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letteredlettered · 3 months

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Since people expressed interest in the comments about the music I used to write my current fic, I wanted to share some of what I explored to write it. I don't think that you need to know this canon or have read this fic to read this post, though I do spend a bit of time talking about how canon influenced the choices I made. Anyone who has been following this fic knows that it was supposed to be porn, and largely, it really still is for the most part a fic about sex. But I did do a lot of research on music with which I'm frankly not very familiar, and the process was really rewarding.

The fic is Time Signature, if you're interested. This post has a lot about music, electronic music, Chinese music, and music theory, as well as some links to music that interests me and inspired portions of the fic. I don't expect anyone to read anything this long, but it was nice to write it.

Canon. One of my favorite things about both book and drama canon is how in synch WWX/LWJ are cultivation-wise. It’s not just that they can predict the talisman the other will use or the seal the other will cast; they also have the same hunches solving mysteries, the same instincts protecting others, the same ideas about where to go. When writing an AU, it’s important to me to show that synchronization (beyond physical attraction and sex), mostly because I think it’s hot.

In canon, however, WWX revolutionizes cultivation, inventing a whole new method when no one ever thought that possible. I also think this is hot. I also think it’s hot if LWJ thinks it’s hot. Look, canonically, LWJ disapproves of demonic cultivation because it will injure WWX’s spirit and body, but imo there is a reason LWJ is so into WWX, and it’s not just because WWX bugs him. It’s not even just because WWX is really cute and happy and exuberant and everything that’s the opposite of his upbringing. I also like to think that it’s because WWX is a fucking genius, and LWJ doesn't mind the idea of upending tradition and the entire cultivation world as much as it really seems at first that he would; he just struggles with anything that could hurt WWX. So anyway, WWX being revolutionary, in basically a technological sense, is important to me.

Wangxian both play music canonically. LWJ’s playing is noted to be particularly powerful, and WWX’s chosen music is at least one part of his revolutionary cultivation method. Additionally, the song LWJ writes for them is an important plot point. It makes sense that in a modern AU, music is a point of connection, so that is what I chose for their careers.

The final point about canon I want to make in connection to the music for this fic is that this is a Chinese canon with Chinese characters set in China. I don’t think it’s wrong to write AUs set in the west. I have done so, and I think there is value in examining a Chinese canon that has become very popular in the west through the lens of the Chinese diaspora. But I also think that there is a lot of value in a western person such as myself trying to learn and understand the cultural context for a canon that I really like, even if I sometimes get it wrong.

I had decided to set this fic in China because I thought the setting would not strongly feature, which would give me an easy “in” to write something set in a place I don’t know much about. Directly after choosing the setting I chose their careers, which made me realize I needed to do a lot more research—both about the careers but also about the setting--than a fic that was supposed to be mainly porn should have really required.

Music genre choice. Lots of AUs I’ve read have Wangxian’s mutual interest be that they both play western classical instruments. This baffles me, but it’s what I’ve seen, so I loosely started there—ie, I spent some time thinking about what would be revolutionary in western instrumental music, which entailed doing some research on contemporary classical music. There are obviously pioneers in any music genre, folks doing new things, but it turned out I just did not know enough about this genre to really understand what would be truly avant-garde.

I took a step back and thought about the instrumental music I have personally heard that feels really new and different, and Philip Glass was the first thing that came to mind. I first heard of Philip Glass when I saw The Hours, for which he wrote the soundtrack. I still think that soundtrack is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, and I did use it as inspiration for music in this fic, particularly LWJ’s. More on that later.

Philip Glass is great, but for all his eastern minimalist influences, he is a strong figure in the western paradigm. I did some research on Chinese contemporary instrumental music, but most of what I found had a really western flavor. I think there are two reasons for this—one is that I am in the west searching for articles in English; for all that we like to imagine the internet is universal, search algorithms and search history is actually making it far harder than it used to be to find material with which you are completely unfamiliar. Secondly, western music did in fact have a notable impact on Chinese music, which is fine, it’s still Chinese, but I worried about everything I wrote just sounding like it was about western classical, which is a concern of mine I’ll address more later.

Since I wasn’t finding what I wanted, particularly for WWX, in the “art music” (aka, lowercase “c” classical music, which Wikipedia says is also known as “cultivated music, serious music, or canonical music”—ie, instrumental music with strings, winds, percussion) scene, I realized I needed to examine the other contemporary music, by which I mean everything else. Since I am most familiar with rock, Radiohead immediately came to mind, but Radiohead is a band, and there are lyrics. Though the lyrics are not where the meaning of Radiohead songs lie (the vocals are treated as largely instrumental), if there were lyrics, I’d need to write about them, and I didn’t want to. More importantly, Radiohead is singular in what they do, which makes them difficult to categorize, and this makes them difficult to describe textually. You can say that Radiohead revolutionized rock, or even reinvented it, but that is not really addressing how fundamentally avant-gardeRadiohead is. Describing how revolutionary Radiohead is on paper really is just saying “but they’re different!” over and over again.

What I needed for WWX was a music genre that was revolutionary, an entire school of music that felt cutting edge and frankly, unfamiliar, and for that, I realized I needed my brother.

Some stories about my family. My brother is a music artist who creates electronic music. If you want to understand why it took me this long to get to my brother in this thought process, you should understand a few things about him. First, I love him a lot, but we’re not very close. Second, my brother is probably the quietest person I know—like, idk, LWJ levels of non-talking. Last, I do not understand my brother’s music. I’ve tried! I listened to it a lot! But when I didn’t understand, I asked questions, and my brother cannot explain any of it. He’s an expressive guy! Just not verbally, and as a very verbal person, I have a tough time when people cannot use their words. Like, even asking him what type of music he plays, he’ll say something like, “It’s complicated.” (This is a lie. He’ll look at me and say, “Type?” And I’ll try to explain what I mean. And he’ll say, “I don’t know.” And if I said, “Okay, but if you had to label it?” He’d laugh and say, “Why?” And if I said, “So I can better understand your music,” he’d think for a long time, then look very frustrated, and laugh, and say, “I don’t know?” I think we’ve literally had this exact conversation).

Anyway, possibly through one of these type of exchanges, where I’m grilling him like a school marm and he’s acting like I’m making him take a standardized test he hates (I’m his little sister. Would it be easier to subject him to these horrors if he was my little brother?), I learned that one of my brother’s influences is Aphex Twin. My brother loves Aphex Twin. I . . . don’t. I’ve listened to a lot of him (in order to understand my brother better); I do not like it, and I do not understand it. My brother talks about Aphex Twin like he’s a genius (if and when my brother talks at all). Now, my brother is a very smart guy; it’s not that I didn’t believe him when he said Aphex Twin was a genius, but he also gets . . . swept up by things, and as previously discussed, he doesn’t talk a lot, so I didn’t really understand what my brother meant by this. It took hearing about Aphex Twin randomly, in a couple other places, for me to realize Aphex Twin is a Big Deal. When I looked up Aphex Twin at some point in order to better understand the music my brother makes, I found that Aphex Twin is considered by many to be a genius and also a pioneer. Apologies to all of you who already knew that about Aphex Twin.

Sidenote, my brother’s wife is also a musician, though not professionally. She could have been, considering that she was ranked as one of the top flute players in Texas, and Texas is fucking huge. But no, professionally, my sister-in-law is in cognitive science and linguistics, which you may remember was the career LWJ had in Say More (my fianc��e is also a linguist. I also know a few other linguists. My life is convenient for my Wangxian AUs, I gotta say). I mention my sister-in-law because my sister-in-law has enough musical acuity to also recognize that both my brother and Aphex Twin are geniuses, which really helped me to understand that even though I’m not really into this music at all, it really is a Big Deal.

So, I researched Aphex Twin and also went to my brother’s website for his music to find out what the hell this type of music is called, and it turns out there’s not a good name. IDM, which stands for intelligent dance music, is a label Aphex Twin himself famously does not like, and my brother labeled his own music as “acid, techno, house, electro.” Wikipedia said that Aphex Twin is known for techno, ambient, and jungle.

Anyway, into this confusing morass of electronic revolutionary music is where I decided to plunk Wei Ying.

Electronic music. Note for this section that I know nothing about electronic music. I’m writing this post partly to document the journey of discovery I went on to write this porn. I’m not really trying to educate anyone so much as I’m trying to provide insight as to what I researched for this fic and what the references are, in case the fic interested you.

When you really get down to it, music made with electronics has as many genres and styes as music made with more traditional instruments, and the labels are just as confusing (see this Wikipedia list of electronic music genres). For instance, “electronica” just means music made with electronics to some people, but to others it’s more specific. You’ve also got a bunch of other terms: ambient, EDM, techno, house, IDM.

This is all based on what I learned from Wikipedia, but here are some loose definitions as I understand them: There’s ambient, which is really made for background listening, and then there’s EDM (electronic dance music), which is made for active listening—ie, dancing. Within EDM you have lots of genres, such as techno; techno is usually characterized by a specific tempo and repeating structure, and house, which . . . is also characterized by a specific tempo and repeating structure, but the tempo is different. From what I can gather, house is also a bigger tent than techno; ie, many different genres and styles can be house, but techno is more often just techno. (Note that part of the reason all of this terminology has so much overlap is that it originated in different places; techno was invented in Berlin, house in Chicago.) Meanwhile, the list of genres of house is so big that it also has its own Wikipedia page, which is almost as large as the list of electronic music genres.

Note that there is such a thing as “house ambient”, which explodes the entire concept of ambient vs EDM. To aid in that explosion, IDM is described on Wikipedia as including styles such as ambient techo, and “is regarded as better suited to home listening rather than dancing.” What stands out about IDM, and the reason it is featured in the fic, is that it’s known for being experimental. (I’ll add that it emerged in the 90s, which isn’t great for my fic. Whatever WWX is doing, he is on the edge, and 90s music already old to him, even if he’s Aphex Twin’s biggest fan! But alas, my research could not tell me what is happening right now, because you really have to be involved in The Scene to understand what’s new. By the time it’s documented, it’s already really a little old.)

If you are researching electronic music and how it is revolutionary, you’re probably going to get into its evolution and history, since this is a new style of music. And if you are looking into the origins of this kind of music, you’re going to find Brian Eno. And if you’re looking into Brian Eno, you’re going to find minimalism.

Minimalism. Brian Eno is an extremely famous dude. I’d probably heard of him before, but I am very good with big concepts and pretty bad with details, so because I didn’t know anything about the bigger concepts behind ambient/electronic music/minimalism, I never paid attention. Now I’m hearing about him literally everywhere, which is funny, since it’s not like he’s new news. Ezra Klein was literally waxing poetic about Music for Airports just a month ago.

Eno is famous for his pioneering work in ambient music and electronic music, and, as one might expect, electronic ambient. Eno was always doing experimental, avant-garde stuff, and early on he embraced a minimal style. He later coined the term “ambient music.”

What’s interesting about this is that around the same time as Eno was doing this in later 1960s/early 1970s, a new kind of art music was being born in classical circles. This is the capital “M” Minimal music, for which—you guessed it—Philip Glass is really famous. And when you look at Philip Glass’s influences, he was deeply influenced by the minimalism of eastern music, especially Indian and Tibetan music. I couldn’t really find anything saying that Brian Eno was directly influenced by traditional eastern music, but Eno is definitely a fan of Glass and vice versa; they really build on each other.

This ended up just being a very cool intersection for the fic that I didn’t plan. I didn’t end up using it very much, but I must say I was stupidly pleased that the kind of music I was looking into for both of these characters has such deep roots in eastern music traditions. So now let’s talk a little bit about eastern music, specifically Chinese music, since that’s where this fic is based.

Chinese music. I did read a bit about Chinese music for this fic, and I have to say that I still don’t know a lot about it. As stated above, I’m in the west, using my western search techniques, looking for primarily articles in English (though I get Google to translate some things). I also just have a western understanding of music and music history, and it turns out, surprise, different cultures are different, and my entire paradigm for understanding music does not really apply to music from other cultures.

I, and many of us, want music to be a universal language, something that can move through all barriers and touch us in our souls. And it is! I have listened to and loved music not from my culture! But thinking of music as something intrinsically universal and therefore immediately moving to everyone really collapses the rich history of musical tradition all cultures have. Music really is like a language, in that it is built on the culture that creates it; it has its own internal logic; it has style and meaning that depend on the history of that tradition and the understanding of its audience. The brief reading I’m going to do to write some porn will not give me to understand the deep and rich tradition of Chinese music, but also, frankly, even if I turned all my efforts and career to learning and understanding this right now, I still would not have the best comprehension. I don’t even comprehend western music, and I grew up with it. So, forgive me for the paucity of my understanding and knowledge, and please correct me if I make mistakes.

When I think about Chinese music that I know about, I think of two things: modern and traditional. The modern stuff I’m thinking of is stuff like C-pop, but also the things you might hear on the soundtrack for a drama or movie. To me, none of this music sounds that different than western pop or western soundtracks. There are a few reasons for this: one, there are tons of Chinese music that is not reaching me. Two, maybe I just think it doesn’t sound that different because I can only really process what I recognize. Three, in a similar vein, maybe I’m thinking “that sounds like what I know” when really what I know sounds like what I’m hearing. Globalization is definitely doing things to music; if you’re telling me that Asian pop is not influencing western pop right now, I’m going to think you’re crazy, considering the influence and popularity Asian pop has in the US and Europe right now. And four, western music did have an impact on Chinese music, so there’s that.

Obviously, the music genre I chose for Wei Ying falls into the modern sphere, and I certainly looked into the techno/EDM/IDM/electronic/ambient/house scene in China. Articles I found stated it took a little longer for EDM to pick up steam in China, but now it’s definitely going strong. There are some great electronic music festivals, EDM clubs, underground EDM scenes, and EDM music artists (composers and DJs!) in China. Researching these artists was pretty difficult, especially because I wanted Wangxian’s musical discussions to be highly technical, and for highly technical discussions about EDM you are wandering into some very niche spaces. I’m sure such spaces about EDM in China exist, but they’re most likely to be in Chinese.

As I’ve said, globalization is a factor when it comes to cultural difference in music, and I’d add here that because this genre of music is so new, globalization has even more influence, from what I can tell. That said, I do not want to diminish how much influence very specific locations have to do with this type of music. EDM is very tied to clubs (because of the dancing) and performance (because of deejaying, and also because of things like live coding/algorave), which is probably why we get so many granular genres of house—Chicago house is different from Detroit, just for example. Regardless, I stuck with researching a lot of western artists for both the music and musical discussions in the fic, mostly because the music is supposed to be so new and avant-garde that is should not be something overly familiar to the reader, even if they’re steeped in electronic music genres.

Then there’s traditional music.

Traditional music. Traditional music obviously had a huge influence on Chinese modern music. The influence of traditional eastern music on modern eastern music, as well as traditional eastern music itself, is what really influenced a lot of western minimalism of the 1960s and 70s (and onward). To be clear, not all “eastern” traditional music is the same. It’s just as richly diverse regionally as traditional western music, if not more so, given “the east” is fucking huge—though I will say that a lot of people think of western music as pretty monolithic, because folk is characterized as a separate tradition than classical. When you consider ancient western folk, there’s a shit ton of it, and it’s quite diverse. There is also folk music in eastern music traditions, and this is different than music that would have been played in courts and palaces, so there’s really a ton going on.

Traditional music is what people think of when they think of eastern music being “weird,” which is something I really hate. Look, I love being weird; I think weird is cool; it’s great. But weird means unusual, and traditional music is very usual; people who say that just mean it’s unusual for them, and they should think about their words. What they’re trying to say is that traditional eastern music will sound very different for many western listeners, even though, again, we like to think of music as so universal, actually!, because it’s based on math, actually!, and math is so universal!!! The truth is that math is patterns, and patterns are things that your brain recognizes when there are familiar elements, and when there are unfamiliar elements your brain has trouble recognizing the pattern. So, again, music is a way to communicate across all kinds of boundaries, but it is not a universal translator. (But it does make you wonder . . . if Lan Zhan played Inquiry, could Aeneas answer???)

Regarding the unfamiliar math, what we’re talking about is scales. I think most people know this part. Eastern scales are based on math, just like western scales, but the frequencies are divided up differently. Among other things, traditional Chinese music did not use equal temperament, which means depending on what note you start with, the intervals for all the notes on the scale were be different. A way of thinking about this, at least as I understand it, is that a piano is even tempered. All the notes are always the same whether you’re playing in C major or B flat, because you have no control over the frequency produced when you press the key. But if you’re using just intonation—say you’re using an instrument with just a few strings—you’re adjusting the frequency of the note to match your scale. It requires extremely precise hearing and playing ability.

Notation for traditional Chinese music was really different than how I as a westerner understand it. For one thing, it didn’t include rhythm, and for another, it represented more a framework for improvisation than every single precise note. (See Gongche notation, Wikipedia.)

Authorship was also thought of pretty differently. When I googled “great Chinese composers,” the only results I was getting were twentieth century. There are some great ancient Chinese composers, but I had to do a lot of digging to find them, and trying to find someone like the Chinese equivalent of Beethoven is just the wrong approach. When you get right down to it, this really seems to be about the fundamental difference between western individualism vs eastern collectivism and community-based thinking. The individual artist is not the hero of the story. That said, the tradition of the music is very heroic. For instance, the notation allows such variation that the same piece can really build and grow through different artists, much like a story through oral tradition. Additionally, for an artist in an ensemble piece to stand out would really be quite rude; the point is not the individual talent of the musicians but the fundamental beauty of the piece. (This was a particularly hard thing to research, and I mostly found out what I laid out above from various folks answering questions in forums. The best one I found is here.)

Another thing is that harmony, as we think of it, was just not really a thing in traditional Chinese music. The focus was on a melody, which is where minimalism comes in. I’d add here that the “as we think of it” is pretty important, because the western paradigm, including western music language, is not super great at really capturing the nuance of Chinese music. I am terrible at tracking my sources when I research stuff for fic, so I was trying to find some of them now, and I came across this article, which examines the harmony that did exist, but how different it is from what we think of when we think of western harmony.

Despite the reading I did on this subject, very little about Chinese traditional music made it into the fic. I do have Lan Zhan reading a book on traditional music that he hates. This isn’t based on a book I found, but rather to show that Lan Zhan isn’t really into the idea of musical “purity,” that is, ideas of what you should and shouldn’t do with music. That said, I’m not really aware of what strictures around traditional Chinese music are like, or what the Chinese thought is on that. I am aware of how deeply restrictive western thought is regarding music theory, and that’s really where that part of the fic was coming from.

I’d originally had Lan Zhan reading a book on western music theory and very deeply hating it, but I also felt like having him read a book on western theory could reinforce the idea that he’s working within a western paradigm, when really the whole point is that this Lan Zhan very intentionally uses traditional music values. Due to his inspiration from Wei Ying, he’s breaking the norms of how that music works, but he's not necessarily making it western; he’s making it avant-garde. Basically, my inspiration was a Chinese Philip Glass, but I didn’t want to say that because as mentioned above, Glass is still western, no matter his influences. That said, Wei Ying does compare Lan Zhan to Philip Glass and also Tan Dun, who you might recognize as the guy who did the soundtrack for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, among many other very famous projects.

Tan Dun has in fact been called the Chinese Philip Glass, which is probably not very respectful to Tan Dun, who is himself an incredible (and experimental!) composer. I should note, however, that Tan Dun is Chinese American—he was born in China, but got a degree at Columbia and has lived in New York since. Also, he is particularly famous for marrying Eastern traditionalism with western style, and that really wasn’t what I wanted for Lan Zhan. I didn’t want Lan Zhan to be incredible because he was using western traditions, though he is familiar with them and can make very talented use of them. A lot of very famous Chinese modern composer are famous for that, and that music is still very Chinese. That said, I felt that if I made that Lan Zhan’s style, it would feel like I was saying Lan Zhan’s music is special because it’s western, and that was something I really wasn’t keen on.

In the end, I possibly did the fic and traditional Chinese music a disservice by having Lan Zhan read his book and hate on it. One of the whole reasons western music theory sucks is it can be pretty racist, and that’s what I was trying to avoid, but by conflating my rage at western music theory with eastern, I didn’t really help things much. But anyway, since I’ve now mentioned it, let’s just take a slight detour to talk about what I mean by racist music theory.

Western music theory racism. There’s a scene in the movie Tár that really solidified my feelings on the subject. In it, a student who identifies as BIPOC and pangender, says they don’t really have much use for Bach because of Bach’s misogynist history. The extremely famous director, Tár, played by Cate Blanchett, lambasts the student for “cancelling” Bach because of Bach’s personal life. The student goes on to say that they really just don’t have much interest in cis male white composers, and Tár continues to lambast the student for considering things like gender and race in conjunction with the art.

My understanding of this scene was that it was demonstrating that Tár is a jerk, so full of herself that she can’t listen to other voices, and so steeped in her 18th century western ideas of genius that she’s literally silencing the music voices she’s supposed to support. That was not most people’s reading of the scene, and in retrospect, possibly not the intention of the film. It seems rather telling that not a lot is known about Bach’s misogyny or lack thereof; there are plenty of other “great” western composers that are known to be worse in terms of misogyny and abuse, and yet the film did not make this scene about them. In retrospect, maybe that scene wanted to paint this student as kind of ignorant for cancelling Bach, and Tár really puts them in their place when she describes how art is more important than the artist.

Fuck that. I certainly believe that art is more important than the artist. JK Rowling sucks; that doesn’t mean I will stop loving HP fic and the part it’s played in my life. But the ugliness of the scene is that it hinges on importance of Bach, and look here, shocker, Bach is not essential, just as JKR is not essential if you decide you don’t ever want to familiarize yourself with the literature of TERFs. Even if you want to be a musician and create or conduct music, Bach is just not essential.

He’s pretty important if you want to be a western music historian, true, but when we talk about music there are many, many music traditions that are incredibly worthwhile and important that not only weren’t created by cis white men, but also weren’t ever derived or influenced by cis white men. If you think that you need Bach to know and love and create and perform and conduct music, it’s because you’re operating in a single paradigm that has become yes, universally known, but also for that reason oppressive and imperialist. I am not saying western classical music is bad because it’s imperialist, just to be clear. Bach’s great! Hate ‘im, but I do love me some Beethoven and he was also very cis and male and white and also a complete douche! What I’m saying is that forcing this music tradition on others is deeply imperialist, and it happens all the time.

Anyway, this is really a tangent, because despite my very good intentions to write about Chinese music, as I have stated, almost everything I used for reference was western, even a lot of the stuff I listened to. Maybe I just wanted to acknowledge that that’s a little racist, even though I tried not to be. Maybe I also wanted to hate on Tár and leave you with this interesting video about white supremacy in music theory.

References. Finally, we’ve reached the part I had originally intended to post, which is why I started writing this. Below are the essays and articles I used to write this fic. They were used in three ways: 1) to describe the music (though I also listened to things, see next section), 2) to inform Lan Zhan’s critiques and Wei Ying’s ideas—though I read a lot of essays to do that, just a crazy amount considering how little of the fic is actually about that, and 3) to describe the reading material Wei Ying and Lan Zhan exchange.

Music Beyond Airports – Appraising Ambient Music

This is a series of essays largely focused around Brian Eno’s Music for Airports, though there’s a lot of other stuff as well. I didn’t read everything in here, but the collection is absolutely fascinating. “Ambient House: “Little Fluffy Clouds” And The Sampler As Time Machine” is one of the “articles” Wei Ying sends Lan Zhan; meanwhile, the collection as whole is what Lan Zhan sends Wei Ying when he says he’s been reading about ambient house. Additionally, “Adaptive Game Scoring With Ambient Music” really influenced Lan Zhan’s commentary about arpeggiation, the first time he comments on Wei Ying’s music.

Counterpoint - Tracking in the Music of Aphex Twin

I have some embarrassment about this, given that the article is about counterpoint, and as I have discussed above, eastern traditional music doesn’t really employ that in the way westerners think about it. However, it’s also pretty backwards to restrict Wei Ying to traditional eastern music, as modern Chinese music includes plenty of counterpoint, and part of the point of the fic is that Wei Ying is doing entirely new things that haven’t been done before. Well. They’ve been done by Aphex Twin, as described in this piece, which also describes the first piece that Wei Ying plays for Lan Zhan in the fic, in the car. I did lift the phrase “pedagogy of counterpoint,” and could not decide whether it was long enough or significant enough to credit in the fic.

Unequal Temperament: A Review of Aphex Twin’s SYRO

I can’t remember what I used this article for. It’s an interesting read.

Reverb Machine (the entire website)

This is the site I kept returning to over and over and over again. Most of the articles about electronic really focus on either the equipment used or chords. In the fic, Lan Zhan isn’t supposed to know much about equipment or how any of it is used, because he does not do electronic music. Also, I didn’t really want to talk much about chord progressions, because those discussions are steeped in western music theory, and I wanted it to be possible for Wei Ying to be using the kind of scales traditional Chinese music used, even if a lot of modern Chinese music does use an even-tempered 12-tone scale. However, this site has a lot, and I ended up returning to it again and again so Wei Ying could say an offhand thing about reverb, and to describe certain things.

Notably, Wei Ying’s track, sex.mp3 is loosely based around Trent Reznor’s and Atticus Ross’s soundtrack to The Social Network. I haven’t even talked about Trent Reznor, but he was also someone I considered deeply when I started thinking about making Wei Ying do electronic music. In case you don’t know, Reznor was the artist behind Nine Inch Nails, but in later years he moved on to more experimental things, including movie soundtracks. Side note, movie soundtracks and video games is where a lot of these experimental artists doing either minimalism, ambient, or electronica, or a combination of all three end up, and I ended up reading a lot about video game music.

But anyway, when I saw the Social Network, I came out of it 1) admiring Aaron Sorkin and wishing I didn’t admire Aaron Sorkin because he’s kind of a douche, 2) shipping Mark and Eduardo way too much for my comfort, 3) going HOLY SHIT THAT SOUNDTRACK. Turns out I was not alone in finding that soundtrack totally different and new compared to anything I have ever heard, because as it turns out, it really was—wait for it—revolutionary. I understand that I have now said that about Glass, Eno, Radiohead, and Aphex Twin, but hey, people are doing things in music. Like I get that pop and hiphop artists are revolutionizing their genres all the time, but also it is possible for music as we know it to be redefined, and it’s not just the weird shit you hear that sounds like noise (there is a place for the weird shit that sounds like noise, and Brian Eno is closer to it than any of the above mentioned; I am not dissing weird shit that sounds like noise, because it is part of how we get where we are going).

Anyway, I used this website’s essay about The Social Network’s piece, “In Motion” to describe some of the music and inform some commentary on it.

“East Meets West: A Musical Analysis of Chinese Sights and Sounds, by Yuankai BaoSounds, by Yuankai Bao” by Jiazi Shi

This was the only essay I found that really had the extremely niche technical jargon that I really wanted for the fic that was also about Chinese music. You’ll note that it’s about a Chinese composer who is, again, famous for marrying eastern and western tradition, but this was what I could find in English, and I searched a lot. You’ll note that Lan Zhan’s very specific comment about the key change is something very directly inspired by this grad school dissertation. You’ll also note that this is where I found “Flowing Stream,” including a description of the song and the lyrics.

Music. A lot of fics like this one will link you to a specific piece that the character is playing. I could not do that, because the music in my fic is very intentionally made up. As I have been saying, the whole point is that Wei Ying is pushing the boundaries, inventing music that does not exist. So is Lan Zhan, by the end. I listened to music to inspire the descriptions, but it is not what they are playing, and almost none of it is Chinese. I’d be very interested in finding some Chinese music that is working on some of the principles of minimalism and electronic that these pieces employ.

Aphex Twin – Stone In Focus

Now you’ve come to the climax—this is really the story of how I learned to love Aphex Twin. This piece makes me cry. It’s what I used to describe the piece that has the remix of Lan Zhan’s guqin piece from 12 years ago. Obviously, the guqin piece mentioned in the fic is the canonical piece, Wangxian, but I find Wangian in the drama cheesier than I want it to be, and this Aphex Twin piece doesn’t have the Wangxian part. It’s just the sad longing part before Wangxian enters, but you’ll also notice that there are no flutes! Again, this is not the piece Wei Ying wrote; it’s just what I used for the description.

I didn’t link to the YouTube video I was watching, because the video was a collection and this didn’t come on until after minute thirteen. But that video just has this very sad tunnel that looks like maybe it’s for a train, and the rain is falling, and that makes me cry as well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHl4NVytGpo&t=1074s

Book featuring Ndidi O - Hold On, I'm Coming

Wait, you’re saying, this is not electronic/house/ambient at all; this is just a trick to get me to watch one of your favorite wangxian vids! You’re right! But frankly, I was not focused on the genre when describing the music; I was focused on getting the feel of it that I wanted. The opening sequence to this was what I used to describe the track they make love to. (Lan Zhan starts making out with him and kind of slowly humping him to the track with the wangxian remix, but then Lan Zhan demands he plays something else, and this is what I listened to to get the feel for it.)

This pieces is a cover, and frankly, I can’t find out much about it. But just thinking about it turns me on and makes me cry and makes me feel so much, I can’t do it too often.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – “In Motion,” from soundtrack to The Social Network

As noted above, this piece inspired sex.mp3, but I will say that the article I linked above about this piece, as well as the memory of the soundtrack itself, inspired descriptions more than listening to the piece itself. In the fic, sex.mp3 is initially described as “violent.” This was because I didn’t know if the track would play a big part in the fic, and then when it did, I really had to change to both to fit the meaning and the flavor I wanted; it became “anxiety inducing,” and that’s when it became “In Motion.” “In Motion,” however, is kind of too bright and peppy to really be sex.mp3, though I will say I was trying to listen to it just to write this section of the post, and I had to turn it off. It makes me SO anxious.

Philip Glass – soundtrack to The Hours

I’m linking the whole soundtrack, because in the fic Lan Zhan writes several related pieces, which is what this soundtrack is. I can’t even recommend one piece on this soundtrack, because it’s the thing as a whole that really makes you cry, and I can’t say I listened to a specific part of it to describe Lan Zhan’s music, because I know it so well that I only have to listen to a small piece to get all of it.

Flowing Water, played by Chen Leiji

The part this played in the fic is obvious. I listened to at least five versions of Flowing Stream/Flowing Water, and this is the one that I like the best. However, like all the renditions I listened to, the piece eventually becomes pretty complex and different than I wanted for Lan Zhan. In fact, what the narration describes as “showing off technique” is what I found in all recordings of this piece. I guess if you’re going to play “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on YouTube you’re going to do something impressive with it, but I will say this piece is still very close to what I wanted.

I will also say that when I searched for this piece, as well as several other traditional songs, the search results had a lost of stuff that said you can listen to these pieces for tranquility and calm and meditation. I suggest listening to this one as extremely passionate and longing, and you’re going to get a lot more from it. If you resign it to the background, yeah, it’s kind of nice. If you let each note really speak to you, you’re going to really ache in a beautiful way.

Brian Eno – Ambient 1, Music for Airports

After hearing so much about Eno and Music for Airports, I was a little afraid I wouldn’t like it. After all, this isn’t really my genre, and witness how long it took me to find something I liked by Aphex Twin. However, I really needed some inspiration for the piece Wei Ying composes after Lan Zhan breaks them up, so I started listening to it.

The opening to this album is not the heartbreaking thing that the fic describes. It in fact does break my heart, but that is because there is something so sweet about it, lonely and sweet, but also perfectly fine being by itself. This piece is like a child alone in a room, figuring out blocks. This piece is like a cat on a piano, content with its nonsense noise. This piece is what it’s like to be alone and to be fine with that, to love from afar and be fine with that. It still brings me to tears, listening to it.

Radiohead – Everything in its Right Place

Apparently I did not succeed in writing all the music without Radiohead. I will say it happened because I happened to be watching a TV show that just happened to use this song right when I needed something powerful. I was already thinking about them, because my BFF was listening to a podcast about In Rainbows, which explains the children shouting “Yay!” in 15 Step. I really wanted something other than rain to get sampled in Wei Ying’s music, and my brother has specifically used his children talking or his babies crying as samples. Once Lan Zhan knows about A-Yuan, I wanted to use that idea, so I listened to 15 Step again, which is far too peppy for what I needed. But then Everything In Its Right Place came on, and it’s actually way too melancholy for what I needed, but that doesn’t really matter; I just needed to get a few notes described, so this is what I used for inspiration for what Wei Ying plays Lan Zhan after he admits to being in love with him. I will just say that re-listening to this song really does remind me of just how much Kid A means to me, but also how much it means to, like, music. There was really nothing like it at the time.

I will end this post by saying that I am not, in fact, a "music" person. So many people need and rely on music to get them through tough times. I mostly don't care about it. I don't have a Spotify account, and I can't imagine taking the time to really curate playlists.

But one thing I can say about me and my tastes is that I'm interested in learning. I want to try new things and hear things that I haven't heard before. To be a little self-aggrandizing, I think that that's a good thing. I think it makes me a better person to work on listening to things that I'm a little unfamiliar with and learn what's great about them. I think I got to do that quite a bit writing this, even though in the end I used a lot of pieces I was familiar with to do the actual writing. I hope that maybe someone reads this and decides to listen to something new, just like I did.

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cpunkhobie · 10 months

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@non-rise-tmnt-au-competition POLL LINK HERE !

Ronin Plural Au here :) !

Imma have to finish the rest of of the propaganda in the caption cause I don’t have the energy to keep drawing it on my phone BUT

*Im a system and this is an AU about being a system ! :D that’s what Ronin Plural AU is !! Ronin is just a bunch of dudes stacked in a trench coat

But YEAH. !!!! I have seriously put a lot of effort and thought into this AU and making sure the system dynamics are accurate AS WELL as Ronin’s relationship as a system with the other characters in their world, INCLUDING THEIR VILLIANS

It’s pretty much a whole new iteration with its own magic system that ALSO is a metaphor and helps tackle topics of emotional disregulation and generational trauma. It’s also made by an Chinese person (me) whose focusing very hard on creating an accurate and relatable representation of Asian American families and culture. The themes of generational trauma coming hand in hand with the trauma the Ronin system originated from

I could go on and on honestly abt Ronins found family with Casey, April and Karai, or the relationship between the Hamato and Foot clan but seriously!!! I care abt this au so much even if I don’t post abt it as often as I’d like to. So a vote would mean a lot. So um YEAH !!! Vote roninpluralau au and support your local systems TODAY !

#jonah with a megaphone #roninpluralau #Jonah with a pen

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princess-ibri · 2 months

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For the Descendants kids with horrible and trashy names, how would you name them? From books and movies.

So I'll just go ahead and give how I changed each name for My Canon Descendants AU, to make them feel more like their own character/fit better with the og movies time periods/cultures. I didn't give them all unique names as the point of the project was to translate the Descendants kids into the actual movies, not make full OCs, (though I did end up making a few of those anyway xD) but I tried to at least adjust them.

Mal--Mallow (to go with the Nature name theme the Three Good Fairies had going on with their own names/Briar Rose)

Audrey I kept as it was actually a Medieval name!

Evie-- Eva, it's a pretty easy fix to more period accurate/Germanic sounding

Doug -- Doleful, to fit better with the Dwarfs Attribute names, plus he seemed kinda down in the first movie so the meaning felt like it fit

Carlos I kept because honestly I felt like it could fit in universe if Cruella's husband was a Spanish man, which he conceivabley could be

Jay--Jaamil, and no not because of Twisted Wonderland that just happened by accident xD

They orginally had Aladdin's deleted sin be named Aziz but there was already an Aladdin character named that in the TV show who was a villain so I changed it to Ahmed, like one of the other Arabian Nights heroes

Ben--I changed from Benjamin to Benedict as that was more French/period appropriate

Honestly I could 100% see Gaston naming his sons after himself so I kept Gastons 1 and 2 but I changed Gil to Gilbert (French pronunciation of course)

Lonnie...oh Lonnie. I changed her name to Chi, as with her patronymic of Li she would be Li Chi, which sounded similar to Lonnie but would actually be Chinese and is the name of a girl in a Chinese legend who slays a dragon, which was what I based her hypothetical movie plot on

Chad I changed to Charles, easy enough. Much more elegant and formal

Jane I just changed to Janet to make it a little fancier/Frenchier as well xD

Dizzy I changed to Daisy (though I suppose since she's French based, it really should be Marguerite...eh Daisy can be the nickname)

Uma I kept cuz honestly its a good name and her song is a banger 👌

Harry is fine, good pirate name, short for Henry, which also works. Harriet was fine too, just made her and Harry twins and made CJ go by her first name only of Calista.

Honestly with a pirate dad named Smee Squeeky and Squirmy also work, though they're definitely nicknames.

Celia works fine, it fits with the time/culture of 1920s New Orleans, though I did change Freddie to Frederique.

Getting into some book characters now:

Artie I changed to Amhar, a lesser known son of Arthur (could have done Mordred but as the kid was meant to be heroic I decided to go with Amhar, plus it started with A x)

Mad Maddy honestly isn't a bad name, but I did change it to Matilda to be a bit more Medieval sounding, plus linked her to Matilda of the Night, a Medieval witch legend.

(And apparently there's gonna be a son of Morgana Le Fay in the new movie named... Morgie. My gosh. Well we'll change that right back to Yvain. Her actual son, no she's not Mordred's mother no matter what the movies try to tell you she's his aunt and I will die on this pedantic hill)

Hadie I instantly changed to Zagreus. He's the literal son of Hades and goodness its such a better name. Same with changing Herkie to Hyllus. Also an actual son of Hercules and doesn't sound like a euphemism for throwing up.

Allie I changed to Mary Jean after the Real Alice's grandaughter, and when I made my Queen of Hearts Kid D4 hadn't been announced yet so I named her Aceline (a pun on Ace of Hearts)

Ruby and Anxelin weren't terrible names so I kept them, just made Anxelin a Dark Kingdom name xD (and apparently they're giving Rapunzel a third daughter in the new movie? Her name is just Zellie though...so I think I'll just keep these two. Zellie could definitely work as being short for Anxelin and hey, Rapunzel had twins in the actual fairytale so two just works)

Wrapping it up:

Claudine isnt too bad and fits the time period but I changed her parent from Frollo to his brother Jehan cuz that man should never ever get to be with any woman.

Clay Clayton I changed to Cecil after the actual Clayton character in the books who wasn't that bad of a guy.

Yzla works fine as a name for Yzma's daughter. I just changed Zevon to Yzon to match better and not sound so much like he escaped the 23rd century

Ginny Gothel I just lengthened out to Ginevra to sound more fantastical

I didn't actually do anything for Pocahontas as it always kinda controversial to touch. But if I did I'd of course just make her descendant her actual son Thomas Rolfe and apparently they gave Ratcliffe a son named Rick? So...we'll change his name to Richard or--well one sec let me see if Actual Historical Governor Ratcliffe had any kids.

OK! Looks like he didn't but he did die horribly. My Gosh.

Anyway I think that's everyone!

#asks #disney #Descendants #canon descendants #descendants rewrite #vks #hks #disney princesses #disney villains #disney heroes #disney movies

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0907x0621px · 5 months

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Comic World Taiwan 65 in this weekend we will sale Saioma's comic🔞, co-created with MURI. (only traditional Chinese)

The story is set in a teacher-student relationship AU (Shuichi is teacher & Kokichi is student), an ambiguous relationship leads to them have an intimate moment , unexpectedly witnessed by students.

The physical comic is priced at TWD 310.

There are plans to selling the digital version on Pixiv booth later. If confirmed for sale, the link will be announced.

#ndrv3 #saioma #saiouma #shuichi saihara #kokichi ouma

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onesidedradiostatic · 28 days

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Intro Post + FAQ!?!?!?

STRIPES TRUTHERS DNI!!!!!!!! (this is a joke)

I'm not replacing my pinned post because I like my pinned post. it's special to me. it describes my blog in a single gif. but I'll link this in my bio.

hi! I think this was long overdue. first of all, introduction!

I'm pink! she/her, 19, filipino-chinese, 🇸🇬

I am an asexual sapphic on the aro spectrum! I'm not repulsed in either department though, I consider myself mostly sex-neutral and romance... idk, ambivalent irl, favourable in fiction.

keep in mind that hazbin hotel itself has a lot of explicit humour, so canon-typical level of that kind of humour should be expected here. however, outside of text-only nsfw jokes, I typically don't post or reblog nsfw art (and IF I did, I would use community labels/appropriate tags). I may also tag certain text-only nsfw joke posts as #suggestive, just as a precaution.

and now the FAQ...

FAQ

Other than one-sided RadioStatic, what do you ship?

I've actually done this before, but decided I'd update it a bit.

cherrivel is only there because of the need for velvette to have someone at the hotel to be obsessed with, refer to this post. it is currently unserious and could easily never come up in my posts I just thought to include it because of that one time I brought it up. other crackships may come up if I find it funny (ie adam x mammon).

this shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, I do not like any reciprocated romantic alastor ships, I'm not here to police anyone for what they do in fanon, but all I ask is no one send me anything of the sort. I interpret alastor as a repulsed aroace, and the dialogue in which his asexuality is implied in canon implies to me he would never pursue dating (rosie knows alastor wouldn't be dating charlie because he is aroace, which implies she knows he is an aroace that doesn't date**). so that is how I choose to portray alastor in my posts.

**TO BE CLEAR, there IS nuance to this. because action =/= attraction. funny situations such as a fake date with vox as a distraction that he doesn't like at ALL entertain me. but I do not believe he is the type to pursue it under normal circumstances.

regarding qprs... well, as you can see, I really only care for qpr radiorose, but this is the part where it comes down to personal preference. qpr radiostatic largely depends for me, maybe if it's like an au where they never had a falling out or something but otherwise, I don't personally really see it, but that isn't to judge anyone who does. HOWEVER, I do like thinking about their past friendship, here's a post I made before regarding alastor's side on it.

Who's your favourite character?

unfortunately, it is the stupid tv man in my pfp. alastor is my second favourite though if that's not immediately obvious (wow tumblr user @onesidedradiostatic's faves are vox and alastor who could've guessed?)

Do you know [insert pre-series information here]?

I need to clarify, I am NOT a pre-series hazbin fan. I only got into hazbin properly at episode 5-6's release, prior to that I had only watched episode 4 out of curiosity due to twitter discourse. any information I have regarding pre-series stuff comes from the wiki, tumblr posts or anons who have informed me of stuff. my main source of information is the main series, that is how I first consumed hazbin after all.

What the fuck is the "Lucifer's Commissions Saga"?

it all started with an anon talking about the most unrealistic thing about vox owning an alastor body pillow being that alastor was able to be printed on it without glitches. I then dropped a stupid idea I had in my head for a bit about lucifer being offered 50k to make a sexy alastor painting for vox. one reblog later. well. it turned into vox commissioning lucifer for the body pillow. and then a bunch of asks came in related to it and it turned into a saga which is now my legacy. feel free to scroll through this entire thing. also a fanfic of it by ChaoticAce2005 now exists. go check it out. AN ANIMATIC BASED ON ONE OF THE POSTS BY NATAKARANIA ALSO NOW EXISTS. CHECK THAT OUT TOO.

The original post mentions Val commissioning Lucifer for the art for Vox, Val is canonically a talented artist, why would he do that?

in my defence, I kinda forgot about that when I posted the original joke. later asks, I've mended that val HAS drawn for vox before but vox nitpicked too much and val's not always willing to do a fully rendered sexy alastor... so vox has to outsource. and he just happens to do so to the king of hell.

Hey, hey, listen! What if Vox doesn't have a crush on Alastor but wants XXX instead!?

hey, I respect you! I respect your opinion and hc. but this blog is built around that concept specifically, I like vox wanting something he can never have, wanting romance from a guy who literally cannot feel the same way about him. so I'm probably not gonna be as passionate about other takes. but your opinion is valid! I'm just not really sure what you want me to say other than respectfully disagreeing.

Why don't you use RadioSilence for one-sided RadioStatic?

radio silence is the name of another book made by the author of heartstopper, alice oseman (which I heard also has a canon aspec character!). even though it is already a used tag for this ship, I refuse to contribute to flooding the book tag with hazbin hotel. it's already an issue I see even when searching #radio silence with the space, I think those in that fandom should be allowed to search for content without being flooded by content from another fandom. please understand.

I instead use #onewaybroadcast in accordance with this poll. I still use the regular #radiostatic and #staticradio tags in addition to it for more reach and because vox's side still technically counts under it, if anyone doesn't like specifically one-sided radiostatic for whatever reason, they may filter out the specific tag or block me.

Tags

#osrs.txt - all text posts, including asks #osrs.art - self-explanatory, art done by me #osrs.mp4 - videos which can range from compilations, shitpost edits to high effort edits #osrs.helluva - my helluva boss reactions/liveblogging and related stuff

#radiostatic parent trap subplot - the short series of asks joking about the torn picture vox has reminding them of the parent trap, turning into a crack subplot #projecting irl experiences onto radiostatic squad - where a bunch of anons came together to recount irl experiences with incels and say "yeah this is vox" #the ays - angel dust realising he and alastor are the reason for the vees' focus on the hotel and decides to brand both of them as the ays #lucifer's commissions saga - everyone's favourite as explained above, and also the biggest arc on this blog (my legacy) #alastor's modern sexuality label crisis - started with alastor misinterpreting "asexual" as asexual reproduction, continued on to him misinterpreting more modern sexuality labels #vox's stupid fucking turtleneck - it started with me trying to start up a debate on the colour of vox's turtleneck in the vox and val photo and escalated into people in my notes and askbox trying to gaslight me into thinking the turtleneck has stripes instead of it being a KNITTING PATTERN. this is what the STRIPES TRUTHERS DNI is referring to btw #respectless anons - started with an anon trying to correct colour names and saying "not to be velvette..." and ended up with other anons being kin assigned characters #all the fucking parodies - there's been 2 parodies for you didn't know and 2 for respectless by others based on shit from this blog now, this tag is needed

#osrs.intro

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ms-fandomgirl · 6 months

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BBHG: Mapo Tofu (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 2,565

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Mapo Tofu - Consisting of tofu set in a spicy red sauce with meat, this originally Chinese dish emigrated to Japan in the 1950s where it evolved into sweeter and more mellow flavors popular among Japanese cuisine.

Pale, golden rays of sunlight filtered through the large, double-paned windows, warming the kitchen in a gentle glow. On the windowsill, six houseplants of different varieties sat, basking in the morning light. Sticking out of the soil, small jewel-toned picks proudly displayed their names: Yuki, Kita, Suga, Tohru, Ren, and Souta. In the living room, eight more plants were grouped around the couch, still asleep in the darkness until the afternoon rays helped them rise.

At the doorway, Ibara Shiozaki stood, wringing hands betraying her otherwise stoic expression. “You’ll need to rotate Souta 45 degrees every two days, otherwise he begins to lean too much towards the sun.” She motioned to the last of the plants on the windowsill, small buds covering the plump, green succulent. “And don’t forget that Tohru needs to be watered last, since you also need to mix in her special plant food, but you can’t give it to Kita, otherwise he’ll die.”

You nodded, attempting to shoo her out of the door for the umpteenth time this morning. “Don’t worry Shiozaki, I’ve got this. I promise that I can handle your babies for a week.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking skeptical. “When you first brought your own plants upon move-in, they were in desperate need of attention. For someone with a medical background, I was surprised you didn’t immediately realize that action needed to be taken in order to preserve their life.”

While the words themselves sounded hostile, you simply laughed the comment off, shaking your head. Having Shiozaki as a roommate did nothing to cure the culture shock that came with the big city. Blunt, serious, and downright confusing at times, she had definitely added to the stress at first. However, she did, in fact, save your plants, and there was no way you could afford an apartment as half as nice as this one if you had been living on your own. Therefore, you quickly adjusted to her quirkiness and overall dependability as a roommate.

“My specialty is people, not plants, but I’m an avid learner.” you replied. “That’s where you come in, my incredibly talented, plant-mom teacher.”

Shiozaki scoffed, but a rosy blush crept its way onto her cheeks. She never could take a compliment. “Well, I emailed the instructions to you, just in case. I also–”

“–Left them taped to the fridge,” you finished for her. “Yes, I saw those two weeks ago when you announced that you had this mission. It will be fine, just go. You’re going to be late!”

Shiozaki looked like she wanted to argue more, but closed her mouth when she saw the time, her lips forming a tense line. If there was one thing she possibly valued as much as her plants, it was her punctuality, and right now you had a very good point. If she delayed any further, she would most definitely be late. Giving you a confident nod as you wished for her safe travels, she spun on heel and closed the apartment door, footsteps echoing down the hallway.

You glanced at the time on the microwave, inwardly cursing yourself as you too rushed to get out of the door. It wasn’t until you were at the crosswalk to the station that you realized your hands were too empty. The bento box you had left to dry the night before was still sitting on the rack.

The underground was busy today, although it was considerably louder than yesterday. Normally, the commuting passengers, while many in number, were heard by the sound of their shoes against the worn tile rather than their voices. Early mornings with no coffee and the stress of public transportation rendered them voluntarily mute.

Today, however, everyone had something to say.

Vendors of food stands loudly offered you their freshest pastries, your stomach saying ‘yes’ but your brain and anxiety very much saying ‘no.’ Around you, people clustered in groups, talking about the headlines on the newspapers stacked around the station. The words ‘top heroes’ and ‘tomorrow’ were the only ones to cling to your memory, the others brushed off by your hasty pace. How could anyone think about ‘tomorrow’ when there was still a whole day of ‘today’?

Therefore, it was hardly your fault that you didn’t hear the man at first, brain immediately dismissing his voice as another in the sea of mindless chatter.

“Oi, you there.” A small commotion erupted behind you, the sound of angry huffs increasing in volume as more people were pushed aside. You didn’t turn, anxiously peering down the tracks of the train, as though doing so would make it come faster. “Hey, Bento Box Girl! I’m talking to you.”

You were once again painfully reminded that your own bento box was firmly planted on your kitchen counter. Nonetheless, you did turn, wondering what poor person was being accosted like this so early in the morning. The scent of warm caramel and a familiar cologne crested over you like a wave, so strong you almost stumbled as though physically pushed.

Ah, that poor person was you.

“Me?” You stared at him, too shocked to be polite, not that it mattered. He definitely didn’t seem like the type for pleasantries considering that he had blatantly ignored any pretense of manners with both encounters.

The man in question rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The white t-shirt he wore stretched tight across his chest at the motion, confirming that the hardness you had felt from your trip the other day was, in fact, all muscle. You were sure the arms which had caught you were similarly structured, but they were currently covered by an oversized letterman, a large, burgundy ‘R’ emblazoned on the front left pocket. Narrowing in on his piercing eyes, more vibrant than the jacket, and sandy hair, you thought that the man looked vaguely familiar, too.

A sudden gust of wind signaled the train’s arrival, breaking your thoughts and stealing your attention away. The stranger didn’t like this, darting in front of you to prevent you from moving toward the opening doors and forcing you to face him again.

“What’s your secret?” His eyes bore into yours with unfettered determination, and a chill ran its way down your spine. You tried to side-step him, but he was obnoxiously quick for someone of his build.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, meeting his gaze with all of the strength you could muster. You weren’t a villain, but he was certainly making you feel like one.

He scoffed, as though insulted that you could be this clueless. “The curry. What’s the secret to your curry?”

A second passed. Then two.

‘Was this guy serious?’

“Just-” you began, realizing that he wouldn’t leave you in peace until you gave him an answer, “add something sweet, like honey. Yours was way too spicy. You need the balance of both, otherwise one flavor will overpower everything and it won’t taste as good.”

His brows furrowed, a slight nod being the only confirmation that he heard you. He turned to rummage in his own bag, and you considered the conversation over, trying to step past him onto the train.

His arm shot out, and you were once again blocked. In his hand, he held a small box wrapped in a pale orange cloth. A bento box. Your bento box. You looked back up at the man, who was looking at you with an expectant stare.

“I don’t have yours,” you said, shrugging sheepishly. “This morning was super busy and I didn’t even have time to pack my lunch. In fact, I don’t even think I have any leftovers since Shiozaki–”

He cut off your rambling with a wave of his hand. You thought he would be upset at your admission, seeing as his default reaction seemed to be pissed off, but instead, he simply leaned back, hands finding his pockets.

“You better bring me something good tomorrow, then,” he said, a devastating grin slicing across his face.

It was then that you were reminded how handsome this asshole was. That sense of familiarity wormed its way to the front of your brain again, and you wondered if you knew him from the cover of a magazine or on a billboard advertising the latest fashion. He certainly seemed like the type.

The station announcer called for last minute passengers, and you scurried through the open doors, abruptly cutting off any further conversation. However, it seemed as though he had accomplished what he came for. Instead of boarding the train, you watched as his red letterman turned away from the platform and made its way upstairs, melting into the crowd.

‘Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be such a bad thing to think about after all.’

* * *

“That man is loaded.” Hina leaned back in the hard plastic chair of the break room, hands coming together to form a peak as she began her analysis. “The jacket you’re describing is from the Fatgum Agency x Gucci merch collab for charity. The only pieces of sidekick merch were the letterman jackets, and they sold out in less than five minutes on pre-order.”

You had been giving Hina a dramatic reenactment of your morning events, and when you had mentioned the flashy jacket that the man wore, she had almost fainted. A few months ago, she had come into work with bags under her eyes and looking utterly defeated. When you had asked her what was wrong, fearing the worst, she had tearfully told you about how hard she had tried to get the Tamaki letterman, and how quickly they had sold out. You consoled her with a lunch out and Suneater plushie, but you knew the defeat stung, especially since she owned every other piece of Suneater merch.

“Maybe he’s in the yakuza,” Hina continued. “Besides having money, he must have had connections to score that jacket as well.”

You set your chopsticks down, thoughtfully chewing your tofu. “I doubt that a member of the yakuza would be buying hero merch, much less chasing after me for a curry recipe. Whoever he is though, the man can cook.”

After yesterday’s curry fiasco, you had been hesitant to try whatever he had prepared for you today. However, your curiosity won out, and you had unwrapped the bento to reveal a beautiful meal of mapo tofu. Like his last dish, this one was tongue-numbingly spicy. However, instead of being overwhelming, the different flavors of spice melded together perfectly to create a multi-dimensional flavor that left you craving more.

“So, you don’t think he’s all that bad now?” Hina questioned, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

“No, he’s definitely still an asshole.” You shook your head as you corrected her. “It’s just annoying that he’s also handsome, cooks well, smells good, and is apparently loaded.”

Hina snickered into her hand. “I don’t know, sounds like he’s still a catch. Maybe you just need to get earplugs so you can’t hear him when he opens his mouth.”

You could easily imagine the stranger’s rage if he realized you weren’t listening to him, giggling at the thought of his face turning red and veins popping out of his neck until steam began to actually pour from his ears. “I would pay money to see his face if he ever found out, but it would probably be the last thing I ever saw.”

Feeling a looming presence over your shoulder, you stopped the conversation short, turning around in your chair to come face to face with a very unhappy looking Gia. Her hands were on her hips, and she made a show of tapping her foot, as though she had been waiting.

“Ah, there you are,” she said to Hina, completely ignoring your existence. “I should have known that you would have been in the break room.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes but couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice as you responded. “Well, it is our lunch break for five more minutes.”

As expected, she didn’t offer you any form of acknowledgment. Instead, she rounded the table to stand in front of Hina, brushing away the loose strands of hair that framed her face and were one hundred percent breaking the dress code. “Why did you go ahead and draw up Mr. Mori’s charts? I thought I told you to wait for me.”

Hina was handling the situation better than you were, giving Gia a placating smile. “You were busy with other matters at the time, so I went ahead and helped him since he is under my care.”

“But what if you missed something?” Gia scolded.

“I didn’t,” Hina replied. “I had Dr. Hayashi confirm it.”

You thought Gia might cool down after this statement, but if anything, it seemed to make her even more agitated. She sighed loudly, her voice lowering in tone but increasing in vitriol. “But you could have!”

She shook her shoulders, straightening herself back into a somewhat relaxed position. “Next time, please wait for me. As a senior nurse, it is my duty to make sure that our patients receive the most accurate and relevant care.”

Hina nodded in response, obviously wanting the conversation to be over. Thankfully, her wish was granted. Gia turned on heel and walked out of the break room without another word, head held high as though she had saved the day. When the door closed, you scoffed loudly, rubbing your forehead.

“She could have missed something too!” you exclaimed. “Even though her Diagnosis quirk is ‘made’ for the medical field, it’s only accurate 95% of the time. We’ve studied for years to get here. Surely that means we can fill out a chart and give a basic diagnosis based on the readings without her breathing down our necks.”

Hina agreed, groaning as she sunk down into her chair. “I know, but what can we do? She’s in charge of us for now. I’m just glad we’re still in our rotations so we won’t be stuck with her forever.”

You grumbled out an agreement, still unhappy about the entire situation. Someone definitely needed to take her down a peg or two, but you felt as though you had no right to do so. After all, she was your boss, and despite her general arrogance, her quirk really was perfect for this. All she had to do was touch someone, and she was able to give them a complete diagnosis of the patient with at least 95% accuracy if not more. Your quirk, while still being useful, was nowhere near the level that hers was when it came to helping others and saving lives.

A timer on your phone signaled the end of your break, and you carefully packed up the bento before wrapping it in its pale orange cloth. There wasn’t much left of the mapo tofu, and you made a mental note to cook something special for the stranger in gratitude, despite his attitude. Following Hina out of the door and back into the hospital hallway, you realized that for once, you were excited for the next day to come.

A/N: Yay! Second chapter is up! Thank you guys so much for the amazing support and kind words. I am so happy you have been enjoying it so far! My schedule might become a bit disrupted during/after Thanksgiving, but I will update you all if things change. Other than that, looking forward to next week's post! It's a long one.

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well. I've never done one before, so I'm not sure I did it right.

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surrogate-fawn · 7 months

Text

End of Term (NYC College AU)

Part 1 of 2

(Link to Part 2 will appear here when posted)

Summary: Fawn is a small-town girl from West Virginia trying to find her future in the Big Apple. She's left everything from her past behind her . . . or so she thinks. During her final exams, Fawn is completely unaware that she's been pregnant since before the semester began -- and her labor has started. As her discomfort grows more intense throughout the day, Fawn gets a little closer to discovering the cause of it. Hopefully, it doesn't take her too long to figure it out.

((This story features Newt, who belongs to @mittysins.))

TW: Cryptic pregnancy, graphic bodily descriptions, implications of past abuse, emotionally traumatic birth experience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I still wasn't used to the subway trains. Sitting on one was like riding an elevator sideways during an earthquake. The g-force of every start and stop made my stomach lurch, and I still almost flew outta my seat every time. I could expect to be a little queasy by the time Newt and I reached our last stop -- and that was when I didn't wake up sick.

"Bleh. I blame YOU for this!" I text messaged Newt, despite the fact he was sitting a few seats over. He was sitting in our usual spot, but that morning I needed to sit in the back corner, where I could curl up and rest against the wall.

I saw Newt check his phone from the corner of my eye, and seconds later I got his reply: "How is indigestion MY fault?"

"I didn't even want takeout until YOU asked for it." I was sure to put a goofy emoji at the end of the message to show I was being sarcastic.

"Sorry. Cravings." Newt replied. A second later he sent a gif of a cartoon cat shrugging.

I leaned over and met his eyes with a deliberately exaggerated frown. There were several strangers sitting between us, and I probably looked crazy -- but what else was new in this city? I hit 'send', and watched Newt check his phone. I delighted in his held back snicker when he saw the giant picture of a middle finger on his screen.

That morning marked the start of our first finals week as freshman at Queens College. Newt and I had stayed up as late as possible, doing some last-minute study cramming at my apartment. Now that Newt was entering his second trimester, he was trading in his morning sickness for late-night cravings of Chinese food -- specifically steamed dumplings with fried rice (but it had to be plain rice, he'd cried when I'd accidentally ordered the pork rice).

"You're a bad influence on me, lol. I need to stop joining in on your craving binges." I hugged my backpack tighter to my stomach as my guts cramped again.

"I'm not the one who ordered two boxes of sesame chicken and three extra egg rolls." Newt retorted. A second later: "Not to mention the lo mein."

"The lo mein was supposed to be for lunch today! >:("

"Ye right. ;)"

Fine, yeah, I'd overdone it last night. I could barely contain myself around food anymore. Ever since I'd arrived in New York City that past summer, I'd been overeating. I guess I was eating my emotions. The stress had been piling up all fuckin' semester!

Moving from the suburbs of West Virginia to such a huge city had my nerves fried by the time I settled into my teeny-tiny apartment that was more expensive than a house back home. Stacked on that was the anxiety of starting school. Stacked on that was the fact my roommate, Makayla, refused to do her share of chores. Stacked on that was homesickness. Stacked on that was studying enough to not lose my scholarship. Then stacked on all of that, my one and only friend in this city was dealing with an unplanned pregnancy.

If my next-door neighbor hadn't been Newt, I'd still be floundering. Without a doubt. We clicked at first sight, as if we'd known each other in a past life. He was my lifeline. Newt had lived in Manhattan all his life, but Queens College was the only local school within his budget and that's how we'd ended up in the same off-campus student housing. He was the one that taught me street-smarts -- which roads to avoid at night, where the best Mom-and-Pop restaurants were, how to hail a cab, and how to read the hieroglyphics that were the subway maps. Although we'd only been friends for barely a month when he knocked on my door with a positive pregnancy test and tears in his eyes, I'd never thought twice about being his shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold.

I didn't care if worrying over him added to the stress of my new life here, it was a worry I gladly carried.

But it seemed all that stress was finally catching up to me.

As the train came to another screaming halt, I was twisting myself into a pretzel. My stomach was cramping again, straining hard to move along the mountain of food I'd eaten twelve hours earlier. The doors slid open, and several passengers I recognized as fellow students stood up. Newt joined them, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and plucking the air pods out of his ears. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs needed a few extra seconds of convincing.

"You good?" Newt asked as he watched me lift myself off the seat in segments.

"I'm fine," I said, walking with him onto the platform. "I just hope that Pepto kicks in soon."

"How many exams you got today?"

"Three," I groaned, my head falling back on my shoulders. "Chemistry, biology, and that stupid-ass remedial algebra class."

"Ha! I've only got two," Newt gloated, pausing to zip up his oversized red jacket.

"Uh-huh, but don't you have to wait eight hours between them?"

"Gives me plenty of time to study," he said as we continued up the station stairs. The sonofabitch was talking like he hadn't been complaining all week about his morning class and evening class having the same exam day.

"Please," I smirked, rolling my eyes, "I know you're just gonna play The Sims 4 on your laptop."

We both shivered as we walked out of the muggy underground and into the biting cold winds coming off the harbor. I pulled my hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings tighter around my neck.

"You can't prove anything," Newt grinned, his breath coming out as a soft cloud.

I gave him a comedically unamused look. "You're pregnant, so I'm not gonna hit you."

Newt chuckled and placed his hand over the small, four-month bump that was hiding under his jacket. "Thanks for the save, kiddo."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk to campus was only two blocks, but it felt like I was forcing myself to trudge through mud. I regretted ordering so much food. Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson, yet.

My overeating the last few months had me in a constant state of bloat. It always felt like a giant water balloon was sitting right on my guts. I was peeing every few minutes, my kidneys working overtime to get rid of the extra fluid I was holding. Gas bubbles were always rolling through me, too. They were mostly just annoying blips of movement but recently they'd gotten painful.

The worst were the large pockets of air that got trapped under my ribs. They would stay there for hours sometimes, making it excruciating to breathe. Nothing in the world could help me when I got like that; I just had to go about my day in agony and wait until the pressure spreading my ribs apart decided to move along.

By now, I was kinda used to functioning while my intestines were trying to kill me; but, God, they were trying extra hard that day.

My stomachache flared up right outside the library, the shortcut I took to get to chemistry class. I sat down on a bench, gripping the edge of the seat and trying not to double over. My sides ached, and a deep stabbing pain plunged deep inside my abdomen. The invisible knife twisted, and I realized I was holding my breath.

"Fawn?"

I looked up at Newt, who had doubled back to check on me. His first class was on the other side of campus, and the library was where our daily routes split for most of the day.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving him away. "I'll buy a soda at lunch. That usually helps."

Newt glanced over his shoulder, down the path he was supposed to take, and then stepped a little closer. "I won't be out of here until five. Don't wait up for me, okay? When you're done with exams, just go home."

"Yeah, I will," I nodded. "That sounds good."

Newt nodded back, looking a lot more at ease. "Is it okay if I come over with some soup later? I found a new recipe online and it looks really good!"

"That's fine," I said, stretching my arms over my head to loosen up my torso. "Just use your key. I'll see 'ya then, bud."

"See you then." He gave me a two-fingered salute and continued on his way.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed. I had to get moving again, or else I'd have half my final exam score deducted for being late. My chemistry professor was a real stickler for being on-time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd moved to New York City to finally get my degree in Botany & Plant Science. It'd been my dream for a while to become a researcher and study the pharmaceutical use of plants. Having a pair of old hippies as parents will inspire that interest in 'ya. Queens College was the best scholarship I could get out-of-state, and I had to be out-of-state. I just had to be.

I already had trouble fitting in with my classmates as a "mature" undergrad student. Since when was twenty-nine considered too "mature" for college?! All of my subjects were basic introductory courses, and that meant I was surrounded by fresh-faced teenagers less than a year out of high school. Even Newt wasn't that young. He'd taken a few years off before college, but apparently twenty-four was still young enough to fit in with the crowd.

At least not having any classroom friends meant I was left alone that morning. I sat in my assigned seat and watched the rest of the students file in from the hallway. The desk allowed me to hunch down when my stomach clenched again, the muscles in my abs pinching hard. I crossed my legs and bounced my foot, trying to distract myself from the storm brewing inside me as the professor laid out the rules of the exam period.

I was in pain for that entire hour. It was hard to keep up with the time limit. I had to pause on several multiple-choice questions -- sometimes because they were challenging, other times because the stabbing, twisting pain was flaring up. I began fantasizing about how good I'd feel after I was able to get my hands on a soda, and that daydream carried me through.

Shockingly, I was one of the first students to stand up -- and I'd finished with barely eleven minutes to spare. My professor nodded at me as I placed my exam packet on his desk, and he quietly wished me a good winter break as I shuffled out the door.

Freedom at last! There were about two hours to kill before my biology exam, so I was sure with a light snack and some rest I'd be feeling better by then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd worked hard to build up enough of a nest egg to live off in New York. I'd squirreled money away for three years in a secret bank account, and lied to Alexander about how much my hourly pay was. My scholarship covered only part of my housing costs, and I knew living off savings couldn't last all four years of school. However, I was not going to stress over buying a three-dollar root beer when it felt like I was being wrung like a washcloth.

The dining hall at Queens was a glorified cafeteria: fold-out tables, plastic chairs, too much noise and not enough space. I really wasn't hungry, but I knew if I skipped out on lunch I would regret it later. So, I stopped by the Nathan's stand to grab a hotdog and bag of plain potato chips to go with my large cup of carbonated medicine.

I made do with sitting at the empty end of a crowded table, where the huddle of dudes at the other end were playing Magic: the Gathering. That stuff was more Newt's scene than mine, so I put my earbuds in and pulled up the YouTube app on my phone.

The Peanuts Christmas special played on my screen as I nibbled on chips and washed the salt away with long swigs of root beer. I was hoping to summon a little Christmas spirit to help me not feel so dead inside. It was two weeks away, and it was the little candy-red cherry atop my mountain of things to worry about. Between hesitant bites of hotdog, I wondered how I could pry some gift ideas out of Newt last-minute. I'd already gotten him an Amazon gift card, but I wanted to get him something a little more per-.

I sucked a sharp breath through my nostrils, choking on half-chewed bread as my stomach cramped again. It didn't feel the same as the hundreds of other cramps I'd been having. This one was bad. It was really. Fucking. Bad! I curled up in the seat, my hands dipping inside my hoodie pocket to press against my stomach. Even through three layers of clothing, I could feel my muscles clenching.

And it just wouldn't stop. Most of them would fade after a few seconds, but this one just kept going. I doubled over, pressing on my belly and praying the pain would stop.

And then it stopped.

I sat up straight and looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention, but my freckles turned pink anyway as I quickly rose and tossed what was left of my food in the trash. I chugged the rest of the soda.

There were still two exams to go, but I was already checked out for the day. I knew there was a bottle of cupcake vodka leftover from Makayla's birthday party last month. Mixed in a milkshake, that stuff had been sweet enough to give me both a sugar high and a buzz. Maybe if the soda didn't do the trick I'd go home and try soothing my stomach with one of those. I deserved one already, and it wasn't even noon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt to be upright.

My biology exam was half lab work and half a written test. The class was split into two groups: one to do the lab first, and one to do the written exam first. Guess which one I was in.

I was white-knuckling that clipboard as I quietly shuffled from one specimen sample to the next. Identify this bone. Identify that leaf. Is this a rock or a fossil? I was rocking my weight from side-to-side as subtly as I could. The cramping hadn't eased up since lunch. I was feeling this one down to the soles of my feet and keeping 'em moving was the only way I could stay standing.

At the apex of the cramp, I grit my teeth as a new pain bloomed deep inside my hips. I leaned my weight over the table, disguising the motion as trying to get a better look at a specimen. A knife-like stab hit my cervix and the ache radiated between my legs.

Ah, okay. I knew that kind of pain, even if it'd been a while.

No wonder the indigestion was so bad. I always got an upset stomach the day my period was due to start. 'Course, I could never tell when I was due. I tried tracking them, but ever since puberty they'd been on a schedule of their own. My cycles had been mild spotting for most of that year, so I figured there was a mighty buildup of Mother Nature in there that was trying to come out. No wonder I was already cramping so hard.

Oh, boy . . . and from my experience, I could tell I was in for a world of hurt once I actually started bleedin'.

I made it through the written half of the exam free of carnage. The pain was somehow easier to deal with when I knew it was all just hormones. At the water fountain down the hall, I popped a few ibuprofen out of my purse and downed them. There, now I knew I'd be feeling better once those puppies kicked in.

Another two hours, and I'd be free to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was relaxing on a sofa in the library when I suddenly felt a pouring wetness in the crotch of my pants. Ah, fuck. Fuck!

I left my backpack behind in a panic and speed-walked to the nearest restroom. I subtly pulled my hoodie as far over my hips as possible, hoping to hide anything that leaked through my sweatpants as I shuffled past other quietly studying students. I cussed myself out in my head for not thinking to put on a pad as soon as I started cramping.

Once I was hidden away in a stall, I inspected the damage. My underwear was damp with a watery pink discharge as well as several dark red clots. Yes, some of it had seeped through my pants, but not enough to be noticeable. I could still feel it dripping down into the toilet as I tried to clean everything up.

All it took was that first drop of blood for the cramps to reach their full strength. That was always the case when I missed a few periods. I pressed my lips together to stop a groan from escaping as I doubled over and hugged my midsection. My entire torso throbbed and clenched inward. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the pain once again trickled down to the soles of my feet. My jaw locked up as I grit my teeth against the pain, and I felt a charlie horse starting in the back of my neck.

Everything. Fucking. HURT.

The cramp left me feeling slightly weak. It didn't just disappear, it just . . . settled back into my muscles as a soft, constant ache. I held a wad of toilet paper between my legs for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time it was soaked in pastel pink. The floodgates had opened, and it wasn't going to stop. This pink discharge was no doubt going to become a full red tide by the time I got home.

I returned to the couch wearing a cheap cotton pad from the restroom vending machine. Although it wasn't smart, I swallowed two more ibuprofen dry. I sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, killing the last forty minutes before my exam watching videos on my phone.

The cramps just kept coming. I kept feeling blood gushing out of me and into the pad. My labia were constantly throbbing, and not in the good way. Every time I cramped, it felt like I was being turned inside out.

I seriously considered blowing off my algebra exam. I would fail the class, but I could just re-take it next semester, right? Maybe I could re-schedule the final if I brought in a doctor's note? Well, fuck . . . no, I couldn't do that. My health insurance wouldn't fully cover an emergency room visit and I doubted a doctor's note from three days after the final would be able to save my sorry ass.

Besides, I hated remedial algebra so much I felt nauseous at the thought of doing it again. I was just gonna have to suck it up and get through it like everyone else. Then, I wouldn't have to think about anything else until tomorrow.

God, why me?! Why today of all days to start the worst period in the history of mankind?!

I wondered if there was some cosmic deity out there who was taking joy in my suffering. If so, at least this pain was good for something in the grand scheme of things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the biting December air, I felt sweat dripping down my back as I trudged across campus to attend my last exam. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand. Hell, it just hurt to exist. I made myself keep a steady pace, although my body was demanding I stop with every cramp. When that telltale stabbing would start in my lower back, all I wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry; but I was a grown-up, and I had grown -up stuff to do.

When I sat at my desk, my hips jolted up as if the hard plastic seat had burned me. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and my face burned in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at me. I started a chesty cough to disguise the sound.

I hadn't noticed it when sitting on the plush couch, but my labia were ungodly swollen and sore. This was not something that usually happened during my period. I knew my hormones were way out of whack this time around, so . . . maybe it was some weird hormonal reaction?

Whatever it was, it wasn't making the exam any easier.

My whole weight was sitting square on my pelvis in that uncomfortable classroom desk, and it was torture. I tried sitting as far back as I could to take the pressure off, but that just made my tailbone hurt, too.

My pencil slipped in my wet palm as I desperately tried to fill the bubbles in on my scantron sheet. I wriggled my hips, trying in vain to find a way to sit that didn't hurt like hell. Sweat began to drip from under my sports bra beneath my layers of clothing. It was taking everything in my power not to beg my professor to let me take the exam while lying on the floor. Fuck, I'd even do it standing on my head -- anything to get the pressure off my poor vagina.

Ten minutes in I decided to leave my final grade up to fate. I was in so much pain, I no longer cared if I failed the class. I chose my answers based on educated guesses, skipping the solving process entirely.

I was staggering to my feet within twenty minutes, and my professor gave me a scowl when he saw my worksheet hardly had any equations written on it. He leaned in as I placed my scantron on his desk.

"I hope you know you've wasted your time," he whispered, glowering at me from under his bi-focals. "You may as well have not showed up."

The only answer I could offer was a nod. I hurried into the hallway, tears blurring my vision.

I knew I'd wasted my time. I knew I'd fucked myself over. The further I walked down the hall, the more I regretted not trying harder.

I threw the test after ten fuckin' minutes, just so I could go home and be lazy. I wasn't sick, I was just on my period! What sorry excuse was that for wasting tuition money? There were probably dozens of other students in the same amount of pain I was in, but they weren't throwing away their grades over it. God, I was pathetic. I was so determined to pass this stupid remedial class at the start of the semester, even if it was with a 'C', but in ten minutes I'd given up.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I was just too damn stupid to be here.

By the time I stepped outside, I was crying. I pulled up my hood to hide the tears and kept my head down as I began the long walk off campus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The noon train wasn't as packed as the seven o'clock train, but it was still too full for my liking. That was what I hated about the city; you couldn't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with a stranger.

There were available seats, but I couldn't sit down. My lower lips were throbbing with my heartbeat. I had my arm wrapped around a standing bar, clinging for dear life against the g-forces of the train. My stance had to be wider than natural, or else my thighs would pinch and cause a hot, pulsating pain through my stomach. I knew I probably looked like a drunk trying to hold themselves up against gravity, but I reminded myself that New Yorkers see things like that on the trains all the time. No one would say anything as long as I kept to myself. My hood was still up to hide the leaks in my eyes, the flow of tears I couldn't fully control.

I clung tighter to the bar as I cramped again, and a warm gush soaked into the pad between my legs. My eyes dripped as they stared off into nothing, my mind going blank from the pain. A sudden "buzz-buzz" from the phone in my pocket brought me back from the void. I blinked my vision clear and checked the text message. It was from Newt, replying to a text I'd sent earlier:

"Sorry ur feeling so shit :( You going home?"

I rested my temple against the smudged chrome pole and typed my reply:

"On the train now."

Three grey dots appeared below my message.

Buzz-buzz.

"Still want me to come over??"

I replied: "Yeah. Makayla's with her boyfriend for the week and I need distraction."

Grey dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Awww poor bb. A whole apartment all to yourself. Glad I'm not THAT unlucky. /s "

I grinned and dried half my face on my shoulder. Newt had never fit in with his roommate's group of frat boy sports fans. Just like I had never gelled with Makayla's crowd of hardcore party girls. They weren't "bad" people, they were just . . . not "our" people.

"We need new roommates," I typed.

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Ye."

I felt another huge gush, and my thighs pressed together in response. My inner cheek bled as my teeth chopped through it. Fuck. Forgot to not do that.

That cheap pad didn't feel like it was gonna hold up much longer. The last thing I needed was to reenact the elevator scene from The Shining in front of two dozen strangers on the subway. I pulled my hoodie further over my hips, just in case.

"Fair warning," I typed, "my apartment might be a bloodbath by the time you get there."

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

"Omfg."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ohhh my fucking god."

I angled my lower back into the stream of hot water, pressing my hands into the glass wall of the shower. I hung my head as my body gradually clamped down on itself like a vice, tighter . . . tighter . . . tighter. Now that I was safely inside the privacy of my apartment, I could finally deal with the pain how I wanted: whining like a 'lil bitch.

"Ohhh my fucking god," I repeated, the sentence crawling out of my mouth as a slurred moan.

The water splashed pink at my feet. A few dime-sized globs of red fell onto the shower mat and were washed away. My pad had been soaked through with that thin pink discharge, but hardly any real blood. My body must've been trying to break my uterus open like a piggy bank to get out what it needed, because I felt like I was dying.

"God," I dragged the word out for a solid minute in a deep, angry groan as I sank to my knees. I ran out of breath, but the pain kept going. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pitched forward, eyelids pinched shut and teeth open in a gaping snarl. The muscles in my torso vibrated with tension. It was hard to breathe, my ribs too tight to get a full breath. The air I managed to suck in came back out as another drawn-out groan: "Fuck."

I'd been trying for hours to ease the cramping and indigestion that were teaming up to kill me. I'd taken enough ibuprofen to drop a horse. I'd taken Pepto-Bismol like shots of tequila. Heating pads had helped, but not for long. I'd put an ice pack between my legs to bring down the swelling, but the ice stung. I'd turned the temperature as high as I could tolerate and was now face-down on the shower floor, letting the water hit anywhere it could reach. My skin was scalded red, but the iota of relief I got was worth it.

Knock, knock, knock. Three solid knocks on the bathroom door.

I knelt there with my cheek in a puddle of water, too engulfed in pain to react.

"Soup delivery!" A cheery tenor voice on the other side, somewhat drowned by the water rolling over my ears.

Newt? What was he doing here? He didn't leave school until five. Shit, what time was it? How long had I been home?

I lifted myself onto my elbows, blowing out a long breath as I waited for the pain to fade. As soon as it did, I called loud enough for Newt to hear me over the roar of the shower:

"I'll be out in a sec. Just put everything in the kitchen."

"M'kay."

I didn't hear Newt walk away, but I heard his heavy crockpot being set on the counter -- the kitchen shared a wall with the bathroom. God, that apartment was tiny.

Ugh. I had to get up. I'd been in there too long. The water was turning cold. My hands and feet were pruney. I had to get up. I had to get up.

I climbed up the slick glass wall, leaving smeared handprints in the condensation. The higher I stood on my feet, the worse I felt; but if you'd asked me to describe how, I wouldn't have known what to say. I steadied myself, turned the water off, and opened the shower door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a fresh bowl waiting for me on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen, but I didn't have an appetite.

"Don't like it?" Newt asked, serving himself a helping of soup from the crockpot.

My hair was hanging limp around my face and shoulders, dripping water like the branches of a weeping willow; but the droplets rolling down my neck weren't water. A sticky layer of sweat was coating my back and my legs beneath my plush winter pajamas. The bowl of homemade French onion soup sat untouched and steaming in front of me.

"No, it looks good," I said. "I just don't really feel like eat--ugh!" Another cramp started and this time I didn't hold back a moan of pain. "Augh!"

Newt set his bowl on the stove and took a few soft-footed steps towards me. "Does your period usually hurt like this?" he asked, rubbing his hand over my back.

I shook my head and braced my hands against the counter, unable to answer him with words. I tried to speak, but my mouth would only allow a series of small moans and gasps as the pain went on and on and on and -- fuck, this wasn't right! It had been almost a year since my last full bleed, but there was no way in hell this level of pain was normal!

I leaned over the counter, rocking my hips in a fruitless bid to shake away the twisting, stabbing, squeezing pain. As I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my mind scrambled for answers. Was this what endometriosis felt like? A cyst rupturing? A fibroid? Oh my god, what if it was a tumor?!

I felt more fluid dripping in globs onto my pad, and I let out a sob. "It feels so bad!" I whimpered to my friend, tears coming to my eyes. "I just . . . just want it to stop!" My lower back suddenly felt like it was going to break, and I let out another sob as my knees began to give out under me.

Newt saw me falling and he acted quick. His arms hooked under my shoulders, and he arched his back to try and keep me standing.

"Woah, hey!" he cried as he caught me in a low crouch, just before I'd hit the ground. "What's wrong?!"

My first thought was to tell him to put me down. He shouldn't be straining himself like that, and I worried about him even through the blinding pain. I opened my mouth to scold him, but that's when it happened. I will never forget the moment it happened.

A huge weight began to sit on my lower bowels, and I swear to god I thought my guts were going to fall out. A tsunami wave of nausea rolled up from that horrible sinking pressure and hit my stomach like a geyser. I dry heaved and sank lower to the floor as my mind was overtaken by one silent demand:

Push!

"Newt-!" was all I managed to gasp.

And then I was bearing down with all my strength.

I'd never felt anything more intense in my life. It was an unholy demon pressing down on me, and I had no choice but to submit.

A scream -- a full, honest-to-god scream -- ripped itself free of my throat. I rested just long enough to inhale, and then I was pushing again, my chin pressed to my chest. I felt a shift deep inside, pressing against my lower spine. Something was prying me open. Something was slipping its way down.

I screamed again as the realization finally dawned on me: Something was coming out!

"Fawn?!" I heard his frantic voice, but my vision was haloed in black. "Fawn, talk to me!"

I held onto Newt as my lifeline, until I ran out of the strength to push anymore. "Help me!" I panted, hugging him closer. "God, please help me!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm fucking turning inside out!" I cried, growling as I pushed the object lower into my pelvis.

At first, I was convinced my colon or something was about to pop out like a fucked up horror movie; but I felt the object heading to a different area of my body. I could feel my swollen labia pushing out into my pad.

"Augh, I think it's my uterus!" I sobbed as I strained -- unable to stop myself in both regards. "That's what's falling out!"

"What the fuck?!" Newt cried. "That can happen?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, shit!" Newt jumped up and began circling the kitchen. "Where the hell is my phone?! I'm calling 9-1-1!"

"Please fucking do!" I yelled, dropping to all fours as Newt hurried to look for his phone in the living room.

Forbidding myself to push was like forbidding myself to breathe. It simply had to happen. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was forced to push out one of my own internal organs. Not just any organ, the one that would end my dream of having a family once it was gone.

This was hell. I was in hell.

My hips tried to jerk away from the pain as the object began to force itself though my vagina. I felt the object pressing against my pad as I pushed, and I wondered if it would be enough to hold it in. Maybe if I could somehow keep it inside me, the doctors would be able to pull it back in.

The next push told me I had no other choice but it let it out. What was happening was happening fast. Too fast. Too fast! Oh, fuck! I felt my skin yawn open and pull tight, creating a hellish burn that made me scream myself hoarse.

I hiked my pants down and craned my neck to see between my legs. The first thing I saw was a long strand of pink-red mucous clinging to my bulging lips for a few seconds, before dripping down onto the pad at my knees.

I saw a hint of something beginning to breech out of me. It was fleshy and covered in blood. It was somewhat blue colored and wrinkled, and I was terrified. My inside-out uterus was coming out of me, and I couldn't bear the sight.

I shut my eyes tight and screamed through another huge push. I had a flash of the thought: "Since when was my uterus this big? Isn't it supposed to be small?" But it was gone before I could dwell on it.

Newt's footsteps ran back into the kitchen.

"Okay, I found-."

Both his voice and his footsteps came to a screeching halt as they entered the room. I heard something drop to the ground, and it sounded like the heavy-duty casing Newt kept on his cellphone.

"Holy fucking shit . . . !" Newt's voice was muffled, as if he was pressing his hand to his mouth.

"If it's really bad, don't tell me," I begged through gritted teeth, a small sob jolting my shoulders.

Newt didn't say anything, but I heard him drop to his knees in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw him spreading a hand towel from the sink over his lap.

"It's not that bad," he said, taking my arms and adjusting them so I was holding onto his shoulders. His voice was uncanny -- it was obvious he was pretending to be calm.

Newt draped the towel over his hands and my heart dropped.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered," he said. "Just push."

"Newt?" I asked, turning my face towards his. My heart was starting to pound behind my eyes. "What's happening to me?"

I didn't see him smile, but his tone remained steady. "It'll be okay, Fawn. I promise."

I gripped his arms tighter as another pain started. "Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?" I groaned. I wasn't even scared at the thought -- at this point, death felt like the only end to this pain. I'd all but accepted it.

"You're not dying, Fawn," Newt said, brushing his cheek against mine. His fledging facial hair tickled. "You're fine, you just need to push."

Sighing, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and followed my body's demands. The stretch continued, grew worse by the second, until something round and squishy slipped out and dangled between my thighs.

God, it was finally over.

All we had to do was call an ambulance and they could take me to surgery. However this happened, there was still a chance my uterus could be saved. My dream didn't have to be - !

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, I was still pushing!

I screamed into Newt's body as my burning lips spread further over something wide for a few white-hot seconds. There was a disgusting splash that gushed over my inner thighs, followed by the softest little 'plop'.

I was empty. I felt hollow and numb. My body buzzed, but it felt dead. I was left gasping in deep breaths to steady my racing heart, staring off into nothing over Newt's shoulder. My eyes burned from sweat pouring down my brow.

"Fawn," Newt said -- his voice sounded miles away, "look."

"I don't wanna look at it," I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

That's when she cried for the first time.

A warbled little mewl flew up to meet my ears.

I looked down, in the space between Newt and I . . . and I screamed.

A blue cord of flesh was hanging between my legs, coated in blood. It trailed down in a soft arch to the towel sitting on Newt's lap, where I saw the answer to every question I'd had that day.

Laying there between Newt's hands, squirming and screaming and blue, was a wrinkly newborn baby.

She was a girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End of Part 1 of 2

Author's Note: Thank you for reading Part 1! This is by far the longest fic I've written thus far. It's so long that I had to split it into two chapters! Part 2 will be available very soon. This story will be available on my AO3 page, just like all of my other fics! Feel free to follow me or any of my stories there under the same name.

#fawn drabbles #mittysins #borrowed ocs #fawn and newt #birth kink #labor kink #newt my beloved <3 #pre-relationship ship fic

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