#*distorted trumpet noise*

[hxlcyon]

❥ ❥ ❝ miss me already? ❞

ace trappola x gn!reader | wc: 6.8k~

summary: your boyfriend (of now approximately a minute and 47 seconds) makes a bet with you: “those idiots”—your best friends of first-years—won’t even notice a thing even if we weren’t dating.” and the funniest part? he’s probably right.

warnings: pure fluff! shenanigans! lots of cursing! friends (idiots) to lovers. one joke gendered term of milady but i think that meme is gender universal lol (coming from a masc nb)

a/n: this is for @dulcesiabits's “who is the prefect dating?!” collaboration on tumblr! thank you so so much for allowing me to write for ace, the little man, the stinky guy. also MAJOR shoutouts to lily and ct for wading through this mess, i appreciate you more than you know

“Thanks for covering me.” Your sigh is accompanied by a satisfying crunch beneath your shoes, a stray leaf the unfortunate target of your latest frustrations. “Even if you were late to class.” It wasn’t like being caught on your phone by Trein was the worst of your worries, but a death sentence of papers and reprimands was, in fact, preferably avoided if you could help it.

“You owe me one.” Ace replies airily, slowing his stride to bump your side with his bag. “What’re you going to do without me?” Like he wasn’t the asshole who made you check your phone because of his sudden impromptu reenactment of an earthquake via spam text.

08:30 [ ace ]: fuck im late

08:30 [ ace ]: HELP

08:31 [ ace ]: distract him

08:31 [ ace ]: catch something on fire idc

08:33 [ ace ]: i cant believe ur gonna make me take the L

“Have an easier life, that’s for sure.” He makes a vague noise between a squeaky trumpet and a chicken, looking as if you’ve insulted generations upon generations of the Trappola bloodline with a single throwaway comment. “What was I even supposed to do?” Several expressions cycle on his face—focused, thinking, trouble—before he makes a decision and steps closer to you to ‘accidentally’ swing his bag into you again... only to eat shit as you retaliate and shove it back.

“Told you, catch something on fire.” However, the movement is enough to make you lose your footing and free fall to the ground; about to meet miserable, sweet, concrete Death before Ace grabs your arm and catches your face with his chest. “Not that.” Whatever you say next comes out muffled, noise and mind distorted by the smell of cherries?

But, the peace doesn’t last long, especially with Ace, as he pulls back enough for you to catch his lips twitching with another one-liner. “Oooh, can’t take your hands off of me.” He instantly catches your next fist, “if you like me this much, just say so.”

“Oh, Ace.” Time to switch tactics. You latch onto the front of his shirt, tightening your fists with enough force to wrinkle both his blazer and vest. “You’re totally sooo cool and don’t pick your nose and I am sooooo deeply in love with you that I just,” he begins cackling as you shake him, “can’t-help-but-choke-you-out!”

“What happened to boundaries? No safe word?” It doesn’t matter that he’s practically being rag-dolled for all of NRC to see, no matter how much you try to shake and activate that one brain cell of his, giggles continue to keep spewing out, taunting and delighted.

“I hate you—just! Shut! Up!!” You’re gonna throttle him. No one’s gonna find his body, not if you can help it.

“Wow, love you too.”

“Sure don't act like it!”

“What? I do!” You let up and he doubles over, gasping as he breaks into another fit of giggles. “How can I not?” He rubs his hand over his face, winded as he looks up at you, red eyes shining.

“What? Say that again? One more time for the audience in the back.” It’s meant to be an innocent tease, but for some reason, it sparks a knee-jerk wide-eyed reaction from him as a simple word slips from the depths of his very soul.

“Shit.”

“What?” You repeat, squinting at him. “What you just said, right? Going on about how I’m so lova—”

He begins to bounce restlessly in place, words coming out harsh and forced. “I didn’t say that.”

“Are you seriously trying to gaslight me? In broad daylight?”

“No. That was just a normal thing, you’re making it weird. Geez.” His iconic smirk warbles and it almost seems as if the heart over his eye begins to grow runny.

“What does that even mean?”

“Definitely not what you’re thinking.”

“Ace.” His whole body is flushing. It’s enough that you can make it out from his ears to the sliver of skin at his wrist. “Look at me.” He refuses, half a second from booking it. “Do you—”

Then, suddenly filled with resolve, he faces you properly... only to cup your cheeks and squish them together between his palms. “Ooooh we’re never going to talk about this! Let’s move on~” The voiceover is the worst that you’ve ever heard, high and lilted with fear and cheap falsettos.

The sound of your palms practically patty-caking Ace’s face into a sandwich bounces against the statues of the Seven surrounding you (what a familiar place). He winces but doesn’t let go as you two proceed to stand in an awkward, competitive deadlock. “I’m not letting go until you tell me what’s up.” You manage through squished lips.

“You’re annoying.” He grits his teeth in irritation, staring straight at your forehead like he was weighing the outcome of embarrassment and pain if he head-banged you and ran.

“No, you.”

“You’re such a kid.” Ace wiggles under your grip, attempting to escape only to fail to your stubbornness. “It took you this long to notice my feelings? Sevens, how dense can you get?”

You roll your eyes. “If you want to actually go out, the offer is about to expire in approximately three seconds.”

“Wait.” His grip slackens.

“Three...” You begin counting. “You’re kidding me.” His lips twitch, throat bobbing as panic begins to settle in.

“You’re not going to really make me—” You finish off in a singular breath. “Twoone.” 

“Wait, that’s cheating—hold up!”

“Should’ve confessed your undying love for me.”

“You’re the worst. You’re literally the absolute worst.” His thumb traces hearts on your cheekbones, words coming out breathless as the tension finally drops from his body. “Is this what you do? Play with a poor man’s feelings? Heart breaker much?”

“Yeah yeah, let me go and hold my hand already.” He obliges, shaking his head disbelievingly as his fingers come down to intertwine with your own. His grip is tight, assured this time as his pulse drums loud and steady against your wrist. Without a word, he squeezes your hand, just once, unabashed affection making itself fully apparent with your permission.

Though, you only get four steps ahead before Ace interrupts, “You had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m going to break up with you already.”

“Too late. You signed the contract, breaking it involves a fee of seven million madols by tomorrow.” 

“Did I? Did I really? You didn’t even ask me out yet.”

With his free hand, he crosses his thumb and pointer, winking at you as he brings your interlocked hands up and presses a kiss to them. “Milad—”

“No.” He snorts, dropping it to swing your hands.

You see his mouth move, and the possibility occurs to you that maybe, for once in this lifetime, he’s about to say something profound. What comes out instead is: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we pretended we weren’t? Dating, I mean. Just for a week.” The grip on your hand gets tighter as he quickly backtracks, bothered. ”We’re still going to date afterward—no it’s non-negotiable—but I bet the guys wouldn’t notice a thing out of place.”

“Why?” Wasn’t Ace the type to hold it over their heads? Or, at the least, take the opportunity to be obnoxious about it?

“They’re the types who won’t notice even if you write it on their foreheads.” Reward of the year for I-Love-My-Friends goes to Ace Trappola, without a doubt. “Wanna see if they have a chance of noticing if we don’t tell them outright.”

You think about it for a moment, “Bet you’re gonna be the first one to expose yourself.”

“Says you.” He takes the opportunity to lean into you, lanky arms taking up space at your sides. “I’ll even bet Deuce on it.”

Not very far off in the distance, Deuce sneezes into his arm (properly! just like his mom had told him). “Ah, am I getting sick...?”

14:30 [ ace ]: “miss me?”

"What? Need me to say I do?” There’s an airy sort of tease to your tone, feather-light as it drifts down the empty halls. ”Down bad much?"

It’s entirely by accident that Jack—of all people—manages to overhear you as he scrambles to adjust his hold on a stack of boxes dangling precariously off of his arms. Did he just hear that correctly? The Ramshackle Prefect having a private conversation with... family (well, that doesn't make any sense considering your circumstances)? A long-distance friend...? Possibly?

“That’s not a no.” A lover?

“Loser, why wouldn’t I miss you?" His ears flatten with embarrassment, mentally cursing himself for having such good hearing as he presses his shoulder flat into the wall—a feeble attempt to stabilize the boxes. It worked, only temporarily, to slightly balance the cardboard already determined to give him several concussions.

After all, it’s not as if he could help the size of his ears or what they just happen to catch. It wasn’t like he meant to eavesdrop, especially on what seemed like such a private conversation. If he wasn't pressed for time or currently violating OSHA regulations, he would’ve absolutely upped and turned around to leave you to your privacy. You know... to be a good friend. But life (whoever said it was lemons didn’t consider it could be entire box fulls) was working against him. Dorm meetings, teacher favors, and the weight of the world practically rested in the room beyond—with you being the unintentional final boss blocking his way.

Whoever is on the other end seems to mirror his embarrassment, although for entirely different reasons. "Wow. It's almost like you like like me." The voice cracks, tinged pink as it trails off into a pathetic warble of a comeback.

"I mean... yeah? Isn't that obvious?"

The poor person on the other end starts to choke, "That's fucking cheesy." To each their own, but that sentiment was sweeter than it was cringe... at least, it was in Jack’s opinion.

Suddenly, something tips from a box and lands squarely on his head—right between his ears. The jarring sensation sends a jolt through him, lightning quick, and makes all his brain cells freeze to one singular thought: Wait. Like? Like... like? Can’t be. You literally said otherwise yesterday at lunch.

It was unclear how it exactly got from point “quit that, give my food back” to point “you ever think you’ll find someone here?” He really didn’t have any intentions, it was an absent-minded question. Really. But to say he wasn’t actually curious of your thoughts would be a complete lie.

“Relationships? At our NRC? Less likely than you think.” A fork hung from your mouth, suspended in your sarcasm. He distinctly remembers you squinting at him, huffing as your arms come out to gesture to the rest of the students surrounding you.

The fireplaces have exploded. A torrent of magic, roof high and smoldering, blazes unmercifully across students unfortunate enough to be close. There’s screaming. An entire portion of a half-eaten (and now charred) pastry lands directly on your lap. Someone breaks a window.

...All because a stray fire fairy in the kitchen got slop thrown on it. 

Your brow goes even higher as if to further contest his comment.

Fair enough. Jack had thought, handing you a napkin and ending the conversation at exactly that.

Did you suddenly change your stance? Was romance blossoming right under his nose?

And... doesn't that voice sound kind of familiar?

“Like you don’t like it.” He hears you laugh sweetly, “You gonna break my poor heart and pretend otherwise?” He can hear something akin to muffled cursing on the other end of the phone, rising in pitch, denial, and excuses. ”Eh? Did he hang up...?” 

There’s absolutely no way for him to prepare for the sequence of knob to hand to sheer, unadulterated pain as the door slams wide open and straight into your eavesdropper. "Jack?!"

Despite all his mental prayers to the Seven and a desperate grip, the boxes are knocked straight onto him and the floor, scattering an assortment of odd trinkets all over the ground. "Tsk—!" A broken bottle filled with some type of odd oil quickly spreads across the floors, making you both slip around and tumble until your knees pathetically hit the floor "Ow!"

“Jack... what the hell is this?”

Given up, no longer thriving, and lying face-down in the middle of the hall, Jack huffs out, “potion materials for Crewel.” His words come out loopy and muffled with a bit of a haze to them as his arm reaches forward and attempts to grab an orb spinning its way down the hall. He misses by just a hair and grunts in frustration as he begins to push himself up.  “Were you...” He starts before abruptly stopping himself, that’s none of my business.

You snatch up a stray pen rolling away on the floor and toss it into a box. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing.” He dismisses you with a shake of his head, clearing away some of the earlier haze. ”I just need to get into that room.”

“...Oh!” You have to avoid grimacing or slipping as the oil seeps into your clothes, but gingerly the two of you slowly manage to become upright once again. “Here, let me help then.” He beams at you in appreciation as the both of you make quick work of the scattered materials. Recovering what you can of several broken bottles, everything gets put back into place and Jack is sent back on his merry way to his dorm—only a minute pressed for time.

When he arrives, out of breath and with shirt sleeves stained olive oil yellow, Jack groans, unable to hold back his immense disappointment. Was the whole catastrophe earlier for nothing? Were they really having a dorm meeting about someone making “snowmen” out of people’s shedding?

Pause. Wait. That is really weird.

Several Savanaclaw students squabble, pointing fingers at each other while Leona lazily watches on uninterested. Jack begins to astrally ascend out of sheer disbelief, scuffing his foot into the floor as someone attempts to sneak away—only to have multiple shoes thrown at their head. Loud conversation floats vaguely in and out of his head, but something much more pressing catches his attention. The Prefect dating someone... couldn’t be, I’m overthinking it.

📞 [ call ended ]

Somewhere, on the other end of a phone, a certain someone throws an arm over his face now burned crimson—his thumb still hovering right where the screen blinks your name. "Fuck, didn’t mean to hang up but...” He slumps down further over his desk, wanting to melt in shame. “At least it's over phone, but argh—! This is lame." He drags his hand down his face, internally debating if he should jump out the window or just call you back.

“Ace. Your phone. Now.” Trein’s voice echoed from the front of the detention classroom.

Shit.

Epel makes a face like he's swallowed an entire handful of sour cherries. "What's got you looking at your phone so much?"

Your fingers stop over the keyboard, "Uh." With a very deep gravity, as if the answer was something he couldn't afford to hear, you reply in the gravest tone possible, "Your mom."

You practically have to throw your body out of the way to avoid the round-house kick Epel aims at your head.

You're out shopping together, juggling the assortments that you've gotten from Sage Island’s most popular tourist spots. With your hands full and mouth muffled by a snack, you order, "Camf fu sorch up wheof the fefenal," yeah, he has no clue what you're saying, "onmf phon?"

Phone. Got it. He digs your phone from your pocket and, with much difficulty, swipes it open after nearly butchering your passcode to lock point. "For Seven's sake, put yer snack down already and properly speak!" He grumbles, grabbing your thumb and pressing it to your phone to open the damn thing up and search the location for... fefenal?

Though, as he types it up, your past searches float and bubble up.

> why does my cat keep drooling on me

> if i boil an egg in gatorade does it taste like gatorade

> date spots

Cause yer cat loves ya dumbass... why in the Sevens would you even think about that... wait. Wait. Date spots? He looks at you, then at himself in a shop mirror, then back at you. No... you wouldn't force someone to spend hours debating fruit freshness for a date... right? Though, to be very fair, he was good at telling which fruit was ripe and the tastiest. But you'd do better than that for a date, right?

"What were you looking for again?"

Finally, you answer him with a clear mouth. "General store." He gives you a weird look when you return a "what?"

"...Wouldja go on a date for fruit?"

"...Huh?"

"Nevermind." 

"I mean—" Suddenly, a notification flashes across your screen. "tomorrow at noon, right?"

"Huh?" You repeat.

Epel simply shakes his head, "Clown emoji... second place emoji? Just texted you that and n’ a bunch of flame emojis." You look at him confused. "...One of the hearts is on fire?"

"Oh... Oh! Can you send back an image from my gallery?" He obliges and looks through the first five images.

"What the fuck is this."

"Don't worry."

"Whose mouth is this? Why do you have 15 photos of the inside of someone's mouth?!"

"Floyd."

"Ah."  Makes sense. He sends the grossest one. A ping later and he instantly sees... a chin photo of Vil? Epel snorts, barreling down as he chuckles louder. "Pfta! Haha! Like this? Serves 'em right to look ugly for a change!"

"Hold up, lemme see." You lean over and start to snort too, "What do you mean? He looks really good right there."

"Don't kid! He’d kill ya if he saw this!"

"Never!" As the two of you absolutely rag on Vil (lovingly... probably) and proceed with your day, the thought that had begun worming its way into Epel's mind lingers even as the both of you miserably pile crates of apples into a carriage: could’ve sworn the number under that stupid nickname seemed familiar... and what’s with that search history?

It’s horrible that such a nice sort of day was spent preparing for the next interim level of Hell that Trein deemed fit to sentence everyone to during a lovely week that truly didn’t deserve such misery. After all, there was really only one way to make any possible preparations for the upcoming onslaught...

Studying. Oh, the… horror.

It was the three of you in preparation for Magical Analysis. Sure, Sebek and Ace seemed to have a knack for it, but it was a different matter altogether to apply it in practical form with a group.

Squabbling amongst yourselves, Ace, out of air from arguing, falls back onto you with a grumble. “Sheesh, it’d be so much easier if you just did it this way y’know.”

“And stoop to rewriting the work of an upperclassman’s past project? Of course, humans wouldn’t have any understanding of what dignity might mean.” His prattling continues as he sweeps his pencil over a scrap piece of paper in frustration. “Nevertheless, integrity.” Wow, he was really taking it out on that miserable little pencil—the eraser gone to the metal line.

Ace rolls his eyes and looks at you. Knowing him better than anyone, you can tell he wants to ditch or at least shovel more work unto Sebek in unwarranted revenge. Without even bothering to hide it, he mouths to you, “C’mon, if he wants to be so righteous, he can do this damn project himself.” You kick him under the table, but he easily defends himself with the flat of his shoe. “Loser.” He taunts, low enough for you to barely catch it.

Oh? So, it’s like that today.

By the time Sebek actually notices is when you finally go silent. He turns his head up in confusion to see your face fluster and Ace looking at you with smug victory that Sebek mistakes for rivalry. "Hmph! Children! Are you so dependent on one another that you can't separate?" Sebek grunts, peering under the table to where Ace's hand rests squarely on your calf, dipping under the fabric to firmly stop your attacks against his stomach as your legs—practically in his lap—kick at him to let you go.

Your voices reach him in almost perfect sync,

"Something like that."

"I’m twice the man he could ever be...!"

Sebek only scoffs and tears another sheet of blank paper out. “That simply proves my point. Two idiots make a pair.”

Ace snorts, pressing deeper into your leg to tip you slightly onto the ground. On instinct, you reach out, grabbing onto his neck in what would seem like a romantic interaction if it didn’t jerk his head and cause him to nose dive down straight onto the table. “Fuck!”

“Sorry! Shit, you okay?” You fuss over him, patting his face and forehead despite his wincing.

“If you really felt bad, you wouldn’t be smirking.”

“Oops, was I?”

He sulks and leans closer to you, reveling in the pampered treatment for a minute more... until he pulls out your chair and unceremoniously nearly drops you to the floor before childishly catching you last minute. “Ace!”

Sebek, exasperated, watches this all with a sigh, he wasn’t ever going to get anything done with you two, huh?

....But to his surprise, you guys do make timely work somehow and manage to finish everything with time to spare. Sebek doesn’t even give a second thought to your shenanigans nor how close the two of you were, opting to think: Seven, they’re idiots, completely unaware of Ace sneaking a kiss to your forehead in cheeky revenge.

Deuce pauses, sniffing the air. "What smells like cherries?" Unconsciously, he brings his shirt up to his nose, double-checking himself as he sniffs the collar of his shirt. “Do you smell it too?”

"We're in the middle of the Gym, there’s a lot more smells than that,” you reply absent-mindedly. A ball idly rolls by your foot, remnants of the game only a couple minutes prior before the two of you were forcefully assigned cleanup duty. ”Maybe you smell something from the cafeteria?"

"It's not that." His hands squeeze around a basketball, confidence assured in his words as he spins it around in his hands. "The cafeteria doesn't serve cherries on Wednesday. That’s a Friday thing."

"Huh, really? Is that why Ace always drags us to eat there then?"

"Yeah, you never noticed?" He turns back, genuinely curious as he watches your reaction. "That's why he always gets so excited."

"I mean, we always eat cherry stuff every other Unbirthday though? Which is like, literally, almost every other day of the week. Don't know why he'd get so amped at the cafe."

"Maybe it tastes better...?"

"Better than Trey's?"

"Hmm..."

As the two of you ponder, Deuce's eyes settle on your jacket. “Huh? Where’d you get a Heartslabyul varsity from?”

“Stole it,” you say simply, much to the baffled—near horrified—expression that dawns on Deuce’s face. “C’mon, you think I stole it from Riddle or something?” He looks so stressed that you’d even suggest something so terrifying that he almost stops breathing. “Deuce! No! Think.”

“...Diamond-senpai...? He’s nice enough?”

“I mean, I do have some clips he’s given me. But no.”

“Clover-senpai? Maybe?”

“Wouldn’t it be bigger?” He squeezes his eyes shut, using all of the power in his singular brain cell to come up with answers—but to no avail, even as you walk away to grab a broom. It takes him until another class change that, when you finally leave the locker room and you’re bending down to retie your shoes, Deuce rushes to you to boldly and confidently announce, “ACE!”

“Took you long enough,” you sigh, rolling up your sleeves as the sun beats down hard. “Speaking of, lemme text him that we’re done.” You pull out your phone to go into your recents, a long log of clown emojis filling it. Eh...? It seemed like you called a... clown a lot? Did you get something with the circus? Before he can ask, a clown emoji pops up on the screen. “Speak of the devil.”

“Wait. Am I a clown on your phone?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey!” He looks to you, pleading for confirmation. “I am? Really?”

“I would never...! Probably.” You maneuver the phone to your ear where inaudible sounds from the phone continue, vaguely the cadence of ranting. “Oh, hold up, he’s asking me to meet him. I’ll see you later, Deuce.”

"The clown...?" He watches you go in confusion, mind spinning as he thinks about clowns and, weirdly enough, a recent complaint Ace had about missing clothes. He remembers a wry, affectionate smile on his face as he shut his closet doors and sighed. It wasn’t like him to lose things and he seemed to know who took them. So... really, that guy relented enough to let you borrow something from him? He grimaced at the memory of Ace letting him walk around with his bright pink leopard print jacket, jabbing him without mercy.

Well, whatever. You guys were all best friends after all. It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Maybe you’d ask to borrow Deuce’s leopard print soon.

It is of the utmost importance that the highest council come together... for a sleepover to watch the latest horror movie that had appeared in home theaters. But, more than that, there was an immediate emergency of the highest level that needed to be addressed: drama. The tea needed to be prepped, served and spilled.

Or so Epel spits out (albeit in a much rougher manner), lifting his shoulders high in the air like he was ready to start his villain marketing monologue. "Is it just me or has the Prefect been weird lately? Not weird weird or nothin’, just that... ugh!" He shifts his eyes around, getting quieter with each frustrated syllable. Despite the fact that you were gone for a quick snack run, it still felt wrong to gossip in your house... place… dilapidated building. But he desperately needed to know he wasn’t going crazy.

"Really? They seem the same as ever to me.” Deuce chimes in, balancing a bowl of popcorn on his leg as he mindlessly picks off burnt pieces lining the top.

"They were searching some weird stuff—" Unconvinced, Epel spins toward Jack, gesturing to him and waiting like he knew the answer. "Ya think they're... fancying someone?"

“It’s their private business.” Jack settles firmly, replying with what he deemed as a solid, mature, and impartial response. “I’m sure that the Prefect isn’t interested anyway. Night Raven College is far too chaotic for romance.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why’d the Prefect search up somethin' like date spots? Huh? What’d ya got to say about that?”

“If you’re on Sage Island, date spots are practically the equivalent to tourist spots. Maybe they’re looking for nice places. Don’t overthink it, Epel.”

Epel, more worked up than ever, smashes his hand into a bowl of gummies, stuffs them all in his mouth, and viciously proclaims in one go: “Then why’re they texting so much! Huh? Huh?!”

“...That’s just texting?”

“I think they made a clown friend,” Deuce unhelpfully adds. “I saw them calling a clown emoji a lot.”

“It was a clown emoji...” A lightbulb goes off in Epel’s head as he slams the table in front of him, shaking off bits of popcorn onto the floor that causes Sebek to promptly scowl. “Don’t do that to the popcorn!”

“Oh, shut yer trap. Big talk from someone who’s not helpin’ anyway.” Epel huffs, but leans down and scoops the pieces off of the floor, popping them into his mouth without a second thought. The jab works well enough though as Sebek straightens up, a twitch on his forehead.

“On the contrary,” he begins, voice loud and booming at a decibel that makes everyone wince, “they’re too focused on playing to be dating. When I worked with them and Ace, they were lolly-gagging around without a care! If they’re going to bother dating someone, it’d be Ace and we’d all know already.”

Everyone but Jack nods in agreement. Imagining the Prefect and Ace, of all people, dating? Nah. They’d seen you fill his shoes with spaghetti sauce once because he used up all your salt and left the container. It just... didn’t seem like you had that kind of relationship. "True, I really only see 'em with Ace all the time, maybe he’d know something?"

On the other side of the couch, Jack frowns, opens his mouth, and then promptly decides to close it as he quietly surveys the scene with a pensive, furrowed brow.

There’s a clue now, a distinct, visible connection: Clowns. Of course, it had to either be a potential relationship or your career plans. “But about that clown emoji... I think I remember the number.” It’s gotta be the former, Epel decides. If it was the latter, wouldn’t you have tried honking your nose or something? "I’m gonna call it." 

Jack puts his face into his hands, having a moral crisis as he mumbles, “...wouldn’t they think that you’re a spam number?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Epel pops another kernel into his mouth as he chews it in thought. “Think it had a triple seven in it somewhere...” He slowly mashes a key string of numbers together, erases, retypes, cusses.

Peering over Epel’s shoulder, unable to hide his curiosity, Deuce points out, "Isn’t the first bit the Kingdom of Hearts area code? Are you sure you remember the right code?"

“How would the Prefect know someone from the Kingdom of Roses outside of NRC?” Sebek muses aloud, unable to help himself either.

"Shouldn't we respect the Prefect's privacy?" Jack attempts once more, seeming as if he was shrinking with every busy tone Epel got stopped at. Yet, he continues to be ignored as Epel only calls the number again... and again... and again. "Hey... it's not our business."

"I got it damn it!" Stronger than any military man, Epel, the lone soldier, continues to push forward in his self-made journey. "Just give me a bit!" He keeps typing away, accidentally calling up a pizza place that makes everyone collectively groan. "C’mon, I’ve just about got it."

"Even if the Prefect were hypothetically in a relationship. Okay. Courting takes much time and requires a substantial amount of effort and persistence. I have not seen hair nor signs of lovestruck gooey eyes. Trust me, my parents are disgustingly in love. I would know." The scowl on Sebek’s face deepens, "we would've caught the Prefect by now!"

Deuce startles up, wide-eyed and mouth gaping as he blankly stares at everyone in pure shock, “WAIT... what? The Prefect is dating someone?"

"It took you this long?"

"WHO?!" Sevens help him, Jack was going to come home with premature wrinkles at the age of 16.

After about ten minutes of furious tapping, Epel’s thumb slips over the worn keypad and lands on one. His eyes, hazed over in delirium, border madness as he maniacally shakes his phone in victory. "Got it! This is it! Didja see that one?!"

"You sure? Pretty sure your thumb just..."

"I swear if you try sayin’ somethin’ silly, I’m gonna take my—"

"Then... why's Ace coming up on the screen?"

"Huh?" He erases, squeezes his eyes really hard, and types in the number that he sees in his head again.

 It's Ace.

“Nah, that doesn't make sense.” Epel sounds nearly hysterical at this point. He calls again and goes straight to a cheery-toned voicemail that mocks everything Epel had ever known. 

Unaware of the literal red swirling in Epel’s eyes, Deuce, having calmed down, happily nods with complete confidence, "Oh, it's probably auto-corrected to his number.”

“Phones do that?”

“...Maybe?”

Epel furiously spams the number anyway, not caring even if it was Ace. His frustrations were immeasurable, reaching an all-time new high. The levels were exceedingly dangerous, beyond over blotting with only one possible outlet it could vent to: Ace’s phone (and his dumb voicemail). In an effort to somehow abate Epel’s rage, Deuce gently puts his phone down and makes his own attempts at calling the number. "Maybe your phone is wrong, let me try from mine." Sebek, who looks very lost, does so too.

Through very pointed, timed coughs, Jack taps the table to get everyone's attention. “...ack. The Prefect should—uheum—return any minute now.” However, being the group of idiots that they are, it only brings about a different change, somehow switching to the topic of who it could possibly be. 

"Grim?" The little guy wasn’t around, somehow off meandering for the day or sleeping the evening away somewhere else in the dorm. "Maybe the Prefect's upped their pet pampering. Something like he’s being a grouch and they're having to give him more attention than usual."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Prefect succumbed to giving Grim a phone.” Would paw pads work on a phone screen though?

The answers quickly devolve, becoming more ludicrous as Epel casually brushes away Grim's possibility. "Think about it seriously won’t ya? If the Prefect is in love... No, Jack’s right—that wouldn’t make a lick of sense with...” He waves his hand vaguely around at the comfortable but still dilapidated state of Ramshackle. “What if the Prefect’s possessed? Having to step through life fulfilling the sad, unrequited love of a ghost..." It wasn’t as if the events of the whole ghost bride shenanigans were all that far away anymore—quite literally living in the walls of NRC. It was just yesterday that Idia, out of all people, was, for once, the most eligible bachelor of all the lands.

“Wasn’t that whole deal done and over with already?”

“Hm. Probably.” Epel concedes, still vaguely worried.

Sebek leaned forward on his knees, a perfect replica of The Thinker as he genuinely considered the possibilities. "I think... If we haven’t caught them, then it has to be someone who doesn’t go to the NRC. Perhaps it’s someone from RSA?”

“Like Neige?”

“Or, do you think it could—”

"Or maybe... you guys need to learn to quit it!" Ace, missing from the scene, all but tackles Epel as he shoves his phone directly into his face.

"It's important!" Despite his face mushed into a phone screen, Epel doesn’t hesitate to immediately throw fists as he scrabbles to knee the intruder. "We think the Prefect is datin’ someone and keeping it a secret!"

A look of complete incredulity passes over Ace's face. He momentarily stops squishing his phone into Epel’s forehead, twists his eyebrows, and then smoothly says with a shit-eating grin, "Yeah, you notice it too?

"SEE, I wasn’t goin’ crazy!" All is forgiven. Friendship? Restored. Epel, more than happy to present the evidence, drops his fists to recount the facts index to pinky. “They’ve been on the phone non-stop with someone.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s super suspicious. I bet they’re giggling and kicking their feet too.” Ace, grabbing a handful of Deuce’s popcorn with his other hand, pops it into his mouth and blinks doeishly while twirling his hair. “What else? Catch them making lovestruck eyes? Swooning? Are they writing love letters?”

“No. That’s the weird part.” Epel gets to his pinky, souring as he recollects your latest actions. “Searching up date spots...”

“Hm, really?” Ace, no remorse, continues to be a complete asshole, liar, and gaslighter. "Look, I think the cards are all on the table. The Prefect is head over heels no doubt. Sound agreement. Completely agree." He grounds his feet and pushes forward, back to his phone-spam vengeance mission, but Epel doesn’t budge. His resolve is only strengthened by sheer willpower and probably far too much adrenaline as he attempts to sock Ace directly in the throat.

Much to his chagrin, Ace dances out of the way snickering “sucker!” But the bated breaths of stars and divine karma decide, hey this guy’s a little too full of himself, and shake loose the grip on his phone.

“Oh shit.” It happens in slow motion, the cherry-colored phone spinning round and round until it slots perfectly in the middle of the table for all to see two perfectly immaculate coincidences appear. Ace’s phone opens—a beacon of undeniable guilt—to a sweet, innocent lock screen of him pressing a kiss to your cheek... in his varsity. Then, if that wasn’t enough, your conveniently timed texts appear, rendering Ace to repeat solemnly to himself, “Oh shit.”

18:16 [ y/n ]: hey can you open the door my hands are full

18:22 [ y/n ]: like. right now

18:22 [ y/n ]: you LEAVE prefect? you leave me in the cold? oh! oh! jail for boyfriend! jail for the worst boyfriend for One Thousand Years!

18:22 [ y/n ]: wait i didn’t mean it

18:28 [ y/n ]: babygirl please

Deuce can scarcely believe his eyes, barely registering the texts or the lock screen as he utters out a single, profound word torn out from the deepest depths of his soul. "WHAT."

Sebek, not registering the picture, reacts point-blank. "Did the Prefect call you babygirl?"

The most ardently passionate Epel stares and processes the new evidence quietly, “wait...” It clicks. “IT WAS YOU.”

"It was obvious guys..." From the very start, Sebek had even accidentally guessed it.

"YOU'RE DATING THE PREFECT?!" Et Tu, Ace? Just like this? Deuce had never felt such betrayal, never like this before. Such... deception!

"WHAT," Sebek’s voice steadily gets louder to match everyone else, baffled by the turn of events. “WHAT DOES BABYGIRL MEAN?”

Not knowing what to do with his hands or rage, Epel begins to put Ace into a headlock.

Jack leaves the room in second-hand embarrassment.

Ace, tongue in cheek and barely able to hold in his laughter, allows himself to be manhandled—but not without chaos. "Um? You didn't know? Wasn't it obvious?" He gives Sebek a smug smile in particular, "Didn't you catch my hands literally under their clothes?"

Sebek gawks, turning bright red as he flails, "ISN'T THAT NORMAL FOR YOU GUYS?"

The pieces all come together. It was the footsies in your study session, the recognizable jacket during gym, an eavesdropped conversation, a much-too-revealing search history.

It’s you finally coming in with the snacks—carefree as ever—opening the door with an "I'm back!" to only be blasted by a chorus of "YOU'RE DATING ACE?" 

You blink. The snacks drop. You’re out the door.

Jack reappears to pick up the snacks while Deuce knocks over the table and falls to the floor as Epel flies over his head to give chase—barraging you with questions of “Since when?!” and ”Why are you running?!”

"It's only been a week!" This little man is chasing you so fast oh my God how is he so fast. “Stop chasing me!”

Deuce finally breaks out of his stupor to go, "Now, wait just a minute...!" and slams his head up into Sebek’s stomach where he chokes on the popcorn. The two first-years groan, rolling around on the ground and couch as Ace makes eye contact with Jack, shrugs, and runs to catch up to the distant screaming (you) and threats that most certainly break the Geneva Convention (Epel).

Well, more like a light, easy jog as he arrives to Epel finding a spare branch and full-on frisbeeing it at your head, fully intent on taking you down without care of any possible casualties. It was war. If this was how you went, death via a guy whose parents really thought it was a good idea to name their son Apple™, then you mentally decided all of your meager earnings as a janitor and de facto therapist at this cursed college would go to Jamil. Sevens knows he deserves it.

“Epel!” So worked up on adrenaline, Epel’s head instantly whips around to face Ace... only to realize his mistake a second later as you kick his knees in and run, Ace close behind as he passes by and tussles his hair for good measure.

“This isn’t over yet!” Epel hollars, cussing you two out with every name under the sun. “Y'all ain’t seen nothing yet, I swear when I get to you—”

Ace’s lips curl with mocking delight as he throws his head back and laughs from the rush of your moonlit escapade. “Yada yada, he’ll calm down eventually... probably.” He was this excited to dupe his friends? "Pfft... haha! Sheesh, took 'em long enough!" Ridiculous. 

What a stupid, endearing idiot (your idiot). "Took you long enough. Where were you?" Ace’s hand is warm as it finds yours.

His timing is off by only a second before he replies, a little bit hopeful, “What? Miss me already?”

(Yes.)

You think, for a long moment, before reaching up and pressing a kiss underneath his jaw. “No.”

In response, Ace's hand squeezes your shoulder as he pulls you closer with a wide, genuine smile. “Liar.” Keeping you close as the two of you escape into the night, hand in hand.

♥♥

end a/n: hello! happy holidays!! i am also so late to the collab: i am so sorry—but i hope that this being longer makes up for it lmao. a lot has happened this year (not necessarily bad things!) but definitely. exhausting ones haha—so it made this piece really difficult to get out. BUT I DID IT. MA YA SEE THAT? I DID IT—so with all my heart, i sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece and maybe laughed a little. because ! that makes it all the more worth it! so, again, thank you for reading about this little foolish lil guy

#twisted wonderland #ace trappola #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #now to go lay down for a bazillion years #this is sincerely soooo much better to read on laptop #if you're reading on mobile i am. so sorry.

[chowdergal]

*distorted trumpet noises*

It's been a hot minute since I've drawn something DST related, so here's a triumphant!Wilson!

#dont starve together #dst #dont starve #dst wilson #wilson higgsbury #triumphant!wilson #fanart #my art

[euthanasia-rollercoast3r]

i don't see a lot of people talk about this but the sound design in fear and hunger (and termina) is PERFECT. the creaking noise when you're entering battle notifying you that your life is now in danger. the sound that plays when a save file is being created giving you a fleeting sense of safety. the menacing sound that plays when crow mauler appears and the distorted crow sounds when you enter a battle with him. the inhumane shrieking of the god of fear and hunger perfectly conveying its state. the loud, ear-piercing trumpeting of the chaugnar and the howling of the platoon which makes you wonder if this thing has any sort of humanity left. idk what to say about the hurting sound but it's really cool. am i even being comprehensible right now

#fear and hunger #fear and hunger termina #its so hard to express my emotions on this but i have a Lot

[thekavseklabs]

You know the prowler sound effect from into the spiderverse? How they took the trumpet of a pissed off elephant and distorted it in order to create an instinctual fear reaction in the audience due to 1: The terror of a massive rampaging animal that could easily, instantly kill you if you don't Run Now and 2: the uncanny valley of that animal sound distorted?

Kei can make some fucked up, terrifying noises. That noise specifically doesn't come up often, but it does at times, usually when the kei making that sound is terrified- that's a "Run Right Now" sound.

Because of all this I associate the Prowler's theme with the event Kei refer to as the 'Day of Revolution', the day Vynathr destroyed the palace and massive swathes of the capitol in a violent fight to reach and destroy the Queen. The distant, muffled booms and crashes and roars and warning sound after warning sound as this unstoppable force breaks through wall after wall, skull after skull with the sole intention to Kill You.

Bonus points, another two songs.

#vynathr; the execution of all things #lore; fathoms

[finelinegynandromorph]

hallelujah, how’d you do it: gospel and religious harmonic convergence in lil nas x’s dead right now

hi! i know i usually write about harry styles here but i’m going through my periodic montero spiral and wanted to share a few vocal symbology thoughts because i am a slut for harmonies. so! if that sounds interesting, i’ll be using the usual fast and loose approach to musical terminology, you have been forewarned. 

as some personal background, a lot of my earlier singing experience was in a gospel context. to clarify, this was distinct from the US gospel choir tradition because mine was in the African Traditional Church (ATC) structure, where tenants of christianity are combined with traditional elements of animism, folklore, and mythology. there’s definite overlap and influence of US gospel traditions and ATC’s on each other, but just want to fully clarify that my experience has only been in one of those contexts. i’ll be using my ATC experience to speak to some gospel themes i personally see in dead right now, but since the traditions are similar and intertwined but *not* identical, if you have more experience with US gospel traditions and have corrections or clarifications or things to add please do share your thoughts i’d love to hear them!

me and the church have more of a. distant. relationship now, further complicated by growing up in a religious context that was mixed christian/hindu/buddhist/muslim and also being gay and trans. but! with that being said, i hold so many very special memories from gospel traditions. memories like singing with my granny and older aunties in the community while the pastor gave a rhythmic spoken word sermon at midnight on new year’s eve—that’s the kind of formative musical and social experiences that i still hold very close to my chest. anyway all this to say i’m coming at this with a little bit of distance but also a lot of complicated nuanced warmth. 

x

so! here we go, more under the cut!

we begin with a slightly distorted/faded organ-like musical prompting, as if we’re slightly underwater (a production theme in this album, with rain noises, splashes, etc. interspersed throughout which gives me ~thoughts~ on symbols of water and the movement of water in diasporic traditions but yes more on that another time). the sound here reminds me of an organ intro that helps cue in the choir for a church hymn. this sonic convergence feels very intentional given the very consistent nods to gospel tradition through the rest of the song.

when we move into the body of music at large, we’ve got the striking trumpets and the introduction of a choir! there’s consonance in two main keys here, providing a soft, atmospheric harmonization that feels very instrumental. then we have an electronic beep cueing in montero rapping the first verse. 

the two forms of prompting we have here, first the organ for the choir and next the beep for montero, just absolutely remind me of cueing techniques for choral arrangements. these sonic choices seem significant to me in a song that deals so directly with themes of community and origin. the beep also sounds reminiscent of a dial tone/phone sound, which leads smoothly into the image montero creates in the first verse, of folks contacting him on the phone.

in the first verse we’ve got instrumental synth in the background at the same key as the choir from before, contributing to the atmospheric feeling. then, the chorus!

we move here to an inclusion of a more typical hip-hop backing beat together with the trumpets from before—this beat expands in the second verse, and we have montero dipping into his characteristic weaving together of musical conventions from different genres, whether that’s country, rock, pop, jazz, etc. (there’s also something to this here about how mainstream musical media genres, as siloed as they appear, mostly stem from oral storytelling traditions that weren’t nearly as divided but we’ll leave that here for now)

i’d like to draw your attention to a beautiful moment we get in the second verse, where montero begins to use rhythmic pauses in a way that gives me so! much joy.

daddy, i am that one, uh - uh / i ain’t never need em, huh

the uh-uh section here is a musical break—a breath, a jump, a nonverbal filling in to complete a literary metric unit, and a common feature in gospel traditions! i’ve heard this referred to as “the rhythms of pausing” before and it’s a mainstay of rap and preaching traditions alike. many churches will have people who act as “gospel readers”, injecting religious sermons with a vibrancy that has a very musical quality. it’s a form of enunciating a sermon and sonically prompting your audience to keep paying attention, because more is coming, “let us pray” together. 

here we have the beautiful rhythms of a gospel reading used to Deliver an incising commentary on fame, support, beliefs in an individual person, and the way a community can both care for and neglect one of its members. just. very much thoughts.

hallelujah / how’d you do it?

!! so we’ve got this line delivered by a gospel choir and now we’re explicitly invoking that musical and religious tradition with the use of the word “hallelujah”!! it’s another example of prompting within this vocal tradition and we’ve got a rhythmic break/bounce between the prompt “hallelujah” and the continued question “how’d you do it?” there is something so poignant about this particular questioning being delivered in this format. there’s this feeling of a whole community imploring montero to let them in on the secret of his success, speaking in the language of a deep-seated tradition. it’s a call that montero is trying to navigate how to respond to.

okay, so let’s breakdown this choir. we’ve got montero on the melody, in his usual semi-baritone, and then we’ve got the *main* parts of the choir (there’s layering here, but just sticking to the most apparent components) performing a fairly typical gospel arrangement:

- soprano harmony

- bass doubled harmony one octave lower than the soprano harmony

we’ve got many singers in each part to add body to the sound, and the vocalists are harnessing a very warm, rich timbre. 

we also have an improvisational tone!! in soprano and a much fainter bass!

so, an improvisational tone is someone harmonizing in a non-rigid way, usually involving lots of vocal runs. it can sound round, curvy, or sort of shaky (but never weak in tone). there’s a lot here but in essence vocal improvisation speaks to a wider history of gospel improvisation, the broader impact of jazz, and the “blues sensibility” of particular prominence during the harlem renaissance. in the traditions i was part of, these kinds of improvisations map onto a larger use of nonverbal rhythmic expressions, like ululations. they also connect to spoken word and oral storytelling traditions.

all this to say that this is a very very striking and clear component of gospel tradition that we’ve got at play here! *and* the main soprano tone is slightly distorted as a production feature, similar to the organ from the intro to the song. i find the repeated slight distortion of characteristic religious musical traditions a fascinating choice and i personally think it speaks to the themes montero seems to be exploring here, of trying to grapple with a fraught and changing relationship to the place and people you’re from (what does “from” mean? what is the relationship between belonging and entitlement?) 

in the third verse we’ve got even more inclusion of gospel elements along with montero’s rapping. there’s an element of call-and-response in a softer voice, with some slight distortion, there’s choral harmonies in the background, and there’s also a higher improvisational tone vocalizing over the track. 

finally, in the last chorus we have a more forceful example of call-and-reponse, a signature gospel/blues tradition, this time in the form of a dynamic between montero and his father, who is a vocalist on this track. montero is delivering the melody for the chorus in the same introspective baritone he’s used for the chorus all throughout, while his father responds with cries of “treat you like you’re dead!” / “oh now you can’t!” in a higher key. these are expressive, emotive vocalizations, you can feel the bodily jump as he shouts. the choice to have his father provide this response to montero’s call, complete with the heavy themes of contact and communication with one’s community that ring throughout this song, the elements of a phone call beeping, a siren (an electronic signal, to who? to communicate what? a warning? a haunting reminder of the violent communication happening about this community by external viewers?), distorting, improvising like a gospel singer in a whine at the end of the song, all seem incredibly important. 

this is a song that is explicitly aware that it is a communication of intimate non-contact, of an individual who is trying to navigate a charged narrative of origin. in an album that deals heavily with themes of family, community, and organized religion, i find the move to heavily incorporate elements of gospel tradition here incredibly powerful.

that’s about all i wanted to share. if you’d be keen to chat more about origin, homegoing, and vocal symbology in tales of dominica from the same album do lmk!

#sending it out into the ether as usual so it doesn't just bounce around in my brain #vocal symbology #lil nas x #montero tag bby #montero #dead right now #gospel traditions

[dustedmagazine]

SSWAN — Invisibility is an Unnatural Disaster (577)

SSWAN: Invisibility is an Unnatural Disaster by Jessica Ackerley, Patrick Shiroishi, Chris Williams, Luke Stewart, Jason Nazary

Invisibility is an Unnatural Disaster is the first documented evidence of five adventurous instrumentalists performing together as a quintet. They are not strangers — there have been many collaborations among their ranks in various configurations — but this is the inaugural recording featuring this quintic structure as a single unit. Operating as a five-headed beast, the group are consummate improvisors, in tune with each other, and impressing a sense of camaraderie within their music. Video evidence documents just how effortlessly Jessica Ackerley, Patrick Shiroishi, Chris Williams, Luke Stewart and Jason Nazary engage in creative groupthink as they deploy musical ordnance built from a multitude of contexts. Their alloy is as multifaceted as they are, comprising free jazz, experimental noise, and sources further afield.

The moniker SSWAN, an acronym of the performers’ surnames, suggests both the gracefulness of the cygnus and the equal representation of everyone involved. While the group certainly moves with poise, they also imbue their music with a meticulous ardor. This energy is on display immediately, as Nazary’s punctilious drumming introduces the title track. Ackerley joins him almost immediately, in full-on shred mode. Her distortion-charged guitar zips around the room until Shiroishi’s soprano sax enters the fray. A brief respite gives Stewart (upright bass) and Williams (trumpet) space to introduce themselves. Shiroishi and Williams engage in a bit of call-and-response, while Stewart weaves around them and Ackerley hammers out a few chords. Nazary hasn’t let up the whole time; he’s set a baseline energy level from which the others can launch.  

“Pattern Phases” exists at the more eclectic end of SSWAN’s palette, kicking off with very quiet breath exercises from Williams and Shiroishi. Stewart, Nazary and Ackerley punctuate the tiny gale with a hushed clatter. Eventually clicks, puckers, bubbles and assorted glossolalia reveal an alien syntax matched by a mechanical rattling and an oblique rhythm from Nazary and Stewart. Ackerley somehow creates the sound of a bicycle wheel with a foreign object in its spokes, as Williams’ trumpet swoops in and out of focus. It’s a jumble sale where all the objects have come alive, to the delight of the unsuspecting patrons. “A Miracle’s Worth” exists in an orbit between those of the two preceding pieces. It is both energetic and enigmatic. Ackerley lays down a morse code melody, while Nazary pounds out a ramshackle message in his own language. The other three enter like dust devils, stirring up clouds of drone. Williams deploys a mute, adding a growling menace to his melodies. A hush falls over the proceedings before Shiroishi appears, vocalising over Stewart’s bowed bass and a swirling mist of shaker beads. Ackerley introduces a pretty melody as Nazary pushes the proceedings toward the finish line, closing out this delightful session of finely wrought fire music.  

Bryon Hayes

#SSWAN #invisibility is an unnatural disaster #577 #bryon hayes #albumreview #dusted magazine #jessica ackerly #patrick shiroishi #luke stewart #jason nazary #improvised music #free jazz #jazz #chris williams

[audio-luddite]

Live Music.

I went to a Blues Band show Saturday Night. Real musicians on a stage playing real music. It was a 6 piece group called the Powder Blues. They have been around for a long time and they advertised this as their 44th anniversary tour. Great stories between songs.

The venue was a place called "Blue Frog Studio". It is / was a recording studio where they put about 200 folding chairs in front of a nice reasonable sized stage. They stream the shows on line with a subscription. This show at 9:00 pm June 11 is worth watching.

The energy of people doing and enjoying a solid good performance is a wonderful experience. That is why live music is so great. But.

Since this is about audio lets get to that.

Everyone had at least one mike, the two guitars and the electric organ and piano had their own amps and speakers but everything was also miked and pumped through a PA system. All the players had monitor speakers at their feet. Usual rig I guess.

The main sound was through the big PA speakers. Big black things I could not tell the brand, not that its important. They were not audiophile or even close to it. I was front row center and I could hear the lead singer and his amp directly. I could hear that there was reverb on all the lines cuz it sounds nice. I could also hear the sax and trumpet (blues bands have "horns" you know) directly as they are naturally loud too and maybe 10 feet to my right.

Being an old school bluesman the lead, Tom Lavin, had an old Guitar and a really nice condition old amp certainly tube. The grills were woven wicker for chrisake. He had the poor old thing sweating and clipping as that is the sound they like. It is always thus where the output of a 20 Watt amp going at 120% is miked and fed into the show. That is the tube sound of a show. Distorting like mad, nicely.

The room was treated since it is a studio and had a full control room in back. So the sound was really clear. Hey they were having a blast and so was the audience. That is what it is all about.

I was lucky as I had direct sound, but most of the waves in the room were from those big black boxes and unknown electronics through a mixing board and nothing natural. This is how most music is made and recorded and sent out into the world. It totally undermines the idea of excruciatingly expensive and exotic devices to bring "real sound" into your home. There really is very little real sound. If the power went out all you would get was the horns and drums. The keyboards would be silent and the guitars tiny plinking things.

Singers sing into microphones 90% of the time. Even a little folk group uses amplification it is so cheap and convenient. Only exception would be a jazz piano or classical group like a quartet or orchestra. Even Opera now is usually miked in smaller places.

The process of recording brings all that reality into an artificial world. If you get an illusion of space it is usually just an illusion. For the most part it is not extracted from a recording it is created or enhanced by the usually deliberate flaws in your system.

My reference for space is the Cowboy Junkies Trinity session recording. It was recorded in a real space with a very simple setup. The space on that recording is real. You will hear it with a cheap system too. A four figure system like mine will extract clarity and reduce noise. But the illusion is not better or worse.

If you have a less sophisticated system other recordings will be flat where in a fancy high end rig you get glorious depth and width. A moving coil cartridge will bloom and enhance the sound with a ringing reverb effect that sounds really nice. Reverb sounds nice. But it aint real. The performance at the Blue Frog has no real space in the recording or PA lines.

If you hear it in the show recording it is artificial just like they intended.

You can record a show so that it is exactly like what I heard where I sat. Not simple, and there are two respected ways to do it. One is Binaural recording with a dummy head rigged with mikes in the ear locations. Another is Ambisonics that encodes a 3D model of the sound in a thing called the B-Format. It can be processed to recreate the sound for headphones or stereo speakers or even surround systems.

Binaural needs headphones and can get spooky but is never right for speakers.

Once you decide to put sound into stereo for two speakers the choices are made for you. Natural is off the table. That is not a bad thing. Before the date we listened to a couple of their albums bought new 40 ish years ago. It was fun and good music. It did not sound like the show the next night, and it should not have. It was an illusion.

Live music is good. It is better than vinyl, but when flat disks are what you got that is good enough.

#powder blues band #tom lavin #good sound #blue frog studio #audiophile #audioblr #cheap audiophile

[carlogmusik]

Ray Poon and I started collaborating in February, this year. Together we started a Noise project that involved Ray's trumpet, his modular rack, my bass guitar, some contact mics, and many distortion/delay pedals. Partially re-Assembling Chaos is a collection of seven pieces carved out of the multitrack recordings we've made of our studio sessions.

I shall say it was quite a brilliant move to do multitrack recordings of our jams. Not only did I end up with a huge amount of material, but also I realized how capable I was of entirely producing a record with my own hands (and Ray's).

To create this album I started by importing into my digital mixing template, the different stems of a multitrack recording we did of a jam session we had on the 22nd of April.

After "staging" the different "gains", I proceeded to clean and give space to every single element that was present n the mix.

Then I started changing some parts, by editing clips of audio.

The whole recording of that session didn't last more than 15 minutes. I decided so to duplicate the structure of the whole mix.

Subsequently, by deleting some clips and stretching various, I've created a second part of the mix that sounded like a long dubby outro.

This approach of producing tracks from recordings of long jams was the same taken by Scratch Perry in his Black Ark Studio. In this way, he had to deal with arrangements later, instead of composing musical sheets and giving them to the live band. In my advice producing music with this method leads to various interesting outcomes, mostly because the musician feels much freer when improvising.

[ded-lime]

#redrawreigen #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #*distorted trumpet noise*

[jj-frunkington]

toxins and sludge... toxins and sludge... im a little boy who loves toxins and sludge... [distant sniffing noises] [hurgling] [HL2 "distorted trumpets" clip]

[oflgtfol]

the way touch by daft punk starts out eerie, distorted, inhuman, “i remember touch... i need something more...” and then the very real human voice of paul williams starts, sweet and somber, and then it’s just these soft whimsical electronic chimes, and then the strings, so longing and bittersweet, and then it turns into a fucking SWING BREAK with a piano and a trumpet, and then it calms down again and its slow and then daft punk starts singing in their robotic voices “hold on, if love is the answer you’re home” with nothing but a piano and some drums, and then a background choir joins in and daft punk’s vocals fade out until all you can hear is the human choir, and then the voices cut out entirely and it turns slightly eerie again with distorted electronic noises, but then it calms down again and its just this powerful synth melody and nothing else, and then the rest of the instrumentals kick back in full force, the strings and the steady drum beat, and then the fucking choir fades back in with the “hold on, if love is the answer you’re home” and the whole song crescendos so beautifully with all these separate parts coming together in the climax, and then it just goes silent. and all you can hear is paul williams “touch, sweet touch, you’ve given me too much to feel. sweet touch, you’ve almost convinced me i’m real” and the piano, and “i need something more, i need something.... more....” and it fades out so sadly and the piano ends on such a dissatisfied note and then the whole song just ends right there

#THE EPIC HIGHS AND LOWS OF TOUCH BY DAFT PUNK #brot posts #music #THE SHEER JOY OF THE SWING SECTION #THE REVELATION. THE HOMECOMING OF THE CHOIR PART #THE SHEER. GRIEF AT THE END #WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! #its been seven years and im still not over this fucking SONG #touch by daft punk

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 5–BLACKBOX; Scene 4

master of the heavenly yard pages 107-115

The reinforcements for the Tasan Army were being swiftly mowed down by the monster that had suddenly arrived on the scene—

Arth and Yukina, who were both stationed at the main encampment, watched the ongoing sight from afar with gloomy expressions.

“Kyle—”

Arth gave a start at those words. “You’re saying the identity of that monster is the Marlon boy, Miss Yukina?”

“Yeah, probably…He was once taken over by the ‘Demon of Pride’. I think that he…used his memories of that time to change into that form at will.”

“…A demon, huh…Certainly, it’s hard not to believe, with power like that. I suppose that makes him a fairly dependable ally for us—”

“…”

“Are you worried about him?”

“…Yes. I can’t help but wonder if his heart has also grown evil again—”

Arth patted Yukina on the head as she cast her eyes down with anxiety.

“—I don’t know Kyle very well. However…Even in one whose form has been created by a wicked being, as long as their heart is strong—there is no need to fear them falling to ‘evil’.”

“You…think so?”

“Let me—tell you a fairytale. The prince of a certain country, he lost his life in a carriage accident. The prince’s soul wandered the forest, and there…he met with a spirit that took the form of a Black Rollam bird.”

“—The spirits of the forest appear before people with their own respective animal shape…That’s legend told by the Held sect of the Levin church.”

“This was a dark spirit who loved pranks, and he said this to the prince: ‘I shall revive you’. And this was indeed carried out…however, his body had become that of a mud doll, built to look identical to a human being. The prince returned to his country, but he continued to hide that his body was made of mud.”

“A mud person…And did no one else find out?” Yukina asked with great interest.

She had always been the kind to love stories like this.

“The mud body that the spirit made was very elaborate. As long as the prince didn’t let anyone touch his skin, then no one would be able to find out the truth. –He grew up, and became the king. And then he married the woman he loved…But as one might expect, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was made of mud from his own wife. And so—”

“Arth.”

Arth had been about to continue talking, but Anne interrupted him.

“Reminisce later. Right now we need to concentrate on the battle in front of us.”

“Y-yeah…Of course.”

Swayed by his wife, Arth stopped his story and made an apologetic gesture to Yukina.

…But Yukina had seized upon the word that Anne had carelessly let slip.

Anne called it ‘reminiscing’ just now…Could it be that the king’s story is—

At that moment, a trumpet call resounded from the enemy encampment.  

“Look! The enemy’s retreating!” Arth cried out happily. “They must be scared off by the force of our army and that monster—Kyle.”

“It looks that way…However.” Anne looked up at the northern sky. “That black box is still floating there—No, rather, it looks to be slowly moving this way.”

“That must be the enemy’s last resort after all. But there’s no way to interact with it floating so high in the air like that—”

“Fiiiire!”

Behind them they heard a woman cry out the order, and then immediately afterwards the sound of explosions ringing out.

Arth and the others turned around to see the artillery lined up along the palace roof.

“Leading that heavy artillery unit is…Commander Muchet’s daughter, I see. Though unfortunately I don’t think even those can reach the box.”

The box steadily advanced on the Lucifenian encampment without sustaining a single scratch.

.

Having turned the tables on the Tasan army reinforcements, Kyle looked up at the black box above his head.

“And now…there’s this left.”

He flapped his wings and approached the box.

“This…!? Is it not an illusion?”

The faint “tremor” that could be seen on the guns and swords the enemy allies held, as well as the self-propelled artillery and palace, was not present on the box. An object that had a definite mass was moving through the air.

Kyle thought to himself that was rather more convenient. It was impossible to completely destroy illusions and ghosts, but there was no such limitation on something that actually existed.

He had confirmed earlier that even a sword created with imagination could cut through real dirt.

--So then, it was possible for him to destroy this box with his claws.

“ROOOOAR!”

Giving out a war cry, he struck at the box with all his strength.

…Did I do it!?

He was sure he’d felt it connect.

…But his monster claws had only left a faint scratch on the box’s surface.

“Tch…Then I’ll just have to hit it until it breaks.”

Kyle lifted up his hand once more.

.

--Lu li la, lu li la.

.

He realized that a peculiar noise was reverberating from inside the box.

And then the lid of the box—its top panel slowly began to open.

What the!? The air is distorting—"

By the time he noticed the change, he was entirely too late.

Without any time to resist, Kyle—

Was swallowed up into the box in the blink of an eye.

.

<One “Deadly Sin Contractor”

has been detained

Formatting will begin in 3600 seconds>

.

--The menace of the “Blackbox” didn’t end there.

Once it had been opened, the box did not close again…and the people of the improvised Lucifenian army nearby started to get sucked inside, one by one.

“Aaaagh! What? What is this!?”

“I’m being…pulled in by the box…”

“H-help meee!”

They screamed as they went.

There were no souls—who could go against its power.

Allen and the others each stuck their respective weapons in the ground and clung to them for dear life.

--But they wouldn’t be able to hold on for long.

“Ghh…The soldiers are steadily going into that box—”

The power of the souls—was being swallowed up from those of weak hearts.

The only ones remaining of all the souls nearby were Allen, Germaine, Leonhart, Mariam, and Chartette.

“Aagh!”

Chartette’s hands separated from the hilt of her sword.

“Charteeette!”

Germaine desperately tried to grab her arm, but she was too late.

Chartette flew through the air and was swallowed up by the “Blackbox”.

Shit! I’ve gotta—I’ve gotta do something--!

Allen struggled to make his mind work, but was unable to come up with a resolution.

.

“…This is incredible. Amazing! Ha ha ha!”

Tony and the Tasan soldiers had been retreating earlier, but once they caught sight of the “Blackbox”’s power as it began to work, they unthinkingly came to a halt.

“This really is a ‘God’s power! Now no one can stop us!”

Tony was practically intoxicated with the might of the “Blackbox”.

“Come, black vortex! Swallow up all of our enem—Hn?”

And there, for the first time, he realized…the situation that he and his subordinate soldiers had put themselves in.

The distortion of time and space caused by the box that Tony had called a “black vortex”—It was steadily growing, and in a flash it had reached where Tony and the others were.

The box’s tremendous suction exceeded the gravity of the Hellish Yard—Upon losing his ability to move freely and starting to float into the air against his will, Tony screamed, “Asshole! You tricked us, Gammon! Dammiiiiiiiit!”

--The “Blackbox” devised by “God” was impartial.

It would swallow up all of the souls, and format them equally.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[joyhigh]

For the writing prompt thing: Absolve for Buddy

Time for sads

For the first time in a long while, Buddy was keenly aware of the blood on her skin. It wasn’t like there hadn’t been previous instances this occurred, like after Buzzo’s sick mutilation and then later getting clawed across the face, but following those events it was as if she was getting numbed to the sensation. 

There wasn’t any point in devoting the energy to caring about it at the time. Whatever she wiped away from her face, hands, and weapons was sure to be replaced within the day as she cut down all the monsters and men, and monsters who looked like men.

But now there didn’t seem to be many of those left. The wasteland was silent and emptied of life, as Buddy was. Now without the Joy and the pulsing adrenaline she felt hollow and aching, the blood smearing her skin and poncho with a warm, sickening stickiness. What was from herself, from the mutant throne, from Buzzo, Buddy couldn’t even keep track. She was tired but didn’t dare sleep, instead electing to find some body of water to try and get clean. 

After some searching she found a shallow pond with cloudy brown water, trash strewn about as plentiful as the stones around the edges. It was sheltered from view of others by the cliffs surrounding it, a relatively safe location. Buddy looked at her reflection, and the face of a corpse stared back at her. The water smelled foul but did the job, and she tore off a piece of her poncho as a rag to help scrub the rusty stains off herself. As she worked suddenly there was the quiet scrape of something against dirt, a low groan.

What used to be Brad wormed its way over to her side. As always, following her. It too was in terrible shape, wounds old and new crisscrossing its saggy skin and rippling as it moved along. The mutant made another mournful noise, sunken eyes staring at her dully with its face contorted under a matted beard.

“Relax. I’m fine.” Buddy muttered, though she couldn’t tell if the mutant was concerned or that was just what it usually did. She avoided looking at it too closely while finishing up. Her hand brushed against the loose fitting bandages as she wiped her cheek and she pulled them off, seeing just how dingy they were. She didn’t even think about the scars being exposed, but then abruptly Brad moved, recoiling with an anguished grunt. 

“...Lisa…”

Buddy blinked in surprise. That name again. Buzzo had mentioned her too, and while she knew there was some connection between that person and the other two she felt too drained to even start trying to piece things together. She didn’t know how to respond, just shook her head and turned her gaze back to the water, but then her attention was recaptured by the soft sounds of rattling sobs. 

“Lisa…Lisaaa...” Every word sounded like it was labored, slurred like how Brad used to talk when he was drinking too much. “I’mmm…..s-sorry…” Tears were falling from his eyes and Buddy felt something inside her twist as she remembered what Buzzo said.

You remind me of her.

At first, she didn’t know what to make of it. The mutant’s sobs and mutterings continued and scraped against her nerves, she just wanted to cover her ears. But Brad’s eyes remained fixed on her, almost pleading. 

“I’m okay.” Buddy touched where she knew her scars to be, feeling the slight distortions in the flesh. “I’m alright, Brad. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Yet still, the apologies continued. Buddy’s brow furrowed and she quickly reapplied her bandages, but even that didn’t seem to help. Its tears made her think back to the massacre of the army, when Brad knelt in front of her pierced through with weapons and begged to be held.

Hesitantly, she reached out. Her hand smoothed across the mutant’s back, or what could be discerned to be a back in the mass of flesh.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Maybe it wasn’t, for her injured face at least. It was Brad who defended her back then, after all. 

I was so lost before I found you, Buddy.

“I...I forgive you Brad.” Her free hand rested on her trumpet just in case, he still was a mutant after all, but Buddy still kept up the comforting motion. The words that left her mouth were relics from a nearly forgotten time when she could look to others for reassurance. “You’re alright...I forgive you.” 

The process was gradual but finally the mutant eventually calmed through her words, eyes still moist however he no longer seemed agitated. It didn’t quite feel right, offering the forgiveness of someone you didn’t even know, but Buddy didn’t care. For once there was peace and quiet, and that was enough. 

#lisa rpg #lisa the joyful #buddy armstrong #brad armstrong #my writing #schnozzbun-art

[tumb1rprincess]

You know, I watched Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse for the first time a few weeks ago.  I did like it, although I don’t think it was the absolute god-send of animation movies that a lot of people made it out to be.  But the one thing I really loved about it, the one thing that I feel like made watching the movie worthwhile, was the Prowler’s theme song.

That fucking distorted siren/elephant trumpeting noise that accompanies the music, I don’t know who the hell came up with that sound, but fucking kudos to them.  That noise to the Prowler is what the Jaws theme is to the shark.  You heard that song, you knew he was nearby, even if you couldn’t see him, and your heart just started racing ‘cause you knew shit was going to go down.  That fucking sound made me so tense and on edge, it was insane.  And I fucking loved every second of it.    

#spiderman into the spiderverse #the prowler #aaron davis

[blindrapture]

Autechre, fourteenth album, 2020

SIGN: BEAUTY IN THE SUBDUED [They had this one finished before coronavirus hit but we didn’t get it until October, and they’ve said in interviews that this album wound up feeling-- retroactively-- like it’s almost too fitting a release for the circumstances. It is their first album of a regular length (just over an hour) in ten years, and with the possible exception of the first track it is entirely soft on the ears. My first listen to it, when it came out, didn’t go too well; I fell asleep. But after having caught up with what they’ve done in the last decade, getting to this album felt like catharsis, a calm period of introspection. This is really good music. There’s a lot going on in it, but it never overwhelms. It’s downright intimate.]

[LINK TO WHOLE ALBUM] track 1 (M4 Lema) starts with that all too familiar machine roaring itself awake, 0:50 a brassy tone, 1:35 collapses into something songlike, distorted horn-like synths, deep drums, sub-bass, 3:00 okay now there's a smooth beat, the machine grinds out something approximating a melody as dreamy synths give a sequence of chords over this chill beat. 5:08 high trumpet-like tones. 6:15 beat's gone, machine grinds another solo "verse." 7 min the machine seems to be responding to the dreamy synth. 8 min dream synth gives coda of last notes. track 2 (F7) immense reverb, melodic synth. formal structure, like Oversteps for a new decade. gorgeous root notes. 2:40 is that percussion made out of distorting the synth? such an emotional chill song. 5 min okay the sustains got metallic and real sexy. track 3 (si00) cool watery melodic sounds, smooth bass, 1:32 strange organ sustains fade in, 2:18 booming electric bass sustains. more somber tone though still chill and pretty. ends with faint tones. track 4 (esc desc) still Oversteps-y pretty synth, more dramatic chord progression. steady structure, sticks around the same progression, synth sound evolves very subtly. track 5 (au14) somewhat intense techno percussion, nice sub-bass, faint synth harmonies, reverb-mad machine noises highlighting the rhythm. feels like another formal structure, sounds.. really cool. track 6 (Metaz form8) gorgeous fucking pad sustains. even more fucking gorgeous reverbed elpiano with low-range melody. faint watery swishing noises. my god this one is good. mood is profound, intimate, serious. track 7 (sch.mefd 2) weird dance beat, wet synth provides low sustains + fluttering melodic tones, I have no clue how to describe the mood. notes seem reluctant to change, as a characteristic? track 8 (gr4) cheerful synth leads a duet with wet low synth pad, reminds me of chamber music, 2:00 cool bass notes! track 9 (th red a) oscillating jittering 'string' chords, 1:19 BIG DISTORTED BASS, 2 min bass has interesting rhythm, 2:41 sounds like highlights of piano, 3 min yeah the bass is still sick, song is freaking cool track 10 (psin AM) steady bass drum beat, synths like waves, almost bombastic note progression, eventually light elpiano riffing, this is like trance. 4:33 drums stop. 5:06 and drum returns. track 11 (r cazt) wet sub-bass organ + mid-range distorted organ crashing stings, 1 min oh that's a sexy sub-bass, 2:20 high-range sustains distorted + otherwise, in comes something of a high melody + mid-range chords, 4 min okay the distortion varies and we get focuses on different voices and I'm at a loss for words. this is just freaking good.

#autechre #link post #music #stop scrolling. just this once. go up there. click Metaz form8. listen to it. then you can keep scrolling. #there are a lot of gorgeous songs on this album. gorgeous in fairly different ways. #but Metaz form8 is gorgeous in a way that I think is instantly recognizable. #(and hey only one more album to go!)

[in-the-name-of-the-manga]

Burning Bridges, Building Confidence Prologue

When Marinette's life starts going downhill from the machinations of a liar, she's never felt more alone.

However, a familiar face reappears in Marinette's life after nine years, an event which shakes the situation up, both in and out of her mask. With a new player on the field, friends become enemies and some enemies become friends.

With her new friends at her back, Marinette begins to learn that to move on, some bridges just have to burn. And the match is being lit.

Updates Bi-weekly. Special thanks to @bigcheeseyboi for being my beta reader on this, especially with how long some of these chapters are.

AO3 Link

Marinette felt something off about the air as she wandered down the halls of her school. It felt like an eternity for her to get to the end of the hallway. At the end was the only light coming out of any of the classrooms, accompanied by voices. Her feet seemed to move of her own accord, using an energy her mind and body seemed to lack.

“Thank you so much everyone!” A voice said. Where was the voice from? It made her gut twist and her hairs stand on end. She got to the room and pushed the door open.

The room wasn’t a classroom, it looked like a fairytale wedding venue. Marinette felt a spark run up her spine and saw her clothes had become some mixture between a traditional Chinese wedding dress and a gorgeous trumpet gown, white accented with red; pink and black appearing in the details on the skirt. Her hair felt longer, pulled halfway up in a bun with apple blossom decorations. Thankfully she still felt the energy of her miraculous in her ears.

She stepped into the room, wary of touching anything as she picked up her skirt just enough that she could walk gently. Joy washed over her body, this was her day, the day she’d marry the love of her life. This was her happy ending, the stress of Hawkmoth was behind her and she was marrying someone that loved her completely. She noticed her name on a stray invitation, but she couldn’t read the other name, her eyes couldn’t seem to focus on it. Returning the invitation to the table, she wandered around the area.

Beautiful apple blossom decor mixed with gorgeous white, gold, and black decor. Sometimes she’d see a burst of red in the form of roses or blue in the form of tulips. They both stood out and blended with the deep applewood walls and the cream colored walls. As Marinette studied the cake, one of her parents’ handiwork no doubt, and the custom figures on the top were likely hers, the voice came again.

“This is my happiest day, I’m so glad you could join me on my wedding day!” The voice wasn’t hers. Marinette moved as quick as she could to the large doors that the voice came from, noting the beautifully done makeup on her reflection as she passed. She turned back and noticed the door had vanished. Picking up her dress she wandered inside, hearing a cheering crowd.

She spotted several familiar faces in the crowd, but there were some she couldn't find. Where were her parents? Her Nonna? Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny? Where was Chloe? The crowd shifted and she could see the couple in the center. Adrien looking wholly uncomfortable and not acting like the groom his ill fitted suit. Next to him, clad in an atrocity that no one with eye would ever consider a dress, let alone one for a wedding, was….

Lila.

The Italian looked like she'd just sauntered in off the streets in a wedding dress made of dime store materials and hatred, gaudy makeup like an 80s Barbie, that hideous mop of sausage hair completely unchanged, and was that orange lipstick!?

Marinette wanted to vomit.

“To the bride!” They cheered. “To the groom!”

“What?” Marinette breathed, bluebell eyes wide. This couldn’t be happening. This was her wedding day, Lila shouldn’t have gotten anywhere near the venue, she wasn’t even invited, and Adrien looked too poorly dressed to be the groom. Where was her other half? She spun around, skirt flaring as she tried to find someone, anyone , who could give her answers.

“Marinette quit looking for attention and come cheer on the newlyweds!” Alya yelled, glaring at someone just over her shoulder, in the glaringly opposite direction of Marinette herself.

“Alya what are you doing!?” Marinette yelled, not noticing how distorted her voice sounded. “I’m right here! My name’s on all the invitations! Can’t you see it isn’t their wedding!? Lila’s lying again!”

“Marinette don’t be selfish!” Kim called, again not in the direction of the actual bride. “Just be happy for them!”

Marinette ran around the group, trying to get their attention. Each time she called out, they spat some insult or admonishment about how she should be celebrating the false bride at the true bride’s wedding. Finally she yelled,

“You’re not even looking at me!” She heard a sob, two sobs, a whole symphony of sobs. The true bride spun on her heels and ran toward the noise. Suddenly it all became clear.

Her mother, dressed in a gown similar to those of the rest of the bridal party, a soft pink with an apple blossom ornament in her hair, sobbed on the ground. Her father embraced his wife, drowning her in his large form, large tears rolling down his face. Nonna was crying, comforted by her grandfather, while Uncle Jagged and Aunt Penny were crying too.

“Mama? Papa?” Marinette approached warily. “Nonna? Uncle Jagged? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Her shoes clacked on the flooring as she approached, only to screech to a halt as she saw what they were crowded around.

It was her. Face ashen and dress covered in blood splatter. Her nails were bloody and broken, while her eyes looked sunken. Right over her heart was what had to be the result of several stab wounds, spreading the blood off her still form and across the floor.

“Can you believe Marinette?” A voice called over her shoulder. “Faking a stab wound for attention, bet she got her entire family in on it.”

“What the hell is wrong with you people!?” Marinette yelled. “I’ve been stabbed! I’m dead! Oh my god I’m dead at my own wedding!”

She ran to the crowd, anger boiling under her skin. She shoved past Nathaniel and Alix, bursting into the center around the false couple. “What are you people doing!? There’s a dead body over there and they’re clearly NOT the people getting married today! That liar is wearing cheap dress that looks like it came from a halloween store and she,” Marinette spun on her heel only to stop. “She killed me.”

Lila, seemingly the only one able to see the true Marinette standing in front of her, stood proud, her cheap dress covered in blood splatter, a still gorey knife in the place of a bouquet. An evil grin was stretched across her face, “I’m so happy that everyone I love could join me on my wedding day.” She said, as if it were the truth. A blood red string wound it’s way around from her fingertips to the joints of those around her. The guests were no longer people, they were puppets, strings held by a liar.

“I told you you’d lose everything,” Lila sneered, glaring at the bride. “Your life will be in shambles, because no one will love you, no one will be at your side.”

Before Marinette could react, the faux bride slammed the knife into the bride’s chest.

~~~~~~~~

Marinette awoke with a yell, bolting upright. Her eyes jolted around the room, scared she’d find a lying Italian with a knife in her room. Tikki was at her side in a moment.

“Marinette breathe,” She urged. “It was just a dream.”

“It was horrible Tikki,” Marinette said, shaking like a leaf. “I-I was at the school, then it was my w-wedding. But Lila was there, acting like it was her wedding. Everyone was telling me I was causing a scene, but I wasn’t even there! They were talking to my dead body in a corner, Lila had killed me, her dress was bloody and everything, but they thought I was faking. T-then, she stabbed me and I woke up.”

Tikki frowned, wiping tears from her chosen’s eyes, tilting the girl’s head up with a paw. “Marinette, I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen, not on my watch. As long as I’m kicking, she will never be able to come after you like that, no one will.”

“Thank you Tikki,” Marinette sniffled. She wiped her eyes again and looked over at the clock, it was a little past three thirty, and she needed as much sleep as she could get. “I’ll try to go back to sleep, good night Tikki.”

“Good night Marinette,” the red kwami kissed her chosen’s forehead, leaving a bit of magic glowing on the spot. “Have some good dreams this time.”

As Marinette drifted off to happy memories and the feeling of flying over the Parisian night sky, Tikki settled down next to her, angrier and more determined than ever that things needed to change.

~~~~~~

Elsewhere in Paris a car pulled up to a more upscale multi-floor abode. The doors opened and a teenager stepped out. Nodding their thanks to the driver, they got their bags out of the trunk of the car, allowing the driver to leave. The teen checked their phone’s address book.

“This is the place,” they said in English. They lifted their bags over their shoulders and moved up the steps. When they got to the door they knocked boldly. The light flickered on in the living room and the door clicked before opening.

Standing before them was a woman with the same brown hair and green eyes. Wrapped in a bathrobe and wearing slippers, tears sprung into the woman’s eyes.

“Hi Mom.” The two collapsed into a hug, neither afraid of the tears running down their cheeks attracting any akuma. They were tears of joy after all.

#marinette dupain cheng #marinette dupain-cheng #ml salt #ml salt fic #oc #anti lila #lila rossi gets no rights #salt fic #BuringBridgesBuildingConfidence #the first part was a dream sequence BTW