Is that all?"

"No." You retort back immediately, holding his amused gaze. "I also hate the way your hair always looks like you've just come in off the sea-tousled and damp. I hate the fact that you wear white button down shirts so casually, and I hate that I've noticed that one of your cheeks dimples slightly when you smile."

Minho stares at you for a moment, caught off guard.

You take the opportunity to barrel on, stepping closer to him, your bare feet digging into the wet sand.

"I hate that I know that you prefer when I wear my hair down, because I've seen the way you look at me when it's not done, and I absolutely fucking hate that I care in the slightest what you think of me."

The sea crashes wave after wave behind you, as if agreeing with your tirade.

Minho stares at you some more, completely unsure of what to say.

"I hate-" You take in a deep, gulping breath, and your expression sobers a little, the fury ebbing slightly. "-more than anything, that you have an effect me, I hate the way my body betrays me when you're around, the way my heart pounds, the way I look for you in a room when I enter, even though I know you won't be there."

Minho swallows.

"I hate the way you say my name-not the name I was given as a goddess, but my name-and the sparks I feel dance across my skin when I hear it on your tongue."

You sigh, and glance down at the sand at your feet, your toes dug beneath.

"But do you want to know what I hate most of all?" You ask, in a quiet voice, as if you're not really asking Minho, more just putting it out into the universe.

So he doesn't answer, just watching you, waiting for you to continue.

The waves crash against the shore, and when you look at him, your eyes have darkened, no longer with anger, but with regret.

"I hate, more than anything, that I can't make myself hate you."

Minho stares, all the words he was preparing dying on his lips, his brain buzzing.

You don't-hate him?

Fuck, maybe, that means-

He doesn't allow himself to finish that thought.

Surging forward, like the impatient sea at high tide, Minho crashes his lips into yours, and you stumble with the surprise force of it, both of you tumbling down into the soft, wet sand.

Minho doesn't stop, pressing you backward into the shore, his lips like fire on your own.

You let out a soft little gasp of surprise against his mouth, but you don't push him away, and he experimentally dips his tongue between the part of your lips.

Your breath audibly hitches, and the sound goes straight to Minho's dick.

Fuck, you're just as responsive as he had imagined you would be.

Carefully, he lets his hand trace down the arch of your neck, the line of your shoulder, and he hesitates for a brief moment of unsurety, before he lets his palm cup the swell of your breast.

You arch your body up into his touch, and open your mouth wider for his tongue, letting out a little whine as he begins to massage your breast.

"Fuck." Minho breathes out against your mouth, pulling back slightly so he can stare down at you splayed beneath him on the sand, your hair loose, your lips raw.

Its the fucking most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

He lets his hand trace down the line of your hip, your thigh, to the material of your skirt, wet now with sea water, sticking to your skin.

He has the sudden crazy urge to slip a hand beneath the material and see just how wet you are for himself.

Instead, he glances up at you, watching him carefully, and murmurs in the form of some start of a question, "Can I-?"

You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, and Minho wants to reach up and free the plump skin from its constraints.

He doesn't, because before he can move, you say softly, "You don't have to be gentle with me. I know what this entails."

He follows the length of your body back upward, until, he's straddling you again, his hands sinking into the wet sand on either side of your head.

He looks down at you and sees your nervousness in the way your forehead crinkles slightly, the way you obstinately suck on your bottom lip.

Fuck, maybe there's a few tiny things he's let himself notice about you too in the weeks he's done his due diligence of avoiding you.

"You've been prepared?" He asks, still watching you carefully.

You nod again. "Yes. Our governesses. They said-"

You hesitate, and Minho feels his heart leap into his throat.

"They said what?"

You glance away, avoiding his gaze, and pink rises in your cheeks.

Minho doesn't think he's ever seen you embarrassed before.

"They said it might hurt." You whisper back, still not looking at him, your eyes focused too intently on the way your fingers, stretched out at your side, dig into the sand in anxious movements.

Minho blows out a breath.

"It might." He admits quietly, and you flick your gaze up to his, and he sees determination still your features. "But, did they also tell you then, that if done right, it can be extremely pleasurable for you?"

You cock your head, holding his gaze. "No. They said that you-"

"Fuck me." Minho immediately shakes his head, even though the words make his already unbearably hard cock ache.

He leans closer to you, his nose brushing yours. He can smell the salt water in your hair, see the way your pupils blow at his nearness.

He watches the way your throat bobs with a swallow, and brings his hand up to your cheek, stroking a fingertip along your jaw, glistening with sea water.

"I want to wring your body of every ounce of pleasure imaginable before I even think about satisfying myself."

Your lips part in surprise at his fervently uttered statement, and Minho smirks, staring down at you-the way your chest has started to heave with your breaths, the way you're squirming slightly beneath him.

Signs of arousal. Arousal for him.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, and holding your gaze, spits into his palm, wetting his fingers slowly, one by one, as you watch.

"You're wet." He remarks offhandedly, and he pointedly gazes down at your dress, the water puddling beneath your hips from the waves lapping at the shore.

You stare back at him and give a little hum of assent in your throat in reagards to his observation. "Mmm."

"Tell me, sweetheart-" He expects you to prickle at the nickname, but you don't, your eyes instead darkening at the way the syllables roll off his tongue. "-are you wet in other places?"

You inhale sharply, and Minho practically groans when your eyes flicker to his.

"Yes."

His lips curve into the start of a smirk. "I thought so."

He slides his hand down your body once more-the one he'd wet moments before-and moving slowly to give you a chance to change your mind, slips his fingers beneath the drenched material of your skirt.

When he touches the wet heat between your upper thighs, you both inhale sharply in tandem.

"Fuck, you weren't kidding." Minho groans, leaning forward on the one hand he still has planted in the sand, as he carefully begins to explore you with a finger at a time. "Wet enough to drown in."

"Minho-" You gasp out, arching your body up into his and putting delicious friction on his cock, as he cautiously works you open. "Fucking gods above. Shit."

Minho's lips curl up into an amused smirk as profanities continue to fall from your lips in an unending, pleasure driven stream.

"You know, for such a pretty little thing, you have an incredibly filthy mouth, sweetheart." He remarks, making you gasp and jolt as he curls a finger experimentally.

He wants to memorize the way you look up at him in this moment, your vision hazed with pleasure, your expression soft.

"I grew up in the presence of sailors." You reply back with a slight shrug, as Minho pauses, taking you in. "Does it bother you?"

He arches a brow, leaning forward to put his lips against your ear, and as he does so, he adds another finger, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.

"On the contrary, sweetheart. I could listen to you sing my praises in profanities for the rest of my immortal life."

"Minho, please-" You beg, your hands tracing up his body, your body writhing in the damp sand.

He stares down at you. "Please what?"

"Please, just give me more."

His lips curve, and his dick throbs at your desperate plea.

He would love nothing more.

"You and I are like the sea, sweetheart. The waves never cease. There is always more to give. And I swear to you, if I have to spend the rest of my eons exploring every single inch of you, I will gladly do so. Over, and over, and over again. Wave, after wave, after wave."

You bite back a smile as you stare up at him.

"I hate that you're so dedicated."

He smirks.

"And I, sweetheart, hate that I ever believed myself capable of staying away from you. I intend to remedy my mistake every single day from here on out."

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

You lean back against Minho's bare chest, admiring the way the sunset plays off of the waves, your mind quiet and your body content against the warmth of the sand.

You feel him press a kiss against the crown of your wet hair, and you glance up at him, arching a brow as you ask softly, "What was that for?"

He glances down at you, amusement in his dark eyes. "I have to have a reason to kiss my wife?"

You give a little shrug and bite back a smile. "No, I guess not."

He angles his head to press a kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment. You can taste the salt on his tongue, the sun warming his mouth.

He tastes like the sea.

He pulls back, and you grin at him. "I just find that you usually have a reason for everything."

Minho rolls his eyes. "I hate that you think I can't just be spontaneous."

"And I hate that you stopped kissing me." You quip back playfully, and he growls, leaning over to kiss you again, wrestling you back into his arms as you giggle and squirm against the sand.

"There. Happy?" He asks when you separate once more.

You glance up at him, and raise a hand, letting sea water coat your fingers as you push back his hair.

"Incredibly."

His expression softens, and he leans in to kiss you once more, hand tangling into your hair to tug you to him.

You'd worn it down. It was his favorite after all.

Out at sea, against the setting sun, a dolphin breaches.

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shroomthedecayedfox · 5 months

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So, I know a majority of you guys follow me for my art, but I also kinda wanna post some rambles about my interests and the like (a majority being about FE3H). This is me wanting to be a little unhinged on my dash. I'm still gonna be posting art (got stuff already cooking), but if you want to watch me go insane over Byleth's heartbeat, keep reading.

So, as someone who has been listening to the FE3H soundtrack for the past few months there's this really subtle narrative moment that's happening in the music during the scene where Byleth’s heart starts to beat for the first time.

What I mean by this is when you go back and you listen to the soundtrack or the music of the game, you're going to start to notice the heartbeat motif.

The music of FE3H has a lot of distinct leitmotifs throughout the score. Most of them are tied to just locations or themes throughout the game, but then there’s the characters. Now, I don’t know if Dimitri or Claude have leitmotifs themselves (Although, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong), but I’m fairly certain their routes do. However, none of it comes close to how distinct and prolific Rhea and Edelgard’s leitmotifs are.

Rhea’s leitmotif can be understood as the “Song of the Nabateans”; the lullaby she sings during the winter ball when you encounter her wandering the entrance hall. That progression of chords acts as a musical shorthand or stand-in for Rhea within the soundtrack of the game. It is tied to Rhea/Seiros or the nabateans in general. You hear it again during “Funeral of Flowers”. It’s distinct and recognizable, but then there’s Edelgard’s.

Which is just EVERYWHERE. The progression of chords that follows “Reach for my hand…” in “Edge of Dawn '' makes its way into a LOT- and I mean a LOT- of the music. From the more obvious tracks of “The Apex of the World” and “Three Houses Main Theme”, to subtler ones like, “Unfulfilled” and “Life at Garreg Mach Monastery”. The motif is everywhere and employed at every possible moment. Like once you hear it, it becomes impossible to not notice its presence.

But then there’s Byleth.

Now, Byleth doesn’t have a leitmotif in the traditional sense. They don’t really have a distinct progression of chords symbolizing them within the music, but they do have a distinct sound: the heartbeat. The heartbeat acts as a kind of throughline for them within the composition of the music. It’s almost like a solo instrument. Wherein, instead of a progression of chords symbolizing the whole of a character, it’s the musical sound and presence of one distinct instrument.

It’s kinda acting like the percussion section of an orchestra, but is only included within the composition in regards to Byleth. And it’s similar in nature to Edelgard’s, where once you start noticing, you realize it’s everywhere. But it’s hard to catch because it’s often buried so low in the mix. In the moments it’s not though, it’s very difficult to ignore.

So it's pretty buck wild that the scene where Byleth’s heart actually starts to beat, the song that plays doesn't contain the heartbeat motif.

“A World for Humanity” is the song that plays during that final cutscene of Crimson Flower and the heartbeat motif is nowhere to be seen. Which is pretty interesting because the player would have literally just heard it not two minutes ago in the context of the game. The heartbeat motif shows up in “The Apex of the World”, CF’s final boss theme. The player would have been listening to it as they were finishing the final chapter of the game. So musically, “A World for Humanity” follows “The Apex of the World”. Something happens where the percussion of the heartbeat motif vanishes between the two tracks. And after this moment, the rest of CF’s music doesn’t contain the heartbeat motif.

In-text, we know what caused that vanishing: Byleth’s heart actually starts to beat where it hadn’t for the entirety of their lives, but the narrative implications of that transition just fits so well with the overarching theme of CF.

Now, there’s a lot to be said about the individual themes connected to each of the different routes within the game and for the most part, I’ve seen a lot of different takes regarding CF’s major theme as “the cost of one’s ideals”. Which, I’m not saying it isn’t a part of that route. It very much is, but what I am saying is that that theme is not distinctly tied to just CF. I’d argue it’s present throughout the entirety of the game and its four routes. It exists, across the board, within the stories the game is trying to tell.

For me, CF feels far more invested in the ideas of autonomy, freewill, humanity, and choice. That the overarching theme is aligned with the freedom to be your own individual and the right to make your own choices based on that freedom. The ethos of Edelgard’s final speech is the right for humanity to choose its own path. (I can explain all of this in another text post: trust me I want to talk about Edelgard’s final speech.)

But, this is how I largely interpret CF: it’s that strong emphasis of humanity’s freedom and it’s no surprise how Byleth’s heartbeat ties into that.

As far as I’m aware, Byleth’s heartbeat situation isn’t addressed in the other three routes. It’s set up in White Clouds and promptly abandoned. (which is a staple of the game; that’s just how it rolls. You’re not going to get everything on your first time through.) It’s loosely alluded to, but there’s no real pay-off outside of CF. You can outright tell Dorothea Byleth’s heart doesn’t beat, but she won’t believe you. When it comes to Claude or Rhea, you learn more about the nature of Byleth’s birth rather than address the nature of their heart. Given how strongly it is emphasized in Jeralt’s journal, the game wants you to pay attention to it.

For CF, the heartbeat becomes a symbol of Byleth’s humanity. At the very beginning of the game, they’re considered a demon by the people around them and the mercenaries within Jeralt’s company. In the eyes of the church, they’re seen as a figurehead or the second-coming of Seiros/Sothis. (Read that section in the Book of Seiros and tell me that’s not what the devs were trying to do). They rarely get to just be Byleth outside of whatever house you pick. A lot of Byleth’s interactions and relationships with other characters centers on the internal conflict of Byleth being understood as themselves. With CF it’s double because of all of the narrative implications Edelgard brings. All of those details and traits that characterize Byleth often get buried or go unnoticed.

So, what does this mean in the context of the music? “A World for Humanity” is musically reflecting the journey Byleth would’ve undergone during the course of CF. The heartbeat motif is no longer buried within the composition of the music, it’s free to be its own distinct sound. Which brings me to a detail I’ve been neglecting to mention up until this point: Edelgard is the first person to HEAR Byleth’s heartbeat.

During this scene, the heartbeat motif shifts from a non diegetic percussion to an in-universe diegetic sound. It breaks free from the composition of the music and becomes real. It’s no longer just symbolic of Byleth, it very much is Byleth. And what is the immediate reaction to that in-universe shift?

Edelgard starts crying for the first time in who knows how many years out of joy. Byleth comes-to listening to her basically be the happiest she’s ever been because Byleth is alive. Their hair shifts back to its original color and they open their eyes to show they’re once again blue. The end card further adds to this transition, explaining that Byleth has lost their connection with the progenitor god’s powers. They’re just human and the music, alongside the characters, celebrates that humanity.

And I find that to be really neat.

#fe3h #edelgard #byleth #shroom rambles

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simonnebethel · 4 months

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Writeblr Introduction

Just learned what a writeblr intro is so I'm gonna make one before I go to bed lol

I've already done something like this a few days ago but that was when I had no clue what I was doing lmao, so might as well make a more in depth one

About me:

19, she/her, bi

American

I write mostly fantasy and urban fantasy, and honestly i dont think i've ever written a story that was non-fantasy lol

Started writing when I was 10, but it was mostly Warrior Cats fanfiction on Wattpad lol. I went through a writing slump for most of highschool but last year I decided to get back into it since I'm not doing anything else lol

I like to read fantasy and classic lit, also anything with vampires. I also have a soft spot for slowburn romances where the main characters dont kiss until, like, the 4th book heehee

In love with anything gothic, vampire, and wlw 👩‍❤‍💋‍👩

I think one of my more niche interests is any early 2000s fantasy/sci-fi movie with a nu-metal/rock/alternative soundtrack like Queen of the Damned and The Crow. They are just...*chefs kiss*

My current stories:

A Chant for Blood (Formerly known as Account of Calamity)

Account of Calamity is a gothic victorian fantasy about a Grand Marshal, Karliah Helisende, and a blood-drinking fiend, Yorick Gwynplaine, who work together to investigate the mysterious portals that spawn dangerous creatures into the city of Isarnan, all the while Karliah is being haunted by the mysterious ancient temple that watches over her every move.

I'm currently working on the second draft, and I may start looking for beta readers once I'm finished, although I know I'm not far from finished with this novel. I also plan to make it a 4 or 5 book series, and slowly add a slowburn romance.

12/30/24 - Second draft has been finished!!

Looking for beta readers! Look here!

Our Demonic Hearts - The Craven Pact Series #1

Our Demonic Hearts is a urban fantasy about a cambion woman, Ana Kravens, haunted by her past. Taking place in a small Mississippi town, a man she went through a traumatic incident with, Beau Motloe, shows up on her doorstep one day with a deal; help him find his missing mother, and he'll give back the memories she lost during the traumatic incident. Her father, a demonic creature of unknown origin, wants nothing more than the Motloes dead, claiming that they were the very reason his daughter was almost killed 6 years ago. Ana goes against her father's wishes and accepts Beau's deal, suspecting that her father isn't telling the whole truth about that fatal night.

It is completed and available on Wattpad and Royal Road!! It was just a small project I had done for Nanowrimo, and has been edited at least once before being published. However, I plan to make it a trilogy and maybe have some spin-offs. This story is fairly new, but most of the characters are at least 5 years old and I love them very much <3

What I plan for 2024:

Finish the second draft of Account of Calamity and look for beta readers(Completed as of 1/30!! Will be looking for beta readers soon ^^)

Start the second novel of The Craven Pact Series

Write a short story/novella or two taking place within the Account of Calamity universe. My brain is currently exploding with ideas rn

Write a short story about Ana Kraven's mom and how she met Marchosias, Ana's father.

Plan something for Nano?? Idk where I'll be in November lol

I'm interested in following other writers and reading everybody's stories! I would also be interested in a beta read/beta swap ^^

Other sites I'm on:

Wattpad: LillithOfBees

Royal Road: SimonneBethel

Nanowrimo: BeeWitch

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fanfoolishness · 5 months

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The Music of Jedi: Survivor

Last night I went to the Grammy Museum for an event celebrating the Jedi: Survivor score! Sometimes living in Los Angeles has its benefits. It was an evening with composers Stephen Barton and Gordy Haab, as well as their recording engineer Alan Meyerson, moderated by Jon Burlingame. I took copious notes throughout so I could share them with you all :) All quotes are paraphrases, I’m not that quick a note taker.

My husband and I settled into our seats, me vibrating with excitement as the lights dimmd. I was already hyped to hear the composers talk about my favorite game and their process for scoring it, but then my jaw fell out of my head because who strolled up on stage but fucking Cal Kestis himself, Cameron Monaghan, unexpected and uncredited on the event description.

I almost rolled out of my chair. Then I frantically started smacking my husband (who’s never played the game, but loves music and production) and hissing “it’s him it’s him it’s the Jedi!!!”

Cameron’s intro was brief but lovely. He introduced himself, then paused and said something like, “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of silence. That is awful. I can hear my own thoughts! No one wants to play a game like that. Which is why we have these guys!” He introduced the composers, Stephen and Gordy, as well as the sound engineer Alan and the moderator for the event, shook their hands and exchanged some hugs, then sat down in the audience. Giddily I returned to my notes as Jon led the discussion.

Q: How did you get into scoring video games?

Stephen was a gamer and had always been interested in working with video games. They were “enticing” and the schedule was much more appealing than for TV, where you might be handed a script and told to get the music back in a few days.

Gordy hadn’t worked particularly in games before.

Alan has been mixing and engineering video game soundtracks for the past 25 years, like Gears of War.

Q: What’s the difference between scoring a film and scoring a video game?

For film, it’s adding music onto what already exists; often the composer isn’t involved until the last 6 weeks or so of production. (Fun fact I learned earlier this year, Ludwig Goransson was involved from the start on Oppenheimer because Christopher Nolan specifically wanted to subvert that.)

The film is fairly static by the time the composers get their hands on it, so things are unlikely to change.

Video games are more like trying to put clothes on someone running a race, because drastic changes can happen at any time. The timeline is also greatly extended — 2-3 years is common — so things may evolve and shift drastically in that time.

Film is also much less volume of music… they wrote an entire 8 hours!

Q: Is there a Star Wars music “house” style?

Initially Star Wars projects outside of the original trilogy were often scored as if they were B sides to the original soundtrack. But the aesthetic is evolving. There are a few standards though — there must always be that symphonic scale.

The score was performed at Abbey Road. Alan mentioned that he was actually there on 9/11 working on a movie about a terrorist attack. Stephen loves recording at Abbey Road so much he and his wife named his daughter Abbey. All three of them agreed that Abbey Road is magical and the orchestra practically blends itself; for choral performances, all you have to do is stick a couple microphones in there and they sound fantastic.

They played a clip of “Dark Times,” with gameplay footage intercut with the symphony performing at Abbey Road. They explained that they wanted to develop a new theme for the Empire. At this time, the Empire just is. You can’t use the Imperial March, because the Imperial March is how the Empire perceives itself. But how does Cal see the Empire? It’s dark and ominous. It’s everywhere. It’s a fact of life.

Gordy explained that they literally shaped the melody like the sinus rhythm of a heartbeat to indicate that Cal’s on the run, his heart always pounding, never safe. They used a full 12 tone chromatic scale to keep the track always uncomfortable and unsettled.

Stephen is such a Merrical shipper! He talked about how one of the central conflicts of Survivor is Cal struggling with his feelings towards Merrin, and what do you do when you’ve utterly lost the fight? He pointed out what the Senator tells Cal, and calls him a pretty reasonable guy. Do you stop fighting when you’ve clearly lost? “Maybe Cal should go shack up with Merrin somewhere and have a nice life.”

Q: What is it like having so much funding for the score on a game like this?

All you can really sell now is quality, and people expect it now.

Q: What is the process like?

They are brought into the game in the script phase, where they may see some concept art and get to read the script to help determine the story beats.

The collaboration is joyful! It seems like it could be really scary, to have game play testers, the game designers, and other music folks all weighing in on how the score is working or not working, but they actually really enjoyed it. They’ll usually do about half the music, then have people test play it for a few months, come back with notes, and then work on the remainder after seeing what worked and what didn’t.

They played “Flight” in its entirety with gameplay of Cal and Merrin outrunning the Trident, and talked extensively about our girl Merrin! Stephen talked about how in JFO, Merrin was important but not as big of a player. Now in Jedi: Survivor, Merrin is vital,and we can see her story arc take shape. Her small motif in JFO was expanded into an epic, heroic scale after we see her power with portals and moving on the wind. They reached for all kinds of wind instruments, from Alpine horns, Tibetan horns, and even the “most tasteful vuvuzela ever.”

Note: it’s almost as heart-pounding to watch that sequence on the big screen as it is to play it!

They both said that some music flows onto the page and is easy to write; the escape from Jedha sequence was not one of those! It wasn’t easy to write, mix or play! A hundred people worked on this song, and it was hard as hell. The orchestra musicians kept coming up to Alan and telling him they loved playing it because it was such a challenge.

They don’t always tell the studio who wrote what. They work well together as they both love bourbon and coffee! Stephen says he’s great at about ¾ of the tune but not the ending, whereas Gordy can fix that up in a jiffy. They also sometimes divvied things up by planet or emotional beats.

Q: I noticed in this last song (“Flight”) there was a choral element. How do you decide when to incorporate choir instead of synth choir?

Choir is often the first casualty of budget cuts since it’s so many people involved. Sometimes, synth choir is chosen for just a vibe or an extra layer.

However, there’s a rule that in musicals when the emotion is building to a point that words can no longer contain them, that’s when a character must burst into song. For a score, when the emotion is swelling and can no longer be contained by mere instruments, that is when to pull out the choir. So we see it in “Flight.”

Me: We also see it in “Rage,” muahahaha.

They used 120 singers for Flight and only needed 3 microphones because of how good Abbey Road sounds.

They prefer amateur choirs to session professionals since you can sometimes have too-professional singers trying to out-sing each other, and amateurs are usually more relaxed.

Q: There were a number of unusual or even invented instruments used for this score, tell us about them.

Gordy made bottle chimes. He accidentally dropped a bottle of water while playing tennis and a ball pinged off it, making a lovely sound. He ordered 20 metal water bottles and strung them in a wardrobe rack with different amounts of water in them. Because it took ages to make, they used it in loads of places in the score.

Stephen went nuts and ordered 200 containers of BlueTack for the pianos for Koboh. They wanted Koboh to sound like the old West, but not that spaghetti Western honkytonk piano sound. If you make BlueTack into a sausage shape and roll it around a piano string you can make it make these strange broken sounds sort of like a gamelan. This is called a prepared piano. The low bumbumbum noises when first getting on Koboh and meeting the pit droid? Freaking piano. I would have never guessed! They did this to 3 pianos.

They played a clip of Where the Nekkos Roam. They used the prepared pianos, an orchestra, dulcimers, Basset horns, euphoniums, tubas. They wanted Koboh to feel lived in and to have history expressed in the music. The musicians were excited to have to rent out Basset horns since like nobody actually owns one.

Q: Tell us about the cantina music.

The original cantina brief from George Lucas to John Williams was apparently, “what if aliens came down in 1000 years and found sheet music from Benny Goodman, but didn’t have the same instruments?” And thus we got the Mos Eisley cantina theme which is almost unbeatable.

They were thinking of scoring the cantina music themselves, but then thought, “what if we gave that brief to a bunch of really cool bands?”

They highly recommended Dan Mayo from Tantran. They recommended taking a few hours to watch him kick ass on the drums on YouTube.

Tantran recorded "Fields of Dusk" for the cantina first, then Stig came back and said “what if we wove this into the score? What if it was Cal and Merrin’s love theme?” Then they created a symphonic version, also partially inspired by a Joni Mitchell song.

They played part of the cantina version of “Fields of Dusk,” then they played the symphonic version with Cal and Merrin riding the spamel to Cere’s base. They gushed about being able to work with the story and the subtext.

Alan said that "Fields of Dusk” “is visceral. It vibrates shit inside of you. Mixing it was a highly emotional experience for me. Even now sitting under the subwoofer — it’s right here, over my head — it’s very emotional.”

Q: How many motifs do you have?

“Seven thousand.” - Stephen

Gordy later amended that to about two dozen, but with tons of variations.

Q: What are the interactions like with the game developers?

They get to be in the building with them, working on the narrative team — making sure to serve the story first. It also lets them practice gameplay or watch others playing to see how it flows.

Again, it’s a 2-3 year process.

They played the clip of Cal and Merrin making a campfire in the cave on Jedha. Stephen is all about the Merrical ship (not that he used those words, alas, but still)! He said this was such gorgeous writing, really allowing the technology to showcase the acting, and it’s his all time favorite scene in the game.

The whole theater clapped as he said that. Yes! A whole theater clapping while someone was talking about Merrical and calling it gorgeous. *sobbing forever*

Q: What has it been like to meet fans?

They’ve been delighted by the fans and how much they love the characters and the amazing performances of all the actors in the game.

Q: Are there plans for a sequel?

Stephen: “Are there Lucasfilm snipers out there? Look for the red dot…”

Gordy: “There’s not NOT plans.”

Fan questions!

Alan mentioned he loves doing the hardest piece first! Then it’s all skiing downhill.

A fan asked about more weird created instruments.

They also used a bunch of bamboo smacking other pieces of bamboo, as well as using little drums from other purposes or sets.

Was there anything they messed up or wanted to do differently than they did in JFO?

They accidentally didn’t loop music in the hangar on Zeffo, so if you stick around there for more than 3 minutes, it just becomes wind sound and gets very lonely. A live streamer was playing the game, talked to his audience for like 10 minutes, then wandered around almost in silence as his fans commented “why is this game so quiet?”

Gordy wanted to make JFO sound much darker and got his wish in Survivor.

I had so been hoping they would talk about “Rage” and the struggle with the dark side, but they were sort of avoiding spoilers. So when they got to the Q&A I had to speak up.

I asked, “What was it like working with darker themes later in the game, like with Rage? You see a real shift in the motifs and there’s also more amazing choral work.” Their faces seriously lit up XD

Stephen said this was one he handed to Gordy because it was very difficult.

Gordy said that this is Cal at his worst, so it had to be so over the top. Think of consonant sounds crashing through the melody, Cal trying to keep control of his thoughts but they’re twisting away, he’s trying to think straight and can’t. It’s discordant. It’s also scored to evoke a heartbeat throughout, like breathing.

It was so hard for the choir to do, going back and forth — you can’t do that with choral samples or synth!

They ended with a video they played from their Hollywood Bowl show in June, and said we were only the second group of people to see it. They played a clip where they do use the classic Imperial March, but contoured so you only get the silhouette of its shape, instead of the full sound. It ended with a clip of the Tantran band playing a wicked awesome set out in the desert. The last image they showed was a list of the 287 people who worked on the score!

We let out and I did get to meet them! Stephen was lovely and I told him it was just such a beautiful, haunting score. I actually had a sketch of the campfire scene with me and he signed it! His daughter Abbey is an artist too and she was really impressed by my sketchbook (she looked to be about 11). Gordy also got to see a bit of my sketchbook and signed Cal in Nova Garon! What an awesome night! We didn’t see Cameron again but I was so astounded to see him the first time I didn’t mind at all.

SO COOL! Sometimes, kids, living in Los Angeles isn’t so bad!!

#jedi: survivor #cameron monaghan #cal kestis #gordy haab #stephen barton #alan meyerson #grammy museum #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi: survivor spoilers #my jedi posts

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aliteral-ghost · 5 months

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This is the piece I did for @hermitzine! It was so much fun to be a part of this project and get to work with everyone! The theme of this zine was music and I hope that's obvious in this piece :)

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the record skipping is Joe’s alarm clock this morning, and it’s only because it skips multiple times that he actually gets up. Darn, he slept in again, and now he has to stay up late again so he can finish the parts of the machine that he needs to get done, and it’ll just end with him sleeping in again. At least he has–oh. The record that has been playing all night (and also for the past few weeks, if he’s honest) has a massive groove in it, tearing through all of the ridges and splintering the vinyl.

“Aw, man,” Joe mutters, staring at the destroyed disk in his hands. “That’s my last one of those.” To be fair, he probably should have expected something like this to happen after using the record player while placing hundreds of blocks of sand, but it’s still sad. To be fair, this has happened to the last five disks he overplayed, but Joe is nothing if not persistent.

The next day he and Cleo are halfway through their weekly crafting session when they hum. “No music today?” Joe waves a hand.

“Some days the best music is the sound of nature around you.” He sets down a pencil and listens to said sound of nature, which is currently someone very violently chopping down trees. “You know, be in the moment, and all that.” He’s never lived in the moment once in his life and they both know it, but then again neither has Cleo.

“Sure.” Cleo pauses for just a minute. “Not this music, though. Ugh, who is…” They both glance over across the river, where Keralis is hard at work collecting wood. He pauses briefly to wave once he’s noticed them looking, smiling widely. They both wave back and Keralis continues, moving on to the next tree.

“Do you ever think about how our lives have a soundtrack?” Joe says after a minute, mindlessly coloring the sheets of paper he brought, tracing out the blueprint for a part of the pinball machine. Cleo looks over from where she’s drawing in her own notebook.

“No?” They say, voice lilting up like a question. “I don’t? Why, do you?” She wrinkles her eyebrows, more focused on the calligraphy than really focusing on the conversation. It’s how they roll, most weeks. Joe talks and Cleo nods along.

“Well, sure! I like to think about the song that might be playing while things are happening. For a while, it was otherside, but…” Cleo glances over again, this time more interested.

“You broke all of your disks, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I must have played them in the sand too much or something. Whomp, whomp.” He follows the statement up with a laugh, sort of high-pitched and frantic. “D’you think we all have different soundtracks then, if we do?”

“Oh, for sure,” Cleo says, in a voice that still sounds like they’re just humoring him. “Like Doc? His soundtrack is all scary, like heavy metal, right? There’s no way he and Scar have the same backing tracks.” They pause for just a second. “No, I lied. Doc’s isn’t heavy metal, he’s too much of a softie. Pearl’s is. She’s bloody hardcore.”

That’s an accurate assumption, Joe guesses. He hasn’t been privy to much Pearl has done this season, but he’s fairly certain she just built an entire Ender dragon out of pilfered dragon eggs. If there’s someone able to intimidate Cleo, it’s her.

“So what’s yours, then?” Cleo asks, setting her pen down and leaning on her hands. “Whatever song you’re obsessed with now over and over?”

“I don’t have much time for anything else.” Joe laughs again. “Besides, sometimes the best soundtrack is the same song, over and over, just played at different tempos depending on mood.”

This earns him a patented Cleo lookTM as she turns back to her journal, picking up a small knife. They don’t talk for a while after that, instead listening to the leaves rustle, water flow, and trees topple.

“Here,” they say eventually, after the wood-collecting has gotten to be too much, and pass Joe a record. “Put this on, I know you’re aching to.” He gasps, energy he hasn’t felt in a while jolting through him, and pulls out his jukebox.

“Thanks, Cleo!”

The aforementioned record is a simple piano tune, the melody and harmony weaving in and out of each other’s path, spinning down the river and floating high into the air. It fills the server with its music, and although Joe knows that the little song is barely reaching further than Keralis he’d like to think that Tango, in the depths of Decked Out 2, and False, high up on a snowy peak, and Grian and Doc, fighting their battles over the perimeter, can hear it.

It’s a song that, although the notion is cliche, feels like home. It has managed to encapsulate the feeling that persists, from all ten years of Hermitcraft, of family and friends and feeling like belonging.

#hermitcraft #hermitzine #joe hills #zombie cleo #music

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jeonbunnie · 1 year

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love language

pairing: reader x taehyung

anon requested: “If requests are still open, can you do love language by kelahni with idol taehyung? Bonus if the reader is a American (or just a foreigner) living in Korea with okay proficiency in Korean. ”

summary: Taehyung’s willing to learn all the ways to love you.

genre: slight angst; fluff

soundtrack: love language — kehlani

content/warnings: pg 13, established relationship, boyfriend!AU, inexperienced!reader, consent talk, mutual pining

word count: 1.3k

♪ Said I wanna be fluent in your love language. Learnin' your love language ♪

Taehyung was still learning how to love you.

There’d always been a language barrier between you, and you often failed to understand each other’s language.

Most of the time, it was easy to read between the lines. To pick up on your silent cues, the way you leaned in when you were interested in what he had to say. How you lowered your gaze when you were feeling shy or bit your lip while fighting back a shy smile.

It’s the same smile you’re wearing now, draped across his couch, cheesing over a romantic drama. He loved you like this: lighthearted and carefree. But lately, it’s a side to you he’d been missing.

And he hated breaking you out of your happy bubble, but Taehyung needed to speak to you to clear up something weighing on his heart.

“Can we talk?”

There’s hesitation in your eyes now that the questions have been asked. Taehyung waits for the tension to melt, patiently observing as you look him in the eye and nod.

“Are you not attracted to me?”

You blink, frozen in time for a second. And then burst into laughter.

“What?” You said the sounded light, letting Taehyung know you’re not exactly laughing at him or being rude, but he can still feel a slight blush creep up his neck.

“I’m serious,” He said, voice a bit more taunt.

“Wait?” You said, growing serious. You turn away from the TV to face him on the couch. Your brows pulled together in a way Taehyung’s learned to read as ‘concerned’ on your face. “Really?”

By now, Taehyung basically knew how to read you down to a science.

Some things were easier to learn than others. Early on, he figured out you weren’t a morning person. He found it cute that you were always so grumpy during the early hours and that the little scrunch between your brows meant you weren’t ready to talk before having caffeine. He quickly learned you appreciated him bringing you a cup of coffee more than a good morning call.

It took a little longer for him to learn you didn’t care much for gifts. Over time, he began to understand that you valued his time over his money. You never cared about the wrapping for a gift—you’d rather be wrapped up in his arms, spending sun-soaked days together in the park

And the little things, of course. Taehyung knew your favorite color and how to make your smile. He was fairly certain your love language was quality time (acts of service a close second). There were still parts of you he was desperate to know more—soul, mind, and body.

Taehyung cared more for physical touch. You, however, never seemed all that interested in being intimate. Whenever he tried to initiate something more than a kiss, you almost always slipped from his grasp, muttering a vague excuse.

“Lately…” He started, “It seems like every time I touch you, you pull away. So I just thought?”

He knew something was wrong. It had to be him, didn’t it?

You sent him a timid smile. “Taehyung, I’m beyond attracted to you. It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

A pause. “I just—I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You feel…” Taehyung licked his lips, searching for the right words. “Distant. Like you’re holding back.”

“Do you not like me anymore? Is that why you don’t want me to touch you?”

“What? No, of course not!”

“Then?”

“It’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I think I like you too much, and I’m scared to be close.”

Taehyung often misunderstood the meaning behind your words. Usually, it was because you were using your own language or talking too fast.

This time the mixed message felt deeper than anything google translate could solve. Because you were speaking a language he understood, and he still couldn’t make sense of what you meant.

“I don’t understand.”

You sighed, covering your face with your hands. “Never mind. It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

Gently, Taehyung reached out and pulled your hands away from your face. “It’s not stupid. I just don’t understand yet. Can you explain it to me?”

It was quiet for a minute, but Taehyung didn’t rush you. He rubbed his thumbs against your hands, hoping to calm your nerves enough.

“I’m not that experienced….” You said finally, unable to look him in the eye. “So the idea of being close to someone like that…it feels..overwhelming?”

Taehyung felt his heart soften. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said softly.

“I want to! It’s not like I mean to pull away. I get nervous. There’s so much I don’t know sexually, and I get in my head about things. Wondering if I’m making the right move or what I like and what you like? I want our first time to be perfect, and I just-”

You stopped, burying your face in his chest. “This is embarrassing. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Taehyung laughed. He could tell you were mortified to reveal this information like you wanted to sink into the couch hide. But he found you to be adorable. “You’re so cute,” he said.

It all made sense now. Your shyness, the awkward pauses. The way you seemed to want more but backed off every time things got heated between you. Relief coursed through him. All this time, he was worried for nothing. It felt good knowing you wanted him the same way he wanted you.

He took your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “We can go slow…whatever pace you need. There’s no rush.”

The furrow in your brow fades, and Taehyung knows he’s said the right thing to calm your nerves. Still, there’s doubt in your eyes.

“You don’t think it’s weird that I haven’t…you know?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. But I think it’s weird that you didn’t tell me.”

You try to look away then, but Taehyung doesn’t let you, taking your chin in his hand until you make eye contact again.

“Hey. I wanna know everything about you,” said Taehyung. “Your thoughts and your feelings. Even the things that make you nervous, even the embarrassing things you think you should hide.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I don’t mind if that takes time,” Taehyung continued. “I can be patient. But I need you to be open with me moving forward. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” you said, finally giving him a real smile. The one he loved so much that made your eyes sparkle and shine.

Taehyung scooped you up into his lap, happy to know the two of you were back on the same page. “So, is this okay? Me holding you like this?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I like it when you hold me.”

“And when I kiss you?” He asked, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“I love it when you kiss me. And not just on my forehead. . .”

“Here?” He said, kissing your cheek.

“Taehyung…” you whine.

“Yeah? So you like this?” Said Taehyung, peppering you with kisses all over your face.

“Taehyung,” you giggled. “You know what I mean. Kiss me for real.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Define real. You’re going to have to be more specific.” He knows what you want but can’t make it easy for you now, can he?

“You’re gonna make me ask?”

“Well, the last time I went in for a kiss, it didn’t go so well.”

You rolled your eyes, and Taehyung’s sure he would have to tease you a bit more, but then you surprised him, closing the distance with a kiss. It’s languid and sweet. Slow, saccharine goodness that has his mind running wild with possibilities. There’s still so much he wants to learn about you: how to calm your nerves, how to show you that you’re safe with him, how to love you, and how to make love to you. How to please you. What turned you on, what drove you wild…

And he knows it’ll take some time for you to be vulnerable with him. But if going slow means more perfect kisses like this, he doesn’t mind the wait.

#btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #bts fic #taehyung fic #taehyung fluff #bts scenario #taehyung scenarios #song fic #my fics.🍪#req fill.📦#taehyung x reader #After a billion yearssssss #hi

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mothrocks · 3 months

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So I recently caved and watched Hazbin Hotel. I like animation, musicals, and animated musicals, so I feel like I'm kind of obligated to watch this new animated musical cartoon. After watching the show, I can't help but compare it to other animated productions that have also been released within the last year, namely that of Disney's Wish. I have a lot of thoughts, so here's this essay I spent like 2.5 hours writing :D

Slight disclaimer, I do acknowledge that Wish and Hazbin Hotel have very different themes, target audiences, production methods, pipelines, all the things. As someone who just enjoys animation, I'm going to disregard this for the most part, largely because I just want to ramble about the animation industry as a whole and probably could for hours.

Hazbin Hotel features a cast of characters trying to rehabilitate the sinners of Hell to save them from dying a second (and seemingly final) death in the afterlife. I have my own thoughts on the show itself, but I generally thought it was good. You can tell there was passion behind it and that they were allowed a lot of creative freedom, rather than having to pander as much to studio higher-ups.

I'm choosing not to summarize Wish and trusting that if you've read this far, you have at least a fragment of an idea of what the movie is about (not that there is much of a memorable plot, anyways). I don't like Wish. The characters are static and flat; there's no growth or character development and we have little to no reason to root for the main character, Asha. The story overall is unmemorable. The animation is fairly lackluster and looks unfinished. Lastly, the songs, one of the most important parts of a Disney animated musical, are just bad and incohesive and don't fit whatever vibe Disney and its producers were going for. I want to add that I don't think these qualms are the fault of the creatives behind this movie, rather, the fault of Disney executives stepping in.

Compared to Wish, Hazbin Hotel has interesting and dynamic characters, a solid art and animation style, and a wonderful soundtrack. Hazbin Hotel, despite being a show about the afterlife, has life and soul to it. This isn't to say I'm a big fan of the show, I do have criticisms of my own. My question is, how does Hazbin Hotel, an animated adult cartoon practically birthed from the internet, manage to be infinitely better than Wish, a movie by fucking Walt Disney Animation Studios? The fact that Disney, the studio behind The Lion King and Beauty and the Beast (or even more recent things like Moana and Encanto), is the same studio that produced a movie as flat and lifeless as Wish is baffling to me.

My speculation as to why this show is so much better than Wish is specifically because it was cultivated from random people on the internet who were passionate about their projects opposed to a company like Disney, who made Wish just for money (and to promote their anniversary). Disney has changed from what it once was and no longer takes risks in their storytelling or animation, only pursuing whatever writing, casting, or cost-cutting decisions that will line their pockets best. As someone who grew up watching these movies so much as a kid and learning about animation and storytelling and music from them, it's so disheartening to see any creativity within this corporation be crushed. Walt Disney Animation Studio's latest animated films since 2018 (Ralph Breaks the Internet, Frozen II, Raya and the Last Dragon, Strange World, and Wish) have all been lackluster in one way or another, with Encanto being the one exception. Disney has historically had dips in the quality of it's content, but this new trend in addition to the rise of streaming platforms (and even the introduction of AI) leads me to have little to no hope for Disney's animation going forward. Passion projects such as Hazbin Hotel are what makes me have any semblance of hope for the future of animation as a whole. Seeing one of the leading animation producers dwindle to this extent and kill any creativity brought to the table is just sad.

#hazbin hotel #wish 2023 #wish disney #animation #disney #animation industry #essay

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burst-of-iridescent · 2 months

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atla live action thoughts: episode 1

SPOILERS AHEAD

tw: opinions

things i liked:

love that we're starting from a hundred years ago and seeing exactly how everything played out. iirc in the original, sozin's first move was to colonize earth kingdom territory so the show expanding upon it in sozin making it seem as though he was about to attack the earth kingdom as a red herring so he could wipe out the air nomads instead was a good change

sozin being able to wipe out the nomads because they were all gathered in one place for a festival makes a ton of sense, and i really like that they let us have time with the air nomads before wiping them out. gyatso and aang's scene almost brought me to tears, it was so beautifully sincere and touching

whoever casted gordon cormier needs a medal because THIS. FUCKING. KID. i nearly lost it when he started crying like what do you mean this baby has to save the world???

i am so thankful that they didn't shy away from the savagery and brutality of the air nomad genocide. seeing the fire nation cut them down so ruthlessly was absolutely horrific, but it was the perfect way to start this darker iteration of the story and those ten minutes alone made me feel more for the air nomads than the entire three seasons of the original. and having the scene cut between aang lost in the storm and his people being wiped out???? insane.

the visuals are absolutely beautiful. i think they shot this on a volume stage and holy shit did they make use of it because every establishing shot was gorgeous, especially the one for the southern air temple

ian ousley, questionable heritage aside, is actually doing a great job as sokka. his comedic timing is excellent

the bending actually looks... really good. i love how they're doing the airbending in particular, it definitely feels as though aang is entirely untethered to the earth

katara's arc is... interesting. i'll reserve judgement on it till the end of the season but right now i don't hate what they're doing with the changes to her relationship with waterbending. we'll see where they're going with this.

initially i wasn't a fan of them changing katara pulling aang out of the avatar state, but after reflecting i love that it was the memory of gyatso that brings aang back to himself. the idea that even though gyatso is gone, his love for aang still lives on within him, protecting him, is remarkably powerful and moving. and i think at this point, this version of katara and aang don't have enough of a relationship for her pulling him out of the avatar state to have the same impact it did in the original

THE MUSIC IS TOP-NOTCH. ngl i teared up when the credits were the iconic sun warrior soundtrack mixed with the atla theme

things i disliked/am conflicted about:

aang running away... doesn't feel like it's aang running away. i know he had the scene where he's crying and upset, but it feels more as though he just wanted to clear his head for a little bit rather than fleeing in terror because he was afraid of the responsibility of being the avatar. his guilt over abandoning his people and the world is fairly important to his character, so i didn't love the way they did this scene because it doesn't really feel like an active choice that aang made

gran-gran being turned into into an exposition machine to tell the audience - and aang - everything. really wasn't a fan of her being the one to reveal that aang is the avatar, or that they info-dumped everything about the fire nation and the war in one scene. it also sort of took away the gut punch of aang finding gyatso's skeleton because he already knows what's happened, whereas in the show it hits so much harder because of his blind optimism and naivete leading up to that moment

RIP katara breaking aang from the iceberg because of her righteous fury scene, you will always be famous. live action katara feels a little too passive so far but i hope that'll change in upcoming episodes as we get further into her arc

dallas liu as zuko... mmm, something about it is not working for me so far but i can't put my finger on why. i wouldn't say i disliked it, but i'm not loving it either. his performance feels a little too theatrical, somehow? but it's only the first episode so again i won't be too harsh till i finish the season

the southern water tribe should look far emptier and more isolated to get a real sense of how the war has affected them, imo. here the impact of their parents and most of the adults in the village being gone doesn't seem as apparent as it does in the original when it's literally just a few women and children

overall, premiere rating: 7.5/10

#atla live action #atla

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beekeeperspicnic · 1 year

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Can you help my game find its soundtrack?

I'm currently developing a small indie point and click mystery game called the Beekeeper's Picnic, which features a retired Sherlock Holmes solving cosy mysteries. The game is set just after the First World War, and tackles themes of healing and reconciliation against a beautiful natural landscape.

You can find out more on Steam.

I'm doing all the writing, programming and artwork in the game myself, but I'm not a musician and so I'm on the hunt for someone who can help in that area!

I intend to keep the soundtrack fairly minimal, but I'd really love to be able to commission or licence a few pieces. I've been imagining fairly minimalist contemporary/new age piano - something with the same vibes as this piece by Giorgio Costantini:

youtube

But I'm also open to someone with their own ideas!

As an indie creator myself it's really important to me to ensure that I empower others by paying fairly for their work. I've run a handful of successful crowdfunding campaigns in the past and I'm looking to do that for this game, which is part of the reason I'm putting out feelers at this stage to see what's possible and so I can start doing some costings.

If you're interested my ask box is open! and I'd appreciate it if folks could pass this on to anyone who might be interested.

Thanks! <3

#piano composition #composer #piano #musicblr #music commissions #original music #music #music composition #Youtube

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thekingofgear · 2 months

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The Smile's 2024 Tour Rehearsal Setup

On March 5 and March 6, The Smile shared photos taken by Ade B during rehearsals for the band's 2024 tour dates. In the photos, the band are set up in Air Studios’ Lyndhurst Hall. It's a space where Jonny has frequently recorded orchestras, including for the Phantom Thread soundtrack. A photo from circa-2014 revealed that Radiohead’s string arrangements for Spectre (and possibly Man of War) were also recorded in the room.

The Smile’s live setup largely resembles the one they used for their tour dates last year. This isn’t a surprise, since many songs from the band’s latest album were written on the road. However, there is some new gear which seems to be intended for material off the new album. Further down in this post, we’ll list all of the gear, but we’ll highlight the changes first.

Electric Cello and Viola

Almost certainly the biggest surprise is that Jonny has added an electric cello and an electric viola to his setup. In the past, Jonny has occasionally played bowed string instruments on recordings, but they were always acoustic instruments, and he's never brought them on tour. Most of the time, Jonny only used his viola to sketch out string arrangements, which were then recorded by other players. And at live shows, Jonny has always bowed his electric guitar or bass to emulate those string arrangements, whether it's the harmonics on Pyramid Song or the col lengo crunch on Burn The Witch.

However, Jonny has started to play the cello more regularly in the past few years. In an interview from the 2010s, Jonny mentioned that he could make noises that he’s happy with on a cello, but claimed his left hand isn’t precise enough to perform with it. Then in 2019, he mentioned that, compared to viola, the cello "feels much more natural to hold and so much easier to make a nice sound on — I only wish I had moved on to it when I was a kid” (The Times). In 2021, he was credited with cello in the liner notes for the Power of the Dog soundtrack, applying banjo-style technique to the instrument. And this year, he was credited with cello in the liner notes for Wall of Eyes. In fact, Jonny can be seen playing his acoustic cello in a couple of polaroids posted in March 2023, during the recording of the new album.

A closeup of the electric cello (left) and viola (right).

Digital “Upright” Piano

On every tour since 1997, Radiohead have brought an acoustic upright piano on tour. Usually they brought a Yamaha U1, though more recently they’ve favored a Kemble KC121 (essentially a U1 built at Kemble’s factory in the UK, rather than by Yamaha in Japan). The same was true for Atoms for Peace shows in 2010 and 2013. The Smile followed this trend, bringing an acoustic upright along for all of their tour dates from 2021-2023.

However, given how few of the Smile's songs require piano, it’s understandable that they’d switch to a digital instrument instead. The one they chose is a Nord Grand digital piano, which features fairly authentic piano hammer-action made by the piano maker Kawai.

For some solo shows in support of Anima, Thom brought a Waldorf Zarenbourg for sampled acoustic and electric piano sounds. Thom only played it for a couple songs each night, so it was understandable that he didn’t want to tour with an acoustic upright. However, it’s interesting that The Smile are still using their vintage Rhodes electric piano, rather than using the Nord Grand for Rhodes sounds in addition to acoustic piano sounds. Perhaps keyboard action is the reason: the hammer action of the Nord might be accurate for piano, but it’s probably a little heavy for Rhodes playing. Plus it’s clear that the band enjoy having a lot of keyboard on stage to experiment with.

Closeups showing the Nord Grand in its custom black stand.

Sequential Prophet 6

One benefit of the digital piano is that its shorter stand leaves space for a keyboard to rest on top. For this tour, Thom has brought along his Prophet 6, which he previously used for the Suspiria soundtrack and for shows in support of Anima. This isn’t the first time that the band have mixed piano and synth. Thom did velcro a Dave Smith Instruments Tetra to Radiohead’s upright piano from 2012-2013. However, that synth saw little use, perhaps because of the Tetra’s minimal control layout.

The band now have three Prophet synths in their active setup: the Dave Smith Prophet ’08 beneath the modular, the Sequential Prophet 5 REV4 on top of the Rhodes piano, and the Sequential Prophet 6 on top of the digital piano.

Earthquaker Devices Blumes

In addition to the Earthquaker Devices Plumes overdrive on Thom’s board (note the green), it looks like he’s added a Blumes overdrive as well (the similarly-sized yellow box). The Blumes is intended as a bass-friendly version of the Plumes. Thom was already using the Plumes with his bass guitar for a very punchy sound, so it’ll be interesting to see how he uses the bassier Blumes.

The green of the Plumes and yellow of the Blumes can also be seen on Thom’s backup pedalboard, which is resting on top of one of the gear cases by Thom’s guitar stands.

Closeups of Thom's guitar and vocal pedalboards (left) along with his backup guitar pedalboard (right).

Eventide Pitchfactor

It looks like Thom has added an Eventide Pitchfactor to his vocal pedalboard. It's in the spot where he had an Eventide H9 on the last tour, so it's likely that he was using the H9 for pitch shifting sounds. The H9 features all of the algorithms from the Pitchfactor (as well as the other Eventide pedals), but it has far fewer knobs so controlling it is more cumbersome.

Jonny's Setup

Jonny's Chordophones

Gibson Les Paul Standard Natural Finish (late-1970s)

Fender Precision Bass Natural Finish (early-1970s)

Electric Cello

Electric Viola

Dusty Strings Ravenna 34 harp

Jonny's Gibson Les Paul Custom and ES-125 are probably on a stand out of view.

Jonny's Guitar Pedalboard

Currently unknown, but likely similar to his summer 2023 pedalboard.

Jonny's Guitar Amplifier

Fender '65 Reissue Super Reverb No1

Fender '65 Reissue Super Reverb No2

Jonny's Bass Pedalboard

Boss TU2/3

Boss DD200 (replaces Akai Headrush E2)

Two Notes Le Bass preamp

Jonny's Bass Amplifier

Ampeg SVT Classic amplifier head (1990s)

Ampeg SVT Classic amplifier head (backup)

Ampeg 8x10" Cabinet

Jonny's Laptop Setup

Apple Macbook Pro

Furman M-8Lx

MOTU MOTU Midi Express XT No1

Focusrite Clarett+ 8pre No1

MOTU MOTU Midi Express XT No2

Focusrite Clarett+ 8pre No2

Radial Engineering SW8 8-channel auto-switcher

Hinton Instruments Z4 Quad Channel Long Haul Converter

Blackstar Live Logic 6-Button Foot Controller No1 (kept by laptop)

Blackstar Live Logic 6-Button Foot Controller No2 (velcro'd to Studiologic pedal)

Jonny's Synthesizers Setup

Sequential Prophet-5 REV4

Peterson Strobostomp HD tuner (for Prophet 5)

Earthquaker Devices Avalanche Run delay/reverb (for Prophet 5)

Studiologic MP-117 MIDI Pedalboard (controls Prophet 5)

It appears that Jonny has stopped touring with his Oberheim SEM Pro synthesizers, which he'd used for bass sounds on previous tours. So he's likely either using samples or his Prophet 5 for all of his bass synth needs.

A closeup of Jonny's setup.

Thom's Setup

Thom's Chordophones

Martin 00-18?

Fender Jazzmaster Black Finish (1963)

Fender Jazzmaster White Finish (1964

Epiphone Casino Royal Tan (mid-1960s)

Epiphone Casino Sunburst (circa-1962)

Gibson SG (1964) No1

Gibson SG (1964) No2

Martin 00-18?

Fender Jazz bass

Gibson EB-0 bass

unknown classical guitar

unknown (semi-)hollow bass

Fender Mustang bass

unknown (semi-)hollow electric guitar

Thom's Guitar, Bass, and Vocal Pedalboards

Thom's current pedalboards seem mostly similar to the ones he used last year (see Thom's pedalboards page), aside from the changes mentioned above and the removal of the Soma Cosmos from the guitar board.

Thom's Guitar Amplifier

Vox JMI Vox AC30/6 (1962)

Thom's Bass Amplifier

Fender Super Bassman head

Fender Super Bassman head (backup)

Fender Bassman 610 Neo cabinet

Thom's Synthesizers

Waldorf STVC

Moog Matriarch

Sequential Prophet 6

A closeup of Thom's setup.

Tom Skinner's Synthesizer Setup

Tom Skinner's Prophet Setup

Dave Smith Instruments Prophet '08

Roland FS-5U (sustain pedal for Prophet '08)

Tom Skinner's Modular Setup

Boss TU-3S tuner

JBL GO3 Portable Waterproof speaker

Unknown 4-knob Mixer

Elektron Octatrack MK2 (sequences the modular)

Make Noise Strega

Make Noise 0-Coast No1

Make Noise 0-Coast No2

Mutable Instruments Yarns MIDI-to-CV

Make Noise Richter Wogglebug random generator

Make Noise Echophon delay

Vermona twinOUT dual balanced output No1

Vermona twinOUT dual balanced output No2

Some other modules aren't possible to identify from this photo, but they probably match the ones seen in previous photos.

A closeup of Tom Skinner's synth setup.

Shared Keyboards

Nord Grand (in custom black stand)

Fender Rhodes piano

#The Smile #Thom Yorke #Tom Skinner #Jonny Greenwood #Wall of Eyes

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idontknowreallywhy · 9 months

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A little fic idea that won’t let go of me but I am not quite sure how to progress…

Space Controller Conrad

I’m intrigued by Conrad’s character - he uniquely of all the TAG rescuees ends up back on Tracy Island. He has the idea that saves Virgil and Two and they seem to adopt him a little but we never hear from him again. This saddens me it would have been great to have a little check in at some point later in canon like we do with the recurring characters.

And the Fosters wrote such a gut-twistingly beautiful theme for him (“Slough”) which really stands out from the rest of the soundtrack as something completely different. He’s so sad, and guilty and, despite clearly having been promoted to a fairly senior role doesn’t feel good enough… I want to know more about him and his family.

His model is a lot like Scott’s… he even has similar greys at his hairline in one shot. Scott also seems to carry the sense of never being quite good enough - is Conrad what he would have become had he been in Alan’s position in the family order, perhaps?

I also keep coming back to the moment where Alan sympathises with him about having an intimidatingly heroic family to live up to, but then looks slightly awkward and doesn’t say any more. I imagine that he is trained as most people in a public service role are to encourage people to talk to calm / distract but not to give away personal information. I felt like Alan found a kindred spirit though and given Conrad does come back to the island maybe they form a friendship where they can discuss these things? I envisage it very much a platonic friendship (he’s a fair bit older, neither he nor Alan see each other as anything else) though.

Would anyone else be interested in reading that? Or helping make it happen? I’d love to share thoughts of how it could work, or co-write, or run with ideas someone has and then let them wrangle it into something good, or even role play it somehow to tease out the story I’m sure is there for the finding.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderfam #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #space controller Conrad

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youngerfrankenstein · 10 months

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So today I watched two movies where the deuteragonist goes kinda nuts and turns into a dragon thing, before the protagonist has to calm them down.

They were both a pretty fun time!

Promare is something I had been meaning to watch for quite a while but somehow never got around to. Glad I finally did!

Promare has quite possibly the Worst oppression allegory I have ever seen. A bunch of people are discriminated against because they burned half the world and killed billions (with a B!) of people. Also it’s not actually anything inherent to them it’s a bunch of alien parasites that will destroy the planet. However, since this is basically just an excuse for robots to fight other robots on fire… I can’t say I really care in the end. Promare is ENTIRELY style over substance, and I mean that in the best way.

The plot is breakneck and stupid. Most of the characters barely register as such. The dialogue is so dumb. And it FUCKING RULES! I’ve seen the film described as “Anime the Anime” and that does kind of sum it up. Everything feels like a ten year old boy smashing his action figures together and you can’t help but get swept up in the enthusiasm.

Helped by the absolutely (excuse the pun) FIRE soundtrack. The energy almost never lets up, and on-the-nose engrish lyrics just add to the experience. Even if you don’t watch the movie holy heck listen to the soundtrack.

The characters may be paper-thing but holy hell are they fun to watch. Our protagonist, Galo, himbo extraordinaire is as ridiculous as he is somehow charming. You can’t help but admire his drive to help people. And his foil, the ironically icy Lio, here to set fires and fight for his rights. Aina, a nice, spunky girl set up as a love interest for about five minutes before it turns out her character has more of a story based around her relationship with her sister. Which is a nice change! In fact the only romance in the story arguably involves CPR for plausible deniability. And our hero remembers to open the airway thank heck. Though whether intentional or just ship tease who knows? And who cares. You can guess who the villain is about ten seconds after he shows up and he is as much a blast to watch as the rest.

And really, this is a movie with a secret robot used to save the day called the Deus X Machina. A movie that ends with two shirtless guys setting the Earth on fire to stop the Earth from being set on fire. It doesn’t take itself too seriously and really neither should you. Let it sweep you away for almost two hours and you will feel much better afterwards.

I started reading Nimona around the time it was wrapping up as a webcomic. I have a copy of the graphic novel on my shelf. I was excited when I heard the movie had been greenlit (less so when I heard it was Blue Sky Studios), disappointed by the cancellation and, well, I’m happy it’s here now. While I’ve gotten grouchier over the years, it does make me smile to see these guys on my television, even if they’re not quite the same people either.

Because the movie is very different, and yet much of it feels similar as well. Certain scenes, like the board game, are almost directly from the comic, others are from the comic but not quite the same. The characters are different, Ballister is less jaded, Ambrosius less delusional and Nimona less, well, monstrous. She seems to more beat the snot out of people than commit mass murder. In the comic she’s every bit the monster people fear her to be, though a sympathetic one, and perhaps one who will heal someday. While the ending of the movie is far happier, it fits the new tone. And honestly? I need to stop making comparisons and judge the damn movie on its own merits. Of which it has many!

Our setup is fairly simple, Ballister BlackBoldheart is a new knight of the realm, who immediately gets framed for the murder of the queen and disarmed (heh) by his boyfriend Ambrosius Goldenloin, while on the lam he is approached by a shapeshifter called Nimona who is up for a little mayhem and hijinks. Together they try and clear his name.

My fist fear when I heard Blue Sky studios would be the ones releasing the movie was that a lot of the humour would be Quite Bad. And while there definitely is plenty of that, I think more gags hit than miss. Hell the movie got quite a few laughs out of my dad and he’s a fair bit less likely to chuckle than I am. It is quite a funny movie, which is good because it helps the harsher moments hit harder. Because there are also plenty of those, especially in the final act.

Speaking of, the film is somewhat surprisingly well paced. Scenes tend not to overstay their welcome and the movie flows well. What else flows well? The animation! (My segways not so much) Everything is very smooth, which is rather necessary for all the shapeshifting, and there’s quite an interesting scene made to look as if subway tiles are telling the story of Nimona’s origins (ish).

And the main trio really are quite fun to watch. Ballister, always the underdog, now a public enemy and trying to both clear his name and perhaps open his mind a bit. Ambrosius, golden boy, trying to do the right thing and not always doing a great job. And, of course, Nimona, who’s just here to break shit, though it is quickly clear there’s more underneath, also a pretty blatant trans allegory.

The relationships Ballister has with both the other two are sweet as heck, but also riddled with mistrust that they all have to work to overcome.

And while the movie does get a little preachy at times, it’s a kid’s movie. What do you expect? Rah rah fight the power, all that jazz. I may be too jaded for it but it certainly works.

—

Would recommend checking out both or either if they sound like something you’d enjoy!

#Promare #Nimona #I should polish this up more but ehhhhh #Quick thoughts I guess

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dropsofletters · 1 year

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flowers willingly die [yjh]

summary: each morning for their anniversary, jeonghan saw his dad give his mom a bouquet of roses. she never paid much attention to them, but he did. knowing fairly well that they died while bathing in the sun, packed in a half-full water glass. to him, that is what flowers meant. timely beauties that he adores from afar.

so, while travelling the world, he compared a lot of things to that vacant feeling, but he had never given a bouquet of flowers to someone.

not until he had seventy-two hours to spent with someone he liked.

title: flowers willingly die pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader genre: pilot!au ; guitarist!au ; small town!au ; strangers to hook-ups!au ; slice of life!au type: angst ; fluff ; drama word count: 7k approx. note: this is a request from my ko-fi! if you want to support me and write something for your fave, please do request over there!

Laughable are the tips of his fingers, freezing red, holding onto a ‘margarita’ that no one dares order in Dorothy street. Men here are booming voices, bumping fists on tables filled with whiskey glasses that half-empty themselves before they are off to another one. Quite like their wives, waiting at home with children that will grow to be just as bored of the sinking ships and the freezing summers that never meet the light of the day. It’s surprising that a man like him arrives at such a place, and she can’t say that she’s not a little bit intrigued.

With a suit that fits his slim legs like a second skin and a pair of shoulders that beg to be held on, she lets her calloused fingers trail on her guitar, plucking a few strings, imagining the soundtrack of him. Roaring screams and mermaid lullabies is what she is used to imagining in her songs, but that face is one of a man that has never done half of the work that people in her town do. Word has it that he’s a pilot; high nose, long strands of black hair, and a pout on his lips that, frankly, is quite kissable if she does say so herself.

He’s the booze after a break-up. The decision that no one wants to make, and when he sends a smile that is worth a million diamonds to the woman by the counter serving him another stupid drink that will probably be too expensive for the matters that he wants to partake in, she knows that he’s trouble.

She plays for the little pennies that she earns, trying to play it off as if she’ll be something bigger. It’s her and her guitar, and a few men that have only broken her heart. Her ex-boyfriend is still on her contact list, fresh off a new start as she revises every once in a while to check if he has texted again. The big surprise that isn’t really so is that he hasn’t, so the fickle heart of a musician stares at that pilot a little too long, basking on the face of another person. Someone much different from the men here and their small brains, their big muscles, their terrible idealization of a woman to be that. Pretty little skirts, flirty smiles and then, a goddamned wife.

He must be freezing, but he doesn’t show it that night. She’s wrapped up to the core, with a beanie covering the tip of her ears and her fingertips rubbing on the guitar every once in a while to stop the cold from seeping through. His black suit is thin enough to let her imagine the worst when he approaches her, sipping on his drink and lulling his head to the side when he takes a seat next to her on the stage that no one looks at.

She’s played in this bar for the past three years and no one has ever sat beside her. Not unless it was her ex-boyfriend, pretending that he was interested in what she was trying to make her life out to be.

“It’s been a while since I’ve actually heard live music, you know?” The pilot encounters, spreading his legs and letting the glass lull in between his thighs. “I don’t think I even remember what a guitar sounds like in person.”

“You’re missing out on life, then.” She responds, though she quirks an eyebrow in the process. “Though that’s detectable on the fact that you’re drinking whatever New York housewives drink in a place that seethes sweat and whiskey.”

He chuckles, the tips of his ears growing red, the few strands of his hair that still hold onto the gel that he had applied probably earlier on the day moved by the action of his hands. “You’re calling me a weak drinker?”

“Rather different, I’d say.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not really. Tired of seeing the same things around here.” She comments, biting on that side of her lip that had been scalded by the coffee that she had earlier this morning and perhaps, it’s a bit swollen, because he looks down at her mouth and smiles wider. Trouble, she says. “Though a pilot like you has probably seen plenty of things. Had the greatest of drinks, too.”

“I’ve seen enough of the world to know that it’s both pretty and so…dark, too.” He shrugs, wetting his lips with his margarita. “The nature that I see will die someday, and the skies are so tall that I can’t reach them even when I’m close. That’s deep, now that I say it, but it must be the alcohol getting to the little brain cells I have left.”

She laughs at his antics, licking her lips and thinking a bit about it. If life was so ugly, and so short at the same time, why did we pursue it as if it lasted forever? Why did pain haunt us so badly, starting with heartbreak, if it was only…a matter of time before we disappeared with it?

“I like that. As dark as it is, it’s real.” She continues plucking on the strings, jutting her chin forward. “I imagine you’ve heard better musicians, but I can play any song you can think of.”

“No way.” He counterparts, only to have her sighing.

“Never doubt a woman from this side of town. What I tell you is the absolute truth.” And yet, no one has ever taken her seriously. Those four walls that consist of the cramped town at the seashore of the beach are starting to get too cramped, and this new addition may be just what she needed.

“Photograph by Ed Sheeran?”

“Too easy.”

“I may be a little of a cliché.”

“Unimaginable.” She rolls her eyes, letting a small giggle out. “Who am I dedicating it to? Any wife back home that you miss?”

He shakes his head, pressing a hand to his cheek and looking at her with a lulled look in his eyes, as if extremely in peace with the place he finds himself in. “To Jeonghan.”

“Oh, a husband?”

“Damn no.” The pilot excuses. “It’s my name. I’ve never had a song dedicated to me.”

“Pure lies.” Though she starts playing the tune of the song, only for the two of them to be heard, as if those two connected pair of eyes create an island that only them can visit and travel through.

“I’m not a liar.”

“What man isn’t?”

“You’d be surprised.” Jeonghan licks his lips, painted in the sweetest red shape, chapped because of the cold, and she lets herself be taken by the music, seeing him take small sips of his drink and hum along to the tune.

He asks for one more song.

Then another one.

Finally, another.

Hours spent singing in between the two, sharing drinks, smiles, eyesights that could be confused with anything and everything. It feels nice to be looked at, cherished in a way, treated as though she is special. How easy it is to forget in these positions that at a first instance, we show the best of us. Attraction makes us act in such a way as human beings, but Jeonghan, for that night, seems truthful.

A flower begins to bloom then.

Brown. So brown she could drown, with speckles of stars that gleam and mirror the sight of her, with her hair a mess and scattered on the hotel pillow on the second day of his stance. She’s not naked, god forbid that she is, but she could very-well be by the way he looks at her, with pupils dilated and his smiles mixing with little kisses shared in between sighs and calls of her name.

She had only fallen for brown eyes. The significance of them is rather interesting, if she remembers what Grandma Lore used to say back when she worked at a little music shop. The old woman had passed away four years ago, but her stories had stayed with the town. She said that eyes, in ancient times, were the meaning of a person’s soul in their past life. Those who got their heart broken plenty of times had darker eyes, while lighter eyes were saved for first-love owners and heartbreakers themselves. Quite believable, granted that Grandma Lore’s ex-husband had light blue eyes and had left her and their four daughters alone for a one-night stand.

Brown eyes meant trouble when they were accompanied by a rough voice, but she can’t think. Not when she feels herself being kissed this way. She’s used to the impatience, the short kisses, the ‘it’s better not to leave this behind’ kiss that promises that everything will be alright, but there’s no excitement within them. She knows how she got here, with a little booze on their system and the rays of sunshine that slip through the cracks of the window of his hotel room giving them another day to fuck things up with feelings. Feelings that come with touch.

Jeonghan is exciting to look at, but even when she looks at him, bruises his lips in little kisses and intakes of breaths when she feels him trail down to her neck before going up to her cheeks again, never getting too far, she knows that he’s not him. He’s not that ex that she looks forward to meeting every single day, the man that is so close, somewhere in these dull streets and yet, somehow so far away.

It feels like cheating, but then she looks at the phone that she laid on the bedside table, she hears Jeonghan calling her name and then, it feels like loneliness. This man doesn’t know her, and the man who does isn’t interested enough to call her again, so she presses a hand to his chest, her other palm resting on his nape and turning them around until her thighs look for leverage on his slim waist, undoing two buttons of his shirt and splaying her freezing fingertips on the warm skin.

“Tell me you think I’m beautiful.” The plea sounds pathetic, but it’s been a while since she has heard it. She can only imagine that his eyes mirror his own, vacant of feelings, thrilled and excited by a new face, but not feeling anything else. Though, it is gorgeous when he rests a hand on her back and replies in a lingering breath:

“I’d be blind if I didn’t think you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Jeonghan says those words like he means it and she relishes on them. On being gorgeous, accepted, craved for and thirsted after. She feels like a ray of sunshine, not the lukewarm moonlight that she had been painted as the past few years.

With more fervor, she clings onto the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“We don’t have to keep doing anything if you don’t want to.” Jeonghan retorts. “We can go anywhere you want. A few more kisses, or no kisses at all. I’m okay with anything.”

She blinks back possible tears, masking it with a tender kiss to his lips. How nice it would be to have someone that looked for her, that seeked that delicate touch in the middle of the night when nightmares of losing her were taking over his sleep. But Jeonghan is not that, just a nice card to play pretend with, and she feels bad for even thinking that way.

Picking the bottle of wine up, stolen from the bar in Dorothy street, she takes a sip of it before chuckling softly. At herself, really. “I’m okay with kissing, is that okay with you?”

“More than perfect for me.” Though, Jeonghan licks his lips, tracing her own with his thumb and then, opening her mouth slightly. “When was the last time someone called you beautiful?”

“Huh?”

“You seemed relieved to hear it when I told you just a few minutes ago.”

She can’t hide it from him and perhaps, that’s why Jeonghan flies planes. He’s so ahead and above every other man that it’s surprising. “It’s been a few months.”

“I understand.” Jeonghan grabs the back of her neck, pulling her closer to tug at her bottom lip before marking it with a chaste kiss. “I’ve seen the stars from up close and they can’t compare to you.”

It’s a lie. Of course, she knows it’s a goddamned lie, but it sounds so good. Jeonghan is a midnight getaway, the reason why she feels at ease in his arms, letting herself be embraced, touched, caressed. He doesn’t know that her pupils darken not because of him, but because she wants him to look through them and know that her heart is begging not to be broken again.

Brown eyes, maybe Jeonghan had been broken, too.

Haven’t we all?

Jeonghan knows he only has forty-eight more hours in this place and yet, he wakes up a little earlier than expected today just to go buy fucking flowers. Yes, he’s surprised himself. He hasn’t ever bought flowers, not even for his place back at home because he rarely stays there, but it seems like the right thing to do today.

The whispers of the wind touch his ears and remind him that he should’ve gotten a thicker coat to go outside, but after he dropped her off at her place yesterday when it was a little too late in the morning, and yet not foreseeable with how dark these skies are in this town, he knew precisely where to get her. Seated in her front porch, on a rusty chair that shrieks whenever she pulls herself forwards and backwards, with her guitar in her lap, a coffee cup on the side that has lost its steam and a notebook that she barely touches.

Her hair is a mess, but he waits for the moment when she has to refill her cup to get out of the old car that he rented just because he wanted to feel like he had some control while staying where the Devil forgot to visit. She gets up, extending her arms and giving a glimpse of the waist he dared touch yesterday, curves of sin that would never be his, covered in a plaid shirt soon after when she slips back home.

He places the bouquet on top of her guitar, ripping a paper from the notebook and grabbing her a-little-too-short pencil before jotting down a few words that he barely thinks about. Jeonghan knows that they are an impossibility, that even if he stayed in this town, the rooted insecurity that grows from within her speaks of a heart that has been tainted by too much hope and too little results, but he still writes it. Because that’s what cowards don’t do; try even when there are no outcomes to be expected.

He rushes back to his car, though he’s certain he hears her calling out his name in a shout while rushing to the automobile. He sits there, smiling at her through the dirty mirror only to see her quirk a hand up that accompanies a wave of her eyebrows. Then, he juts his chin forward, pointing to the obvious until she sees it. The bouquet, which she seems too scared to hold as her hands hover into nothingness.

Maybe, this town was too small to see how big her smile could get, or she had never been one to make the right choices. Perhaps, that’s why a talent like hers goes undiscovered. Because she never took the time to listen to anything more than the deafening silence that welcomes a place that doesn’t know about talent. She grabs the flowers in between her hold, looking at them with what he thinks is a lonesome tear grabbing onto her bottom eyelashes not to drop. Soon after, she’s grabbing the note and looking at him with a crooked smile on her face.

It reads, “A shooting star told me they were envious of how pretty you look today. XOXO, Han.”

She grabs her notebook soon after, scribbling onto a page and then, turning the image towards him. He reads quickly, after pressing his face to the steering wheel to hide the blossoming cheeks from both embarrassment and a little bit of cold.

In enormous letters that are not as pretty as her smile, she responds: “Watch them with me tonight, then.”

He raises both thumbs in the air, though she crooks her arm to call him towards her. The car suddenly becomes less interesting as he moves over to where she is, every step falling on crumbling leaves that try to stop him but he can’t. He wraps his arms around her waist, just like how he learned that drives her crazy, and he kisses her. Because not knowing each other is what makes this easier. Knowing that there won’t be a fight that will ruin it all or a ceiling that unites them both with the strings of their hearts, makes a kiss so much easier. Lighter. Better than anything he has ever had.

“You like coffee, I imagine.” She prompts, only to have him nodding.

“I prefer breakfast with it, though.”

“You’re not pretty enough to start ordering me around, you know that Jeonghan, right?”

“A man can always try.” He prompts, though he presses a lonesome index finger to her ribcage before tickling there. That smile could heal hearts and stop wars if she damn so wanted to. “I will help you make breakfast, because judging by your face I imagine that you haven’t eaten much.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She plucks a rose away from the bouquet, twirling it in her fingers before placing it on top of his ear. She moves his black hair away from a moment, fixing it until it stayed still before smiling softly at him.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never gotten flowers?”

Yes, he wants to tell her. The bleeding parts of her soul tell him so. “It’s a shame you haven’t.”

“Well, there’s always a first time.”

And a last with him, too.

A woman in love has such a recognizable face. It’s one of those features that Jeonghan will never forget. Not when seated on a picnic cloth under the moonlight, near the beach-shore that he had avoided at all costs. Not a lot of people are around, but a bonfire nearby had been enough to take her attention away from him and pull away from the hold he had around her shoulder.

Vacant, but he felt the paddering of her chest. He could have heard it, too, but her void glance still looked toward the man sitting by the bonfire, with a beer in his hand and a palm through his hair. He’s seated in between two women, not too close, not too far away, but he watches her mouth tense when she sees them. At first, she brings her knees up to her chest, then she unravels them and spreads them behind her. She does this various times, not finding comfort. Not in him, not in the man she’s clearly in love with, not in herself.

He looks fickle. Small, skinny, with a wide smile and somehow, that easy-going personality that he knows is eating her alive. He turns her back to her, this stranger, that is, and that kills her. She’s not up her feet, but watching far away instead, blinking softly before looking down and smiling at herself. A smile so big and beautiful that Jeonghan knows it’s an absolute lie.

“I’ll tell you something,” Jeonghan professes, rubbing the tip of his nose and then, blowing a sigh into the dense air. “I’ve loved kissing you from the moment you granted me permission the first time. It’s nice, you know, we both know that we can’t promise each other much…but every time you get closer to me, it feels like you are feverish to get rid of her thoughts. Like you are a second away from moaning someone else’s name against my mouth.”

Those idle eyes widen like the moon in its fullest form, and he really looks at her for longer than he should. Such a beautiful woman should not be suffering from a man that is too busy ignoring her. “I’m sorry. Gosh, Jeonghan, that must feel awful.”

It does, but also: “It doesn’t.”

“I…We broke up a few days before you came here. I…It’s difficult, you know?” She questions herself, licking her lips and then, looking up at those stars in which she belongs. “This town is so small that I expect to see him at every second and a small portion of me wishes that when his gaze lays on me, Jeonghan, he just…thinks about what he missed out on. That he remembers how small he made me feel and suddenly compares the woman he made me to whom I used to be and just weeps on wanting me back.”

She stops then, looking at him with a foreseeable shame before she whispers.

“And it’s awful. God, I feel pathetic just telling you how I want him to crave for me, but I spent months just wanting him to look at me. Getting ready. Applying that lipstick shade I know he likes. Spreading a perfume that gave me a headache just ‘cause I wanted to be remembered.”

“Men don’t work like that.” Jeonghan responds. “I don’t think anyone does, really. The more you crave for someone, the less the universe gives them to you. Because humans are polar opposites, not manifestation tactics.”

She scoffs. “Oh, trust me, I know. It’s just the stupid part of me that wants a reaction, because he couldn’t even give me that.”

His hand spreads on her waist, kissing her temple and at that moment, he feels her shake. Because that’s what had been done to her. Tainted, broken, left behind, scared of being touched in a way that feels utterly romantic or safe. “I’d give you everything in the few hours we have left.”

She chuckles. “I hate lies, Jeonghan. I’ve been told too many of those.”

“I’m not lying to you. We can be everything in so little and then, be nothing at all for each other. It’s the feelings you hold, even if it’s just for a second.”

“It’s easier for you to let go,” She assumes, as he has learned she does often. “You’re on a plane, away from this stupid town, looking ahead of everybody. Making stops, just living…”

“Living, leaving, sounds about the same but it hurts just as much. Do you think I enjoy knowing that at the end of the day I have nobody? Because everywhere I go there are hundreds of people I meet, but they are just hundreds of more people that don’t give a shit about who I am, who I will be or else.”

“That’s a way to put it.” Her hand spreads across his cheek, sighing. “These hours we have left may feel like a lifetime if we let it.”

“Not really. I feel like they’ve passed by rather quickly, if you ask me.”

“The best moments pass like that.”

But he’ll never be him, and for some reason, he’s okay with it. His lips spread across her own, hearing a few voices from afar, but he doesn’t care when he pulls away and he sees her with her eyes closed yet, as if relishing on it. Trying her hardest to forget. Only a few more hours left and he won’t see this face again.

Another kiss will do to remember her taste.

Four years later.

Moving around should feel like a task. It is, actually. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, looking at the notebook in her lap and questioning the lyrics she wrote for the demo that the agent had been interested in. Her flight to New York feels a little eternal, if she’s certain, and it gives space to her mind to start thinking about how horrid the lyrics were. Talking about drunk goodbyes and an ex-boyfriend that is sadly most of the meaning behind her songs.

The plane-ride feels eternal, as well, and so much different from the gray skies that she is used to seeing. She moves her feet, swinging them as if she’s a child waiting for lunch, licking at the inside of her cheek and closing her notebook. Alright, it should be good enough. Now, the only thing she can think about is going to the bathroom.

The stripes of her gray and white sweater twirl with every heavy step she gives, as if she doesn’t really want to move forward in life. The future is as scary as a movie can get, and she’s not ready for her to notice that it’s an inherent reality. She ignores the people around her; the snores and the soft music, pushing the curtains away and coming face to face with the bathroom, only for her to get a glimpse of the pilot.

Through the numerous buttons and mirrors on the board, she can see the reflection of a man she knows a little, not well enough, but a reminder nonetheless. The strands of black hair she had held onto when kissing him are much shorter, covered by the hat from his uniform. His coat lays on the backrest of his chair, speaking softly with the older man by his side.

Yoon Jeonghan.

Or how he liked to have her calling him: Han.

The first thing she does is open the door to the bathroom and lock herself up as if she just saw a monster itself. Truth be told, coming face to face with glimpses of her past is a little embarrassing, no matter how long or short the stories were. It’s something that most people should feel. How does one react when a person has caressed every crevice of your mouth with their tongue? It’s a little personal, if she does say so herself.

But then comes the warmth that came with him. She wouldn’t want to say that she has healed completely, lacking trust in herself and others, but Jeonghan holds that kind of power with him. He feels like the world has stopped and she has no need to run away. He’s a bird in the air, flying aimlessly, just holding onto the thread of knowing everything will be alright at the end. Not letting sadness or loneliness stop him.

Hence, after peeing she starts thinking of the million ways she could make a fool of herself. She could greet him once the plane arrived with a kiss, and he could move away. She could say ‘hello’ and he would be unable to recognize her. God, does he even remember her? Does he know that she keeps the flowers that he gave her trapped in between the pages of the lyric notebook she completed years ago and she sees it every December 16th to remember when she met him?

The flight comes to an end and she rushes out of it as purpose overflows her. Perhaps, her perseverance is both her greatest and worst personality trait. She goes to the airport with her hair done a mess, hunting for flowers until she finds some faux ones, returning to the plane at the same time that the captains were getting off board.

Then, he comes face to face with her. High cheekbones, rosy lips, and cheeks that are not as red as how they were in the cold December nights they spent together. It would have been great if Jeonghan was the one to break her heart, because something tells her that he wouldn’t have. Perhaps, the matinee of their relationship would have ended in the two of them just growing apart, but great friends nonetheless. He wouldn’t make her feel as if she was unworthy of love.

“Han.” She breathes out the nickname and Jeonghan raises his eyebrows. He’s surprised to see the bouquet of roses in her hold, and how she gives it to him with her eyes half-closed. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed.” Though he does smile like he did at those times, as if he had never changed, even four years later. He looks different in a better lighting, even more beautiful than she remembers, but when she looks at how his long digits wrap around the bouquet of flowers, something catches her attention.

Diamonds are promises, she had once heard someone say, and while Jeonghan’s band doesn’t have pearls or diamonds, it’s such a pretty gold that it steals her breath away. He’s engaged. Yoon Jeonghan has found love even when high in the air.

“I’m surprised you’re here in New York. Wouldn’t take you for much a traveller.”

He had moved on, and somehow, she’s not bitter about it. She’s angered that she hadn’t been brave enough to get on a plane and say ‘fuck it’, perhaps being the one that moved on herself. She nods.

“I have this small opportunity of recording an album after sending some demos out. Gotta sing for an agent in a record label and see where that leads.”

“Damn!” Jeonghan expresses, laying the bouquet of flowers on one of his arms like a baby before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and smiling against her hair. “I can’t wait for the moment I hear your songs on the radio.”

“Yes.” She answers, pulling away from him and grabbing his hand to trace the ring. “I could write something for your wedding when it happens. Doesn’t look much like a wedding ring just yet.”

Jeonghan cackles, looking down at his hand and smiling gleefully. A fool in love, he had turned out to be, and what a beauty it is to see that he had found someone that was willing to fly oceans and skies just to see him.

“That’d be awesome. I’d dance the shit out of that song.”

But not with her.

It’s never with her, isn’t it?

So with a curt nod and a smile, she lets go of his hand. As it should. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’ll go grab my luggage before someone steals it, okay? It was nice seeing you, Han.”

“Nice seeing you, too.”

Two years later.

With a bottle of champagne propped to her lips and a crowd of cheering fans waiting for her outside at the avenue she will be playing in, she feels a lot lonelier than she should. There is still a man that doesn’t look her way seated a few feet away, trapped in his phone and taking pictures of the enormous gifts she had received from people all around the globe that can’t stop listening to her songs and falling in love with whom they think she is.

She’s ready to get on stage, her guitar oiled up and her gears still turning after boozing herself up the slightest, but even with so much love around her, she knows her wounds still haven’t healed. No one looks her in the eyes, neither do they touch the portions of her heart that feel the loneliest. She’s gorgeous to the people around her, cladded in dresses much too expensive and makeup that makes her look like anyone but herself. Everyone wants to be her friend, her lover, they are discreetly envious of the relationship she has had in the past two months and how the newest it model is in love with her now.

And yet, every bouquet of flower that she receives just withers. Dies willingly, as if to express just that detail is timely, and there is nothing that she hates more than how short ‘forever’ truly is. She will lose all of this someday, and the fear of that thought alone has her standing up and grabbing her guitar, foregoing the bottle of champagne and moving away from backstage to get to talk through her songs.

Though, she stops by the door, turning around and pressing a hand to her waist. It’s Valentine’s Day and Hyuk, her boyfriend, hasn’t looked her way for more minutes than the ones they spent doing it in the bathroom. That’s what she is, just another body for people to look at.

“Did you get me anything?”

The question is a bit superficial, she knows it, but maybe the answer would be something more than empty kisses and posed pictures. It could be a letter from the bottom of his heart or a comparison to the stars.

Hyuk lifts his squared chin, shaking his heart as a laugh racks his body. “We have more than enough for us to celebrate with thanks to your fans.”

“But what about you?”

“Sorry baby.” Though the apology is as empty as it can get. “Maybe, some other time I can think of something to give you?”

Maybe, it’s a pattern in her. It could be her fault, for all she knows, that she always picks the wrong men. Or it could be the universe that never gave her the chance to meet a good man for more than a few days. People passing by, faces to be forgotten, and a heart that will never be mended all partake in the same voice as she gets on stage and sings her heart out.

The crowd goes crazy. She smiles. And it’s all a fucking lie.

Seven months later.

Jess looks gorgeous in the morning, and Jeonghan doesn’t get to see that sight often, with his back pressed to the counter as he sees her wear that same summer dress that she had thrown over her body on their first date. Her recently dyed red hair falls over her shoulders in messy waves, lips dry and barely painted in a bit of pink as she cuts off the old flowers that had grown in their garden.

“I don’t like that you cut the flowers.”

“They’re already dying, babe, and they will only stay as weeds.” She replies, dirtying her knees with sweat pooling at her forehead. Though, the pair of garden scissors she is using glides on the root of the rose she had been cutting, smiling at him with her plump lips. “You’re a little too fond of flowers.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Dad always gave them to my mom on their anniversaries and she never paid much attention. I liked taking care of them before they rotted.”

Jess stands up at that moment, getting closer to him with a bouquet of dead flowers in between her fingers. She gets closer to him, looking straight into his eyes, for she’s a bit taller than him, before she takes one of the flowers from the bouquet.

“Reason as to why you always give me flowers.”

“Indeed. You wear them in your dresses often enough for me to know that you love them.”

His wife chuckles at those words, slipping a flower over his ear and giving him shivers all around his arms and back. It’s like he is thrown back to that haunted town near the beach, when a woman that deserved more love than she got slipped a flower into his hair and looked at him as if he was the most gorgeous person in this world. Perhaps, for that moment alone, he was.

“And yet, you’ve never gotten a bouquet of flowers yourself. I may start to think about giving them to you as a gift.”

He doesn’t tell her that he has, wrapping an arm around her waist and hiding his face on her neck. He smells her scent, just like flowers, and yet, his mind goes back to the bouquet he had gotten. To this day, he brings one of those fake flowers with him on the plane, just to know that flowers willingly die each day.

But some are memories that never leave us.

She never leaves him. Not in her songs, and not in the flowers.

playlist: prickled - mino ft taehyun. ojos marrones - lasso. august - taylor swift. older - 5sos ft sierra deaton. can i be him? - james arthur. back to december - taylor swift. hello tutorial - zion.t ft seulgi. the one - taylor swift. boyfriends - harry styles. love of my life - queen. glimpse of us - joji.

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