#and continue to do fuck all bc that failed attempt ate up all your energy

[caricature-of-a-witch]

I've done nothing remotely functional today and instead I'm now incredibly emotional about Spike's goddamn coat

#normal behaviour. on my part. #listen I've been MISSING that coat. #in fact. if anyone can tell me where to get one for myself please do let me know I've been searching forever #liveblogging btvs #Ash's ramblings #also liveblogging my lack of functionality. I should go at least put my laundry from 3 days ago away maybe #you know those days when you have to psych yourself up for half an hour to do anything at all #and then the Main Thing you wanted to do STILL ends up too daunting so you just go home and feel like an utter failure #and continue to do fuck all bc that failed attempt ate up all your energy #(the obstacle that made the Thing impossible was I couldn't bring myself to go inside and talk to people. #I have been legally an adult for over a decade. behold how that is going for me) #yeah. anyway. #gonna put away the laundry I hope and maybe listen to the latest tmagp while I'm at it #I do want that coat though. desperately. it'd fix my entire look and potentially part of my self confidence #going back to the show I can't BELIEVE we didn't get a scene of Buffy reacting to The Return of the Coat I KNOW she's missed it too

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ i hope this autumn breeze scatters our memories away.

date: august 2019.

location: ash’s apartment + a studio at bc.

word count: 1,881 words.

summary: ash said (sorta) fuck love... my impact...

notes: creative claims verification. please blame any part of this that doesn’t make sense on the medicine i’ve been on the whole time i was writing it.

mid-august 2019.

ash sat down at the piano bench and set his phone down next to it, voice memo app set to record. he hadn’t done this in a while. back in the days before he’d become so busy with solo schedules and proven himself as a creative enough for songwriting to be a real part of his job, he used to do this all the time. he’d have too many feelings not to let out in some way (he’d been less practiced at keeping it all in then) and the piano was a loyal friend who always listened. it had been his closest confidant since he’d been four years old. it didn’t matter that he’d been to so many different instruments to confide his troubles. in the end, they all represented the same thing, and that’s what drew him to even the most foreign piano.

a piano was the one thing that had been by his side in his life the longest. friends and partners had come and gone, but the relationship between ash and the nearest piano had never grown stale, even when schedules had kept him away for extended periods of time and caused neglect of their bond. no matter how short his time with the black and white keys was, he never forgot how to connect with them, and that’s more than he could say for so many of the people who had passed through his life — and for so many of the people who had once been his entire life. 

it’d only been a few months that he’d had a piano to call his own. moving out into his own place, a used baby grand was one of the first items he’d invested in for his new home’s interior. more than privacy or peace and quiet, he had a piano to call his own placed in front of the expansive set of windows that fronted his living room. he hadn’t had many opportunities to sit down at it and make music, but, as naturally as if he’d been doing it every night for the past half a year, he let his fingers spread out over the keys and start their push and pull, practiced endlessly until it had become nothing more than sheer instinct. like gentle waves crashing upon sand, taking and delivering in equal measure, his hands slowly traced out experimental notes and chords as he attempted to recreate the composition that had been forming itself in his head for the past few hours, itching to come out and be brought to life.

a piano was so different from the keyboard in his studio. the keys had lived a life of their own and they pushed back against the press of his fingers in a battle happening on the microscopic level, but it was a battle of passion, not wrath. there had been times he’d set to work at the keys with anger, but never toward the instrument itself. simmering anger was better for composing than the explosive type. art laid in the intricacies of a dynamic range, something more straight-on emotions didn’t lend themselves as simply to.

ash wasn’t able to put a name to all of the feelings he felt in the moment. there were too many and they’d interwoven with another until they became unrecognizable, only able to be expressed in the wave of his fingers.

it was a simple set of chords. it wouldn’t be anything notable for its complexity, but it was remorseful and unrelenting. there was a reluctance to follow the beat, and ash replayed sections as he figured them out multiple times to make sure the feeling was conveyed into the recording he’d be transposing over into his computer later by ear. 

it only took about an hour for him to have one final recorded memo of the composition that he was pleased with.

lyrics had come in bits and pieces as he composed, as tied to the music as the piano notes themselves. the words that came to him told a story that wasn’t his own. not now, at least. they were a story he’d lived time and time again in the past, but had never let come out in such bitter words.

love. it’d been the thing ash had sought out ever since he’d been a little boy with only the way his parents looked at each other and the way they sneaked kisses as they made dinner to idealize. he’d written more love songs than he could ever hope to release about every person who’d taken a piece of his heart since he was a teenager. even before then, ash remembered the elementary poetry he’d written about the butterflies he got from the boy who was so good at soccer at recess and the lengthy love letter he’d composed to his fifth grade “girlfriend”. love songs had filled most every playlist he listened to. even when he had gone through heartbreak, he’d listen to them to remind himself love was still out there.

now, he didn’t want to remind himself of that. where had love songs gotten him? they hadn’t ever made anyone stay, or kept insecurities from bringing love to a fizzling end, or made a relationship with his career and his own mind to contend with any easier. the mirage revealed its truth eventually every time, so why was it so hard to let go of the ideal he’d painted for himself that he clearly wasn’t meant to have?

if he could shatter his stupid heart on the floor of his living room like glass, he would.

late august 2019.

“are you sure you wrote this?”

ash snapped his eyes from his computer screen to the woman standing next to him at her question. of course he’d written it. he wasn’t about to start plagiarizing and claiming someone else’s work as his own. and if he ever did finally abandon all of his morals, it wasn’t going to be for a proposed last minute addition to a track list that was supposed to already be finished. it’d definitely be because he had finally snapped and decided to end his own career because bc wouldn’t end his suffering for him.

“yes?” he answered incredulously and the first response he got in return was a laugh. it wasn’t a malicious laugh, but ash remained tense nonetheless, unable to catch on to what she was implying in his own fatigue-ridden mind and they way her tone was much more humorous than his. 

“sorry,” she apologized, seeming to catch on that his mind wasn’t working at a fast enough speed to read her tone. “it doesn’t sound like you. well, it does. i’ve heard your heartbreak songs. but this is so cynical. you wrote ‘some’ and those songs you wrote on knight’s albums. they’re cute. i don’t know. i expected something more like that.”

ash’s tensed shoulders relaxed, but not completely. the singles he’d promoted from i’m young and daydream had both been songs about heartbreak. he’d written more songs about heartbreak than happiness in a relationship or the butterflies of having a crush if he considered everything he’d ever written. negative feelings were easier for him to write about than positive ones most of the time. they were easier to lose himself in and they were more plentiful in his life for the past few years. why was it hard to believe he’d written this? not to mention cute had been off the table the minute bc had decided he had some sort of marketable sex appeal that they’d been neglecting.

“it’s not that out of left field. and there’s already songs with a similar feeling on the album. that’s why i was going to suggest adding it. the whole back half of the track list is about disillusionment with love, so it should fit,” ash countered, trying not to sound as defensive as he felt. “i geared all of the production to fit in with the sound of the album.” had he failed?

“wasn’t it supposed to be about the sad feelings after a break up? ‘disillusionment with love’ is taking that pretty far.”

ash wanted to argue back, but he didn’t have the energy and she wasn’t wrong. those exact words had never been raised when discussing the concept of the album, and he hadn’t envisioned it in such pessimistic terms when the album had been in its early stages either. it was only when he’d begun writing this song that disillusionment became such a defining term for him. he knew why. his own mindset had changed in the months since the album had begun and he himself had become disillusioned. “but does it work? for the album? do you think it’d be worth pitching?” he asked, more interested in getting an answer to the reason he’d asked her to listen in the first place than dwell on his own roller coaster of emotions recently. or the continuing roller coaster ride of emotions he’d been stuck on for the last four years, seemingly either unable to get off or purposefully torturing himself by refusing to.

“yeah, give it a go. it’s a good fit sonically. you’ve just got to convince them to take such a late addition,” the woman said with a shrug. “but clean up the percussion a little bit. it gets lost in itself.” ash assumed their conversation would end there before she quirked her head at him, one hand on her hip in a stance that prepared ash to be questioned. he wasn’t prepared for what that question was going to be, though. “i don’t want to be nosy, but did someone break your heart recently? you’re pretty easy to see through.”

ash was too exhausted to keep his expression from revealing the surprise at her inquiry. that really wasn’t any of her business and he didn’t consider them close enough to discuss that. they weren’t anything more than work colleagues and ash wasn’t even one for discussing his love life with his closest friends, but he wasn’t blunt enough to say that. she had good intentions, he was sure, but anyone who had sat in on writing sessions with him more than once or heard drafts of his songs should know he didn’t like discussing the details of his private life beyond what he willingly laid out in his songs. it wasn’t how he worked. too many people were under the impression they knew his life already for him to want to voluntarily share the truth with anyone not involved.

“nope.” he forced a smile and a nonchalant shrug similar to her own. he got a dubious look in return and ash swiveled in his chair to face the computer screen again. “really, no. but thanks for listening. and the percussion, i’ll fix that. thanks for the tip. i’ll send it over to some people and hopefully there’s still time to add it.”

he wasn’t lying to her. no one else had done the breaking. he couldn’t blame anyone else for something he’d done himself.

he’d thought his heart had broken so many times, but it was still there, beating and hoping in the background, even when he was the one doing his damnedest to fracture it beyond repair.

#fmdverification #any time i write about ash and an instrument i end up having to delete chunks because it sounds questionable #as it should. ashiano otp #piash #please don't use this as an example of how to do a writing verification it's a really bad example #arguably The Worst Example #&& queued