#i forgot which prelude this is but its my favorite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nat-20s · 3 years

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what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days. I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

#my writing #nats journey into writing short stories based on 70s songs continues lmao

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lifeexperience · 3 years

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Maribat March 2021 - Half time

In my AO3 account I am also updating the 'A playboy billionaire, an ambassador and the secret love-child' title, and sometimes I add(ed) commentary why I write something the way I do.

Masterlist

From the last fifty days here is all the plus note:

First day

In Red Robin (2009-2011) comics Vicki Vale was a little bit too noisy for her own good, that's why I used her personal annoyance against Bruce Wayne in this story.

Third day

Vanessa Rios was an assistant district attorney in Gotham in the Robin (1993-2009) run. Here I am using her as the Wayne's legal team head. Tamara Fox, Lucius Fox's daughter, is friends with Tim Drake in Red Robin (2009-2011) comics and here too. Also she is an intern with the HR department who knows about the BatFam alteregos.

Fifth day

In the comics, Alfred always followed Bruce to his 'trips' (in 'Batman and Son' to London, 'Batman & Robin Annual' to an scavenger hunt, in 'Batman Inc.' to every country where they found representatives...) However because of Damian's unpredictable behaviour he stayed at the manor with the children in this story.

Sixth day

So Young Justice thing is a little complicated to me if I dare to say something about it. There was the 'Young Justice: The Secret' and its sequels. Then there were 'The New52' and 'DC Rebirth' era, plus the animation show. And they all are kind of okay..ish, furthermore I wanted to keep the principles like the main members (Tim Drake, Connor Kent, Bart Allen and Cassie Sandsmark), however I never liked their too childish behavior in some of the works (and the mixing with 'The Titans). So in this story, here, they are more adult..ish, but more relaxed and cheerful than 'The Titans' ever was (like in comics, not in the shows).

Eighth day

In the 'Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir' show they showed Lila as a manipulator without any remorse, which got me to think she has antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). I am not a doctor but I had some basic lesson in psychology, and I have a natural curiosity about things so I always research everything. With diagnosed ASPD the person has to be older then 18, however I read its symptoms can show up in childhood, and it can lead to an earlier diagnosis like 14-15 years old early.

In the case of Lila she deceives people and uses them (✓). Don't makes long term plans or thinking through about her behavior (✓), however has a set on some goal she wants to achieve (✓). She has a sense of superiority above of her classmates and adults in her environment (✓), nevertheless does't have any remorse or guilt to mistreat them (✓). Uses charisma and her fake charming persona to get something or someone (✓), however didn't value them more than tools or prizes (✓).

I didn't see any real aggressive behavior from Lila beside akumatizations (✓), but on its own I think it's enough evidence, that she has this disorder (and not the many that she claimed). In normal aggressive way Lila didn't show herself (like physical violence, loud angry outbursts, big fits in front of everyone) yet, rather she uses Akumatization to hide that kind of behavior (when Adrien tried to stand up she became willingly Chameleon, or the Heroe's Day, or Oni-Chan). So her Akumatised forms and helping to Hawkmoth are the evidences that she has aggressive behavior, however they are not the classic forms (but we also can remember the threatening in the bathroom, but I think that was more intimidation and showing her superiority then pure aggressiveness).

And I wanted that recreate and strengthen this 'fact' a little bit so it would be more obvious than in the show.

Ninth day

In the comics there are so many take on Bruce Wayne it's kind of hard to count it. We could list the Batman persona, when he kind of let his children do what they want within his no-kill-rule (like living alone at fourteen with bunch of other teenager - 'Teen Titans' or 'Young Justice' or as it looks like to go rough - Robin, Red Hood). And there is the obvious martyr-parent take, when he has to know everything about his children, but he is always silent about the important things ('Death of the family' - 'Batman and Robin: Born to kill' - 'The Hunt for Robin'). And one of my favorites the worried-tired father take, when he is kind of showing his emotions and trying to love his kids ('Super Sons' - 'Robin Rises' - 'Prelude to the Wedding: Nightwing vs. Hush' ...).

And I decided to use the last with a more active take from the first (like he lets everyone do their thing but he is monitoring them within reasons). In the comics there are many accusations about being someones father (with Julie Madison or Mariah Shelley), and here in my take he is trying to be responsible (for the sake of his children, mainly for Damian and Jason) and checks every claim out personally (so they also can do DNS test).

Tenth day

Alya Césaire is a complicated someone in the show. At first she is portrayed as a fierce helper for the protagonist, Marinette. She is stubborn and reckless, but royal to her best friends.

Then came Lila and the makers sharpened her stubborn tunnel vision. This I saw it first at the 'Lady Wifi' episode, when she clearly didn't remember about the first day, when Ladybug saved Chloé (or ignored it). After that she always fixated on 'Adrienette' (or everything else if it's interesting - Dark Cupid) when the girl, herself had other things to do (Princess Fragrance, Puppeteer 2, Reflektdoll 2, Timebreaker). So it was not that big surprise when her tunnel vision turned to Lila, and she (and everybody in her class) forgot about that they all met Jagged Stone and with his crocodile already.

Yeah, it's all true, however unlike Lila, Alya didn't show any other big social flaw. And she is 14 years old and middle child, which is kind of important in someone personality. She has to be a mature figure and a little child at the same time in her sibling's eyes. She has to compete attention in their parents eyes and be smart about it.

Moreover if we look at the Collège Françoise Dupont's students, they are all spoiled, not just Chloé or Lila or Adrien. Yes, they are not that bad like the three, but they are all sheltered to a certain degree. Their family don't have financial problems (famous chef, designers, mayor, famous bakery, curator in the most famous museum, police officer, famous pantomime, ...), plus they are all in a prestigious school where they can't meet people with everyday problems (and rich spoiled kid is not an everyday occurrence in my country). And beside some vision problems (Max, Sabrina) they are all healthy and the first time to meet a disability is when Lila arrived. So it's natural if they don't really know how to interact right with her (putting aside that whole lie thing).

And I think they, especial Alya, need first a little life experience, before they could be called responsible about their acts. And here I am trying to write it this kind of way, where they are all flawed, but they can learn from it.

Human being can be shallow and not perfect. These children only heard one perspective from Lila, and another from Marinette. In the show the makers not exactly specified about how well the classmates know Marinette and how depth Marinette and Alya friendship is, so there is already some trust issue.

Like yeah all of they are going to concerts, cinema, each others, however they didn't show so far any serious conservation between them (maybe the only exception is Adrien-Marinette combo). Until this year when Adrien and Alya got transferred in the class, the classmates don't even help Marinette with Chloé bullying. And one year friendship - how beautiful is it tho - is not that depth and stable, especially with that many secrets they have. And Lila 'charming' personality came into this still fragile relationship at the right time to prove this.

I am not saying that the makers is doing good to simplifies the relationships. Because rather they missed so many ziccers for the sake of promote new hero designs and the overwritten romantic scene, it's physical hurting me. But they are right that we are talking sheltered-traumatized-too naive kids, who sometimes had unearned magic powers (looking at Chloé, Alya, Kim).

And I didn't ever going the length of mentioning the adult characters. It's an other kind of wormhole.

Marinette was the only one who openly disobeyed Lila's wants. She stands up against her lies in the public so she is a real obstacle for Lila. While Adrien is only trying in the background without any witness (I don't say it's bad, because with some case it's better, but not here), and the boy is too valuable to Lila.

Lila already showed in the series she didn't stop with the lies and she is brave enough to ruin someone carrier with them (Marinette - 'Ladybug', Nathalie and Gorilla - 'Oni-Chan', Alya - 'Volpina'). And Adrien watched all of it in the front seat, and he kind of knows that Lila's main target here to discredit and broke Marinette/Ladybug (and Adrien, himself also, but it's his perspective and he is very sheltered and naive about it).

And this story she got another one to ruin. Bruce Wayne, himself. And as her fake charming side melts away in her anger as she is focusing more and more on her targets.

Eleventh day

Speed Force is one of the Seven Forces of the Universe. It grants the power of the speedsters. And some of them merged with it (for example Barry Allen). Speed Force has a direct connection to the time flow and with the Multiverse (or now Omniverse). The biggest event of it is the Flashpoint (2011) which started the New52 era. And Batman doesn't want to mix this kind of force with a really mysterious ancient magic.

Nightrunner's first appearance was in 2011 in Detective Comics Annual #12. Within the Batman Incorporated line Bruce recruited Bilal Asselah, French-Algerian citizen to represent Batman in Paris. Here he is a mentor/background assistant to the Team Miraculous and a representative of Batman Inc.

Fourteenth day

Wang Fu is not the most mature character in the show and I think it says it all. Being an 186 years old is the Great Guardian after he accidentally destroyed the temple, he is kind of shameful and amateur. And if we contrasted him with Batman... yeah. Batman is NOT happy and takes the control from the old master.

Fifteenth day

I know Cyborg, alias Victor Stone is currently shown as a founding member of the Justice League (since 2011), however I am prefer him more in the Titans. And it's not just because of the animation show form 2003, but also in the comics he is more himself with the first Titans then with the -all mighty- Justice League. And I also wanted him to have a little cameo in this story because in the Super Sons (2017-) he was kind of like a babysitter for the boys. And to me it's kind of funny how many times the bats short circuited him (Robin Rises, Super Sons: Parent Trap, ...).

Sixteenth day

Damian Wayne is a complicated character. For ten years he was teached to kill. He only learnt about his mother at eight. He only learnt about his father at ten. Thalia used him for anything from power play to plotting someone death. Bruce loves him, but he is so moronic about his own emotions it's kind of painful to read sometimes. And there is the thing where Damian is never enough, his mother cloned him (Heretic), his father has other wards (mainly Red Robin). Dick Grayson went incognito spying when the boy had finally a healthier relationship (Grayson: The Superspy). His best friend, Jon Kent was suddenly older then him (2018 Superman #16). Alfred was killed in front of him (2016 Batman #77). Yeah, Damian is a jerk, but he has every right to be a jerk in my opinion. And I wanted that recreate here as Lila is a liar and threatening his 'only' position as a blood son. His only weapon to prevent it to have a fit and doing what was teached to him.

Fulltime

#maribat march #half time closure #maribat #ml fanfic #analysis #character analysis #it's long #2021

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voldemorthatesnose96 · 4 years

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COLORS IN SILENCE

As an only child of one of the most famous painter in the world, Sander Driesen is also expected to be as big as his father. But life takes turn when he sees a Deaf florist boy whose silence could speak a thousand of meanings.

Disclaimer : if there’s any mistake or misintepretation of my Deaf character, PLEASE feel free to dm me to correct it❤️it means a lot to me. Thank you!❤️

Prelude

“You know exactly what to do, right?”

I want to scream “NO!” to his face but I can’t. It’s always the same question for every single time I want to create something on the blank canvas. WHY does he have to think that I always know what to do, when in fact I don’t?! Unknowingly, I grip my pencil too hard.

“Sander?”

“Yes, Dad. I know.” I say with gritted teeth and start to sketch.

My hand always slightly trembles whenever it touches the paper—scared and doubtful. But unfortunately my Dad and many people think that it’s my ‘signature’ move.

What the fuck is that, actually? Are they blind, oblivious or simply stupid?

At first, I’m not sure whether to sketch a silhoutte or a bouquet of flowers but then I remember the dream I had last night about an abandoned castle and the dancing trees which surrounds its ground; of course it’s weird but somehow I feel so entertain when I wake up and that even bring a tiny smile to my face; which is a very rare thing to happen for these past 4 years. So yeah, I’m going to sketch my dream instead.

“Sander, focus!”

“I’m already focused.”

Dad shakes his head, “you curved this line too hard,” he points to the twigs. ”Fix it.”

Trying hard not to roll my eyes at him, I do what I’m told. I’ve never been the kind of person who could remember the tiniest bit of their dream but weirdly enough, I can recall almost everything that happened last night. How I suddenly walked in this forest which grass were humming melodiously everytime I stepped on it, the wind was breezy and peaceful and the abandoned castle was not as scary as it sound. In fact, the interior was still as good as new but the hallway was the most attractive of all—it filled with many beautiful and famous paintings all around the world from van Gogh to Frida Kahlo. All I can think of is magical.

If only my life is just the same.

For almost 7 years now, I create something that hopefully could transport people’s imagination to somewhere else, almost like escapism from their own cages. Wish they could expand their views just by looking at my arts. Sadly, this little world—little happy bubble I create for another humans, I can’t even go there, not anymore. Day by day, I feel like a robot. Sure as hell my Dad isn’t the right person for me to talk to about my worries and stuff—he won’t understand, he doesn’t want to understand. He’s a famous oil-painter and his arts are frequently exhibited in the most popular art galleries in the world. He was taking a break for 2 years when Mum died; I was 3 that time. Funny, I never feel sad whenever I think of her. For me, she’s just a distant memory that I could never grasp.

“Stop.”

My Dad’s voice startles me and my hand stops instantly.

“What now?” I genuinely ask.

“I think you should take a rest.”

Okay. This is weird.

“But I’m not tired.”

My Dad sighs. His brows furrows, “just do it, son. You can continue later. For now, rest.” And without saying another word, he walks out from the room and closes the door behind him while I just stand there.

I have no fucking idea why he suddenly acts like that. This is the first time since many years ago and I can’t help but feeling curious. Dad is never a warm person around me. All he cares about is to carve me to be someone just like him, to be the perfect artist, to be... everything he were and I used to be so supportive of his ideas, without questioning a single thing; like a good son should be. It all changed though.

For almost 3 years now, I constantly feel hollow and unsatisfy about my arts. Whatever I do to make it right, whenever I try to fix it, these feelings are still there; lingering, waiting for me to collapse at last. Know what? I almost relent. For whatever reason.

If I believe in miracle, maybe this is how it works because I’m still here and doing what I’m supposed to do. But right now, Dad’s right. I need a rest. Maybe even some sleep.

Our art room have a tiny bed in the corner and I sleep there more often that I did in my own room. I used to locked myself in this room for hours just to finish the new art I’m making and Dad never asked if I’m okay or not. Maybe it’s normal for him. The way artist should behave, I guess.

I plop myself on the bed while staring at the white ceiling, waiting for the sleep to take me away. It doesn’t take long for me to finally give in and once again, for so many nights, my heart screams “help...”

————————

School isn’t that hard today. In fact, I enjoy what I learnt. Cubism isn’t my favorite style because it’s too... rigid? I don’t know how to describe it. But the new professor was very clear and creative about it and she made me not wanted to get out of the class and eat in the cafetaria instead. The class dismiss before I know it. Wow. That’s fast.

“Yo, Sandy!”

Without looking I already know who that is because there’s only one person in this world that would call me with the name SANDY and that is Hugo Mulligan; my only friend in the entire school since the day we met as the Freshmen.

“Not in the mood, Mulligan,” I mutter under my breath as I pack stuffs in my red duffel bag. “go away!”

He scoffs, “you’re no fun.”

“And since when Sander Driesen is a fun person to be with?” I retort.

“For once in my life, I agree with you.”

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“Actually I want to ask you a favour. If you’re not busy today.”

“No. What’s that?”

“I need to go to the bakery and the flower shop.”

“What for?”

Hugo sighs, “today is Violet’s birthday. I told you many times before.”

Oh yeah. His girlfriend’s birthday. An exchanged student from Boston a year ago. Since Hugo met her, he literally never stops talking about how cute and pretty she is—the perfect girl for his dark world, he said, which I thought is bullshit because Hugo’s world is far from dark. I know because I met his family couple times and they’re all lovely, caring and hilarious. Dad as a lawyer, Mum as a chef and two incredibly beautiful male twins who’s not yet 3 years old—Hugo loves them all and it’s clearly seen. So yeah, no ‘dark’ for him at all.

“Earth to Driesen!”

I blink, “yeah, sure. I’ll come.”

“Your Dad is okay with it?”

“He’s in Florence and won’t be back until two days later. It’s fine.”

Hugo claps his hands like a little kid who just got a flashy new toy. A bit overreacted but I never really mind about it. Being friends with someone like him is tiring at some point because his energy seems to never put out but I gradually getting use to it.

“Cool! I’ll drive!”

I never really like to drive my own car. Dad often insists me to use it instead of taking a bus everyday to school and I tell him many times that I don’t want to; probably the only thing that I still hold on against my Dad and I have no regrets, at all.

When me and Hugo finally on the road, he talks about the dinner plan he’s been working on for this past week and my dumbass brain can’t think of anything so I just nod and say “that’s great” as a response. I’m glad he’s too happy about Violet to notices my reaction.

“.... I think it’ll be the perfect opportunity to ask her on a mini getaway for 2 weeks. What do you think?”

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking about Santorini or Lake Como. Which one do you think is more suitable for her?”

I nearly scoff but hold myself back, “you can take her to Sahara desert and she’s still gonna love you.”

Hugo smiles at my witty remarks, “guess you’re right.” And then he starts to sing loudly to The Weeknd.

We arrive at the bakery not long after. I remember this place is kinda new because it used to be an Italian restaurant. Strange how small detail could take space in your memory, even for an useless information like this.

Though I have to admit that their decoration and cakes are visually pleasing. I even intrigue to try their paris-brest.

“Take whatever you want, Sandy. It’s on me.” Hugo said as he waits in the queue and even gives a smirk when he catches me almost drooling.

“I’ll just take that paris-brest.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Hugo nods, “sure. Take a seat and wait for me, would you? I won’t be long.”

But of course there isn’t any empty seat left because this place is full. So I go outside and wait there, a bit annoyed that I didn’t bring cigarette with me today.

I watch people passing by and mentally sketching their silhouttes to kill some time but the more I try to make it vivid, the more blur it is in my mind—so I give up. My hands trembles for an unknown reason but obviously not because of the spring breeze.

“I’m done. Let’s go!”

I follow Hugo back to his car and luckily my hands are alright now. The last thing I want Hugo to see was the tremble. I don’t want him to look at me weirdly or worse, concerned.

“Here’s your cake, Sandy.”

If I’m in the mood, I’ll smack his head with my bag for calling me that but today I have no energy.

“Thanks. Gonna eat these at home.”

“You can gobble ‘em up here if you want. I don’t mind.”

I smile, “I’ll save these guys for tonight. Best thing always come late.”

“If you say so,” then Hugo looks at his watch and mutters. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot that the flower shop will closed in 20 minutes! God, I’m so dumb!”

“Is it still far away?”

“About 10 minutes but not with THIS traffic.”

I examine the road and realise that there’s a car crash. The ambulance already there and one of the car is wrecked almost thoroughly. I hope there are no children involved. What a terrifying sight to see.

“Stop looking, Sander,” Hugo says, his tone is always serious whenever he calls me by my real name. “It’s no good.”

“I just hope they’re alright.”

Hugo doesn’t say anything but his hands on the wheel go rigid. I notice that immediately but doesn’t say anything. For more than 2 years we’ve been friends, this is the first time I witness him being like this.

“They’ll be alright. They have to.” His voice sounds icy cold but worries at the same time.

His sudden remark startles me, “I hope so too.”

After that, none of us talk to each other until his car stop near the flower shop. I think there’s nothing special or extravagant about this place, considering how Hugo loves being surrounded by something over the top sometimes. Well, maybe he does have layers that I don’t know yet—especially after what happened earlier.

“You stay?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Because it’s boring to wait alone again rather than curious of what’s inside, to be honest.

“I’m lucky the shop isn’t closed yet,” Hugo says with a shaky breath. “Violet would be pleased, right?”

I smile genuinely, “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, pal. Relax. She’ll love you no matter what.”

He gives me a nervous smile as a response.

When I enter the shop, I’m not surprised how simple but clean this place is. Lots of different scent from each flowers catches my nose almost instantly, all at once and I can’t help but sneezes twice.

“Excuse me.” I say while wiping my mouth with a handkerchief.

“Robbie, my man!”

Hugo half-shouting voice make me jump and I follow his gaze; it’s the shop clerk, a guy around my age with unruly brown hair and a pair of eyes like Bambi, wears a green sweatshirt which a little too big for him.

“Cute.”

Shit.

Did I just say ‘cute’ that loud?

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Cute,” I say a little too quickly. “The flowers. They’re cute.”

I force myself to past a glance to that brown-haired guy and he seems doesn’t catch what I just said about him. Thank God. Even though Hugo still looks at me with bemused expression. He’s the first person who knows that I’m a Pansexual and probably the only person in this world—and I’m not definitely not gonna come out to Dad anytime soon. There’s no use.

“Can we hurry? I’m hungry.” I try to change the subject.

It works. Hugo turns his head again to the cute guy and made some gestures I don’t understand.

Wait...

Gestures?

Can it be... that guy...

“Robbie,” he mouths while doing all he can to communicates using sign languages. “My flowers for Violet, please.”

The guy named Robbie smile and nod then later went to the back to get Hugo’s order.

“Hugo, does he...”

“Deaf. Yes.”

“Robbie. That’s his real name?”

“No, it’s Robbe but I call him Robbie just like I love to call you Sandy.”

I roll my eyes to my brain, “fuck you, man. You can’t just changed someone else’s name.”

Hugo gives me a smirk, “I just did, Sandy.”

Before I can say anything, Robbe comes back with HUGE bouquet which consists with any kind of red flowers from rose to tulip. I almost sneeze again but successfully hold myself back.

“Don’t you dare sneeze on my precious bouquet, Driesen!”

“I wasn’t.” I retort but give him my most smug face.

“You’re funny.”

“Sorry?”

“Robbie said you’re funny.”

I look at Robbe and there’s a smile appeared on his face—deadass looking at me in the eyes too. Seems like this guy is very straight-forward and unapologetic.

“Uh... thanks, I guess?”

Robbe shrugs but still smiling. Then he writes something on a piece of paper and gives it to me : “would you like some flowers too? It’s on me.”

I look up, perplex and say, “why?”

He writes again : “because I think you need one :)”

This is interesting.

“Well, okay then. Thank you. What will you give to me?”

Why do I sound more flirty than curious? For God’s sake, he’s a stranger! STRANGER! And I dare to sound like THAT? The fuck is wrong with me?

Hugo snorts beside me. He’s clearly been enjoying himself. But again, I also laughed too hard when he told me the story about him been slipping and falling in front of everybody at his family’s business private party; so yeah, I guess I deserve that snort.

Robbe comes back from the back of the room holding a simple bouquet; there were two Eglantines, one Iris and three Larkspurs. I didn’t speak flowers so I’m not sure why he gives me those but when he hands it to me, I accept it wholeheartedly and say thank you. Robbe smiles and makes some sign that I’m sure it’s meant for “you’re welcome”.

My ears catch a girl’s voice entering the shop. She’s also around my age; with blue eyes, auburn hair and very pretty. Her eyes twinkled like the sun is shining on them.

“Afternoon, everybody,” she says cheerfully and then walks toward Robbe and pecks his lips. “Hey babe! Glad you made new friends.”

Ouch!

So he’s already have a girlfriend and that realisation stings me a little. And I DARED to ‘flirt’ with her boyfriend earlier!

But of course he is. I shouldn’t be surprised. Beside, they looks nice together.

Hugo nudges my arm, “you ready to go?”

I nod and and without saying another word again, I force myself to get out from there. Damn. I should say something to Robbe but I just can’t.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

“Sure.”

Ever since I broke up with my ex around a year ago because she cheated, my heart always told me not to trust any kind of affection towards other people. I keep questioning myself what did I do wrong, about her and about us—and whenever I ask her about that, she says “it’s not you, it’s ME. I’m sorry. So sorry, Sander!” . But it only took a month for me to forgave her and know what? We’re friends now, even though she moves to another city with her new boyfriend. Sometimes life can be very strange. I thought she’s unforgivable but seem like I can’t hold grudges for too long—Hugo told me that it’s a bad thing but... I don’t know, part of me doesn’t agree with him for an unknown reason.

“He meant well, you know?”

My thoughts bursts like a bubble, “what?”

“Robbe,” Hugo mutters. “With those flowers.”

I look at my new given bouquet, “you know the meaning of these guys?”

“Well, I coincidentally understand the meaning of those,” Hugo says. “You see, my Mum often bring back Iris home to tell the whole house that good news is coming, Larkspur is my Dad’s favorite because it meant “lightness” and you’re gonna find a vase full of them in his study and the last one which is Eglantine is literally speaks for “I wound to heal” , it was my Grandma’s favorite because it reminded her of her childhood home. And that’s that.”

Now I understand why Robbe ‘said’ that I need some of his flowers but the most surprising part was he seems to understand what I feel just by a single glance.

But it can’t be, can it? It can be just a coincidence that he picks those flowers for me. Maybe they’re the most best-seller kinds there and he thought I might like them too.

And I do. I really, really do.

#wtfock #wtfam #fanfic

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asherranceoftheheart · 4 years

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Pairing/s: None, Platonic Character/s: Jackieboyman, Antisepticeye, Marvin the Magnificent, Chase Brody (Brief Appearance) Warning/s: Soft!Anti Genre/s: Fluff, Humor (Archive of Our Own Edition)

Jackieboy Man was going to die today.

The hero stared down at the ruined white Valentino bag that he accidentally spilled some dubious evil chemical, which came from his previous patrol, on when he was trying to find a reliable container he could place it in inside Marvin’s magical assortment of a closet. The previously white bag now has an eye catching ugly brown stain on its surface and an absolutely horrendous stench was coming from the item.

‘Marvin’s going to kill me slowly and have me pay for his ruined bag with my blood.’ Jackie thought despairingly as he thought of how the magician was going to react to the ruin of his favorite bag. ‘I’m going to die by my brother’s hand and he’s going to enjoy it.’

But then it was as if a lightbulb suddenly lit up on the top of his head. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number that he previously swore with all his heart that he would never ever dial in his entire lifetime.

The phone only rang two times before his target picked his phone up.

“What’s up nerd?” Anti’s distorted voice—that would give anyone who wasn’t used to the sound a headache—was droll with boredom. “Aren’t you just in the snobby cat’s bedroom? Why are you wasting your phone budget to call me?”

“Never mind that,” Jackie waved it off hastily, for once not reacting to the ‘nerd’ nickname. “You can do magic right? So you can clean stains from say a bag or something…”

There was a bout of stunned silence from Anti’s side before he heard the static growing until it snapped from Anti’s loud cackling. Jackie could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment as the demon continued to laugh at him.

“You didn’t!” Anti crowed with glee practically pouring out of his voice while Jackie stewed in his silence. “Which bag was it? Was it the Chanel one? Or the Gucci bag?”

Jackie mumbled his answer under his breath but Anti’s sharp ears caught every word.

“His favorite Valentino bag? You damaged Marvin’s favorite Valentino bag? You are so dead~!” Anti continued cackling until Jackie couldn’t take it anymore.

“So is that a no or what?” Jackie snarled into his phone even as his mind counted down the seconds until Marvin’s coming home from one of his shows.

Anti finally calmed himself and his cackles died down into chuckling.

“In case you forgot soon-to-be-dead-nerd, I make messes. I never clean them. Safe to say, I’m free to watch Marvin maim your ass later on.” Anti gleefully told him.

Right on time, they heard the loud poof of Marvin’s teleportation sound out from the front hall and Jackie could swear all of the blood in his body rushed out at the sound of Marvin’s click clacking footsteps towards his bedroom.

“Ah. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Good luck trying to convince Marvin to let you live, Jackieboy. I’ll tell Chase to give you a nice, embarrassing eulogy for your funeral.” Jackie could only stare at his phone when Anti dropped the call.

He practically jumped out of his skin when he heard the doorknob to the bedroom turning. He tossed Marvin’s favorite bag deep into the magician’s closet, praying to a listening god out there that his brother doesn’t search for it.

Marvin pushed open his door and blinked in surprise when he found Jackie standing in front of his closet with a deer in headlights wide eyed expression on his face. His brother senses tingled and he narrowed his purple eyes at his guilty looking brother who was now fidgeting on his feet.

“Jackie? What are you doing in my room?” Marvin asked the hero who scratched his cheek, a telltale sign that he did something.

Jackie started laughing nervously and he closed the closet door behind him as he tried to casually walk out of the room. He patted Marvin without answering his question as he passed him by and was about to step out of the magician’s bedroom when purple limbs of magic suddenly sprouted out of the floor and wrapped themselves around Jackie’s legs.

He heard Marvin move towards the closet without looking at him and the shuffling sound of items being moved around inside it before there was complete silence. There was a stillness in the air that was normally a prelude to chaos in their household.

“Jackie.” Said hero perked up, his spine ramrod straight with fear at the blankness of Marvin’s voice. “Tell me you didn’t do something to my favorite bag.”

Jackie slowly turned on his spot, the purple chains on his legs tightening painfully as a warning, and he met Marvin’s dead eyes. He attempted to smile at his younger brother but it only came out as a pained grimace.

“I’m… sorry?” He tried to communicate with his eyes just how sorry he was to Marvin and broke out in cold sweat when the other’s expression didn’t change.

Marvin walked towards him and got all up into his personal space, leaning his face forward until he could feel the magician’s breath on his cheek. Then…

He smiled.

“It’s okay, Jackie. You can make it up to me,” his overly friendly tone shifted into one dripping with malice and when he opened his eyes, they now had cat-like slits for pupils and they were glowing with his rage and power. “You can start by paying me with your blood.”

0-0-0-0-0-0

Anti didn’t look up from his crochet project when a piercing scream echoed throughout the HQ. Chase on the other hand jerked awake from his napping position by his side and he looked around completely befuddled before his big brother patted his fluffy hair to get his attention.

“Was that just Jackie screaming?” Chase furrowed his brows in concern but Anti merely waved it off with his free hand that wasn’t tangled up in yarn.

“It’s just Marv teaching him a lesson,” Anti boredly said as he focused his attention back on the blanket that he was making. “He’ll be fine… Maybe.”

#jacksepticeye #writersofjack #jackieboyman #marvin the magnificent #antisepticeye #soft anti #soft!anti

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levihauser · 4 years

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寒くなります

20 November, 2019

Well, I have been very busy and it has been nearly a month since I last wrote a blog entry. Sorry about that!

November’s excitement started on the third, when there was a large districtwide Rotary event in Kanazawa. I had breakfast and lunch at home (both my favorite Japanese food-inarizushi!), then got in a taxi with my host dad. We were driven to the train station, then met some other Rotarians from my host club, then took a train to Kanazawa. The event began at 1:00 at a concert hall right next to Kanazawa station. All ten other inbound exchange students from the district were there, and we were seated together on a second floor balcony (probably not the best idea, since exchange students can become a little noisy when they are bored by speeches they don’t understand and surrounded by people who speak their native language for the first time in weeks). We sat there for 5 hours of speeches we couldn’t understand (with a five-minute intermission), then left the concert hall and went to a nearby hotel. We were ushered into a large banquet hall on the third floor and sent to various tables (the exchange students were still kept together). It was so crowded that few of the tables had chairs, and most people had to stand. There was a buffet of delicious food, but before we ate there was a beautiful musical performance by maybe 20 geisha. It seems pretty expensive, but it is a districtwide event and Japanese Rotary is pretty rich. The buffet foods were very good, and there were great desserts, too! At about 7:30, my Rotary club departed for another restaurant nearby for their own dinner-I was glad I hadn’t eaten too much. It was an interesting restaurant, with a mix of foods. We shared food around the entire club, but I ate pizza, omuraisu (rice covered with eggs and ketchup) with the eggs dyed black with squid ink, and their special Nyan Ice Cream Parfait (which had a cat cookie, several layers of ice cream and yogurt, grapes, and some sort of jelly). It was all delicious, and I was stuffed at the end. One of the Rotarians in the club had just reached his 45th year as a Rotarian, so everybody made speeches honoring him. As you have probably guessed, mine was not very eloquent. At about !0 we returned to the station and took a train back, then rode home with one of the other Rotarians.

The next day, despite being a Monday, I had no school, because it was Culture Day in Japan. In the morning, I got in the car with my host father and we drove to Kanazawa’s Teramachi (temple town). I had no idea what we were doing, since I had received no notice of it, as usual. We walked around to some of the many Buddhist temples for which the area gets its name, then went to an old shop. We were brought into a back tatami room with a group of other people, then given a presentation I couldn’t understand and small amounts of food to try. After that, we were brought into another room where we washed our hands and put on gloves, then were given a class on how to make kaburazushi (a kind of Japanese pickle made only in Kanazawa). We made six each, and being that they are large and both my host father and I made them, we had a lot of kaburazushi to take home. We had a filling traditional Japanese meal back in the tatami room, then returned home.

I am not entirely sure why, but on the seventh and eighth, school was only two periods long. In the first one, we took a kanji test, then in the second, we took a less serious one (on the first day it was answering as many questions as you could of general knowledge, like knowing how fast Mach 1 is or the name of the biggest lake in Japan, and on the second it was naming as many things as you could of a certain category, like spices or types of dog, with a team and trying to see who could get the most unique ones from other teams). I was given answer keys to copy from for both kanji tests, thank goodness. The sun is setting very early now, so I don’t have much free time in the daylight, and my weekends are usually busy, so I took the extra time on both days to go on train trips. On the seventh, I went to Kanazawa, in the hopes of riding a bus to the mountains, since I had been hoping to see them up close for a long time, but nobody I had asked liked them. That failed, as the bus station my host mother had directed me to ask about apparently didn’t exist, but I saw that there was apparently a tiny train station underground beneath the main Kanazawa station (which is operated by JR railways) operated by a small private railroad company named the Hokutetsu Railway. I decided to give it a try. I bought a ticket to the farthest station down the line and rode an orange, old-fashioned train to Uchinada. I had never heard of it before, so I kind of just wandered around on foot until I arrived at another Hokutetsu station and took it back. Apparently Uchinada is close to the sea, but I didn’t know that at the time. On the eighth, when the same thing happened, I checked my 34-year-old map to see if I could see any more Hokutetsu lines, and indeed there were, from Shinnishikanazawa Station to Tsurugi Station-which was on the edge of the mountains. I was elated to finally have an opportunity to see them, and immediately took a JR train to Nishikanazawa Station, which is just across the street from Hokutetsu’s Shinnishikanazawa Station. From there, I took a train to Tsurugi Station. It was great! I finally had some terrain with elevation changes to walk on. I followed my map to the largest shrine in Hakusan City (technically this area was Hakusan City, just like where I live, but the city is huge and spans from the ocean to the other side of the prefecture deep in the mountains), Shirayamahimejinja Shrine. It was very big and beautiful, and it took me about two hours to walk there, including getting lost, which I will blame on my 34-year-old map. By the time I left, it was getting to the time I should return so I would get home before dark, so I took the two trains back home. Sorry if all of the train information there was a little convoluted, I had to type it all out for it to make sense to me.

The next day, I had an average Saturday morning until I was abruptly told that I had to pack for an overnight and was picked up by the people who will become my fourth host family (Rotary Youth Exchange students switch host families several times in their exchange year), the Nishikawas. I was taken to their house, and played their nice grand piano for a while. They also have a tiny dog named Maple (Meepuru is actually her name, Maple is just the English transliteration). There was a barbecue that afternoon (it was still around 75° Fahrenheit), so I spent some time outside getting ready for it with Mr. Nishikawa. There were a lot of large and interesting mountain insects around their yard (I forgot to mention that they actually have a lawn, which albeit tiny, is very rare in Japan, since most Japanese opt for large gardens). Soon, people began to arrive for the barbecue, including three Rotarians from my club, their spouses, and the Nishikawas’ daughter, son-in-law, and two granddaughters. We had a lot of good food, then I went and played in a nearby park with the two granddaughters. They are both very energetic! It began to rain, and the barbecue moved inside the Nishikawa house. We played some games with traditional Japanese cards, called karuta cards. We fist played Bozumekuri, then Hyakunin Isshu. The first is fairly simple, and I might post its rules at some point, but the second involves memorizing 100 ancient Japanese poems (although we had a casual game, so most people didn’t have many memorized). After the games, the guests left, and the night wound down. I was told to sleep on a futon in a tatami room.

The next day I woke up in the Nishikawa house again, and was brought briefly back to my host family’s house where I changed into nice clothes for a concert of many doctors from around the area that are friends later that day. My host dad, a nurse from his pediatric clinic, and I went to an old factory in Kanazawa that had been renovated for music and rehearsed there for a while. We had lunch at a restaurant nearby, then the concert began. My host dad’s clinic was second on the program, and he and the nurse played a flute duet. I played Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor, then we went back into the audience. I made far more mistakes than I should have, but that is how it always goes for me in piano concerts. We went back into the audience and watched many more performances, a few from many genres and instruments. After the concert finished, all of the performers had dinner in the same restaurant we had had lunch in. It was great! The food was delicious. There was some salty ice cream for dessert, then we returned home.

The next week in school we had several tours of various places to help us decide on potential careers. We went to the Takamaz machinery company and had a guided tour there. In a previous entry, I mentioned that I had spent some time with the Takamatsu family, and this turned out to be theirs. It is international, with several factories around the world, including two in the US. The tour was fascinating, but I unfortunately could not understand much of what was said. The day after that, my homeroom and the neighboring one went on two college tours. We took a fancy bus to Kanazawa Gakuin University and Hokuriku Gakuin University and were given tours of both. At the first one, we had lunch in the dining hall. It was pretty good. I had curry rice, and would have had ice cream, but the ice cream vending machine ate my money and didn’t give me any. Both colleges were very interesting, and the tour guides were very nice. That night, I was picked up before dinner by my third host mother, Ms. Ikemoto. She picked up her daughter and grandson. The grandson is interested in going on exchange the year after next, so we talked a little about that. We had sushi for dinner, then went to a karaoke business, a new experience for me. We were allowed entry into a small room with a sound system and a TV, as well as two microphones. The TV would play songs, and show the lyrics and music videos. We also had unlimited access to yummy snacks! There were several interesting songs. I returned home, and was told they are planning to take me out at some point to a Japanese movie theater. That should be fun!

On the 15th, I was picked up after school by my host club counsellor, Mrs. Nagase. I went to her house and spent some time with her and her husband there. She speaks very good English, having lived in the UK for four years back in the 1990s. We had a traditional Japanese dinner and talked a lot. In addition to a 30-year-old part of the house, there is an almost untouched 200-year-old portion of the house. It is gorgeous! The only signs of the modern era are electric lights. Mrs. Nagase’s father-in-law was a collector of beautiful, ornate objects that also fill the old house. I spent quite a bit of time there before going to bed in a small tatami room.

The next day, Mr. Nagase left early to practice for a golf tournament. Mrs. Nagase and I walked the dog, Tai Chan, then went to a performance of Roukyoku, or Edo Period style story writing. Few Japanese people have ever heard of it. The event was at a small temple. Before the performance began, we bought some food from the lotus vendors there-everything they had was made from lotus. It was delicious! The farmer was the performer’s brother. After a while, the performance began and we had an interesting time. There was a shamisen player who was very talented, and, of course, the storyteller himself. He told a story of which I could discern very little, but there was something about a sumo wrestler. He did many interesting things with his voice that I hadn’t realized were possible, like making two tones at once. We returned to the Nagase house for lunch, walked the dog again, then went to Kanazawa for another concert. This one was by a woodwind group, and one of the clarinetists was a friend of Mrs. Nagase’s. We returned late and I fell asleep quickly.

On the 17th, it was a Japanese holiday known as Shichigosan, but I didn’t see any signs of it anywhere. Mr. Nagase went out early to a golf tournament (my host dad was going to be there too), then Mrs. Nagase and I went to her home town, Yamanakaonsen. It is a small town nestled in a valley between two mountains, but it was very busy. It was pretty, too, because the leaves on all of the trees were beginning to change. I met Mrs. Nagase’s parents, who live there, ages 86 and 93. They are very lively and energetic. We walked in a nearby gorge for a while and crossed two interesting bridges, then went to a restaurant for lunch. It was mostly a normal meal, but there were also small pockets of fish and vegetables. I can’t remember their Japanese name, but it translates to “baby shark.” I went to the Japanese public bath and bathed there, then returned to Mrs. Nagase’s parents’ house. I had tea there and drank it out of a teacup given to Mrs. Nagase’s father by Emperor Showa, then we returned back to her house after stopping at two shrines. I spent the rest of the evening there, then was returned home.

Yesterday was a fairly normal school day (aside from the fact that one of the sliding glass doors in a neighboring classroom shattered during seventh period), and I went to a meeting of five Rotary clubs in Kanazawa after school. There was a trio of harp, koto, and shinobue, which played three beautiful songs before we had a multi-course delicious meal. It was great, and one of the other English-speaking inbound exchange students to the district was there so we spoke quite a bit in English.

This will probably be my last blog entry while I am with this host family since I switch on Saturday.

I am sorry. This week the blog still says it is having errors uploading images, so I can’t post any more.

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trans-siberian-orchestra-life · 5 years

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Night Castle

Hi all! I will be posting mini-reviews of my favorite parts from each TSO album! I will go over band personnel, the story, and the music! Please enjoy!

Night Castle was released in 2009, and was TSO’s second non-Christmas album! It is also their longest, with 26 total songs, and, to me at least, their most emotional album to date.

The album features many familiar faces, with lead singers being Jay Pierce, Jeff Scott Soto, Tim Hockenberry, Rob Evan, and Jennifer Cella. The band personnel is also very familiar, with Paul O’Neill, Chris Caffery, Angus Clark, Al Pitrelli, and Alex Skolnick on guitar, Robert Kinkell, Jon Oliva, Luci Butler, Shih-Yi Chang, Jane Mangini, and Derek Wieland on keyboards, Chris Altenhoff and Johnny Lee Middleton on bass, Roddy Chong and Anna Phoebe on violin and strings, and John O.Reilly and Jeff Plate on drums. And, with Dave Wittman on, as all TSO albums say, “drum, guitar, and bass inserts for those little things the rest of us forgot.”

It also features Emerson, Lake, and Palmer's Greg Lake on bass for Nutrocker!

And, not to mention the numerous amazing backing vocalists and instrumentalists!

Its a big album with big personnel, a big story, and even bigger music. Lets get into that~

---------

Night Enchanted

-Best hard opening to a TSO album

-HEEERE belieeeve a nigHT ENCHANTED S̸̟͋̉̔͛̀͋̃̑̑̈́̏̅̈́È̵̡̜̼̞͔̖̩̦̟̞̣͈̑̄̽̒͝E̸̛͖̯͙̜͕̟̽̈́̃̉̿̏̈͛̌͆̔̂́ͅE̵͙̙̞̯͚̹̲̟̙͐̀͑̍͊̚͜Ẹ̷̡͇̹͍̓̈́̏͑̄̅̀̎̈́̓̚E̶̛̱̖̘͓̹͍̟̭̲̲̽͋͒̀̓E̵͓̰̠̤̻̪̣̎͊̎͒N̴̢̧̜̰̦̰͓̯̗̦͚̘̝̑̔̌͂͐̀͊

-Very different song, like,,VERY DRAMATIC. ExtrEMLEY DRAMATIC

-Based on Verdi’s Requiem and Dies irae

-Has the Child Of the Night aria sandwiched in the middle

-So the falcon character sings the aria

-I don’t know how that works either

-then it KICKS IN AGAIN FULL POWER

-The pounding opening guitar motif that repeats is amazing

Childhood Dreams

-A very classical-based song, like, its very operatic

-The “controversial” song on the album. Only because people either love it or hate it. I love it. Its fun.

-CHILDhood CHILDhood CHILDhood

-Jay is singing from his SOUL here

-Lyrics are very whimsy:

“But then it's known to catch our eye And dare us all to once more try And with a childhood faith believe And that magic to retrieve As childhood dreams ...”

-Overall solid song

-The slow piano that kinda hangs back the entire time is great

-I love the way he sings the line “But suddenly inside the dark, she sees the magic of the sparks...”

Sparks

-Old-school rock n roll song

-One of my favs off the album, its just so, idk..classic sounding?

-”Tell me when...Ḁ̷̯͖͉̽̎̔͋̀̽͗͐͂̊̌̇̕A̸̢̳̪͉͓̼̟͑Å̷̛̛̜̈́̆̀̆͂͋̊͐͗̔͑̇Ḩ̸͋̿̓̆͋͛͌͐͑͆̕̕Ḣ̷̨̙̺̦͚͓̠̀̿́͝H̴̗̮̎̽̀́̓̏̓̋̚H̶̼̘̩̱͖̻͎͒́Ḩ̶̢̧͓̲̼͇̼̱͓̱̞̖͕̀̽̾̒̚̕͠ͅ”

-It actually has “AHHH” in the CD booklet I kid you not

-Its a tad long ill admit but it rocks so hard you hardly notice

-The old school chugging guitar riff rocks

-”Leaving marks...SPARKS!”

-Just a classic song, nuff said

The Mountain

-eyyyy first Savatage cover- based n Prelude to Madness! From Hall of the Mountain King!

-The atmosphere is REAL

-The windy sound effect in the opening, the deep bells AH so good

-A familiar melody, and MAN they give it their best

-They speed up gradually over time, and it just gets to the point where its ridiculous how much is going on in the song

-These guys are so talented I swear

-The solo at 4:09 KICKS

Night Castle

-Jeff Scott Soto giving me life, once again

-Very different sounding song I believe, not many other TSO songs sound like it

“Am I risking my own life...my life..?

-OK also I SWEAR in the last 4th of this song, when the slow bit hits, the melody is EXTREMELY CLOSE to the opening to Mephistopheles, from Beethoven's Last Night. It may just be coincidence, but it sounds like an Easter egg to me. Or maybe I’m just crazy. AHA.

-The falling synth piano bits at 1:55. Yes.

-Song gets creepy with the minor change at the end

-I LOVE the last few seconds its so peppy and pretty, like that piano is so gentle

The Safest Way Into Tomorrow

-And I’m crying already, thanks Paul.

-They used this song for the tribute to Paul O’Neill in the 2017 live show. And i get so sad every time I hear it now. Like a melancholy feel now.

“Morpheus is at your side, offering the wings to fly, and be there..”

-Thanks Morpheus

-This line hits me right in the feels every time:

“Be there, free from Earth to sail across this night, where stars are all eternal”

-The piano build at 3:15 mmmm

-BEEEE THEEEEEERE

-BEEEEEE THEEEEEEERE

-BEEEEEEE THEEEEEEEEEERE

-BEEEEEEEE THEEEEEEEEEEEERE NOOOOOWWW

-”And tell me what you...see!”

-I cry

-Also may I note how I LOVE that every character that TSO makes looks like an 80′s rocker. Like look at my dude Morpheus. And Tran-Do. Never stop TSO, never stop.

(Morpheus^)

Mozart and Memories

-Second Savatage cover!

-Very eerie

-Fits with the “dream” thing going on in the story at this point

-The guitars are the best part at 0:42, that melody is so eerie and cool

-The pianos and strings at 0:24 hit me hard, VERY well recorded there

-It gets real fast at the end

-TSO and classical covers are such a good combo

Another Way You Can Die

-TSO got PG.

-Like look:

“And the tracers probe on 'Till a close friend is gone And you find yourself embracing ground”

-and:

“I see a figure in my rifle sight Who does not know that he's there And as I hesitate to take his life The ground explodes My blood it flows My heart is racing Times escaping As I feel it slowly scraping by”

-like holy hell

-Like I love the song don’t get me wrong

-But lord Paul went all out here

-He was NOT holding back

-PAULS GOT A MESSAGE TO GET ACROSS AND LORDY HES GONNA DO IT ANY WAY HE CAN

-That end piano drop mY HEART HURTS

Toccata - Carpimus Noctem

-TSO has mastered Christmas, TIME FOR HALLOWEEN MUAHAHA

-Literally its such a good cover. They keep the classic classical intro, with synth and guitars of course, but then they go full metal with it.

-I love the weird guitar lick at 1:49, it really stands out

-Yet another guitar solo featured song and mmm its good

-Also, the DRUMS ARE AMAZING IN THIS ONE

The Lion’s Roar

-Third Savatage cover kind of

-The second half is from Temptation Revelation from Gutter Ballet

-As a trumpeter, I love this song, as it is TSOs only trumpet-featured song.

-The first half is a very military-esque (Fits with the story, eh?) trumpet solo on The Minstrel Boy. This song is very accurate as it is usually played at military events or funerals.

-Which makes me even sadder because of the context of thE STORY

-Nice little interlude song

Dreams We Conceive

-EMOTIONS.

-The opening organ, it its me right in the HEART.

-You can just HEAR the sorrow in his voice in this song.

-The way he sings “Where the dreams die...as the blood dries...”

-Too relatable my soul can’t take it.

-His little voice quiver on the word “do” in the line ‘WHat else is the night to do..”

“As you stand all Alone at your station What if God doesn't Know where you are As you send out your Prayers for salvation But afraid that They don't go that far

So you wait all Alone in your darkness There's a train that drives on Through the night And if everyone's On it except us Would it return for That single life

In a city After midnight Neath the halo Of a street light”

-Its just so LONELY SOUNDING this man needs a hug

Mother and Son

-I used to skip this track before I understood it in context to the story.

-Then I felt emotions

-You can find the translation HERE.

-Imagine you past self looking at you and saying “How did I become you?” TO YOUR FACE

-savage

There Was A Life

-ENTER ROB EVAN

-This song man,,,the emotions are REAL

-The way he sings the word “life” in the opening line

“Can someone tell me Can someone say when The writer of this story Will just tell us how it all will end?”

-I relate too much to that

-Paul asking the real questions of life: “ Is there forgiveness for hesitation?”

-The HURT in his voice when he sings “DEAR GOD” at 3:14

-Robbbb why you gotta kill me like this

-The piano is superb at 4:22

-Captures the vibe perfectly

“Are you scared of your life? Are you scared of your death? Though that day will arrive Well it hasn't come yet...”

-Calling me out like that huh

-His “ALIIIIIIIIIVE” at 8:37 oh my LORD

-I’m feeling ALL the emotions

Moonlight and Madness

-OK. So I can’t think of which piano player it was, I’m thinking either Kinkel or Weiland, I could be wrong...BUT. Paul said in an interview once that the songs piano was recorded in one take. ONE TAKE THAT INTRO. He just FLEW INTO IT PERFECTLY.

-Its a wild song, based on the moonlight sonata.

Time Floats On

-This song man..this song

-*Insert seagull meme here* “tiiiiime flllOAATS OOOOON!!!”

-It was one of the first TSO songs I ever heard

-The crazy contrasting piano bit in the middle AH its cool

-Such an eerie song really

-”Time floats on...as I write these letters that you'll never see...” ;-;

-this song has so much heart

Epiphany

-OK HERE WE GO

-TSOs longest song

-TSOs most emotional song

-I’m crying again

-The SHEER HURT and SORROW in Rob’s voice when he sings “ I fear the night, I fear the dark, I need this light...that distant spark...”

-The fast bit at 3:52...I don’t think Rob breathed once during that recording.

-The spoken part was a bold choice, TSO has never done that before. I liked it a lot, its a great addition to the song.

-The subtle harmonies in the “Somewhere”s...amazing.

-and MAN. The LYRICS.

“Did you ever walk up To the edge of a cliff Stare into the abyss As your mind wonders if You should take one more step Further into that night Well your mind says you won't But your heart says you might Would you fall through the dark Feel the wind in your hair Would you embrace the ground And end your life right there Or would god reach his hand And that moment you fly Or if he chanced to blink And then, that moment you die You die...”

-Like GEEZ that is heavy stuff

-This is the “contemplating death song”

“Be who you are What you were What they see From eternity's view Tell me which one is me?”

-Relatable. holy heck.

-He sounds like hes about to cry when he sings “Hold me close...”

-Like me too Rob. Me too.

-”This all is your....life..."

-You feel DRAINED by the end of it, like wow. The emotion, the power, my soUL. MY HEART.

Bach Lullaby

-A nice calming music box medley of the C major prelude.

-OK SO TSO SHOULD ACTUALLY MAKE LITTLE MUSIC BOXES THAT PLAY THIS HOLY HECK ID BUY 50

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

-The OTHER most EMOTIONAL SONG on the album

-First half: pain, sorrow, regret, melancholy, slow piano...

-The EMOTION in the line “ Never quite there but it's never quite gone, you are the star that is wished upon...forever....”

-Second half: RAGE. ANGER. FIRE. AAAHHHHH.

-The main guitar riff is so heckin powerful

-Lyrics literally have this background in it: “...she raged against all those citizens of apathy and willful ignorance who lived behind the sacrifices of others.”

-The high piano swapped out for low guitar and bass melodies, a heavy mood, and pounding drums

-”...You cling to that card, Father, Son & Holy Ghost”

-You FEEL THE RAGE

-It has the most metal lyrics:

“And Christ and Confucius Are all their words useless We quote them in fractions But not in our actions”

-Like WOW

Remnants of a Lullaby

-A simple, but pretty song

-Very calming, and a nice breather from the song before

-The feeling in “ What to keep, what to save...”

”Wished on coins Childhood wings Carousels Still turning Waiting there patiently Remnants of a lullaby...”

-IM A KID AGAIN

The Safest Way Into Tomorrow (Reprise)

-dangittt I’m crying AGAIN

-album comes full circle here in the most emotional way possible

-especially when you consider the context of the story at this point aahhHHH

-Soto owns my soul

Embers

-OK, just..I love this song. Simple as that.

-This is pure atmosphere.

-Listen to it. Bonfire. Embers soaring to the stars above. Fireflies all around. Friends sitting with you at the camp fire. Acoustic guitar playing. A perfect summers night.

-Just...perfection.

Child of the Night

-Eyyyyy the aria again. It grows on yah.

-Very relaxing.

-Just brings that calming night vibe to life.

-Makes yah feel like a kid again.

Believe

-AAAAND the TSO song everyone knows for one reason or another.

-Also one of the more emotional ones on the album.

-A cover of the Savatage song off Streets

-I love this version, (No offense Jon), like idk why exactly...it just feels more..personal? Idk, maybe its just because of the sheer emotional journey we just went on lol.

-It builds spectacularly, and the emotion is all in in this one. 10/10 great cover.

Nutrocker

-YAYY JUST HAD AN EMOTIONAL AND HEARTBREAKING JOURNEY, TIME FOR HAPPY FUN CHRISTMAS EMMERSON LAKE AND PALMER NUTCRACKER SONG YAYY

-Heh I kid I kid

-It features Greg Lake on bass!

-This song ROCKS man it ROCKS

-TSO does SO WELL WITH THIS

-The fast piano, the amazingly melodic guitar melody, the rock bits with a jazz break sandwiched in between AH.

Carmina Burana

-This is also one of my favs off the album.

-I believe this is also the song that got some conservative folks mad at TSO for being “satanists” by playing this. It was the latin I think.

-Doesn’t matter, this song is epic. Very bombastic.

-It builds so well, and the repeated guitar and bass riffs make it feel so pounding I love it.

Tracers

-Ok so this song and I have history.

-I originally didn’t like this song (woah, right?)

-It just didn’t click. Buuuuut, TSO did it live in 2018, and BOI that changed everything. I loved it after that. Its top 25 TSO songs for me now.

-IDK what they did or how they did it, but after the live show, I loved it. Past me was wrong. This song ROCKS.

-The pounding opening is iconic

-The soaring guitars

-The weird interval medley at 0:49 is so cool

-The main melody KICKS at 1:00

-My fav bit is the surreal acoustic bit at 2:06

-Its SO GOOD

-The repeated 5 notes at like 1:34 are so driving

-The descending bit at 2:55!!!

-and the BUILD UP TO THE VOCAL PART AT 3:32 OH MAN POETIC CINEMA

-------

And there you have it!!! Night Castle! To me, its the most emotional album of the lot. And the most atmospheric. Its long, but its a wild ride the entire time. The story is sad but inspiring, the music is legendary, the art is beautiful, so all around, this, to me, may be their best album in terms of general scoring. What do you think?

Thanks for reading ya’ll! You rock!

#Trans-Siberian Orchestra #trans siberian orchestra #night castle #album review #metal #rock #symphonic metal #symphonic rock #text post #this took so long to re do #BUT I DID IT #music review

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lifeinahole27 · 6 years

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CS ff: “You’re the Tune that Stuck” (au)

Summary: A soulmates au where you can have any number of things happen to reveal you have a soulmate. In this one, Emma suddenly hears the songs that her soulmate are either listening to or have stuck in their head.

Rating: M for language just in case.

Word Count: Just under 8.5k

A/N: Just under the wire, here’s one of the fics that I mentioned in my retrospect, miraculously finished just in time. Please excuse any errors, as this is un-beta’d, and please excuse my bastardization of the movements of a symphony to break this down properly. One funny shout out, though: This fic was born and spiraled out of control after an exchange I had with @seastarved longer ago than I can actually remember, so I dedicate the concept to you, my friend. To all of you, Happy Whatever you celebrate, Merry Christmas, and I’ll be back soon with a January Joy and a CSLB to share. -xo

Prelude

Three times. Three times in the last week, she’s randomly gotten “The Song That Never Ends” stuck in her head. Out of nowhere. She doesn’t listen to that song. Who actually listens to that song? She’s not sure she’s ever liked that song, so why would it pop into her head just for fun and stick around for a few hours before escaping again?

The first time is at work, as she types up reports, and she doesn’t even realize she’s humming it until David, her friend and partner, clears his throat in that obnoxious way to let her know she’s doing something to annoy him, which in turn, annoys her. They stare at each other, with Emma glaring harder, until he clears his throat again in the way that says, ‘As you were,’ because he realizes he won’t win the fight.

The second time is at home while Emma is doing laundry. She’s halfway through draping her line-dry items on the rack when it suddenly starts playing, and she tries to change the song to something she actually likes for several minutes, before she decides instead to just imagine television static until the song goes away.

The third time, she doesn’t realize it has even reared its ugly head again until Mary Margaret, David’s lovely wife who is one of her best friends and her son’s elementary school teacher, asks if she is okay. Apparently, grunting out the tune is cause for alarm.

Mary Margaret hums in consideration after Emma explains what’s going on.

“What?”

“David and I didn’t realize we were soulmates until we were engaged, you know. We have these silly little birthmarks on the bottoms of our feet that match up if we press them together.”

“How did you not notice that? You dated for six years before he even proposed!”

“Emma, honey, when our feet were bare, we were hardly concerned with the bottom of our feet,” the sweet woman says with an obvious leer.

“I’m glad Henry isn’t around to hear this filth. From his teacher.” The other woman snickers, and Emma tries to hold back a smile. “You’re gross. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Emma professes, making a face and moving to Mary Margaret’s side to pick at the food she’s preparing for lunch. “So, what, you think someone out there is listening to this song and that’s why it keeps getting stuck in my head? You think I have a soul mate?”

There’s a nod of agreement, even as Mary Margaret smacks her hand away from raw dough for her famous chocolate chunk cookies. “Could be worse, he or she could be listening to Henry the Eighth.”

“Speaking of, Henry is the only soul mate I need,” Emma finalizes, signaling the end of the discussion.

The aforementioned song gets stuck in her head, all her own doing, and she practically screams it in her mind in retaliation.

And thus, the war begins.

-x-

It turns out that once you figure out you have a soul mate that can hear the songs you’re listening to (or, heaven forbid, the ones that get stuck in your head) the worse the whole business gets. Suddenly, after Open House before the new school year begins, he’s aware of the music filtering in and out of his head like someone keeps turning the dial on the tuner. Whether the person on the other end of Killian’s brain knows it or not, he or she does a marvelous job picking the worst songs at the absolute worst times.

“Henry the Eighth” is bad enough, especially since he can’t stop thinking about one of his students and the crush he has on his unapproachable mother. Then there’s the time the children learn “Kookaburra” on their recorders, which is nearly derailed when Killian almost starts to play “Baby Got Back” halfway through the round-robin.

He will never forget the moment that Beastie Boys pops into his head during the one quiet hour he spends in the classroom, and he resists the urge to jam out to it in front of a full classroom.

He engages in gentle warfare for a day after he’s caught humming “Call Me Maybe” in front of Mary Margaret, who lifts her eyebrows almost to her pixie hairline at the song of choice. She seems to stop and consider him for a long moment before Killian coughs out an apology and scuttles back to his arts and music wing.

“What’s the most obnoxious song you know?” he asks the same fellow teacher a few days later. He’d been up most of the night with Backstreet Boys songs playing, and it’s time for retaliation. His hands have spent a significant amount of time in his hair during the last few hours, so he knows he looks disheveled and tired, and probably sounds crazy on top of it.

“Probably something like ‘The Song that Never Ends’ or something along those lines,” Mary Margaret responds, watching him carefully for something while she sips at her tea.

“Oh bloody hell, no. Not that one. That was a recent lesson on the recorder and once the kids started, they wouldn’t stop They kept derailing lessons for over a week. Little monsters, I tell you.”

If anything, the woman across the table looks like she’s trying not to laugh at him. “You could try something soothing instead of going for annoying, instead? Just a thought.”

Allegro

One day she wants to kill her soul mate, and the next she almost wants to find who they are when they pick songs like they did last Thursday. She viewed that hour of instrumental music as a peace offering during her overnight patrol, so she’s tried to ease up on how annoying she goes with the songs lately.

She toys with the idea of how to figure out who this person is, tries to come up with the easiest way to figure out whether it’s a he or a she, if they’re local, if they always have such shitty taste in music…

She’s technically on lunch when she starts this new game of theirs, but she stays glued to her computer in order to find the perfect song while David is more than likely making eyes at his wife. After a couple initial search phrases, she finds the one that might get the point across quickly. Her earphones go in, cautious as ever so that David doesn’t figure out what she’s doing if he comes back. While she didn’t tell Mary Margaret not to tell her husband about her soul mate, she’s sure it wouldn’t have mattered; her friend is classically bad at keeping any kind of secret.

Checking to make sure she’s still alone one more time, she hits play on the video she’s pulled up on YouTube, assured that she is the only one listening to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” in this room, while someone else, somewhere else is hearing it, too.

She goes back to her paperwork, losing all interest in the pb&j she slapped together this morning in interest of time, and instead keeping herself busy to see if she gets a response when the song ends.

When the tune ends, she clicks out of the video and waits, and surprisingly is not disappointed. He’s apparently caught onto the game, listening to “A Boy Named Sue” wherever he is.

The song plays all the way through, and she has a smile on her face when David walks back in. He asks her a question, motioning for her to take out the earbuds she forgot to take out when she was done with her own song. “Listening to some good tunes on your break?”

“Ah, yeah,” she responds. She clicks out of the various windows open and stashes her headphones, giving a sheepish smile in the process.

“As long as it helps get through that mountain of paperwork you always leave behind, I’m not going to complain. Just don’t play Backstreet Boys for at least another month.” He grins at her, returning to his own desk as Emma huddles behind her monitor.

So, her soulmate knows she’s a woman. And she knows her soulmate is a man. Emma can’t figure out what else to share with him, though, so she aims for some of her favorite tunes for a little bit.

They start to pass songs back and forth when they have time, with the one that’s free picking up the slack if the other is unable to return the favor. Whoever is on the other end of her brain clearly doesn’t work on Saturdays and Sundays if his frequency of music increases where hers cuts back as she works through the weekend.

-x-

In the middle of September, Mary Margaret invites Killian to one of the high school’s football games. It turns out her husband is one of the assistant coaches, so she spends a great deal of time in the stands during the football season.

“Normally, my best friend comes with me, but she’s not back in town yet,” his fellow teacher explains.

“I’m happy to accompany you any time,” Killian says, smiling at her comfortingly and following up into the bleachers.

Despite living in the states for a few years, and living in Storybrooke for slightly less time than that, this is the first time he’s gotten to enjoy the customary American tradition of Friday night football. The Storybrooke marching band might not be big, but they are mighty, and he finds himself humming along with the fight song before the game even begins.

By the second half of the game, he’s cheering just as loud as the rest of the crowd, getting swept up in the simple emotion of victory at the end of the game.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to my husband,” Mary Margaret declares as the band exits their spot in the modest stadium, the crowds dispersing into the chilly autumn night as the team leaves the field for the locker room.

Introductions move on to coffee at Granny’s when the need to chase away the cold that’s seeped into their fingers and toes becomes a necessity. While Killian had seen the sheriff a number of times, it’s his first time interacting with him, and he finds he rather likes the man. Not normally one to partake in regular frivolity, Killian decides to pencil in the next game as well. He doesn’t have much of a social life beyond the school functions he helps out at, so attending some football games might be a mark in the positive interactions column that is currently desperately lacking.

Halfway through his second cup of coffee with the Nolans, the object of his silly affections bursts through the door, a flurry of blonde hair and red leather.

“Mary Margaret! I have new information!” The words are out of her mouth right before she notices him sitting there, and her head tilts to the side in a way he can only classify as adorable as she sizes him up. “Hello, Mr. Jones.”

“Please, call me Killian,” he says, extending his hand as she settles in the booth across from him. Her gloves are also leather, and her handshake is firm and decisive.

“What’s the new information?” Mary Margaret asks as soon as she can command her friend’s attention again.

“Oh, nothing, never mind.” Emma waves her hand in the air before giving the other woman a significant look. Later, she seems to say without words, and Killian fights the smile that wants to break through at witnessing the signature girl-talk. “So, who won the game?”

As they continue to chat about the team and such, Killian gets to observe Emma as he’s never seen her. Usually, she’s incredibly reserved, her responses clipped and efficient as she comes in for conferences. Once, at the open house at the start of the year, he managed to smile at her without tripping over his feet, which he constituted as a job well done. This intimate setting allows him to see her as a woman, instead of just the parent of one of his students.

Despite the coffee, he can feel his early morning catching up to him, even as Emma starts revving up. Killian marvels at the energy of the woman, especially when he notes that she’s only had hot chocolate since she sat down. She looks a little disappointed as he announces he’s turning in for the night, which Killian takes as his own personal victory for the evening.

“Thank you again for a lovely evening, Mary Margaret, David. And lovely to see you again,” he trails off awkwardly, suddenly realizing that he doesn’t know how to address her. Does he call her by her surname? Will using her first name seem too personal? Heaven forbid he just call her Henry’s mother, which is how he’s used to referring to her in his mind.

“Just Emma,” she says, saving him from a tailspin of confusion and worry. She smiles, and when she fixes that look on him, he’s lost to the green of her eyes and the dimple in her chin, to the lines that bracket her mouth.

“Well, hopefully we’ll get a chance to do this again soon, just Emma,” he says, his smile bordering on suave as he takes her hand and kisses the back of it, her skin just as smooth as the leather gloves she removed shortly after sitting down.

The overt display of flirtation is normally against his nature, and he clears his throat nervously as he drops her hand and straightens, shuffling from the bench a moment later.

Emma is still watching him when he turns back at the door, a similarly awestruck look on her face that is only broken when Mary Margaret asks her a question. With a smile stuck on his face, he exits the diner and heads for home, only remembering he has a soulmate out there and feeling awful about forgetting when the solemn version of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” pops into his head as he walks through his own front door.

-x-

“David, it’s girl-talk time,” Mary Margaret informs her husband not a moment after Killian walks out the door of Granny’s diner.

“Why can’t I stay?”

“Do you really want to hear about my love life?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Okay then. I’ll see you at home,” David says, leaning across the table at the same time his wife does in order to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Emma would be unhappy with the display of affection if it were anyone else, but she loves these two far too much to take issue with their gooey mannerisms.

When David is gone and they’ve refreshed their drinks, Emma switches to the other side of the table in order to sprawl out a little.

“He lives in Storybrooke,” she tells her friend excitedly.

“Who? But more importantly, what was that between you and Killian tonight?”

“What was what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Emma.”

“Don’t Emma me, I didn’t do anything! He’s just… really pretty, okay? I’m allowed to flirt with people even though I have a soulmate out there.”

“Out there in Storybrooke, no less,” her friend comments.

“Oof, yeah. I wonder if I’ve ever met him before.”

“I’d bet on it,” Mary Margaret says, but there’s something in her voice that causes her to continue after the short declaration. “I mean, it’s a pretty small town.”

Emma stares at the other woman for a second, her eyes narrowed as she considers the first half of the sentence. In the end, she just hums her agreement as she sips her hot chocolate.

“Anyway, how do you know he lives in Storybrooke?”

“He was listening to the fight song tonight. He must’ve been at the game. I’m almost sad I missed it now.”

“Hey! Why only almost? Didn’t you miss hanging out with me tonight?”

“Mary Margaret, if I could get you without the Friday night testosterone, I would be in heaven. You’re lucky they have those elephant ears or else I’d likely never show up.”

“You’re no fun,” is Mary Margaret’s astute observation.

They spend the rest of their beverages speculating who might be her soul mate, but all Emma can think about is Killian, and the way he kissed her hand – how soft his lips were, his fingers callused from years of playing musical instruments. Still, there was something special about that contact, and she doesn’t even mean to think of the Beatles song that floats through her mind, confused and slightly annoyed that she would ever want to hold anyone’s hand.

-x-

It’s a strange sensation, to have someone else’s music buzzing around his head. As October comes and goes, he hears the faint strains of “Happy Birthday” come through in his sleep one night, mentally joining along so she knows he’s wishing it to her as well. November is over in the blink of an eye, and he’s expecting another quiet Thanksgiving at his home, working on music or lesson plans, as it’s not his holiday, anyway.

Mary Margaret seems to realize that he’s on his own right as the date is approaching, so she invites him to their place. “We have a small rag-tag group that comes together for the day,” she tells him. “It’s just David and I, a couple friends you’ll meet, and Emma and Henry.”

He makes sure to give a customary “I’ll think about it” response and waits until he runs into her in the teacher’s lounge again during lunch. “As long as it’s not an imposition,” he says, making that his one condition. “And you’ll let me prepare a dish.”

“Cheesy potatoes. I don’t have the room in my oven this year, and they’re Emma’s favorites,” she tells him, giving him a brilliant smile and hurrying off to her classroom.

Snow is falling when he arrives at the Nolan’s charming home, looking bright and warm against the muted hues of oncoming winter, but the chimney is sending up smoke and the front door is open and fogged, and it all looks more and more inviting the longer he stands out in the driveway of the farmhouse. It’s all too picturesque, and Killian wonders how he landed in such a cozy position, invited to the family dinner of a family who isn’t his. His casserole dish won’t last forever in its carry-case, not without cooling anyway, so he finally walks up the steps of the porch, appreciating the soft sounds of the worn wood beneath his boots.

He knocks twice on the storm door, but there’s no response amongst the clamor of silverware hitting the floor, a loud curse, and a sharp laugh which follows closely behind. Something echoes in his head, and he wishes he could rewind the noise to see what it was, but it’s gone as quickly as it sounds. Instead of waiting to be invited in, he slips through the door, knocking his boots on the doorframe and calling out as he does.

Mary Margaret is in the entryway in a flash, apologizing for the lackluster greeting as she explains that Emma dropped the entire box that held the fine utensils they use for fancy meals. “She’s currently up to her elbows in soapy water washing them all, and Ruby isn’t helping by teasing her about it.” She takes the portable carrier from his hands, zipping away to the dining room for a moment before she’s back in front of him. “Let me take your coat. There’s a tray for shoes under the hooks there, and if you’re weird about walking around in socks like Emma is, there are slippers in that basket right there.”

His coat practically vanishes from his shoulders as the whirlwind pixie bustles around him pointing and explaining and hanging before she’s all but sprinting back to the kitchen. She calls over her shoulders for him to follow, that they’re already working through a bottle of wine but she’s on her fifth cup of coffee, and he’s welcome to either option.

Truthfully, he’s not given a choice, as a glass of wine is thrust into his hand as soon as he enters the kitchen, put there by a leggy brunette with the tips of her hair dyed red and her lips painted to match. “You must be the fresh meat.”

“Ruby,” comes the stern name, and Killian glances at Emma. She’s standing at the sink, her sweater tied around her waist and yellow rubber gloves on her hands. Her hair is tied back but falling in her eyes as she turns to narrow her eyes at the other woman. “Hi Killian, ignore her. You’re not up for slaughter. It’s just been a few years since anyone new came to dinner and that was long enough for her to forget her manners.”

“All’s well, love. I’m much tougher than I look. Is there anything I can help with?”

“Nope,” Mary Margaret says as she appears out of nowhere, her exuberant personality shining in the overheated kitchen. “David and Henry are in the den with some friends. Why don’t you go join them and I’ll call you if I need anything?”

He nods, giving a slightly suspicious look to Ruby who is still sizing him up. He catches Emma’s eyes when she glances over her shoulder and winks at her. Well, he tries to wink. It’s more a weird, delayed blink where one eye shuts more and faster than the other, but her lips turn up and it almost looks like she’s blushing when she turns back to her task.

While he exits the kitchen to join the others in the direction that Mary Margaret indicated, he slows his pace when he’s on the other side of the swinging door, just managing to hear a snappy “Ruby, don’t start. And don’t touch,” from Emma before he continues to his destination. He smiles to himself, continuing on to meet the others.

There’s a suspicious thing that happens every time Killian is near Emma: he forgets about the songs in his head, he forgets that there’s a soul mate out there for him, and he forgets most of his other sensibilities. Instead, he’s enchanted by Emma in every way. Her laugh is her own form of music, and in a dining room full of her friends and son, it’s one she sings every few minutes.

He’s already interacted with Henry plenty. The young lad is talented beyond his second-grade years, and he’s happily picked up every instrument in Killian’s music classes. More than that, he’s always marveled at how Henry treats him as if he were an equal. And he writes songs – lyrics and poems, pages full of his scrawly handwriting, notes hastily written down to catch them as if they were running out of his head – and he’s brought them to Killian to ask for his help. The boy is brilliant and funny and Killian now knows that he gets much of that from his mother.

He and Emma find themselves on a covered couch in the Nolan’s three-season room, each with a steaming mug in their hands as Emma sips from her standard hot chocolate and Killian drinks coffee, and he tells her all about his adventures with her son. Said son is in the den, curled up on the loveseat in a post-turkey food coma. Roland is draped over the arm of the same chair, his toddler body too exhausted from the sheer amount of food he consumed.

The rest of the adults are in various places around the house, telling stories or cleaning up, but he’s lucked out because it’s just Emma by his side, their conversation quiet and her thigh warm where it presses against his. Beyond the vinyl covered windows, the wind is gusting, but Killian feels more comfortable out here than he did in the house, as overheated as it was from the oven being on all day.

“The cheesy potatoes were really good, by the way,” Emma says between topics. “They’re my favorite.”

“Mary Margaret said as much. I’m glad they pass the test, Swan.” He wonders if there will ever be occasion for him to make them again, if this is not the last of the cluster-family meals he’ll get to enjoy, but that feels like he’s getting ahead of himself.

There’s another comfortable lull in conversation before Emma speaks again. “You’re really great with Henry, you know.”

“He’s an exceptional young man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s quite the writer, as well.”

She chuckles at that, shaking her head knowingly. “He has been since he started talking. He told his own bedtime stories. Started making up songs before he knew what some words even meant. I don’t know where I went right with him, but clearly I’ve done some good.”

“I’d say you’ve done a lot of good, love. We aren’t supposed to claim favorites, but he’s mine. Without a doubt.”

“You’re his favorite teacher, but don’t tell Mary Margaret that. She’d be heart broken,” she whispers conspiratorially.

Their conversation turns to the upcoming holidays, and the Celebration of the Season pageant they’ll have before they break for Christmas and New Year.

“Henry will be playing a solo. I don’t know if he’s told you that, but the other kids wouldn’t even audition because they heard him play.”

“He doesn’t let me listen while he practices. He wants me to be surprised,” she informs him, her smile going affectionate around the edges. “Listen,” she starts.

“Swan,” he says at the same time, and they stare at each other for a moment in the dim lighting from the windows above their heads.

She leans in first, her lips catching his in a soft kiss. He thinks he hears the soft strains of Etta James in his head, but he’s too focused on the way her hand is slipping around to the back of his neck, her fingers sliding into the hair that rests just above the collar of his sweater, to really be sure. His thoughts fly far away when she breaks away to set down her mug, and he does the same just before both of her hands are framing his face and she’s kissing him again, harder this time, more tongue involved, and he’s not sure he’s ever tasted anything as sweet as her kiss, nor is he sure he’ll ever replace it in his life.

One minute she’s almost climbing into his lap, and the next she’s pulled away, her forehead pressed against his for the length of a heartbeat or twenty.

“That was…”

“I gotta go. I have to get Henry home. Um, have a good night, Killian.”

She snatches her mug from the wicker table as she goes, and then she’s back in the house.

It’s partly because he’s stunned, and partly because he recognizes her need to run that leaves him sitting there until he hears Henry’s voice. Then, he slowly wanders in, lifting his hand instead of saying goodbye as her eyes dart to meet his. Henry ambles over, rubbing his eyes and giving Killian a sleepy hug around the waist.

“See you Monday,” he says, his eyes barely open as he looks at Killian. He gives the boy a small smile, placing his hands over his shoulders to return the hug. He chances a glance at Emma, whose furrowed brow and torn expression says everything he needs to know.

“Go on, lad. Your mother is waiting. I’ll see you in class.”

He watches as Henry shuffles off, grabbing Emma’s hand as soon as he’s close enough. With her son’s hand tucked in her right hand, and a bag of leftovers in the left, they head out into the cold November evening and Killian is left standing in the foyer, wondering just what happened.

Adagio

She’s an idiot. More than that, she’s a fucking idiot. No regular idiocy here. This is next-level idiot shit, Emma Swan.

For at least the tenth time today, Emma smacks her forehead onto the laminate surface of her desk.

“Are you okay?” And for at least the tenth time today, David looks like she’s going to explode into a million pieces if he looks at her the wrong way.

“I’m fine,” she groans out. “Just tired. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Too much sweet potato pie? Because that was my problem.”

“David, I didn’t get any sweet potato pie because you ate it all before Mary Margaret could offer it to anyone else.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” is his firm retort. “But seriously. Is everything okay? I’ve never seen you hit your head this much after a holiday.”

“Yeah, I’ve just… I’ve got a lot on my mind. But it’ll be okay.”

When she seems unwilling to talk anymore, David finally returns to his own work, allowing the quiet of Friday rest between them. Normally, in other parts of the country, everyone is out in shopping-mode. Thankfully, Storybrooke is not a big town. They don’t see the same crowds or hype that exists in other cities. So, instead of dealing with endless calls about fights, riots, and misdemeanors, they’re sitting around the station while the rest of their meager police force sleeps in.

She wasn’t lying about not sleeping. All night, she laid in bed staring at the ceiling waiting for some answer to fall from the plaster above her head. Either that or she hoped the actual plaster would fall and knock her memories loose so she would never have to remember what it’s like to kiss Killian Jones, to feel how soft his hair is, to see that confused and slightly heartbroken expression on his face as she ushered Henry out the door as fast as she could.

It's what she does: Emma gets scared, Emma runs. As sure as the clock moves forward or the trees bloom in spring, this is her pattern. Worse than just knowing her biggest flaw, there’s another downside to her rash decision to kiss the hell out of Killian last night. She has a soul mate, and said guy has been listening to sad music for at least an hour, the soulful jazz solos echoing around her brain with no escape.

There’s always the white noise trick; she can always just imagine TV fuzz again, or the weather alert sound, anything that might work to eliminate the notes that have invaded her mind. Anything has to be better than feeling whatever her soul mate is feeling for whatever reason. Why is he so down in the dumps? She thought things were going well? Can he tell that she kissed someone else? That she has (and here she swallows audibly, as if facing down the firing squad of her own mind) feelings for someone else?

No, she could drown him out, but this is her penance for kissing Killian. This is her punishment for hurting two men in one shot.

She does her best to avoid Killian over the next few weeks, but it’s hard when she’s walking through the doors of the elementary school and Killian is there, handing her a program with a subdued smile. He opens his mouth to say something, but another mother all but pushes her out of the way.

“You’ve done such a great thing here, Mr. Jones. It must be so tiring making all the arrangements for this event on your own, and coming up with educational ways to represent all the winter holidays.”

From a few feet away, Emma fiddles with her purse, trying to look back over her shoulder to see what Killian’s face looks like, but he’s mostly turned away from her at this point and she’s mad at herself for caring. The woman that bumped her keeps rambling on, and she has a hand on Killian’s bicep, squeezing it like she’s sizing it up or claiming him for herself, and it dawns on Emma that she has no right to be protective or jealous or have any feelings one way or the other about Killian. They kissed, she had an opportunity, and she ran from it like he set her on fire. Which, to be fair, he had… metaphorically, of course.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to come to our place for the holidays, since I know your family is still over in England?”

They are? What family does Killian have? Jesus, she made out with him and she knows nothing about him and she wants to feel the right to be upset that he might accept an offer to spend his holidays with another – she turns to subtly check out the hand that’s now caressing his bicep – single mother and her child? It might really be time to focus on her soul mate and set aside any other thoughts of Killian.

“Well,” Killian starts, and Emma moves. She marches straight out of earshot and into the auditorium, working her way to her seat quickly. There’s an adorable little section for parents, and Emma smiles as she finds her spot, sandwiched between Mary Margaret and the new art teacher, Ashley. She’ll have to thank Mary Margaret later for the attention to detail, putting her next to other teachers instead of the other parents of the PTA that glare at her when she can’t be there on time because one of their punk kids spray-painted the windows of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop again.

Mary Margaret doesn’t get to slide into her own seat until just before the lights dim out and the curtain goes up, so Emma makes a mental note to mention it later. Then, she’s lost in the world of holidays, of different upbringings and traditions, and lost in the ideals of kids who are still too young to be bitter, or worried, or exclusionary for the sake of making themselves feel better.

And then comes Henry’s solo, which fills Emma with more love for her child, which she didn’t even think was possible, but there it is. His little fingers work the strings of a ukulele like he’s been playing his whole life, instead of for the last three months, and his young voice floats through the auditorium, strong and sure. The lights illuminate the rest of the stage, where the other kids wait to join in, and as their voices all join together she has to fight herself to not cry. It’s the most innocent rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” she’s ever heard, and she’s captivated watching them sing a song that she would be hard-pressed to sing, even if she were sober on New Year’s.

It’s halfway through the song when Emma realizes that she’s hearing it, but she’s also hearing it echoed in her mind. He’s here. Her soul mate is at this very event, somewhere in this auditorium. But he’s closer, which doesn’t even seem possible when Emma is just about on top of the stage. She’s tempted to stand up and start wandering the rows to find him, but it would probably be rude to start asking each man in the front three rows if they’re her soulmate. So she has to wait, instead refocusing her attentions to the kids on the stage, joining in the standing ovation that the small auditorium gives to the final performance of the night.

The lights go up after the curtain call, and parents and families start wandering towards the exits to wait for their children and mingle with friends. Mary Margaret disappears to go corral people towards punch and cookies that they’ve provided, and to hawk the DVD they’ll be making available to purchase. Emma, meanwhile, lingers around her seat, checking for any songs in her head. She keeps “Auld Lang Syne” in her mind, a soft memory of the music she just heard, hoping to find someone with the same nostalgia in their expression.

None of the other men in the auditorium seem to notice her, though. They all seem to be taken, holding hands with other men and women and talking about how well their children performed. Throwing in the towel, she heads backstage to see if she can catch Henry before he enters the swarm out in the lobby, so maybe they can sneak out the back and head home, instead.

She finds him back there, all right, but he’s not alone. Killian helps him pack away his ukulele, apparently on loan from the man himself, and Emma lurks around the doorframe to eavesdrop.

“That was even better than in rehearsals,” Killian comments as he hands Henry the carry case for the instrument. “I’m incredibly proud of you, lad.”

“Thanks, Mr. Jones. Are you gonna be at the Nolan Christmas party?”

“Well, I’m going to try, but even if I can’t make it, we still have lessons starting up right after the new year begins to look forward to, aye?”

“Yeah, I guess. You make the parties more fun, and Mom really seemed to like it when you were there for Thanksgiving.”

Emma’s face goes red, thinking again of just how much she enjoyed Killian being at Thanksgiving dinner. And not just because of the kiss, even though that was definitely a highlight. She’s so lost in the memories of the way he kissed her back that she misses whatever Killian says in response, and she’s scrambling away from the doorway just in time to make it look like she’s just arriving as their voices get closer to the door. She no sooner feigns a brisk pace towards the door, making sure her boots thwack the tiles a little for emphasis, before they exit the staging area.

“Henry! There you are!” She beams at her son, bundling him close without jostling the instrument strapped over his shoulder. Henry smiles up at her, accepting the brief fawning from Emma as she ruffles his hair, taps his nose with her index finger, and frames his face with her hands. “I am so proud of you, kid. You did great up there.”

“Thanks, Mom. Goodnight, Mr. Jones,” Henry says, turning to wave at his teacher, and it takes Emma that long to realize she was pretending a little too well like he wasn’t there. Killian, however, is just leaning against the door frame, observing the two of them interact. There’s a smile on his face, one that’s soft and dreamy as he looks at the easy affection between mother and son, and then one with a slight edge of mischief when his eyes meet hers.

He only holds her gaze for a second, looking back to Henry. “Goodnight, lad. Good job.”

Henry smiles at the praise, thanking his teacher one last time before pleading with Emma to go find his friends really quick. It’s only after she’s sent him on his way that she realizes she’s cornered herself alone with Killian once more.

“That was a great concert, Killian. I should probably…”

“Swan, would you go on a date with me sometime?”

“I don’t – I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And why not, just so I know? If you’ve got a valid reason for turning me down, then I’ll be on my way and never ask again.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. So, she just closes it once more. A minute passes. Maybe two. Maybe it just feels like that amount of time because she’s pretty sure they’re both holding their breath.

The jovial look he’d had on his face when Emma first walked up disappears as they stand there in the suffocating silence at the stage entrance. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear as the last of the smile fades. Finally, he looks away from her, and seems to focus on anything but her. “I’ll be on my way, then. Having no answer instead of an honest one hurts just as much, it seems.”

If she’s lying to herself, she’ll say she tries to stop him. But he turns to head backstage, and she makes no attempt to call him back or follow him. She just turns, and walks on autopilot until she finds Henry. She thinks she interacts with a couple people, but mostly she just slowly angles them out the doors to her old Bug, with no further goal in mind than getting them home.

“I fucked up,” she says out loud as she lies awake in bed that night. It’s only 10:30pm, so she reaches for her phone and types the same three words to Mary Margaret.

“We’ll fix it in the morning,” is her friend’s immediate response, like she knows exactly what Emma is going through, like she’s in on what Emma has done.

(She should’ve known better; Mary Margaret already knows that she’s fallen for Killian, and has a list of ideas ready when she walks through the door the following morning.)

Sonata

“So, as I was saying,” Mary Margaret continues once a gaggle of school children run past them on the way to Winter Break Freedom. “I didn’t realize that Emma’s name got left out of our gift exchange. And since you’re not going home for the holidays, I was wondering if you would buy her gift.”

“I don’t know if that’s a wise choice,” Killian admits, standing still and looking forward as the busses file out of the parking lot. He watches as his breath clouds in front of him, tries not to think of at least three beautiful things he could easily buy for the beautiful woman. He couldn’t help that every time he went shopping that he found things that suited her. For the record, none of them are under the recommended $25 spending limit.

“Killian, I promise. She’s the easiest one to shop for. If you just get her some kind of gourmet hot chocolate, she won’t care who gave it to her, she’ll just be eternally grateful.”

He bites back a couple curses, aware of the sparse amount of children still running out to be picked up by their parents. He does grumble a good time or two under his breath before finally turning to look at Mary Margaret.

A sigh, and then he finally responds. “As you wish,” he tells her.

“No, as she wishes.”

This feels like a terrible idea.

It’s halfway through the Christmas party that he realizes he’s yet to see Emma at all, which doesn’t bode well. Henry is wandering from group to group, a smile on his face and candy canes in his hand to pass out to guests. The young Roland is toddling after him, a dimpled smile on his face everytime he looks up at another adult, who in turn hands him a candy cane simply for being adorable. It’s after their second circuit of the room that Killian realizes there might only be four candy canes in the whole house.

His casserole dish with the cheesy potatoes is mixed with the other dishes brought by guests, but Killian avoids them as he snags another roll from the basket, tucking it into his napkin before he refills his rum and finds a corner quiet enough for his thoughts.

That is how he ends up on the same side porch where Emma kissed him, tearing apart the dinner roll and sipping his rum in between bites. The thoughts all muddle in his head, leaving him somber and wistful all at the same time, and all he can focus on is the soft notes of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” that reach this far beyond the walls of the house. With the bread gone, he rests his head back against the siding on the house and contemplates what the year has given him.

Really, it’s not even the year that’s brought him much, it’s been the last few months. It brought him Henry in his classroom again, and Emma into his life, no matter how much that pricks at his heart right now. He was pulled into this family that adopted him as if he was any brother or sister or whatever he might be called, which is touching, especially with is own brother so far away.

Something clatters back inside, and Killian is jolted out of his thoughts to a startling revelation. The music is not loud enough to be heard all the way out here. Which means…

Which means that his bloody soulmate is at this party. He downs the last sip of his rum and carefully maneuvers himself back inside, skirting discussions and party jokes, clasping Mary Margaret’s elbow briefly with a smile as they pass each other. There’s something that looks like hope in his fellow instructor’s eyes, and she inclines her chin to point him down the hallway towards the stairs that lead upstairs.

He nods once, giving her a smile of reassurance as he moves off in the direction she sends him in. It’s just a matter of making his way up the carpeted steps, his feet muffled by the fibers underneath. He concentrates a little harder on the song in his head, listening for the music to get louder both physically and mentally before stopping in front of a plain door at the end of the hall. He tests the doorknob, feeling relief when it turns, and swings open the door.

The study is small, with a desk and chair, a computer playing Christmas tunes at a level just loud enough to be heard from the hallway but still not enough to drown out the party below. The decor is pretty simple otherwise, including an armchair in the corner, where he’s surprised to find Emma, her face buried in her hands but otherwise not seeming in distress.

What would Emma be doing…?

Oh. Oh! His eyes go wide at the notion, and Killian takes a chance to test his theory while there’s still time to back out of the room without her seeing him. He thinks the song as calmly as he can, keeping up with the words even when she gasps and lifts her head, blinking as she looks at him.

“Oh, thank goodness, it is you.”

She sighs in relief and moves to stand, and he’s still trying so hard to catch up on everything that’s just been revealed that he’s momentarily and happily stunned when she briskly walks across the room and kisses him like there’s no tomorrow. Thankfully, his mind kicks over to autopilot while he focuses instead on kissing her back. The rest can be figured and sorted later; this is a more important task at the moment.

The fabric of Emma’s dress is warm beneath his hands, and he wants to take a moment to appreciate the sight before him, but when he pulls back to do just that, she’s right there again drawing him back in. She’s humming the tune of the song playing on the computer as she carefully kisses along his cheek, and he closes his eyes to soak it all in as he hears it in his mind and echoed all around him.

After a period of time just short of indecent, they finally pull apart, resting their foreheads together while they both smile in the afterglow of a really perfect kiss. He shakes his head in wonder, and Emma’s smile widens before she laughs. It’s a sound he recognizes now, a music of her own bouncing from his mind to hers and echoing back to him, and he marvels again at how blind they must’ve been for all these months.

“How did you figure it out, Swan?”

“The only person that could’ve been closer to the holiday show’s music would’ve been the person behind stage. Mary Margaret helped me come to that conclusion. I think she’s suspected since the first time she heard me whine about the infamous music lesson that shall not be named,” she says, tilting her head to the side with a touch of a wry expression that brings to mind the beginning of all of this.

“Ah yes, of course. Also labeled as my least favorite week in September.”

“With a little bit of thought, it was easy from there. The fight song after you went to your first football game, the way I wouldn’t hear the music if I was spending time with you,” she recounts, and pauses as she traces her thumbs over his cheekbones. “There was the sad jazz music after I kissed you and ran. I was convinced my soulmate somehow knew I’d kissed another man that I was crushing on and he could tell.”

“How silly it all seems now,” he remarks, taking the time to map her face with his eyes, to move one of his hands up to stroke through her hair as they consider all that this revelation brings. He skips back a step into the conversation, the smirk unrestrained and his eyebrow jumping up as he questions here. “Already had a bit of a crush on me then, aye?”

“Nope. Maybe I changed my mind.” She says it while pinching his side, and he chuckles as he gathers her close again. “What do you say, Swan, would you like to be my date for the evening?”

“Depends on what you got me for secret Santa,” she quips, pushing up a little onto her toes to kiss him again, quick and solid and just about the most affectionate thing he’s ever felt.

“It’s not much of a secret if you already know it’s from me.”

“Yeah, well, Mary Margaret also didn’t leave my name out on accident, if you know what I mean.” She gives him a wink, a true and proper one that makes his a pale joke in comparison. She tugs on his hand, leading him out of the room to join the party, where no one looks remotely surprised to see their hands linked together at any opportunity they can take.

At the end of the night, Killian has the pleasure of driving Emma and Henry home. She sneaks him one last, goodnight kiss before she shuts the door and trails after Henry. About the same time he’s pulling back up his driveway, he can hear the happy little notes of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” filtering into his mind. He’s already excited that he’ll have a date for that evening, and a good idea of who he’ll be kissing at midnight.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs ff au #cs christmas fic #cs soulmates au #sarah writes ff #<3<3

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wobster109 · 3 years

Text

Chopin Comp Stage 3 - Oct 16

Click to go to master post for explanation and link to all parts

Morning

Nikolay Khozyainov - A calmer intro into the nocturne than most. This is turning out to be a nice, flowing nocture! Lots of momentum, and fast. This is really different than usual and interesting. My fav mazurka! A bit slow in my opinion. Exciting second and third mazurkas. i like this preludium, really pretty. sonata starting a bit slammy? settled down a bit. it's nice, I think? Nice, light tone on scherzo movement. lol this largo takes forever. nice clear runs in the presto. there's a lot of rubato, a bit too much in some places imo.

Su Yeon Kim - really meausured intro into fantasy. it got dramatic! this piano seems to have a really bright, almost tinny sound. lol really awkward missed note at the very top of a phrase. The rest of this flows well and is nice. march a bit heavier than usual. These mazurkas are fine, I think? I've heard so many of them, and I'm not nostalgic for them like for the fantasy lol. this third mazurka is turning out super nice though! Ha! This tarantella is fun! Didn't know Chopin wrote stuff like this. I think I like the purposeful mood of the scherzo. It's a bit more serious tha usual. The largo section of this sonata is just so long... Lovely fast runs in the presto. Would like more sparkling tone in them though. I love this fourth movement! In general her tone seems pretty intentional and serious. It works for more dramatic movements but maybe a bit heavy for scherzo-type. Loved this presto!

Aimi Kobayashi - There's something very... something... about this mazurka. Bold and raw, almost harsh lines. The melody stands on its own, clean and simple. I feel like there's a message coming through but I don't know what it is. It almost sounds like color-blocking and geometric shapes, rather than flourishes and ornamentations. They're very... SOMETHING. Never heard them like this before. Yay, here comes 24 preludes! Prelude 2 oooof these dissonances that Chopin wrote in! She really shoves them in the open. Nice light tone and clean technique on Prelude 3. Ok Chopin was wayyyy in love with weird dissonances. I'm sure they're academically interesting, but they're not my favorite to listen to. very patient prelude 7. How come I never learned this prelude 11? It's so lovely. It's like a soundtrack to a modern romance movie. Whoa this middle section of prelude 15! Gradual crescendo in rh chords until it's positively banging! prelude 24 nice choice to end runs on thumb to make it ring! the third are effin' killer! Ok these preludes were something else! I actually got lost in them and forgot about the comp. Wow! I had the absurd thought that everyone else is playing themselves and she's playing Chopin, which people say all the time and I always dismiss as being a sentimental and meaningless comment, but I felt it!

Mateusz Krzyzowski - this first mazurka sounds sweet. a little not clean in middle section. second mazurka energetic. a bit unremarkable? very sweet and lovely first prelude, lots of rubato, kind of romantic style. omg this prelude 2 is gloom! Prelude 3 note entirely even fast notes. I have nothing good to say about prelude 4, played by anyone, ever. Prelude 8 is kind of wild! Prelude 9 is super cool! Prelude 11 is lovely! In contrast, I think I'll despise prelude 12 forever. Not in love with prelude 15 in general, and this particular one seems a bit dragging, and the middle section a bit harsh. prelude 16 is a bit messy in the fast rh. this number 17 is a bit heavy. Sigh I'm not in love with many of these. very measured and dramatic prelude 20! Prelude 24 my beloved! Some of the runs are not perfectly clean. Nice thirds!

Afternoon (coming soon)

My recs

Nikolay Khozyaninov (Nocturne) - A really unusual interpretation. Slower at the start, way more momentum throughout.

Su Yeon Kim (Tarantella) - In my opinion an excellent choice for her program. Different, fun, and attention-grabbing, a very different piece from the typical moody, broody Chopin.

Aimi Kobayashi - There's something going on with the Mazurkas. Can't quite name it. The lines are raw and almost harsh in their simplicity. Fascinating interpretation of them! The preludes were so good! Even the ones I dislike, they all sounded so distinctive, like distilled essence of themselves.

Comments

Yeesh. A solid five(!) of these preludes sound like funeral marches: 2, 4, 6, 20, and the middle part of 15. Chopin was really just Like That. XD

#chopin #international chopin piano competition #piano #stage 3 #oct 16 2021

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jiankimura-ffxiv · 3 years

Text

The Salt and the Abyss - Litany of Inner Strength

“Excuse me, sir. The library will be closed for today, please return any books you have back to their proper shelves.” A young man in black garbs hovers over the piles of books on the table as Jian voraciously blazes through the text of Fish Prices of 13th Century Ishgard. The highlander looks up bleary-eyed at the young elezen, who’s adjusting his glasses to make his point, before looking to the darkened windows.

“Oh, it’s nighttime already?”

“It is sir. Do you need help with your books?”

“Nay, I’ll put them back,” Jian groans, getting up to give his back a full stretch, before closing the book, and picking the rest up, “I mustn't disappoint Miss Velfor for bothering you or making a mess, or she’ll have my head.”

Our head.

The echo of his darkside interrupts his thoughts of fish girth and gill. He sighs, looking at the titles of the books, and works on putting them away in their rightful place. Journal of an Ishgardian Merchant. The Jeweled Crozier: An Insight to the Ishgardian Markets. Of Piety and Temperance; Understanding the Economic Institution of Tithe and Taxes. Astrology for Prosperity.

As one of the literature seems to be a little bit too large to fit its original spot, Jian opens it and finds a smaller book that he forgot to take out to read: Leaves from the Nymeia Lily.

He smiles fondly; finding his favorite childhood book in Ishgard felt like finding a diamond in the rough. One of the scholasticates mentions prior that it recently gained some popularity as the Far East imports recently formed a niche in the Ishgardian markets, providing the locals green tea and rice. Like most imported literature, they have to be approved by the Inquisition to make sure the ideas they brought don't stir too much trouble. The book itself luckily left mostly uncensored due to being a harmless piece about an Ishgardian’s reflection about his life experience centuries ago.

Jian opens the book to rifle through the passages, until he got to his favorite litany that his father used to recite to him before bed, the Prelude to the Stalwart Night:

Oh Halone, grant me strength to bear what I cannot change, courage to change the things that should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish one from the other.

For as I live one day at a time, enjoy each moment at a time, and accept hardship as it comes as a pathway to peace, I shall take this troubled world as it is, not as I would have it. So as I surrender to You, I shall be content, and ever more so with You forever in your halls.

The words have been changed; Jian furrows his brow in puzzlement, recalling that the litany did not mention Halone, the Ishgardian deity, in his version of the book he once owned in Kugane. He flips through the pages again towards the start of the book, and a peculiar name was printed next to the editor: Gilles de Raoult.

What a curiosity. The very man who seeks to criminalize the dark arts is the editor of your favorite book. The book your father bequeathed to you until you lost it during the Garlean invasion. The same father that gave that crystal to you when he passed, which you hide in your breast pocket.

The accountant frowns as he reaches inside his winter coat and tugs out a chain that is tied to his inner coat pocket. The wine-colored, heart-shaped crystal rests in his hand, a storm of blue and red swirls within. His thumb passes over the aging gold-flaked etching of a sword-like symbol he does not recognize. His circle of contacts did not know what it is, other than it was of Ishgardian make.

Whatever it is, it has saved his life at the cost of a snarky voice at the back of his mind and an undying thirst for sarcasm, dry humor, and justice.

“Sir, we’re locking the doors soon.”

Jian quickly shoves the crystal and the chain back into his pocket, and he returns the book back into its spot, giving a mental note to himself to read its edited contents later. He turns from the shelf and walks towards the exit, adjusting his furred coat as he leaves the library.

Living Dead

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chapitre7 · 7 years

Text

Beneath The Milky Twilight, Kiss Me

Chapter 5

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo [달의 연인-보보경심 려] fanfiction

Modern AU

Wang So/Hae Soo

Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1

I believe in Fate. And in wishes upon stars and in astrological signs and in honest, good will. That’s why that summer was so exhausting. All the things that made me happy would make me sad; all the things I believed in seemed like childish stories you put away on your shelf after you become a proper woman, after the colors in your clothes turn somber and the heels in your shoes become higher. Red riding hood must eat the wolf and throw the basket full of sweets away.

But in the twilight of your company...

Can you see?

The colors are mine again. As plentiful as the stars in the sky.

She didn’t do great, she’s certain of it. Over the course of the week, inspiration turned into overthinking turned into weariness turned into boredom after she read her books again and again and again, with no one to talk to, no one to retort and question. Soo went to bed on Sunday with an ankle that didn’t hurt as much anymore and a blurred outline of what once could have been a great story. Or it was never meant to be. Every word that she writes feels lifeless without a voice to call her own, marching onwards only to die a sad death at the end of her paragraph. She turned in her best efforts to Mr. Choi’s hands and she walked away, one step at a time, down all the stairs, and outside the gates. The afternoon breeze fills her lungs with relief.

Hae Soo is sure there is still a path for her to take. If the pen wasn’t her sword, then her voice surely could be. If she couldn’t be inspired, maybe she could inspire. Mr. Choi had winked at her when their eyes met, like he knew a secret she didn’t yet uncover. She’s getting there. In the autumn whose colors slowly fade away into the bright white of winter, hugging her jacket close to herself, Soo thinks of the future and of what she wants to do, her feet slowly taking the streets that she had missed.

They hadn’t agreed on anything, no messages had been sent — Soo hadn’t really exchanged messages with anyone but her mother in a long time —, but still she goes to the park, and still he’s there, like he was supposed to be. He’s sitting on the table instead of the bench, looking down at the city. Soo hadn’t stopped to appreciate it before; the higher ground of the park they called their own and the view from where they sat, an entire world of tiny, colorful houses and shops and cars beyond their outstretched hands.

“How did it go?” Wang So asks, his eyes still on the view. She pulls herself up on the table to sit beside him.

“It went.”

He turns to her with an eyebrow raised.

“And?”

“We’ll see.” Soo shrugs. “There’ll be other competitions. We’re still in our second year.”

He nods because it’s true and because there really isn’t much else to be done about what has passed. Soo swings her feet back and forth, white socks in white sneakers, before she asks,

“What do you want to do today?”

Wang So leans back on his hands, the wind messing up his bangs. Soo has the hairclips he gave her and no hair in her eyes.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

Soo nods, picking up her phone to send her mother a message about arriving late and going out with a friend. So takes her hands and helps her down and she’s not sure if it’s because he still thinks she’s injured or if he wanted to touch her. On the way to the mall with the closest movie theater, they don’t hold hands, but their steps match in pace and stride, even if he’s taller and hadn’t suffered an ankle injury.

She pays for her ticket and he buys her popcorn. She lets him choose, ready to let her mind wander through any landscape, any plot or relationship, just ready to watch something and forget about the things that usually hold her back. He chooses a foreign film, a historical piece, and Soo ends up loving it. She’s sure that even if the story slips from her mind, she’s going to remember the green of the bamboo forest where the protagonists hide, the skill with which the actors dance and fight at the same time, and tender touching of lips in a love that lasts so briefly. Soo takes hold of his arm when they walk to the food court afterwards, excitedly asking him if he liked all the twists and turns, how it seemed like very season came to pass before the movie was over, such a peach spring and the last winter of loss. So nods and speaks of his favorite scenes, of the balance between action and romance, and Soo nods, slurping her milkshake, stealing fries off his tray.

It’s dark by the time they start walking home, and maybe they walk closer together to keep the cold away. Soo looks at her feet that catch the shadows of the night and the streetlights that keep them away.

“I had my heart broken in spring,” she starts, a beginning with no introduction or prelude. She starts, her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. “It wasn’t even a relationship, it was just...”

She kicks a pebble out of her way. The yellow lights seem to illuminate her thoughts.

“He messaged me poetry on the first day he got my number. Said it reminded him of me, because of my name.” She scoffs. “He’s the older brother of one of my classmates and he would wait for her at the gate after class... He said he liked my hair and that I was pretty. He said it a lot.”

Soo plays with the ends of her scarf, holding the soft wool tightly in her hands and then letting go.

“He was older than me and I wasn’t under any illusion... But I had just entered high school and no boy had ever paid so much attention to me before. I took selfies, perfected them, sent them all. I wanted to look cute for him. He would send some as well, taken from too close, and I felt... reciprocated.”

Soo holds her hands together behind her back, her chest pointed forward, an easy target for blows.

“When spring came, he told me he was moving in with his girlfriend and that was it. He didn’t say it, but he informed me because we had to stop. I didn’t initiate anything, but I had to stop... I was a toy he no longer needed. And so he never appeared or talked to me again.”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, protecting it again.

“I had never felt so used... So foolish. He gave me flowers and told me sweet things and I fell for it all. And the worst is that I’ve been trying to get rid of every memory I had of him but he insists on appearing.”

She laughs, a bitter, uncharacteristic laugh.

“Eventually I deleted every message and threw every gift away, but I still keep the poem and the flowers... Because I really liked them. And if I pretended it never happened, maybe it’d be worse, I’d be just a coward little girl who was played with by an older man.”

Silence settles between them, their footsteps matching every second. Soo’s house is near and she keeps on walking.

“Have you ever wanted to let go of a part of yourself?” She asks and looks up at him. His eyes are still looking forward, almost in an unfocused manner. Soo hooks her arm with his, so their pace still match, so they can keep walking the evening away.

“When my mother died at the end of last year, I think I did lose something.” His gaze is still focused forward and Soo trusts him with their path, she can’t look away from his profile. “I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to see anyone... My father took a leave of absence from work and he still hasn’t returned. Only Jung kept asking for her, kept crying, and father had to make all our meals and hold him until he fell asleep. I didn’t do anything, I just let the days pass by. The holidays, Lunar New Year, relatives that came to check on us... Everything passed like a film on fast-forward. Until I met you in spring.”

Soo halts, her arm falling from his. They both turn to face each other, two silhouettes standing under the spotlight.

“I didn’t meet you in spring.”

Wang So smiles like he recalls a fond memory.

“We did. I knew you didn’t remember. I was on my bike and I fell,” he says, pointing to the sidewalk like it had just happened, like it’s happening right at that instant. “I was carrying Jung and he started crying on the ground. I panicked because it was my fault, I was the one not paying attention to where I was going and I hurt my brother. I tried to find his injury but he just cried harder, he was so red and I was almost crying myself when you come over.”

She widens her eyes because she can see it. The distressed teenager, the crying child, and the tree that dropped flowers all over the two of them.

“I asked you if you were okay, if you were hurt.”

He smiles and nods.

“And I demanded you help my little brother.”

“I told you to run to a clinic that was a few blocks away.”

“And I ran but I forgot my—”

“You forgot your bike so I ran after you, wheeling the bike because I can’t ride it.”

Soo unwraps her scarf from around her neck because she suddenly feels too warm, too self-conscious. Her feet start moving and Wang So walks beside her, still continuing his tale of spring.

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since that day. You didn’t know me but you rushed in to help and disappeared without even saying your name. I realized then... I realized that I couldn’t just live carelessly because there were people counting on me. Jung needed me. My father, who was slowly coming apart, needed me. And you—”

Soo looks at him and he’s smiling the fondest he’s ever done.

“I wanted to repay you. I wanted to meet you again and return the kindness you gave me.”

Soo stares at her feet. She can’t smile then; kindness is not a currency and she had never given as much significance to the incident as he seems to.

“So you asked for the tutoring lessons?”

So’s shadow shakes its head.

“I asked for Baek Ah for the tutoring lessons because I wanted to improve my grades. I wanted to do well in school so I could have better prospects for the future. I could go to college or not, I haven’t decided what’s best for the family it yet.”

“So it just happened to be me.”

“It just happened to be you.”

Soo halts and So takes a couple of steps before he realizes and stops to look at her. They had passed her front door many times, but kept drawing a circle around the block.

“The kiss?”

“I realized something was holding you back,” he says, walking closer to her. “So I wanted to take your mind off of it. I wanted... I want to make you happier, Soo. Because I felt a little happier after the day I met you.”

Soo walks in silence. Another corner and they’re in front of her door again, and she sits on the front steps. So doesn’t sit beside her; there’s no space and he seems to be waiting for her reply.

“I had nothing to do with you feeling better that day,” she says, her eyes fixed on her hands resting on her knees.

“Well, not... entirely, but—”

“What if I had walked away? When you asked to kiss me?” She looks up in time to see the light fading away from him. “What would you have done?” After you lost your mother, what if I had left you too?

Her feet come close together, her body turning inward in contemplation.

“Do you know how I felt that day?” She rests her arms on her knees, her voice muffled by the cloth of her jacket and the memories. “I was scared. Scared of being used and thrown away again.”

“I... I’m sorry, Soo.”

Soo shakes her head, no edge in her words or movements, but So’s hand seem full of disquiet feelings, opening and closing, raising in her direction before dropping again. She looks at him and he seems lost, but she’s held back every single one of her feelings and for so long, she thinks she owes it to him.

“I believe you had good intentions, So, but if you’re really thinking of someone other than yourself, you need more than intention.” Or you could get hurt. People will hurt you.

She stands up and So looks smaller than he did the last time she compared their heights.

“Thank you for today.”

Hae Soo bows and enters her home, closing every door behind her with a soft click, climbing all the stairs to her room without thinking about them, just walking and walking until she’s lying on her bed and staring at her ceiling. The food she had eaten that day get stuck in her middle, unpleasant.

Over the course of the week, Mr. Choi asks her to help him with chores, making copies of texts, assigning her for cleaning duty. He tells her she has an unparalleled love for the written words and she’s happy, even if there’s no skip in her step. She goes straight home after all her assignments are done, never once stopping by the park, never once thinking that he might be waiting for her. She does think. She thinks about his eyes up close, making her blush, and her guard around him ever since that day. Wook had been so full of flowery words, had been made of deliberate touches, a hand that pushed her hair back and brushed against her neck, a hand that subtly touched her elbow, but So... So mostly let her talk. She thinks of how he never asked to kiss her again. How he seemed pleased after she finished her ramblings. She plays scenes over and over, from their stiff introduction to her face against his back and the wind surrounding them as he rode towards the pharmacy. He was an arrow that aimed straight to her heart while leaving his own bare and vulnerable.

“Are you okay?” Baek Ah asks and she says yes but in reality she misses him. She feels like she only accumulates things she wants to tell him in the period they spend apart.

It’s a week later when she manages to enter the park, full of words in her chest, missing the short additions he added to her monologues, the laid-back way with which he watched her take his fries, drawing movie scenes in the air with his fingers.

Wang So is nowhere to be seen.

The movie I had in mind was House of Flying Daggers. So when is this story set exactly? ♥ Who knows?

#Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo #Scarlet Heart Ryeo #Moon Lovers #fanfiction #Wang So #Hae Soo #So/Soo #Alternative Universe: Modern Setting

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fleetingfan77 · 7 years

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The Flaw in Every Crystal Chapter 6

Welcome to Praxus Arc Part 6

aka Enter Player Two

aka Someone deserves an Oscar

aka I forgot how long these posts can get, and feel this may be the longest. Sorry.

So, Prowl is returning from Jazz’s punishment for talking back to him at the end of the last issue. Though he did leave Jazz the blanket for behaving before then. Jazz is trying to take as much comfort as he can from wrapping himself in the blanket and dreading Prowl’s return.

Prowl says he is examining all of Jazz’s movements as a prelude to bad behavior which I assume would cause Prowl to leave again. Prowl is trying to get Jazz to start self-policing his actions and start to correct behaviors before they are committed; we see this since Prowl asks if Jazz understands why he was punished. If Jazz acknowledges what Prowl found to be wrong, Prowl can assume that Jazz will not do it again, or punish him even further if he does.

We also see the narrative here, we can assume its not direct thoughts since the story is told in seemingly third person but more in Prowl’s perspective (at least at first), that Jazz refuses to sallow his pride, and later when Jazz is referred to as “The Praxian’s bonded” when he starts acting the way Prowl wants him to. This is interesting since in most other stories, pride is seen as an unbecoming trait; something to cometh before the fall if you will. Yet it is not boasting that Jazz is committing here, he is not thinking of himself as more skilled or higher than anyone. Instead he simply thinks of himself as higher than his current station as a non-person. This is why I said the narration, though seemingly third person, is colored with Prowl’s view. Therefore it is accusing Jazz of thinking he is above his station, as Prowl’s sub-mate, since that is how Prowl chooses to conceptualize Jazz’s actions at the moment.

Unless this is now how Jazz has begun to see himself now as well. Viewing pride in this context as self-respect rather than how he compares himself to others.

I almost want to say that we can see more of Prowl’s impatience here to move things along since for Jazz’s remarks Prowl makes a threat rather than leaving again to let the isolation wear at Jazz more.

Now that I think of it, we don’t really see the isolation set in the way that I would expect it to if utilized to its utmost potential. Jazz never reaches the point of isolation-induced hallucinations that we can see so readily in humans separated from others. Though I can’t tell if this is because of Prowl checking on him so regularly that it doesn’t get to that point because an insane mate isn’t the goal here, Jazz’s mental fortitude, or if its just a case of Transfomers don’t work that way.

We see Jazz realize that just rebelling from a place of no power won’t really do anything. So I get to be reminded of one of my favorite lines/themes from TAAO about how its a game with very high stakes, but a game all the same. And now Jazz has decided to play it. Its too bad though he seems to still have enough pride to see himself as a player instead of a valuable piece in his own right. He cannot help but think that Prowl would let him offline in that room, while I highly doubt that Prowl would intentionally let Jazz die. Because Jazz doesn’t see himself as the king piece of the game (the most valuable, least mobile, and the thing that ultimately decides the game’s outcome), he can’t properly use the one thing that Prowl values most in the game: Jazz himself. I remember vaguely that in the future, and even here Jazz freely talks about how he will die if left here, and how Prowl will kill him, but it is always in this context. Prowl and Triage can brush off these concerns because they both know that it is not what Prowl wants to happen. But I wonder what would happen if Jazz held himself hostage, therefore threatening the one thing Prowl cares about that he would always have access to. Sure Prowl could then restrain Jazz to stop the threat from going through, but it would still at least be out there and give Jazz some much needed leverage against him. But I can totally understand if Jazz doesn’t want to go that direction since it would really require total commitment to follow through on the threat, otherwise it becomes meaningless and Jazz obviously doesn’t want to die period so it may not even occur to him.

Jazz keeps his answers short and vague to allow himself to play the part and get Prowl to fill in whatever he wants to. It seems almost like a call and response exchange from a play between Jazz and Prowl. We also see that this is just a prelude to the training meant to get the “mate” in the proper state of mind to be rebuilt with new values like in any good cult, army, what have you.

Though it is interesting that beyond saying how Jazz can’t have a job and how much better Praxus is than anywhere else, Prowl never really belittles Jazz. We don’t get any yelling at him, no talk about how his is worthless, or was before at least, and nothing to really make Jazz doubt his own self-worth beyond treating him like a prisoner. Maybe because Prowl can’t see the point in lying to Jazz like that when Prowl doesn’t feel that way about Jazz?

Prowl then gives Jazz the rules and makes sure they stick. Asking Jazz to memorize a huge list of what would be expected from Jazz, mostly serving Prowl in all aspects and keeping the house. Its the reciting that is probably key since once Jazz can repeat it easily it will be that much harder to ever get ride of the words. Jazz of course fails in the broad sense but gets the choice of punishment between being immobilized or starved again. Still gets to keep the blanket though so the food and cuffs must be seen then as lesser punishments.

Also, is having sparklings required of all couples? Prowl does make reference to it a lot as something that must happen someday but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of rush or time limit in place. Especially since Prowl even brought up that Jazz may not even have to carry if they find a third.

Anyway, Jazz is in full actor mode now, pretty much giving Prowl the mate he wants Jazz to be. We see more of Prowl wanting to be over this part of the training, as I have mentioned before, since Prowl says that Jazz could probably leave the room soon instead of keeping it more vague (like a more “we will see” or “only you can decide that” wording) since I assume leaving the room would be a more ultimate reward.

We then get Jazz begging Prowl to not force the energon on him, on one hand because he truly can’t stand it, but on the other telling Prowl a great weapon to be used against Jazz in the future. Prowl does also get reward ideas from it as well. Prowl also rewards Jazz for asking for the list to be recited by condensing the rules to make it easier for Jazz to remember them. Though Jazz still finds himself unable to get past the part about being expected to reproduce with Prowl.

We also see that Jazz sees Prowl as expecting perfection while Prowl at first only wants Jazz to put in an effort, but he doesn’t say “I appreciate the effort” so the rewards just seems random and therefore even more terrifying to Jazz while all making sense to Prowl therefore making Jazz’s fear confusing to him. I would say that it was a total failure to communicate, but that would imply it was ever anything other than a total failure.

And then Prowl’s good old over rewarding comes back in full force. Jazz got stuck at the same place as before and doesn’t think he did any better, but Prowl wants to encourage Jazz to try. So Jazz gets all of the rewards (no more restraints, getting out of the room, getting access to reading material) at once with zero explanation as to why and with the fresh memory of what punishments being honest can sometimes bring from Prowl.

Prowl I assume believes Jazz can remember how Prowl likes things from how they were living together while “dating”. It seems almost like Prowl believes that since Jazz is now showing some effort, the training is pretty much done and Jazz is now fully integrated can get to the on-the-job stuff, telling Jazz about the home and what Jazz can do when not maintaining the order of the house (less his mind “either” away).

Or it could be that Prowl’s subconscious hatred of the training and hurting Jazz leading him to just wanting to skip the rest of any training and get to the end where they are happily married causing him to bring Jazz out so quickly. Otherwise I think in “normal” mate training, it would go into a step-by-step order wherein Jazz gains more rooms or at lease time outside as he proves himself more and more rather than all or nothing.

We also see that Prowl accepts Jazz saying he knows Prowl’s house rules without having Jazz recite them back. This further supports Prowl’s dislike of what goes into training since he leaves out this part of the training that could be so easily applied here because this part is personal to life with Prowl rather than a generic part of mate-training itself. Prowl even thinks to himself how it is going so nicely when if it truly was going as well as Prowl assumed, Jazz would have recited the rules back to prove he was listening.

Even later when Jazz breaks one of the rules, Prowl doesn’t make Jazz recite any of the rules back to him, only says to not let it happen again. Instead just saying he heard and accepted Jazz’s request to get on the couch without saying “this time only” or saying “You will be punished if that happens again” assuming Jazz will automatically know. And later confuses the information more by dealing out a punishment the next time Jazz gets on the couch without saying directly that it was that reason. Though come one Prowl, Jazz having to ask permission to get back on the couch after getting a book to read on the couch with you was just ridiculous.

“Upon both of them entering the room, Prowl shut the door then turned to Jazz. ‘You have been doing well today..’.” Yep Prowl, Jazz said the same words as yesterday in a more cultured manner, got a tour of the house and then sat on the couch with nothing getting torn apart or exploded. Truly Jazz is now fully trained and well on his way to being the perfect mate. Its things like this that give me hope Prowl can be turned against his upbringing because this rush out of the training leads me to believe that at least some part of him finds it wrong. (I’ll get to what happens later when I get there. I have theories on that as well. Though I know too the authors aren’t sure what way they want to take Prowl, I’m just saying this is laying noticeable groundwork if they want to end up going that way in the future.)

Not gonna lie, if I were Jazz, I probably would have went for poison in the morning energon, even if Prowl would have noticed right away. But come on, it was right there. At least he could have thought about adding a little extra to Prowl’s!

“ "Continue to perform excellently and you shall receive even more rewards," Prowl promised. “ And boy do I believe he would have set the “excellent” bar low and rewards bar high. Probably after like two or three vorns of minimal effort, Jazz may have been able to swing a “vacation” to another city, then just made a run for it.

And we leave on Jazz going back to “THAT ROOM” for the work day with no restraints and whatever books from Prowl’s collection he wanted.

I feel like I came up with a lot more meta a theories for this chapter than the last couple.

But anyway, till next time!

#Jazz/Prowl #flaw in every crystal #ao3 #fanfiction #meta analysis #transformers #maccadam #maccadams #read through #Dark Fic

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