#Hot Sonate

[daydream-cement]

Little Walks

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Just little walks taken Miranda to your car.

Author's Note: Just a random lil fic. Thank you to @bri-sonat for your beta <3

“You’re Y/n, right?” A voice called from behind you. It was familiar enough to remind you of two distinct characteristics of its owner: cute smile & great tipper.

You stopped and turned your head, pausing to wait for the leggy blonde who was walking fast to catch up to you. Her excitement to see you was obvious, involuntarily giving you butterflies. You greet her with a nod and a big smile, “Constable. I haven’t seen you for a while. How have you been?”

Miranda fell into stride with you, her joy was infectious, “Busy, but good! I’ve been meaning to come back in. I miss that hot chocolate you made me.” 

“I can assure you, there is nothing special about my hot chocolate.” You laugh, turning your chin upwards to catch a glimpse of her face. Much to your surprise, Miranda was already looking at you, her blue hues unwavering when they locked on your own. There go the butterflies again.

“I’d beg to differ.” Miranda shot back before dropping her gaze. Her tone suggested flirtation and the growing blush on her cheeks made you turn your attention to the sidewalk before you could get your hopes up. The constable’s eyes were glued to her boots kicking at a patch of gravel, her confidence wavering, “...do you usually get off work around now?”

You had no reason to lie to the tall constable, rather you were keen on getting to know her, so sharing things about yourself made sense. “For the most part, yeah. I like it when they give me a consistent schedule.” 

“Cool... cool...” Miranda nodded nonchalantly, her cheeks showing signs of a suppressed smile.

--

She had started this little habit of waiting for you after a few times of eating at the restaurant where you waited tables. Hilmarson had gone two straight weeks of waiting for you to walk you to your car just to spend time with you. Her chivalrous offer to walk with you to your car was unexpected (and somewhat unnecessary), but how could you say no to those sweet eyes, and why would you want to? 

To you, it was all one big coincidence that Miranda was always nearby patrolling when you walked down the alleyway toward your car. It was just a wonderfully serendipitous moment where her work schedule coincided with yours. 

She would ask you about your day and sometimes speak vaguely of her work. You knew you had a small crush forming when you watched the way she would coo at passing dogs and cats sitting in the windows of the apartments they called home.

Miranda spoke incoherently in a high-pitched voice, squatting low to welcome an overexcited puppy into her arms. The constable enjoyed the animal’s attention for a long while before she looked up at you with a great big smile, “Isn’t she adorable?”

“She is…” You say, eyes focused on the constable. Your agreement was two fold - while the puppy was adorable, so was the woman crouched in front of you. Your gaze caused the blonde to look away, a blush spreading on her face when she realized your words had more than one meaning.

The puppy continued on with her walk and Miranda and you did the same. There was an awkwardness between you, but you saw the constable smirking from the corner of your eye. 

The silence continued until you reached your car, the constable quickly reached out and opened your car door for you, “Hey, Y/n… I was thinking, uhm…”

Butterflies began swarming in your stomach and you paused in front of the constable, watching her expectantly. “Mhm? What is it, Andy?”

You could see the constable’s eyes go soft at the use of the nickname, her teeth biting at her bottom lip as she considered her words carefully. “Well, I was wondering… if you have time…”

Your eyes went wide and you leaned in closer, desperately hoping Miranda was finally going to ask you out.

“Do you think you, uh… could text me where you got that top? It’s… very cute.” Miranda looked away from you, her eyes squeezing shut as she realized how disappointed she was in herself.  She had completely chickened out and couldn’t bear to see the look on your face.

And it’s a good thing she looked away. You were so disappointed. You actually thought she was going to ask you out.

“Oh… Uhm, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Thanks.”

The rest of your interaction was so strange. Miranda was as polite and kind as always, but there was a newfound distance between the two of you as she bid you goodbye and closed your car door. 

--

Miranda stared at her shoes as she leaned against a building and waited for you to get off work. She was ten minutes early so she wouldn’t miss you. This walk to your car would be different. That's what she kept telling herself anyway.

She held a cigarette between her middle and forefinger while her cell phone was wedged between her ear and shoulder. The constable spoke in a hushed tone to her partner, “I’m not going to chicken out! Don’t say that...”

“I don’t know about that. You didn’t ask them out the past two times you said you would. I’m just assuming you’ll do it again.” Robin was plain in her criticisms of her best friend, not sugarcoating anything for the constable. 

Miranda took a drag of her cigarette and pouted, “I swear, Rob. I’m gonna ask them for dinner on Friday.”

“You better. Otherwise, I’m going to have to listen to your pining for another week.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m not wrong. Whenever we are together, it’s ‘Y/n did this’, ‘Y/n did that.’ It’s never-ending, I swear, Mir.”

The two’s bickering was cut off when Miranda turned her eyes up and caught a glimpse of you leaving through the side door in the alleyway. The constable swiftly hung up on Robin and tamped out her cigarette on the brick wall nearby. “Y/n!” 

You paused with a great big smile, treasuring the image of Miranda jogging down the alleyway to walk at your side. After Miranda had acted so strange yesterday, you were filled with determination to ask her out. You tried to make sure your flirting was as thinly veiled as possible - your hand reaching out to squeeze her forearm as unabashedly admired her face, “Good afternoon, constable.” 

“H-hey...” the constable was taken aback by your forwardness, her thoughts stalling as she looked from your eyes to your hand. “I, uh, brought you something.”

You giggled and looked over her person expectantly, wondering what she could have possibly gotten you, “Really?”

“Yes! It’s right, uh- Right here.” Miranda searched her pockets until she found the little shell sitting in her pant pocket. She held it out to you with a great big smile. “Yesterday, you said you never get to go to the beach as much as you want to... So I.. uhm.. brought the beach to you.”

Her thought and pure sweetness made your heart ache. You pouted slightly as you took the small olive shell from her palm between your fingers, examining it for a moment before squeezing it in your fist. “Thank you, Andy...”

Andy. She loved when you used that sweet nickname. Never had she liked it before it fell off your lips.

“I found it on this beach when Robin and I were out of town doing interviews. I was actually thinking you would like it a lot there...”

“I’m sure I would. Maybe you should take me sometime?”

Miranda’s whole body was buzzing with excitement. “Really? Together?”

“Absolutely.”

You both spoke simultaneously, “Like a date?”

Immediately, you looked away from one another. There was an abundance of excitement and energy between the two of you that created a thick silence.

Miranda took the brave next step in taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. She broke the silence in a hushed tone, “I was able to get a day off Friday… I know you usually don’t work those days. We could go then.”

“I would really like that…” You smile, meeting her eyes before lifting her hand to your lips to press a soft kiss to her skin.

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[pastanest]

requested by: @bri-sonat - surpriiiiise!! 💗

Brienne of Tarth x she/her!reader

A Story To Be Told

Closing the door to her quarters as quietly as she can, Brienne of Tarth inhales a shaky breath, the façade of her strong and stoic expression only falling in the safety of her bedroom, when she is finally alone. Away from the teasing, prejudiced eyes of the young boys that snickered amongst themselves from the moment she had entered the hall, and are no doubt still picking her to pieces like the vultures they are, long after she has escaped their scrutiny. At least, she has escaped their physical reach, but their insults flew around her mind near constantly without their persistent reminders and reiterations. It has not long been her 12th name day, and Brienne knows she is already a beast more than she is a girl, but oh, how she wishes she could be just that. 

She stands at her window, looking out at the highborn ladies on the arms of their men as they leave the hall; all floating gowns, gracious smiles, sparkling eyes, small and dainty hands that cling to the arms of their protectors, the ones to lay their cloaks on the ground, save a lady dare get traces of dirt on the hem of her gown. Resting the side of her face against the wall beside the window, Brienne feels her chin wobble, as it has throughout the evening, but she does not fight it this time, she is too exhausted. Slow, steady and hot tears roll down her porcelain cheeks, wishing she was just a girl. If she was just slightly taller than the rest, slightly broader, slightly less feminine, she would be able to forgive herself, she believes that wholeheartedly. If she were anything less than the monstrous ogre she sees in every reflection, perhaps she could even wear a dress, she wonders. 

Looking up at the stars that twinkle above her, she feels they are taunting her. How dare such beautiful things be one of the only objects that she cannot physically reach to hold in her large hands, she scolds them. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Gods, I must ask you a question. Why would you make me a girl, to then withhold me from every experience that would reinforce the belief I am one? Why is it that every pretty thing is something I am not allowed to touch? Did I do something in a past life to make me undeserving of the wonders of feeling like a woman?” Brienne pleads, her words whispered but desperate for an answer, an inkling of an explanation. Opening her eyes, she looks to the stars again. “Do I have another purpose? And if that is so, what purpose can possibly be worth this constant ridicule? Must I exist like this?” Briene’s tears are faster now, more frantic as she hurries to wipe her eyes and shake her head. 

If the Gods are up there, they are as out of reach as everything that is to be a woman is to her. Why would they bother to listen to her, when mere mortals do not bother to wonder if she is even capable of feeling? 

Continuing to wipe her eyes, Brienne stumbles to her bed and falls into it, smother herself under her blankets and pillows, burying herself as deep as she can there and hoping she will simply disappear. What would they address her as at her wake, she wonders, the beast that dared to live?

The tears that soak through her pillow that night are ones she remembers all too well, having cried them countless times before and knowing she would continue to cry them for as long as she lives. That night, though, something is different. 

Brienne wakes to a voice that she has never heard before, a woman’s voice, calling out to her in a song, stirring her from a peaceful slumber. 

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

But when she opens her eyes, Brienne is not in her bed. Much to her complete disbelief, she is clad in shining silver armor, the limbs at her sides and hanging from the stool she sits on, longer than she remembers them being. She sits in a tavern that she does not recognise, and as she looks around, she sees countless men with indistinguishable sigils on their clothes, all of them faceless. Before she has time to consider such a frightening concept, her eyes are pulled to the centre of the room, straight ahead, by the voice of an angel.

“Can you see me longing for you, forever?”

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing an unfamiliar tune on a vielle.

Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you sing. You are the most beautiful and ethereal creature that she has ever seen, Brienne’s heart leaps and bounds in her chest. 

And then, your eyes open, immediately locking with hers from across the room. A beaming grin overtakes your face, and then you sing the next line, eyes sparkling more than any star had dared to try.

“Would you let me touch your soul, forever?”

With the force of the strongest blow to the gut Brienne has ever known, she quite suddenly realizes that you are singing to her. Out of every person you have ever known, you have dedicated this song, for whatever reason, to Brienne of Tarth.

Despite not being able to see the faces of the men in her peripheral vision, Brienne somehow knows that they are smiling, their expressions anything but malicious, for what she’s certain is the first time in her life.

Standing from the table, you walk to Brienne and take her hands in your much smaller ones. Without hesitation or fear, you lean in and place the softest kiss on her lips, shocking Brienne’s body into stunned rigidity, her eyes closed from the emotional weight of such a gesture, in front of such a crowd. 

And as she drifts into the darkness that she had arrived in, your voice floats alongside her, until it disappears entirely.

“Can you feel me longing for you, forever?”

Brienne wakes with a gasp, sitting upright in her bed and panting heavily, wide eyes darting around the room and breathing a sigh of relief to find that she is a young girl, back in her quarters. Had that situation continued, she does not know she would have survived.

Naturally, she does not tell anyone of the dream. Instead, she intends to keep it as a secret that she will take to the grave, because she is certain she will be trying to understand it for the rest of her life. For such an impactful, detailed and strange dream to have been brought to her after she asked the Gods a question of her purpose, she cannot believe in such a coincidence, but she is too skeptical to wholeheartedly believe the opposite. That leaves the conclusion that there must have been a reason for such a dream, and that conclusion only brings about further questions, much to Brienne’s frustration. Still, the armor that she had been wearing in that dream gives her a place to start. 

Having been forced to deny all forms of stereotypically feminine interests, attire and ways of life, Brienne is not surprised to find how comfortable she feels when training and improving her strength. Unfortunately, being rejected as a woman and forced into the training of knighthood does force her into an entirely different world ruled by men and their criticisms, but this time, their judgements were different. They were simply of the view that they were better than her and that such a fact was obvious. Of course, their assumption was correct, but only to begin with. In this world of men, Brienne makes it her mission to best each and every one. If she is not to be accepted as a woman, or in the role of a man, then she will do her absolute best to be stronger and smarter than every man she faces in battle, with each victory won being a personal award won against the worlds of men, which have always judged her the harshest.

Her training has seen her through the remainder of her childhood and into her first years of adulthood now, and while she still thinks of the dream, she is less focussed on its meaning now. While she is no closer to discovering who you are, or where the tavern was that she had seen you, she has settled with the conclusion that perhaps the dream was solely meant as a metaphorical guide to the path of knighthood, whether this is her true purpose, above all else. With a moral code as strong as hers, and strength that often outmatches the men that choose to test her, Brienne is satisfied with this purpose.

Casting her gaze skyward, Brienne feels the smallest smile tug at her face at the sunshine that seemingly leads her on the path her horse walks towards the south of her homeland, her first mission away from Evenfall Hall, as tasked by her father. She is to reach a small town and ensure its safety in the face of some thieves that have been ravaging particular families in the region. By no means is it a dangerous or particularly exciting request, but Brienne is more than happy to take it in her stride and defend this new place with her life, if it is asked of her. 

Little stone houses greet her as her horse rides through the gates, and she reigns him towards the stables that she spots ahead of her. Many stop their conversations to watch her in awe, any armored person arriving on horseback is a sight to behold, but a woman? And one as tall as Brienne of Tarth? Naturally, news of her stature and ability had reached the south of the small island of Tarth, but none had seen her, save for the townsfolk that surround Evenfall Hall. 

Dismounting from her horse, Brienne ties him safely within the stable and thanks him for his service with a pat to his side, before she begins her march around the town. In 30 minutes, she has mentally mapped out each street, and started to enquire with the locals about the thieves. Nodding along with every word, she absorbs as much information as she can and retains it, then moves to talk to the next person. Within a day, she has spoken to almost everyone in the town. 

Retiring for the evening, Brienne makes her way to the local inn, sitting opposite a tavern. Though she hears music being played from within, she is too tired to venture inside, and instead continues her exhausted strides to the inn. 

Acting on instinct, she awakes at dawn and takes her first patrol of the town, finding no disturbances or damaged buildings since the previous evening and considers her first day a success. Brienne stations herself at the market that day, having gained some insight from the locals that there are pickpockets who frequent it. Despite watching everyone that passes through the market carefully, there are a pair of eyes that she misses from within the tavern window at the end of the street. Not a criminal's eyes, by any means. Perhaps that is why Brienne fails to acknowledge them. 

Having slept well the night before, Brienne patrols the town a few more times, until the late hours of the evening, to ensure the families she sees have not been bothered by any strange happenings. She recognises one of the mothers of a family to be the owner of a fruit stall that she was guarding at the market that day, and stops to ask her how the business has been recently.

“Thieves don’t bother themselves with the fruits of my labor, pardon the pun!” The mother laughs, Brienne chuckling with her. 

Wishing her a safe night, Brienne tries to take her leave, but the mother grabs her arm. 

“If you do get the chance, Lady Knight, you must come to the tavern for an evening! I think you would very much like the entertainment.” She giggles, and Brienne does not quite understand why.

“Thank you, I appreciate the invitation. Perhaps, when I am sure the thieves will not strike, I will pay it a visit.” Brienne nods at her gratefully, and with that, continues her final patrol before retiring for the night.

Seven days have passed since her arrival, and there has not been the slightest whisper of an attempt at thieving. Perhaps her presence has scared them off, Brienne often remarks to herself in a backhanded compliment. Despite the lack of happenings, the townsfolk have kept her quite busy, often stopping her on her patrols to talk to her, and more often not ending their conversations with further invitations to the tavern. Brienne thinks it is very kind, but that their persistence lends itself to the size of the town and lack of other forms of entertainment. The tavern is all they have, after all, they are likely to think its entertainment a gift from the Gods if they have nothing to compare it to. The more they ask, the less appealing the idea becomes to Brienne, not wanting her arrival to be a spectacle or - Gods be good - part of the entertainment. She is here to do a job, after all, not amuse the locals. She has had quite enough of being the punchline.

With another day’s lack of work completed, Brienne begins the same path she walks each and every evening to the inn. Having slept as well as she has each and every night here, and not having had to perform much in the form of physical labor - save for helping the townsfolk when they have needed assistance lifting or moving heavy objects, which she has had more than enough time to help with - she is not as tired as she has been on previous days. In fact, Brienne would go as far as to say she feels that she is on full alert and would not miss a trick, so if a thief was considering testing her this night, they would be making a sorrowful mistake. 

As she walks towards the doors of the inn, the sound of chanting from within the tavern reaches her ears. 

“SING OF THE LADY KNIGHT!” 

Brienne stops dead in her tracks, slowly turning on her heel and straining to hear their chants, which are disordered now. Surely, they cant have been-

“LADY KNIGHT!”

Her eyes widen. Without hesitation, Brienne marches hurriedly to the tavern, but does not set foot inside. Instead, she stands beside an open window, out of sight from those within, but closer to hear the exact details of whatever is occurring. 

“Alright, alright, another song for our magnificent Lady Knight, it is!” 

That voice is…familiar, Brienne thinks. Frantically recalling every face and voice she has come to know in this town, she cannot match any of them to the words she just heard. Peaking around the window ever so slightly, Brienne’s eyes scan the inside of the tavern, recognising many of the townsfolk seated within, but there is one face that she has known longer than all the rest.

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing a tune on a vielle that Brienne recognises by the first chord. Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you part your lips. Brienne’s heart leaps, bounds and stops in her chest as she slams her armored back against the wall of the building, breathing heavily. It cant be, she thinks, there is no possible way that the Gods knew you would be here, the location of her very first mission, it cannot be you, she must be getting confu-

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

Gods be good, Brienne slowly lowers herself to the ground, her back still pressed to the wall of the building. And there she stays, in a state of shock, for the rest of the night. Song after song, reference after reference of things you have seen her do, questions of whether you saw her yesterday doing this or that, put to you by the crowd sitting around you, and you answering with “Yes, of course I did” every single time. Having never before felt the admiration of another, Brienne does not know how to lift herself from where she sits, perfectly in earshot of such genuine confessions.

That is, until the tavern closes for the night and the townsfolk begin to file out of the building. Quite suddenly, Brienne is scrambling to her feet and standing to attention, trying - and failing - to act as though she had been on patrol all night and just happened to be here, now. But as person after person exits the tavern, many of them stop to smile knowingly at the armored woman, giggling amongst themselves, but with no malicious intent. For the first time in her life, Brienne finds herself the topic of conversation for a nice reason.

Holding the hilt of her sword for comfort, Brienne waits and paces, long after the last of the crowd have left the building, because you still have not left yet and she cannot decide whether she is emotionally stable enough to speak to you tonight or if she is willing to try and survive the agony of waiting until tomorrow, so is stuck in a pacing equilibrium as she weighs the positives and negatives of both possibilities. 

“Oh, Gods!” 

Somehow, your exclamation of surprise is enough to make the towering, knightly woman jump in her skin, her armor rattling in a way that she knows will plague her mind while she screams into her pillow from the humiliation. Turning to face you, Brienne clears her throat.

“Good evening. I am Brienne of Tarth.”

Gulping nervously, you nod up at her. “Hello, my name is (Y/N), and…I know.”

Brienne wishes the ground to swallow her whole in that moment. Of course you knew that, you were singing about her no more than ten minutes ago! Now that you are in front of her, though, Brienne is actually allowing herself to take in the image of you. So much smaller than her, so much shyer than you were in the dream, than your voice had made you seem. There is a book that you hold to your chest with both arms, as though afraid someone will try to take it from you. Any thief caught by Brienne attempting to do such a thing would surely suffer. 

“Sorry, I- please tell me you have not heard me tonight.” Your eyes are darting everywhere, returning to Brienne’s fleetingly, too bashful to hold her gaze.

“I did.” She answers you matter-of-factly, and you could have dropped dead. 

“Oh, Gods, I am so sorry, Lady Brienne, I- if I’d have known, I never would have- please, do not think poorly of me, I only meant-”

“Thank you.” Brienne interrupts your rambling, her voice softer as she sees you crumble before her.

Now, your eyes cannot leave hers, they are wide with confusion and curiosity, searching hers for an explanation. “What?”

A soft, shy smile makes its way to Brienne’s face. “Thank you. Nobody has ever said such…kind things to me before, let alone sung them to a crowd.”

You frown at that. “I cannot understand why I am the first, you are the most beautiful and ethereal woman I have ever-” Your jaw drops at your own admission. “I’m sorry!”

And Brienne laughs, a hearty laugh accompanied by rosy cheeks. “Thank you, again. I must ask that you stop apologizing for your kindness.”

Relaxing slightly, you chuckle. “Thank you, I’ll try. I just do not want to make you uncomfortable. After all, few would react well to the news that someone you have never spoken to has written and performed songs about you.”

Glancing around the town, now silent save for the conversation between the two of you, Brienne nods at you. “May I walk you home, my Lady?”

Your jaw drops again. “R-Really? Why?”

Brienne already cannot resist smiling at the way you look up at her. “It is my duty to ensure all under my protection are safe, and yet somehow, we have not been introduced until today. I feel I must make amends with you for my negligence, starting immediately.”

Sensing the playful tone but serious reasoning behind Brienne’s words, you smile. 

“Though I have been purposefully avoiding you to also avoid my own crippling embarrassment, I will never fail to take you up on such an offer, Lady Knight.” Your eyes widen. “L-Lady Brienne!”

Laughing at you endearingly, Brienne holds her arm out to you, and the moment you loop yours through it, she begins to walk in the direction of the stone houses. 

“I am no lady, nor am I a knight.” She corrects you gently as you walk. 

Sighing deeply, you rest your head against her arm. “To me, you are both and more.”

[cissyenthusiast010155]

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[funky--lesbian]

Super Nova

Larissa Weems X OC

A.N. hello all. if this seems familiar to you it's because... I've already posted it. With that said I realized I am Horrendous at formatting and decided to repost with some alterations. a HUGE shoutout to the council for helping me get my shit together, especially @bri-sonat for helping fic my truly wretched formatting. the next few chapters will be posted soon as I write some new ones as well.

The wind howled as you looked out the window of the train. Trees passing by in flashes as you made your way through towns, each one smaller and more spread apart, until there was nothing but the forest and the rain dripping down the windows to keep your eyes fixed on.

You can feel the chill of the weather as you rest your gloved hand on the window, not quite knowing what to expect. Finally, you see lights as the train pulls up to a town. As you look away from the pouring rain, you realize that everyone else had departed the train many stops ago.

After all, who would want to travel to a town like Jericho.

Though you suppose it wasn't Jericho itself that they avoided but rather what was just beyond it, Nevermore, your destination. The school had quite a reputation amongst the residents, almost serving as a horror story, an urban myth.

You quickly made your way up from your seat and gathered your belongings, not that you had many to grab, as the stewardess waited by the door of the train. With a small nod in her direction, you square your shoulders and step out into the world once again.

You quickly feel the rain soaking through your many layers as you dart under the cover of an awning, dragging your trunk behind you as you huddle over your tote bag, attempting to protect the few notebooks you carry. 

You look around as the train pulls away, desperately hoping that you will be able to spot your ride to your new home. As the lights from the train disappear into the distance, you’re left shivering on the cobbled road, lit only by a few meager street lamps. As the minutes pass and the cold sinks further into your bones, you finally decide you can't wait anymore out in this weather.

You shift your bag further up on your arm as your breath fogs up before your face. The second you step out into the storm again you regret it, but within minutes your steps have led you to the one building that seemed to still be open. As the wind blows the door shut behind you, you look around and realize you're in a small coffee shop, the Weathervane, according to the sign above the counter.

You quickly leave your trunk by an empty table before heading up to the counter where a young boy is watching with wary but amused eyes. “Hi…” You murmur, your voice horse from disuse, ”could I just get a hot chocolate with oat milk?” you ask, with a slightly clearer voice.

“Of course, what's the name?” He queries with a small smile.

“Adelaide.” You respond before turning around, the bell of the door behind you ringing, the noise drawing your attention. Standing there silhouetted by the glowing lights of the street was the most striking woman you had ever seen.

“Miss Florence, there you are my dear!” She exclaimed as she walked towards the counter. Somehow despite the stormy weather, she looked absolutely perfect, not a single hair out of place regardless of the howling wind and rain that had quickly turned your long curls into a stringy mess. 

As she approached the counter, you found yourself tilting your head farther and farther back, and when she finally stopped next to you, you realized how ridiculous you must look peering up at her like a drowned rat. You quickly looked down with a blush.

“Hello Tyler, a hot chocolate please, and would you be so kind as to put Miss Florence's drink on my tab as well?” She states with a glimmering smile at the barista.

“Oh no, you really don't have to do that!” You state, looking up quickly at the woman whose name you still don't know.

“Nonsense! Consider it a welcoming gift and an apology for my tardiness. Unfortunately, our normal driver fell sick due to the weather, so I had to finish up an appointment before coming down.” She stated warmly as she handed over some cash for the drinks before heading over to the table with your trunk. “I’m Larissa Weems, Headmistress of Nevermore Academy, my dear.” She smiled at you as you glanced up at her.

In the light of the coffee shop you can't help but stare at her beauty, clear blue eyes surrounded by delicate long lashes, a bright red lip captured in a gleaming smile, she was like an angel come to life.

You let out a shiver as her eyes pierced yours. Seeing this her smile faded into a frown, creasing her forehead as she looked down at you. “My dear, you must be freezing, you're absolutely soaked!” She says as she reaches toward you.

“No!’ You shouted, quickly scooting out of the bench away from her as you trip over your trunk in panic. She lets out a gasp at your desperation as you shake on the ground, refusing to look into her eyes in shame.

“I was just going to remove your coat, dear, it’s soaked through…” She murmurs comfortingly with her hands clasped in front of her for you to see clearly. You feel your cheeks turn pink with shame as you slowly climb up from the ground, ignoring the looks from the few other patrons.

“I can't do… touch.” You state as you wring your gloved hands together, “I apologize, it would not be pleasant for either of us.” You continue, wrapping yourself further in your layers as you look down at your feet.

“That is quite alright, my dear, I apologize for disturbing you.” Her voice was gentle, a touch of worry in her tone.

“Adelaide, Headmistress, here you go.” You hear as two to-go cups are placed next to you on the table. You quickly step back from the barista, once again kicking your trunk but managing to stay upright this time as you let out a tight smile.

Clearing her throat, the headmistress quickly stands with a slightly strained smile on her face. “Let's get you to your new home!” She says with joy, grabbing her hot chocolate with one hand and your trunk in the other.

“Yes, let's…” You murmur, grabbing your own drink and following behind the statuesque woman.

[edupunkn00b]

Variations on a Sin, Ch. 3: Greed

Prev - Greed - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Written for @intrulogicalweek's Seven Deadly Sins writing event.

Remus was working through the third movement of Beethoven’s 29th Sonata and his hands flew across the keys. The metronome kept time, ticking just a little faster than it had during his first session with Logan. That day's lesson had begun a half hour early.

“Logan!” Remus had stood on the doorstep, a sheaf of sheet music clutched in one hand and a to-go coffee holder in the other. “Logan, what was the metronome set at for the Hammerklavier?

“Good afternoon, Remus,” Logan said smoothly, blinking for a moment before smiling at his new favorite student with one eyebrow raised. “Won’t you come in? You are ahead of schedule, but we may begin whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks!” Remus grinned. His bright eyes danced between Logan’s face and the papers in his hand. “Oh, and I got us coffee! Well, I needed a little caffeination and I thought it would be rude to show up with a half-drunk cup of the fucking best coffee in Seattle and not have one for you, too, so I got you one.” He stepping inside and handed Logan the coffee tray with a happy little dance. “I didn’t know how you took it so I brought a bunch of different sweeteners and some of that fancy pants raw agave crystals that are the latest clean eating sugar we’re all supposed to use so we don’t die like cancerous lab rats.”

He peeled off his jacket, holding the sheet music tucked under his chin, his voice a little muffled and strained as he continued. “So, anyway, about the beats per minute? I was doing a little research and apparently there’s this big controversy about the piece and whether our dearly departed Ludwig had a faulty metronome or was just too deaf to hear that the piece was too fast at the tempo he’d marked on the score.”

Logan followed, still holding the coffees as Remus continued his explanation on the way to the piano. “And I read that this is the only piece that Beethoven included beats per minute on! That’s just wild! Is that true? I mean, I read that same bit of info on two different websites and then when I hit the library downtown—did you know they don’t open until nine o’clock in the morning on weekdays? It’s even later on weekends. What are you supposed to do when you’ve got something to look up?”

He sat down on the piano bench, facing the wrong way for a moment and took the coffee tray from Logan’s hands and set it down next to him. “So, the piece. Two more books I found both said the same thing. Is this just one of those one schmuck wrote it down wrong and that ‘fact’ has just been carried from documentarian to documentarian in error or is the poor schmuck who wrote it down wrong Beethoven himself?”

Remus let out a laugh and then took a long sip of his coffee. “I mean, that’s what a couple of sources were saying, too, that it wasn’t the metronome but just his mistake. He was kind of getting on in years when he wrote it. Oh!” He set down the coffee and spun around in his seat, hands hovering over the keyboard. “So what was I playing it at? I listened to some recordings, but I should have tried my own memory first because after the sixth one—Mitsuko Uchida is goddamn amazing, by the way! Her rendition of the last movement of Sonate für Klavier was just… ah!”

Before getting the signal to begin from Logan, Remus began the first few bars of the last movement, then switched over the the third, pounding the keys in a furious scherzo, tapping his foot to the beat. He looked up at Logan, still playing, “It was just so good.” He finished with a small flourish then spun back around and drank more of his coffee. “Oh, you should have some while it’s still hot. Seriously, Downpour is the be- \hest coffee in Seattle. Okay, it’s not technically Seattle but you know what I mean. We all say we live in Seattle ‘cause who the fuck’s ever heard of Kirkland outside of the a fifty mile radius from Lake Washington unless you’re staring at your soap from Costco, right?” He threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head.

“So what was the beats per minute?” He tapped his heels against the floor, still drinking his coffee. Logan picked up the carrier and set it on a side table before prying out his own cup and popping the little tab to take a sip.

“I take my coffee black, except for my first cup of the day,” he said slowly, watching his student over the top of his cup. “Are you feeling alright, Remus?” He took another small sip and eyed the syncopated tempo of Remus’ tapping. “You seem like you might have had a little extra coffee today.”

Remus giggled and shook his head. “Nah, actually this is my first cup today. I know, weird. Usually I’m on cup three by this time of the afternoon.”

Nodding, Logan picked up the metronome and showed Remus the settings, moving the little knob up a few notches. “I had it set for 124 beats per minute. Most modern theorists fall in the figurative ‘Beethoven must have included the bpm in error' camp.” He set down the metronome and watched it tick for a moment. “It was, as you mentioned, the only piece for which he included a recommended tempo.”

“I wanna try it the way he wrote it!” Remus announced, snatching up the metronome and ratcheted it up to 138 beats per minute. The little arm swung back and forth at an impossibly fast rate. “Will you tell me where I miss it?”

And so, at Logan’s quick nod, Remus swung back around on the bench and began to play. His first run through was nearly flawless, only missing a note on one little trill, but he went back and started from the beginning and did it again until he’d gotten it right. The final notes still vibrated on the low G when Remus looked up. “Can I try it faster?”

For the next hour and a half, Logan edged up the speed of the metronome a few beats at a time. Finally, Remus was playing the piece at 147 beats per minute when the doorbell rang. Logan looked down at his watch, brows knit together. “Oh, we seem to have let time get away from us.” He rested his hand on Remus’ forearm. “We have gone over our allotted time.” He gestured toward the door with a sheepish grin. “I believe that is my next student.”

“Oh, fuck, Logan, I’m so sorry. I probably ran right over the time that you use to take a break or breathe or just be a human for five seconds between lessons.” He stood up. “I’ll pay you for the overage, of course!”

“That is not necessary, Remus, I’ve enjoyed this time,” Logan smiled and raised his now-cold remaining coffee as Remus gathered the sheet music and his own empty cup. “Besides, you brought me coffee.”

“Fuck that noise,” Remus muttered, shaking his head. “You have a skill and you shouldn’t undervalue it.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small wad of bills. As Logan moved to open the door, Remus peeled off several and pressed them into his hand before he could see the denominations. Grabbing his coat and holding the music close to his chest, he stopped. “Hey, I was wondering if maybe I could add a few lessons a week. Like do you have any openings on other any other days?”

Logan greeted his next student and their parent and let them in. “Hi Mx. Nadella. I’ll be right with you both. Please go ahead, Cory, take a seat at the bench and begin your scales.” The little girl skipped into the front room, dragging her parent along by the hand.

“Well, I just had a few students graduate and start school out of state.” He scribbled on a piece of paper from the little notepad at the door. “I have three openings you can choose from.”

Remus took the paper and glanced down at it, smile dazzling. “I’ll take them all!”

"We— Well I will see you tomorrow, then," Logan stuttered as he gave a little awkward wave before closing the door.

"See you, tomorrow, Teach."

[juriwoh]

良子さんと、25日のリハーサル。

E.シュルホフ『ホットソナタ』は、1930年に作曲された、いわゆる退廃音楽と呼ばれる作品。ナチスドイツが「有害で退廃的」として迫害した芸術のひとつです。

難易度も芸術性も高いこのジャズソナタは、迫害により永く日の目を見ませんでした。反戦主義だったシュルホフの紡いだ音楽に、如何なる芸術も政治的圧力を受けてはならないことを覚える、終戦記念日です。

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Jonathan Ford *Supporting character

Voice Claim: (Chace Crawford) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93RiBFp4DyA

Partner(s): None. Parents: Connie Burlington & Michael Ford. Siblings: Marlena Ford Kids: None Age: 35 Birthday: 1st of March Height: 189 cm (6.2ft) Body type: Slim but muscular. Eye color: Light to medium blue Classification: Human

About: Intelligent, Awkward, Clumsy, Observant, Neat, Rational, Intuitive, Curious, Open minded, Calm, Stubborn, Objective, Dedicated, Honest, Charming, Resourceful, Independent, Clean, Private, Disciplined, Logical, Decent, Focused, Determined and Reserved. ~ Sexuality Straight. ~ FBI agent. ~ Has sandy to golden blonde hair, he always spends a little too much time on fixing before his day starts. ~ Drinks too much coffee. ~ Can be a bit awkward at times. ~ Works too much, doesn’t have time for a relationship. ~ Lonely. ~ Has never fired a gun at anyone, only warning shots so far. ~ A bit of a momma’s boy. ~ 8/10 pretends to be sophisticated, really isn’t. ~ Very private, takes a lot for him to open up. ~ Can be a bit stiff around people he doesn’t know. ~ Can be a bit stiff, period. ~ Not the best cook, but manages not to burn the globe down. ~ City boy, but dreams of one day getting married, having kids and buying an old run down farm. ~ A bit of a closet romantic. ~ Drinks a lot of red wine. ~ Waiting for a promotion. ~ Doesn’t always know when to shut up. ~ Is often called the ‘ass-kisser’ at work, really isn’t. ~ Gets annoyed by slow drivers. ~ Can’t stand mushrooms! ~ Sings in the shower. ~ Isn’t very close to his family. More or less only see them during the big holidays. He’s on good terms with them, but work gets in the way aka Jonathan prefers work over people. ~ Goes grocery shopping once per week, always buys the same. ~ Eats a lot of frozen meals, canned tuna, scrambled eggs and pasta. ~ Often buried in work, even when he’s not at work. ~ Tends to forget there’s a world outside work. ~ His work partner simply calls him John, everyone else at work calls him ford. He tends to mostly listen to that. ~ Gets panic attacks. Pretends he’s alright, although he often feels like he’s losing it.  ~ Occasionally smokes, when he gets too stressed/tense. ~ Watches reality shows to battle his loneliness, 10/10 makes him more lonely! ~ Would never admit they make him more lonely, nor that he watches reality shows! ~ Loves: Married At First Sight (reality show), crime documentaries, serial killer documentaries, salted peanuts, canned tuna, red wine, peanut butter, burny-hot showers, work, French music, French fries, French kissing, French girls, French food, classical music, spring time, fog, cheese, otters, coffee, cuddling, foot baths, foot rubs, sea food and taking someone special out for dinner/cinema. ~ His style is formal/formal-casual (it’s rare to catch him in a completely casual look, and if you do, someone probably forced him or he lost a bet!) ~ Is actually a really great guy, if you have the patience to get to know him.

Biography: (Coming soon) Ford’s tag Ford’s house/home Ford’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

One song to describe him: Beethoven - Sonate au Clair de Lune Personal Playlist: 1. Indila - Tourner Dans Le Vide 2. Georges Bizet - The Pearl Fishers 3. Claude Debussy - Clair de Lune 4. Stromae - Formidable (ceci n'est pas une leçon) 5. Edith Piaf - Non, Je ne regrette rien 6. INGRID ST-PIERRE - Ficelles 7. Carla Bruni - Quelqu'un m'a dit 8. Johann Strauss - The Blue Danube Waltz 9. Maurice Ravel -  Miroirs III. Une Barque sur L'Ocean 10. Beethoven - Für Elise 11. La Femme - Sur La Planche 12. Guillaume Grand - Toi et moi 13. Tchaikovsky - Valse Sentimentale 14. Antonio Vivaldi - Storm 15. Franz Liszt - Liebestraum 16. Jacques Offenbach - La belle Hélène 17. Olivia Ruiz - J'Traine Des Pieds 18. Robert Schumann: der Dichter spricht (aus Kinderszenen op.15) 19. Franz Schubert - Ständchen 20. Erik Satie - Gnossienne No.3

[lupins-sweater]

Tea and Chocolate (Part V)

Remus Lupin x American Reader

Summary: Y/N and Remus celebrate his birthday even though the night before was the full moon

Warnings: food, mentions of blood, anxiety

This is it, guys, 😭. This is the last part to this series. So sorry for the updates being so spread apart, but I really appreciate you sticking with it and all the support! Thank you! This last part is dedicated to @poppin-potter. Thank you for supporting me from the very beginning of the blog and helping with this series 💕💕 picture made by the lovely @angelinathebook

These reminded me of their relationship. They’re incredibly sweet and cause extreme yearning. 😃

You sat on your bed searching Molly’s recipe books for the perfect dinner. Remus’s birthday is tomorrow; however, tonight is also the full moon. Your plans needed a raincheck, but that didn’t stop you from trying to make today special. A box filled with comfort items such as a blanket, two bottles of water, food, and a fresh change of clothes waited near the door.

“Not much of a birthday gift, but it’ll do for now,” you commented to your plant Richard. You stood up and placed a bookmark in between the annotated pages. Wiping the sweat forming on your palms away, you grabbed the box and carefully made your way up the stairs.

You didn’t know why you were so nervous. Remus would appreciate you looking after him. But then again you felt like you were overstepping. Maybe you were treating him like a baby, and he couldn’t tell you you because he knew you felt helpless. Your constant want for control caused your anxiety to throw you into a constant state of worry.

“If he knew I bit my nails and obsessively watched out the window on nights like these, would he not want me anymore? Does my anxiety make me unlovable? No, Y/N. Shut up. Of course not. But he wouldn’t want a partner that worried about him like I do, would he? You don’t even know if he even wants a romantic relationship. Ughhhhh shut up!” you spiraled walking slowly toward his door.

You sat the box down and took a deep breath. Turning back toward your room, you snapped your fingers, a weird thing you did when you’re anxious.

“Y/N.”

Your head whipped around toward the tall figure leaning against the door frame. You stared at Remus not knowing what to say.

“Come here,” he moved the box over with his foot and smiled softly. You took the hand he held out, not quite looking looking at his face.

“Your hands are freezing!” he spoke in a low voice and brought your hand to his lips. He stopped before they met; your eyes flicked to his.

“Is this alright?” Remus asked for permission. Your ears felt hot as you smiled and whispered a “yes.”

He pressed his lips against the back of your hand while maintaining eye contact.

“Oh wow...” you thought.

“Thank you for the gift. May I ask what’s inside?” he inquired.

You stepped into his cozy room to let him close the door.

“Just some things to help with tonight.”

He opened his mouth and shut it promptly. You brow furrowed hoping you weren’t correct about his feelings.

“Sorry. It’s been a couple years since someone’s cared for me like this. Please don’t feel like you have to; I don’t want you to put yourself out trying to make me comfortable.”

“Noo, Rem,” you rushed toward him and wished you were tall enough to cup his face, “I look after you because I care about you!” You we’re trying your best not to say “love.”

“Helping you with your transformation will never ‘put myself out.’ I will do everything in my power to make everything betterfor you. You deserve someone that wants to care for you. You deserve an easier life. You deserve someone who loves you and will always have your back!”

As soon as that escaped your mouth, your eyes locked. “Oh shit.” Fear ran through your body, and you covered your mouth. You didn’t wait to hear Remus’s response and walked out the room as fast as you could.

You paced around your room while the scene played over and over in your mind.

“Oh no. It was definitely too soon to say “love.” What was I thinking?? Oh. I wasn’t!”

Someone knocked on your door and opened it right away. Remus strode toward you. He put his large hand behind your head to tilt your face to his. With your hearts racing, he kissed you with an open mouth. Your arms found themselves around his neck as he kissed you again and again.

You pulled away breathing hard.

“I love you, too,” he breathed. “Sirius will be here soon, so I should get ready. Sorry for barging in; I kind of got caught in the moment. Not that telling you I love you was just “being in the moment.” If that makes sense... I do love you. Really. Truly. I only didn’t know when to tell you. Um. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll have a bath and everything ready,” you responded still processing what happened.

“Thank you.”

~~~~

The sound of rushing water and the smell of tea calmed your nerves. Remus should be on his way. Just in time the sandy-haired man walked unsteadily in you room; his muscles were in fire with every movement he made. You sprang into action and guided him him into the bathroom. You scanned his shaking body for cuts as you peeled away the sweaty clothing. With no serious injuries, he slowly sank into the hot water with a sigh. You kissed his forehead even though his forehead gleamed with sweat.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“No,” his rough voice answered.

“Alright. I’ll leave you alone then.”

His wet hand grabbed your wrist. “Can you stay? I don’t want to be alone...and I don’t think I can reach my hair.”

“Of course, Rem.”

You kneeled next to the tub and lathered his hair with soap. Remus shut his eyes contently when you massaged his scalp, enjoying the intimate moment together. The comfortable silence took place of the conversation as neither of you knew what to say. Lupin’s stomach took advantage of this to express his hunger. Giggling, you rinsed his hair while he rushed to clean the rest of his body. You stood up, so he could use your shoulders to steady himself.

“I’m going to pour the tea and plate your dinner from tonight. Are you okay if I leave and come back?”

“Yeah I’ll get dressed. I’m sure you don’t want a naked man in your room. Unless...” a mischievous smile followed his joke.

“Not unless I’m naked, too,” you winked and left the bathroom with your face burning.

~~~~

Remus finished his meal watching the sunrise while you you dozed peacefully. He noticed how the golden light kissed your complexion, making your skin glow. Smiling to himself, he placed his plate in the desk and got under the blankets as quietly as he could to avoid waking you.

“Happy birthday!” you whispered after kissing his forehead. The plates on the tray clinked together.

“Mmm hello,” Remus croaked, his voice rough from sleep, “what time is it?”

“2 p.m.”

“Hm. Excuse me if this sounds rude, but is that for me?” he nodded toward the tray full of sweet and savory pastries and the two bottles of butterbeer.

“Yes it’s for you! I tried to find fillings that you like.” You beamed and put the tray in his lap.

He let out a hearty laugh. “Aww, Y/N, thank you! You must have spent all morning working on these.”

“Maybe, but it was definitely worth it.”

“Here,” he popped open a bottle of butterbeer and passed it to you, “I don’t want to celebrate by myself.”

“Thank you. Are you feeling better?”

“Just a headache... well a body ache too.”

A giggle escaped your lips which caused your boyfriend to tilt his head. “Oh. So you think my pain is funny?”

“Of course not, dear.”

You grabbed the pain reliever from your full moon bag. “Oh! That reminds me! I have three more presents.”

You ran to your desk and grabbed a brand new leather-bound journal and a package of Reese’s Cups.

“You spoil me, Y/N.”

“I know.”

Remus chuckled. “Oh my. The peanut butter chocolates!”

“Ugh. You sound like an old man.”

“Y/N! Not this again!”

You sat in the edge of the bed and laughed. The both of you completely content.

“Alright. What’s the last present?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Do I trust you? I don’t even see anything in your hands.”

“Just do it!”

He closed one eye and half closed the other which you rolled your eyes at. You hurried up, grabbed his face, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

~~~~

You pulled away. The great hall started to fill with children. It had been two years since the pandemic, and things finally felt like they were going the way they were supposed to.

Remus played with the sapphire ring on your finger while the students got settled. Oh. You’re also engaged to the best DADA professor in the world.

~~~~

Tea and chocolate taglist

@bi-andready-tocry @pregnant-piggy

HP taglist

@haphazardhufflepuff @nebulablakemurphy @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @iliveiloveiwrite

[wasthatswitch]

answer 21 questions, then tag people you’d like to get to know better

tagged by @fridge-04 aw thanks my dude. also that new poster you got is lit

nickname(s): Sheed, Rxshid, Radish, my uncle calls me Rash but hes the only one lmao. Radish was a primary school thing

zodiac: Taurus

height: 5’6” smol boi

last movie i saw: black panther, was actually the first time i watched it all the way through

last thing I googled: “ninetndo wii error code 52031” im trying to connect my wii to the internet and its not working. absolute piss take just wanna play mario kart online

favourite musician: this question is too hard to answer. miles davis? MF Doom? Q Tip? Dilla? Alix Perez? Honestly idk

song stuck in my head:

“Everybody loves the sunshine” banger and puts me on a good mood.

other blogs: nop, barely use this one lmao

do i get asks? nah fam never

following: 338

amount of sleep: well last night about 5 hours, night before i literally slept for 14 hours non stop

what i’m wearing: sum boxers and pj top

dream job: regular on AFTV or pro skater. those are the only two

dream trip: going on holiday somewhere cool with all my close friends would be lit, snowboarding in the alps again, doing my yearly trip to north wales with someone special to me

favourite food: My Nan’s spaghetti bolognese, sushi

play any instruments? guitar hero on the wii

languages: can speak a lil french not much tho. pissed cos my dad literally knows 4 languages and i only speak english

favorite songs: ill do a mix of all time and recent from what i can think of rn at 2:40am:

Electric Relaxation - A Tribe Called Quest (tribe are my favourite artists of all time probs)

Blue Lights - Jorja Smith (just a banger tbh)

kendrick lamar -  Sing About Me, Im Dying of Thirst  (fave track on what might be my fave album of all time dont @ me. 12 minutes of top qualitee)

L’Imperatrice - Sonate pacifique (this song has taken me places, highly recommend)

Plastician - Japan (give it a listen)

Q Lazzarus - Goodbye Horses (skate 3 and silence of the lambs vibes lmao. also just reminds me of a sick weekend in bristol last year)

Fleetwood Mac - Little lies (it good)

IMANU - Nonplus (wanna include a dnb track cos its what i dj mostly and this is probs my fave rn. so fun to mix, 2nd drop is spicy too)

Electric light orchestra - Mr. Blue Sky (if u dont like this ur lying)

atcq -  Whateva Will be (tbh any aqtc song gets in its proper hard to choose faves)

Super sharp shooter (Zinc remix) probs my fave jungle track

Bicep - Opal (Four tet remix) (seen bicep live 3 times now, never disappoint.

I could honestly go on forever. v passionate about music lmao. These are just ones I can remember rn

random facts:

i got an A in my english lit GCSE and a B in maths and hated it. now study maths at uni

fridge is hot and the best

I grew up in Islington in london. went to school right in the centre of london (shoreditch). moved to sixth form in the complete opposite, rural ol’ herefordshire

im tired robbie™

my grandad was a spurs fan behind my back

tottenham hotspur have not won the league in 58 years, 7 months and 16 days

my first word was taxi

vote labour

describe yourself as aesthetic things: a cat

tagging: honestly dont really know anyone else on here anymore

[coniwalker]

‘Haruki Murakami - Koşmasaydım Yazamazdım’dan Seçkiler

Bir şeyleri ciddi ciddi özümseyebilmek için çoğu durumda fiziksel acı gerekli oluyor.Aslına bakarsanız mümkün olduğunca kendi yüzümü halka açık yerlerde göstermek istemiyorum. Şehirde dolaşırken birilerinin bana seslenmesi hoşuma gitmiyor. Bu aynı zamanda insanların karşısına çıkmamamın da en büyük nedenidir. Bir süre su görmeden zaman geçirince sanki bir şeyleri yavaş yavaş kaybediyormuşum gibi bir hisse kapılıyorum. Bu müziği çok seven bir insanın bir vesileyle uzun süre müzikten uzaklaştığında hissettiklerine az çok benziyor olabilir. Sahilin hemen yakınında doğup büyümüş olmamın bunda etkisi vardır biraz belki. Bazı süreçler ne yapılırsa yapılsın değişikliği kaldırmaz. Ben bu düşüncedeyim. Eğer bu süreçle birlikte var olmaktan başka çaremiz yoksa bizim yapabileceğimiz şey inatçı bir azimle kendimizi değiştirmek (belki de dönüştürmek). Bu süreci kendi karakterimizin bir parçası haline getirmekten ibarettir. Şu işe bak.Kişisel bir noktaya değinecek olursam ben bugün koşmak istemiyorum diye düşündüğümde sürekli kendime şu soruyu sorarım: Sen artık roman yazarı olarak yaşamını sürdürüyorsun. İstediğin zaman kendi evinde tek başına işini yapabileceğine göre tıka basa dolu bir trende sarsıla sarsıla sabah akşam işe gidip gelmen gerekmiyor. Sıkıcı toplantılara katılman da gerekmiyor. Bunun iyi bir talih olduğunu düşünmüyor musun Evet düşünüyorum. Bununla karşılaştırıldığında evinin yakınlarında bir saat kadar koşmak hiç de zor olmasa gerek. Tıka basa dolu trenin ve o toplantıların manzarasını gözlerimin önüne getirince bir kez daha kendimi motive ederek koşu ayakkabılarımın bağını yeniden bağlayarak nispeten gönül rahatlığı içinde koşabiliyorum. Öyle ya bu kadarını yapmayacak olursam ilahi bir cezaya maruz kalırım diye düşünerek. Elbette günde ortalama bir saat koşmaktansa iş saatinde kalabalık trenlere binerek toplantılara katılmayı yeğleyecek insanların da sayısının çok olduğunu bilerek bunları söylüyorum gerçi.Her gün düzenli koşmaya başlamamın üzerinden çok uzun zaman geçti. Net olarak söylemek gerekirse 1982 yılının sonbaharıydı. Ben o sıralarda 33 yaşıma girmiştim. Bu tarihten kısa süre öncesine kadar Sendagaya İstasyonu yakınlarında caz bar tarzı bir yer işletiyordum.Benim yaşlarıma gelmiş bir insanın şimdi tutup da böyle şeyleri yazıya dökmesi çok saçma gelebilir ama işin gerçeğini açığa sermek gibi bir isteğim var; benim daha çok yalnızlığı seven bir karakterim vardır. Hayır biraz daha net ifade edecek olursam tek başına olmaktan pek bunalmayan bir karakterim vardır. Her gün bir iki saat hiç kimseyle konuşmadan koşsam da dört beş saat masa başında sessiz sessiz çalışsam da bu beni ne bunaltır ne de canım sıkılır. Gençlik yıllarımdan beri böyle bir eğilimim vardır. Birileriyle bir şeyler yapmaktansa tek başıma sessizce kitap okumayı kendimi vererek müzik dinlemeyi severim. Tek başına olduktan sonra yapacak bir şeyler bulmak konusunda sıkıntım yoktur. Buna rağmen genç yaşta (22 yaşımdaydım) evlendikten sonra biriyle birlikte yaşamaya yavaş yavaş alıştım. Üniversiteden çıktıktan sonra bar işletirken başkalarıyla ilişki kurmanın önemini de kavradım. Tek başına yaşamanın mümkün olmadığını ki gerçekte herkes bunu onaylayacaktır kendi deneyimlerimle öğrendim. Bunun sonucunda biraz tuhaf şekilde de olsa sosyallik diyebileceğim bir özelliği günden güne pekiştirdim. Şimdi düşünüyorum da yirmili yaşlarımdaki on yıl boyunca benim dünya görüşüm hiç de azımsanamayacak ölçüde değişti ve insan olarak belli bir ölçüde geliştim. Sert duvarlara toslaya toslaya başımda yumrular oluştukça hayatta kalabilmeyi sağlayan pratik püf noktalarını öğrendim işte. O on yıl boyunca çetin yaşam deneyimlerim olmasaydı sanırım roman yazmak gibi bir uğraşa girişmezdim hatta aklımdan bile geçirmezdim. Yine de insanın temel karakteri keskin değişimler göstermiyor. Tek başına kalma arzusu hiç değişmeden hep vardı içimde. O yüzden günde bir saat kadar koşup o süre boyunca kendime ait bir sessizlik zamanına sahip olabilmek ruh sağlığım açısından önemli bir anlam taşımaya başladı. En azından koşarken ne kimseyle konuşmam ne de başkalarının konuşmalarını dinlemem gerekiyordu. Yalnızca çevremdeki manzarayı izleyip kendimi bulmam yeterliydi. Bu hiçbir şeyle değiştirilmeyecek ölçüde değerli bir zaman dilimiydi. Koşarken neler düşündüğüm sık sık sorulur. Bu soruyu soranların kendileri çoğunlukla uzun mesafe koşma deneyimine sahip olmayan kişilerdir. Dahası bu tür sorular her sorulduğunda derin düşüncelere dalarım. Acaba koşarken ben neler düşünüyorum diye. Dürüst olmak gerekirse şimdiye kadar koşarken neler düşündüğümü doğru düzgün anımsayamıyorum. Koşarken çoğunlukla rock müziği dinlerim. Arada sırada caz dinlediğim de olur. Fakat koşu ritmine uygunluğu düşünülecek olursa sanırım koşuya eşlik edecek en iyi müzik rock müziğidir. Red Hot Chili Peppers Gorillas ya da Beck Creedence Clearwater Revival hatta Beach Boys gibi eski müzikler. Olabildiğince basit ritimleri severim. Şu günlerde çoğu koşucu ipod dinleyerek koşuyor ama ben kullanmaya alışkın olduğum MD çalarımı daha çok seviyorum. ipod ile karşılaştırıldığında cihaz çok daha büyük sığdırılabilecek veri miktarı kat kat az ama bana fazlasıyla yetiyor. Şu an için henüz müzikle bilgisayar teknolojisini birbirine bulaştırmak istemiyorum. Dostluk iş ve seksi birbirine karıştırmadığım gibi. 

Mesafeyi sabırla artırdığım bir dönemde olduğumdan şu an için zaman önemli bir sorun değil. Yalnızca zamana yayarak sessizce koşuyorum. Hızlı koşmak istediğimde hızımı artırıyorum ama böyle zamanlarda daha kısa süre koşuyorum vücudumda yaşadığım o güzel hissi olduğu gibi ertesi güne taşımaya dikkat ediyorum. Tıpkı uzun romanlar yazdığım zamanlardaki gibi. Kendimi çok daha fazla yazabilecekmiş gibi hissettiğimde kararlı bir şekilde kalemi bir kenara bırakırım. Böyle yapınca ertesi günkü çalışmam daha rahat olur. Ernest Hemingway de buna benzer bir şeyler yazmıştı. Sürdürebilmek ritmi kesmemektir. Uzun soluklu çalışmalar için bu önemli. Ritim bir kez belirlendikten sonra gerisi bir şekilde hallolur. Fakat çark belirli bir hızda dönmeye başlayana kadar sürdürebilirlik üzerine iyice kafa yormak gerek. 

Yaşamım hakkında düşündüğümde arada sırada kendimi sahile vuran bir ağaç parçasından farklı değilmişim gibi hissettiğim oluyor. Deniz feneri yönünden esen alize rüzgarları başımın üzerindeki okaliptüs dallarını hafif hafif oynatırken. 

Duvar tenisi -squash- sevdiğim bir spor ama biriyle mücadele etmem gerektiğinde yensem de yenilsem de kendimi diken üzerinde hissederim. Dövüş sporları da beceriksiz olduğum bir alan. Yanlış anlaşılmasın elbette ben de yenilmekten hoşlanmam. Fakat nedendir bilmem eskiden beri bir başkasına üstün gelmek ya da yenilmek pek umurumda olmadı. Bu özelliğim bir yetişkin olduktan sonra da değişmedi. Hangi konuda olursa olsun bir başkasını yenmeyi ya da ona karşı yenilmeyi kafama takmam. Daha ziyade aklım kendi koyduğum standartları sağlamaya odaklanır. Bu anlamda uzun mesafe koşmak benim düşünce tarzıma son derece uygun bir spor. Tam maraton koşucuları ne demek istediğimi çok iyi anlayacaktır; herhangi birine üstün gelmek ya da yenilmek koşucu için sorun değildir. Elbette yarış kazanmayı hedefleyen üst sınıf bir koşucu iseniz gözünüzün önündeki rakiplerinizi alt etmeniz önemli bir ödevdir ama halktan bir koşucu için bireysel galibiyet ve mağlubiyetler önemli bir konu değildir. O tipin arkasında kalamam gibi motivasyonlarla koşanlar olabilir ve bu antrenmanlarda ateşleyici olabilir. Fakat bir nedenle o belirli rakip yarışa katılamadığında motivasyon söner (hiç olmazsa yarıya iner) ve bu durumda koşu yaşamı da uzun sürmez. Sıradan bir koşucu Bugün şu zamanda koşuyu bitireyim diye hedeflerini önceden belirleyerek yarışa katılır. Hedeflediği zaman içerisinde koşabildiğinde bir şeyleri başardığını koşamadığında ise başaramadığını hisseder. O süre içerisinde koşamasa bile elinden geleni yaptığına dair bir doyum oluşuyorsa ve bir sonraki yanşa çıkabilecek olumlu duygular hissedebiliyorsa dahası yeni bir şeyler keşfettiğine inanabiliyorsa bu da bir başarıdır. Başka bir deyişle koştuktan sonra kendisiyle gurur (ya da ona benzer bir şeyler) duyabilmesi uzun mesafe koşucusu için önemli bir ölçüttür. Aynı şeyleri yaptığım iş için de söyleyebilirim. Yazarlık gibi bir meslekte -en azından benim için geçerli olduğunu söyleyebilirim- yenmek ya da yenilmek yoktur. Satış rakamları edebiyat ödülleri gelen eleştirilerin iyiliği ya da kötülüğü bir ölçüt olabilir ama temel bir sorun olduğunu söyleyemem. Yazdıklarımın kendi belirlediğim ölçütlere ulaşıp ulaşmadığı her şeyden önemlidir ve bunu bozacak bir bahane de kolayca üretilemez. Başkalarına karşı birçok açıklama getirebilirim. Fakat kendimi kandıramam. Temelde yaratan kişi dürtülerini kendi doğasından gelecek şekilde içinde taşır ve kendi dışında bir kalıp ya da ölçüt aramamalıdır. Koşmak benim için etkin bir egzersiz aynı zamanda etkin bir metafordur. Ben koşarken ya da bir yarıştan diğerine giderken ulaşmayı hedeflediğim ölçütün çıtasını azar azar yükselttim bu hedefleri başarmak yoluyla da kendimi yukarılara taşıdım. En azından yukarılara taşımaya niyet ettim bunun için de her gün çabaladım. Evet ben elbette büyük bir koşucu değilim. Fakat bu hiç de önemli bir sorun değil. Dünkü kendimi biraz olsun geçebilmek; önemli olan işte bu. Uzun mesafe koşularında geçmem gereken bir rakip varsa bu geçmişteki kendimden başka kimse olamaz çünkü. 

(Ne mutlu ki sanatçıların zirvesi kişisine göre büyük farklılıklar gösterir. Sözgelimi Dostoyevski 60 yıllık yaşamının son yıllarında Ecinniler ve Karamazov Kardeşler gibi taşıdıkları anlamlar açısından en önemli yapıtlarını kaleme almıştır. Domenico Scarlatti ise yaşamı boyunca klavyeli çalgılara yönelik 555 sonat çıkartmışsa da bunların büyük kısmını yaşlan arasında yazmıştır.) Benim durumumda ise kırklı yaşlarımın ikinci yansında koşuculuk yaşamımda iniş başladı.

Benim yaşlarıma gelmiş bir insanın şimdi tutup da böyle şeyleri yazıya dökmesi çok saçma gelebilir ama işin gerçeğini açığa sermek gibi bir isteğim var; benim daha çok yalnızlığı seven bir karakterim vardır. Hayır biraz daha net ifade edecek olursam tek başına olmaktan pek bunalmayan bir karakterim vardır. Her gün bir iki saat hiç kimseyle konuşmadan koşsam da dört beş saat masa başında sessiz sessiz çalışsam da bu beni ne bunaltır ne de canım sıkılır. Gençlik yıllarımdan beri böyle bir eğilimim vardır. Birileriyle bir şeyler yapmaktansa tek başıma sessizce kitap okumayı kendimi vererek müzik dinlemeyi severim. Tek başına olduktan sonra yapacak bir şeyler bulmak konusunda sıkıntım yoktur. Buna rağmen genç yaşta (22 yaşımdaydım) evlendikten sonra biriyle birlikte yaşamaya yavaş yavaş alıştım. Üniversiteden çıktıktan sonra bar işletirken başkalarıyla ilişki kurmanın önemini de kavradım. Tek başına yaşamanın mümkün olmadığını ki gerçekte herkes bunu onaylayacaktır kendi deneyimlerimle öğrendim. Bunun sonucunda biraz tuhaf şekilde de olsa sosyallik diyebileceğim bir özelliği günden güne pekiştirdim. Şimdi düşünüyorum da yirmili yaşlarımdaki on yıl boyunca benim dünya görüşüm hiç de azımsanamayacak ölçüde değişti ve insan olarak belli bir ölçüde geliştim. Sert duvarlara toslaya toslaya başımda yumrular oluştukça hayatta kalabilmeyi sağlayan pratik püf noktalarını öğrendim işte. O on yıl boyunca çetin yaşam deneyimlerim olmasaydı sanırım roman yazmak gibi bir uğraşa girişmezdim hatta aklımdan bile geçirmezdim. Yine de insanın temel karakteri keskin değişimler göstermiyor. Tek başına kalma arzusu hiç değişmeden hep vardı içimde. O yüzden günde bir saat kadar koşup o süre boyunca kendime ait bir sessizlik zamanına sahip olabilmek ruh sağlığım açısından önemli bir anlam taşımaya başladı. En azından koşarken ne kimseyle konuşmam ne de başkalarının konuşmalarını dinlemem gerekiyordu. Yalnızca çevremdeki manzarayı izleyip kendimi bulmam yeterliydi. Bu hiçbir şeyle değiştirilmeyecek ölçüde değerli bir zaman dilimiydi. Koşarken neler düşündüğüm sık sık sorulur. Bu soruyu soranların kendileri çoğunlukla uzun mesafe koşma deneyimine sahip olmayan kişilerdir. Dahası bu tür sorular her sorulduğunda derin düşüncelere dalarım. Acaba koşarken ben neler düşünüyorum diye. Dürüst olmak gerekirse şimdiye kadar koşarken neler düşündüğümü doğru düzgün anımsayamıyorum.

Ben koşarken yalnızca koşarım. Bir boşluğun içerisinde koşarım. Ters yönden bir ifade kullanmak gerekirse boşluğu yakalayabilmek için koşuyorumdur belki de. Bu boşluğun içerisine bile kopuk kopuk düşünceler doğallıkla süzülüverir. Çok normal. İnsanın yüreğinde gerçek bir boşluk var olamaz. İnsanın ruhu mutlak bir boşluğu kaldıracak ölçüde güçlü olmadığı gibi tekdüze bir yapıya da sahip değildir. Yine de koşarken ruhuma süzülen bu tür düşünceler (ani fikirler) nihayetinde boşluğun yan ürünlerinden öteye geçmez. Bunlar içeriklerin çevresinde değil boşluk ekseninde oluşmuş düşüncelerdir. Koşarken aklıma gelen düşünceler gökyüzündeki bulutlara benzer. Farklı şekillerde farklı büyüklüklerde bulutlar. Bunlar bir yerlerden çıkıp gelir sonra uzaklaşıp bir yerlere gidiverir. Fakat gökyüzü aynı gökyüzüdür. Bulutlar anlık misafirler olmaktan öteye geçmez. Geçip giden sonra da tamamen kaybolan şeylerdir. Geriye yalnızca gökyüzü kalır. Gökyüzü deyince bir yandan vardır ama bir yandan da yoktur. Gerçek bir kütle olduğu gibi aynı zamanda gerçek bir kütlesi yoktur. Biz böylesi sınırlarını tartamadığımız bir kap içerisinde var olmayı öylece kabul eder buna boyun eğeriz.

Dahası bu noktada komik denebilecek bir şey kesinlikle var ve düşünce şekline göre sanırım kolayca bir tarafa fırlatılıp atılabilecek bir şey de değil Daha önce de bahsettiğim gibi günlük yaşamımda olsun iş alanında olsun başkalarıyla üstünlük mücadelesine girmek benim istediğim türden bir yaşam şekli değil. Can sıkıcı bir şekilde herkesin kabul edeceği bir genellemeye başvuracağım ama bin bir türlü insan var ve dünya da bu insanlardan oluşuyor. Başka insanların kendi dünya görüşleri buna paralel yaşam tarzları var. Benim de kendime göre bir dünya görüşüm ve buna paralel bir yaşam tarzım var. Bu farklılıklar günlük hayatta ufacık sapmaları doğuruyor ve bu sapmalar bir araya geldiğinde de büyük yanlış anlamalar haline gelebiliyor. Bunun sonucunda nedensiz eleştiriler de doğabiliyor. Çok doğal bir şey ama yanlış anlaşılmak eleştirilmek asla insana kendini iyi hissettiren bir şey değildir. Bu yüzden insanın yüreğinde derin yaralar açıldığı da olur. Bu da acı veren bir deneyimdir. Fakat yıllar üst üste yığıldıkça bu acı ve yaraların insan hayatında bir ölçü gerekli olduğuna dair bir algılama da geliştirdim. Şöyle bir düşününce insan başkalarından bir parça da olsa farklı olduğundan kendini ortaya çıkartabiliyor başkalarından bağımsız halde kalabiliyor. Kendi açımdan söyleyecek olursam ben böylece roman yazmaya devam edebiliyorum. Bir manzara içerisinde başkalarından farklı bir sapmayı görebiliyor başkalarından farklı şeyler hissediyor başkalarından farklı sözcükleri seçebiliyorum. İşte o yüzden de özgün anlatılar yazmayı sürdürebiliyorum. Dahası hiç de az sayıda olmayan bir insan kitlesinin yazdıklarımı eline alıp okuması gibi nadir karşılaşılan bir durum ortaya çıkıyor. Benim ben olmam başka biri olmamam benim için önemli bir servet. Yürekte açılan yaralar bir insanın bağımsızlığı karşılığında dünyaya ödemek zorunda olduğu çok doğal bir bedel. Ben temelde böyle düşünüyorum ve bugüne kadar bu düşünce paralelinde yaşadım. Kısmen ortaya çıkan sonuç açısından bakıldığında kendi arzumla yalnızlığı istemiş olabilirim. Özellikle benimki gibi bir iş yapan insanlar için farklı derecelerde olsa da kaçınılması güç bir rota bu. Fakat bu yalnızlık hissi bazen şişeden fışkıran asit gibi farkında olmadan insanın yüreğini kemiriyor eritiveriyor. Bu tehlikeyi kendimce (olasılıkla deneyimlere dayanarak) bildiğimi sanıyorum İşte o yüzden de bedenimi fiziksel olarak hareket ettirmeyi aralıksız sürdürmek bazı durumlarda son sınırlarına kadar zorlamak yoluyla içimde taşıdığım yalnızlığı ÇÜRÜTMEK göreceli hale getirmek zorundaydım. Bilinçli olarak yapmaktan ziyade önseziler yoluyla. Daha somut söyleyeyim. Birilerinin nedensiz (en azından ben bazen öyle düşünüyorum) eleştirilerine maruz kaldığımda ya da beni doğallıkla kabul edeceğini düşündüğüm biri tarafından kabul edilmediğimde her zamankinden biraz daha uzun mesafe koşarım. Her zamankinden daha uzun mesafe koşmak yoluyla o ölçüde kendimi fiziksel olarak tüketmiş olurum. Üstelik yeteneklerinin sınırlan olan güçsüz bir insan olduğumu bir kez daha idrak ederim. Bunu dibine kadar fiziksel olarak idrak ederim. Dahası her zamankinden daha uzun mesafe koşmak sayesinde kendi bedenimi de biraz daha güçlendirmiş olurum. Birilerine öfkelendiğimde o ölçüde kendimi zorlarım. İçime dert olan bir şeyler olduğunda o ölçüde kendimi törpülerim. Hep böyle yaparak yaşadım. Sessizce yutabileceğim şeyleri olduğu gibi yutar bunu (elimden geldiğince görüntüsünü büyük ölçüde değiştirerek) roman dediğimiz kabın içerisine koyar anlatının bir parçası olarak içimden atmaya çabalarım. Benimki gibi bir karakterin çoğu kişinin hoşuna gideceğini sanmıyorum. Karakterimden etkilenecek bazı kişiler (sanırım çok az) çıkabilir. Fakat hoşlanana ender rastlanır. Böylesine kendini öne çıkarma özelliğinden yoksun bir insana bir şey olunca hemen kozasına kapanıveren bir insana acaba kim sempati (ya da benzeri bir şey) besleyebilir ki Fakat düşünüyorum da zaten mesleki açıdan bir roman yazarının bililerinin hoşuna gitmesi prensipte mümkün müdür Bilemiyorum. Belki bu dünyanın bir yerlerinde mümkündür. Kolayca genelleme yapılamayacağı kanısındayım. Fakat en azından benim açımdan roman yazarı olarak uzun yıllar yazmaya devam edip de aynı zamanda binlerinin kişisel olarak hoşuna gitmiş olabileceğimi düşünemiyorum. Birilerinin nefretini öfkesini tiksintisini kazanmış olmanın çok daha normal olacağı düşüncesindeyim. Böyle olursa içim daha rahat eder gibi bir laf etmek niyetinde değilim. Nihayetinde ben de başkalarının nefretini kazanmaktan haz duyan biri değilim.

Şu ana kadarki yaşantımı kendi çapımda yeterince diyemem ama keyfini çıkartarak yaşadım. Böbürlenme niyetim yok (zaten kim tutar da böyle bir şeyle böbürlenir) ama ben o kadar zeki bir insan değilim. Fiziksel olarak temas etmediğim elimle dokunamadığım sürece olguları net bir şekilde idrak edemeyen bir insanım. Hangi konuda olursa olsun olguları ancak gözle görülebilir bir şekilde yakaladığımda ikna oluyorum. Zekası ağır basmaktan ziyade fiziksel yaşayan bir insanım. 

Her gün düzenli koşmaya başlamamın üzerinden çok uzun zaman geçti. Net olarak söylemek gerekirse 1982 yılının sonbaharıydı. Ben o sıralarda 33 yaşıma girmiştim. Bu tarihten kısa süre öncesine kadar Sendagaya İstasyonu yakınlarında caz bar tarzı bir yer işletiyordum. Çevremizdeki insanlar böylesi sınırlı zevklere hitap eden bir işletmenin uzun ömürlü olamayacağını düşünmüşlerdi bende işletme zekasının bulunmadığı kanısındaydılar ama bu öngörüleri büyük ölçüde boşa çıkmıştı. Dürüst olmak gerekirse işletme konusunda zeka sahibi olduğumu ben de düşünmüyorum. Sanırım başarısız olmam halinde bir şansım daha olmayacağı endişesiyle işe canla başla sarılmıştım. Disiplin sabır ve güçlü bir bünye benim eskiden beri sahip olduğum yegane şeyler. At örneği vermek gerekirse yarış atından ziyade yüke koşulan atlara yakınımdır. Ben maaşlı çalışan bir ailenin çocuğu olduğumdan ticaretten pek anlamıyordum ama karını ticaret yapan bir ailede doğmuştu ve onun ilahi sezileri diyebileceğim yanları fazlasıyla yardımcı oldu. Her ne kadar kaliteli bir yük atı olsam bile tek başına başaramazdım. İşin kendisi çok ağırdı. Sabahtan geceyarılarına kadar çalışıyordum ayakta duracak halim kalmıyordu. Birçok sıkıntıyla karşılaştım; başım ellerimin arasında kalakaldığım birçok kez hayal kırıklığına uğradığım da oldu. Fakat kendimden geçmişçesine çalışırken bir de baktım dengeli bir bütçeye ulaşmışım. Sonra yirmili yaşlarımın sonlarına doğru nihayet nefes alabilir hale geldim. Borç alabileceğim her yerden alabileceğim kadar borç almıştım; borçlarımı ödeyebilecek hale geldiğimde nihayet bir aşamayı da geçmiş oldum. O ana kadar yalnızca hayatta kalmaya başımı suyun üstünde tutmaya çalışıyor neredeyse başka hiçbir şey düşünmüyordum. Yaşamımın dik merdivenlerinden birini tırmanmayı başarıp da önümü görebileceğim bir düzlüğe çıkınca oraya vardığıma göre sonrasında yine sıkıntılar olsa bile üstesinden gelebileceğime dair bir özgüven doğmuştu içimde. Derin bir nefes alıp etrafıma kat ettiğim yola bakıp önümdeki ilerlemem gereken merdiven hakkında düşünmeye başladım. Otuzlu yaşlar hemen burnumun ucuna kadar gelmişti. Artık genç denilemeyecek yaşlara adım atmak üzereydim. Sonra hiç aklımın ucundan bile geçirmemiştim ama roman yazmayı düşündüm.

Bir yandan ban işletirken bütçe hesaplarını yapıp alışverişi kontrol ederek çalışanların günlük programlarını düzenliyor her gün bar bankosunun arkasına bizzat geçerek kokteyl ve yemekler yapıyordum; diğer yandan da barı geceyansı kapatıp eve döndükten sonra mutfak masasının başında uykum gelene kadar yazıyordum. Bu rutindeki yaşantımı üç yıl sürdürdüm. Belki de diyorum; o süre boyunca normal insanların iki katı bir ömür yaşadım. Elbette fiziksel olarak çok zorlandığım günlerdi. Karşınızda müşterilerin olduğu bir iş yapıyor olmak farklı türden eziyetlere yol açıyordu. Karşınızda müşterilerin olması demek o insanları kendi beğeninize göre seçemezsiniz demektir. Nasıl biri gelirse gelsin çok sefil biri olmadığı sürece neşeyle gülümseyerek başınızı eğip hoş geldiniz demek zorundasınızdır. Bu sayede çok sayıda tuhaf insanla karşılaştığım gibi hiç aklıma gelmeyen türden garip deneyimlerim de oldu. Bu yaşantım içerisinde birçok şeyi doğallığıyla ama iştahla özümsedim. Geneline bakarsak yaşantımın bu yeni hali ve ilk kez tattığım hazlar keyif vermeye başlamıştı. 

Tam da bir roman yazarı olarak yaşamımı sürdürme şansını bulduğuma göre elimden geleni yapmak istiyordum. Kendim de elle tutulur diyebileceğim en azından bir roman olsun yazmak istiyordum. Bu iştah doğallıkla ortaya çıkan bir şeydi. Etki gücü daha yüksek bir eser yazabilmeliyim diye de içimden geçiriyordum. Üzerinde adamakıllı düşündükten sonra ban kapatarak belli bir süre roman yazmaya odaklanma kararı verdim. O sırada roman yazan olarak elde ettiğim gelirimle karşılaştırıldığında bardan elde ettiğim gelir çok daha yüksekti ama burada cesur bir karar vererek o gelirden vazgeçmem gerekiyordu. Çevremdeki insanların çoğu benim bu kararıma karşı şıktalar ya da güçlü tereddütlere kapıldılar. Bar rayına oturduğuna göre işletmeyi birilerine bırakarak kendin bir yerlerde keyfince roman yazsana diye öğüt veriyorlardı. Normalde insanlar açısından bakıldığında belki de en mantıklı düşünceydi. Dahası çoğu insan olasılıkla o sıralarda benim profesyonel roman yazarı olarak yaşamımı sürdürebileceğimi tahmin bile etmiyordu herhalde. Fakat bu uyarılara kulak asmadım. Bir şeyi ne pahasına olursa olsun yapmaya karar verdiğimde kendimi o işe tamamen vermeyince rahat edemeyen bir karaktere sahibim. Barı gelişigüzel birine bırakıp başka bir yerde roman yazarak yaşam sürdürmeyi beceremezdim. Tüm gücümü vererek işe girişmeli böylelikle işler yolunda gitmediğinde rahatlıkla vazgeçebilmeliydim. Eğer yarım yamalak bir şeyler yaparak başarısız olursam sonra pişmanlık duyacağım kesindi. O yüzden çevremdekilerin karşı çıkmasına aldırış etmeden barla ilgili haklarımı olduğu gibi devrettim. Elbette bunu yapmak çok içimden gelmiyordu ama roman yazarı gibi bir etiketi taşıyarak yaşamak kararındaydım. Hele bir iki yıl boyunca beni serbest bırakın. Eğer başarılı olamazsam yine bir yerlerde küçük bir bar açabilirim değil mi Henüz gencim ve her şeye sıfırdan başlayabilirim dedim karıma. Olur dedi o da. O sıralarda halen yüksek miktarda borcum vardı ama bir şekilde hallolur diye düşündüm. Bu 1981 yılındaydı. Elimden gelen her şeyi yapmak niyetindeydim.

Yapmak istemediğim bir şeyin yapmak istemediğim bir zamanda zorla yaptırılması eskiden beri sabrımı taşırır. Bunun yerine yapmak istediğim bir şeyi yapmak istediğim bir zamanda ve yapmak istediğim şekilde yapabildiğimde sıradan insanlardan çok daha fazla kendimi verebilirim. 

Profesyonel yazarlığa başladıktan sonra beni en çok sevindiren şey erken yatıp erken kalkabilmek oldu. Bar işletirken çoğunlukla ancak gün ağarırken yatağa girebiliyordum. Saat gece 24:00te barı kapatıyor sonra ortalığı topluyor adisyonları kontrol ediyor gevşeyebilmek için biraz sohbet ediyor biraz da içki içiyordum. Tüm bunları yapınca saat hemen sabahın üçüne yaklaşıveriyordu. Hal böyle olunca günün ağarmasına da az kalmış oluyordu. Mutfak masası başında tek başıma müsveddelerimi yazmaya oturduğumda gökyüzünün doğu tarafının gitgide ağarmaya başladığını gördüğüm günler hiç de az değildi. Doğal olarak uyandığımda güneş artık gökyüzünün tam tepesindeki yerini almış oluyordu. Bar işletmeyi bırakıp da roman yazarı olarak yaşantıma başladığımda bizim yani ben ve karımın ilk yaptığımız şey yaşam kalıplarımızı tamamen yenilemek oldu. Güneşin yükselmeye başladığı sıralarda uyanarak karanlık bastırdığında ise olabildiğince erken yatmaya karar verdik. Bu bizim aklımıza gelen en doğal yaşamdı. Doğru düzgün yaşayan insanların yaşamı. Artık hizmet sektöründe çalışmayı bıraktığımıza göre bundan sonra yalnızca görüşmek istediğimiz insanlarla görüşebilir karşılaşmak istemediğimiz insanlarla mümkün olduğunca karşılaşmadan yaşayabilirdik. Böylesi küçük bir lükse en azından bir süreliğine izin verilebilir düşüncesindeydim. Tekrarlıyor olacağım ama ben aslında insanlarla iletişimi iyi olan birisi değilim. Bir yerlerde kendi özüme dönmem gerekiyordu. İşte böylelikle yedi yıl süren dışarıya açık yaşantımızdan kapalı yaşantımıza doğru büyük bir dönüşüm yaşamıştık. Hayatımın belli bir döneminde böyle dışarıya açık bir yaşantı sürdürmüş olmam sanırım iyi bir şeydi. Şimdi düşünüyorum da o dönemde birçok önemli şey öğrendim. O dönem benim için ömrümün genel öğrenim dönemi gibi bir şeydi. Benim için gerçek bir okuldu. Fakat öyle bir yaşantıyı sonsuza kadar da sürdüremezdim. Okul dediğimiz şeye gider bir şeyleri özümser sonra bırakıp yola devam edersiniz. İşte böyle sabah 05:00ten önce kalkıp akşam 22:00den önce yatmak şeklinde sade ve kurallı bir yaşam başladı. Bir gün içerisinde doğru düzgün bir şeyler yapabildiğim zaman dilimi kişisine göre değişir elbette ama benim için sabahın erken saatlerindeki birkaç saatti. Bu zaman içerisinde kendimi vererek önemli işlerimi bitirebiliyordum. Sonraki saatlerde ise spor yapıyor ev işlerini hallediyor zihnimi fazla odaklamamı gerektirmeyen işleri bitiriyordum. Gün karardıktan sonra rahatıma bakıyor artık hiçbir şey yapmıyordum. Kitap okuyor müzik dinliyor rahatlıyor olabildiğince erken saatte yatıyordum. Aşağı yukarı bu kalıbı koruyarak bugüne kadar hayatımı sürdürdüm. Bu sayede şu yirmi yıl boyunca yaptığım işi oldukça etkin bir şekilde sürdürebildiğimi sanıyorum. Ancak böyle bir yaşam sürünce gece yaşantısı diyebileceğimiz şey tamamen devreden çıkıyor insanlarla iletişim de kesinlikle kötüleşiyor. Bazen insanların sinirini bozduğum da oluyordu; bir yerlere gidelim bir yerlerde bir şey yapalım diye davet alsam bile hepsini reddediyordum çünkü. Fakat düşünüyorum da gerçekten genç olduğum dönemi istisna tutacak olursak insan ömrü için nedense böylesine öncelik sırası diyebileceğimiz bir unsur gerekli oluyor. Zaman ve enerjiyi ne şekilde dağıtabileceğimize dair bir sıralama gerekiyor. Belli bir yaşa kadar böylesi bir sistemi kendi içimizde oturtamadığımızda ömür denilen şey odağından yoksun amaçsız bir hale geliveriyor. Benim için çevremizdeki insanlarla somut iletişim ve eğlencelerden ziyade roman yazmaya odaklandığım sakin bir yaşam kesinlikle öncelik taşımaya başladı. Benim yaşamım açısından en önemli nokta insanlarla olan ilişkilerimi; belirli bir kişiyle kendi aramda olmasından ziyade belirsiz çok sayıdaki okurla aramda olacak şekilde inşa etmem gerektiğini anlamamdı.

Bar işletirken de aşağı yukarı aynı politikayı güdüyordum. Bara çok sayıda müşteri gelirdi. Onların arasında on kişiden biri Çok güzel bir bar. Hoşuma gitti. Yine geleyim derse yeterliydi. On kişiden biri müdavim haline gelirse işletme de sürekliliğini koruyabilirdi. Tersinden söylemek gerekirse on kişiden dokuzunun hoşuna gitmese bile hiç de sorun değildi. Böyle düşününce kendimi rahat hissedebiliyordum. Fakat o bir kişinin mutlak olarak hoşuna gitmesi gerekliliği vardı. Dahası bunun için de işletmeci net bir tavır ve felsefe benzeri bir şeyi bayraklaştırılmalıydı ve bu bayrağı sabırla yağmura ve fırtınaya direnerek hep ayakta tutmayı sürdürmek zorundaydı. Bunu barı işletirken doğrudan kendi deneyimlerimle öğrenmiştim. 

Kabul edelim ki hayat temelde adaletsizdir. Burası kesin. Fakat adaletsiz bir yerde olsanız bile orada bir tür adaleti bulabilme olasılığının varlığına inanıyorum. Bu zaman ve zahmet gerektirebilir. Belki de harcadığınız zaman ve zahmetin boşa gitmesi sonucuyla karşılaşabilirsiniz. Böylesi bir adalette arayışa girmeye yetecek değer bulabilmek elbette herkesin kendine kalmıştır. Her gün koşmaya devam ettiğimi söylediğimde bunu hayranlıkla karşılayanlar oluyor. Ne kadar da azimlisiniz diyorlar; bazen birilerinin beni övmesi elbette sevindirici. Aşağılanmaktan çok çok daha iyi. Fakat düşünüyorum da insan çok azimli diye her şeyi yapabilir gibi bir durum olmasa gerek. Yaşadığımız dünya o kadar basit bir yer değil. Dürüst olmak gerekirse her gün koşmaya devam etmekle kişinin azimli olması ya da olmaması arasında da pek bir ilişki olmadığı kanısındayım. Benim bu şekilde 20 yıldan uzun bir süredir koşmayı sürdürebilmiş olmam nihayetinde koşmanın karakterime uygun olmasından kaynaklanıyor olsa gerek. En azından o kadar da sıkıntılı bir mesele değil o yüzden olsa gerek. İnsanoğlu dediğimiz varlık sevdiği şeyleri doğallıkla sürdürebilirken sevmediği şeyleri süreklilik içinde yapamayacak bir doğaya sahiptir. Azim ya da onun gibi bir şeyin minimum düzeyde de olsa bu durumla ilişkisi yoktur. Fakat insan ne kadar azimli ya da ne kadar yenilgiden nefret eden biri olsa da kendi düşüncelerine uygun düşmeyen bir şeyi uzun süre sürdüremez. Diyelim ki sürdürebildi. Bu vücudunun kötü etkilenmesine yol açabilir.

Kişisel bir noktaya değinecek olursam ben bugün koşmak istemiyorum diye düşündüğümde sürekli kendime şu soruyu sorarım: Sen artık roman yazarı olarak yaşamını sürdürüyorsun. İstediğin zaman kendi evinde tek başına işini yapabileceğine göre tıka basa dolu bir trende sarsıla sarsıla sabah akşam işe gidip gelmen gerekmiyor. Sıkıcı toplantılara katılman da gerekmiyor. Bunun iyi bir talih olduğunu düşünmüyor musun Evet düşünüyorum. Bununla karşılaştırıldığında evinin yakınlarında bir saat kadar koşmak hiç de zor olmasa gerek. Tıka basa dolu trenin ve o toplantıların manzarasını gözlerimin önüne getirince bir kez daha kendimi motive ederek koşu ayakkabılarımın bağını yeniden bağlayarak nispeten gönül rahatlığı içinde koşabiliyorum. Öyle ya bu kadarını yapmayacak olursam ilahi bir cezaya maruz kalırım diye düşünerek. Elbette günde ortalama bir saat koşmaktansa iş saatinde kalabalık trenlere binerek toplantılara katılmayı yeğleyecek insanların da sayısının çok olduğunu bilerek bunları söylüyorum gerçi.

Bazı süreçler ne yapılırsa yapılsın değişikliği kaldırmaz. Ben bu düşüncedeyim. Eğer bu süreçle birlikte var olmaktan başka çaremiz yoksa bizim yapabileceğimiz şey inatçı bir azimle kendimizi değiştirmek (belki de dönüştürmek). Bu süreci kendi karakterimizin bir parçası haline getirmekten ibarettir. Şu işe bak.

Deha dediğimiz şey bizim düşüncelerimizden bağımsız olarak fışkırmak istediğinde kendiliğinden fışkırıverir. Ortaya çıkarabileceği şeyleri çıkartıp kaynak kuruduktan sonra bir perde kapanmış olur. Schubert ve Mozartta olduğu gibi. Hatta bazı şairler ve rock şarkıcıları gibi saf dehalarını kısa süre içerisinde olabildiğince kullanıp bitirince dramatik bir şekilde genç yaşta ölerek hoş efsaneler haline gelmek şeklindeki bir hayat da gerçekten cazip olabilir ama çoğumuz açısından pek referans alınabilecek bir durum değildir. Dehadan başka roman yazarı için neyin önemli bir nitelik olduğu sorulacak olursa tereddütsüz odaklanma gücü derim. Sahip olduğunuz sınırlı dehayı gerekli bir noktaya odaklayarak ortaya serme yeteneği. Bu olmazsa hiçbir önemli iş başarılamaz. Dahası bu güç etkin bir şekilde kullanılacak olursa deha yetersizliği ve belirli bir alanla sınırlı kalma durumu bir ölçüde kapatılabilir. Ben normalde sabahları günde üç ila dört saat kendimi vererek işimi yaparım. Masanın başında zihnimi yalnızca yazmakta olduğum şeye odaklanın. Başka hiçbir şey düşünmem. Başka hiçbir şey görmem. Düşünüyorum da zengin bir dehası olsa bile ya da kafasının içinde ne kadar bir roman yaratacak fikirler dolup taşsa bile eğer (sözgelimi) çürük dişi feci şekilde sızlamaya devam ediyorsa o yazar herhalde hiçbir şey yazamaz. Odaklanma gücü şiddetli sızıyla engellenmiş olur. Odaklanma gücü olmazsa hiçbir şey başarılamaz dememin anlamı bu işte. Odaklanma gücünden sonra da sürdürebilme gücü gerekir. Günde üç ya da dört saat zihninizi odaklayarak yazabilseniz bile bir hafta boyunca devam edince yorgunluktan bitkin düşmek uzun bir eser yazmanıza engel olur. Her günkü odaklanmayı altı ay bir yıl hatta iki yıl devamlı olarak sürdürebilme gücü roman yazarı için en azından uzun roman yazmayı hedefleyen yazar için gereklidir. Nefes alma tarzından örnek verelim. Odaklanmayı sessizce ama derin bir nefes alarak içinde tutabilmeye benzetebiliriz. Sürdürebilme ise yine sakin bir şekilde nefes almak ve ciğerlerde havayı tutarken bir taraftan da nefes alıp verişe devam etmek gibidir. Bu iki nefes alış biçimi dengesi sağlansa bile uzun yıllar profesyonel olarak roman yazmayı sürdürebilmek zordur. Hem nefesinizi içinizde tutup hem de nefes almayı sürdürebilmek. Bu yetenek (odaklanma ve sürdürebilme gücü) ne mutlu ki dehadan farklı olarak antrenman yoluyla sonradan edinilebilir ve nitelikleri yükseltilebilir. Her gün masanın başına geçip zihninizi tek bir noktaya odaklama antrenmanını sürdürecek olursanız odaklanma gücünüz ve sürdürebilme gücünüz doğal bir parçanız haline geliverir. Bu daha önce bahsettiğim kasların eğitilmesi işlemine benzer. Her gün kesintiye uğratmadan yazmaya devam edip zihninizi odaklayarak işinizi yapmanın kendiniz olarak nitelendirdiğiniz insan için gerekli olduğu bilgisini vücut sistemine sürekli olarak göndermeniz bunun belleğinize iyice yerleşmesini sağlamanız gerekir. Sonra azar azar bunun sınır çizgisini ilerletirsiniz. Hissedilmeyecek ölçüde azar azar bu çizgiyi usulca ilerletirsiniz.

Bir süre su görmeden zaman geçirince sanki bir şeyleri yavaş yavaş kaybediyormuşum gibi bir hisse kapılıyorum. Bu müziği çok seven bir insanın bir vesileyle uzun süre müzikten uzaklaştığında hissettiklerine az çok benziyor olabilir. Sahilin hemen yakınında doğup büyümüş olmamın bunda etkisi vardır biraz belki. 

Gerçekten sağlıksız olan şeylerle uğraşmak için insanlar mümkün olduğunca sağlıklı olmak zorundadır. Bu benim tezim. Yani sağlıksız bir ruh bile yine sağlıklı bir vücuda gereksinim duyar.

Aslına bakarsanız mümkün olduğunca kendi yüzümü halka açık yerlerde göstermek istemiyorum. Şehirde dolaşırken birilerinin bana seslenmesi hoşuma gitmiyor. Bu aynı zamanda insanların karşısına çıkmamamın da en büyük nedenidir. 

Bir şeyleri ciddi ciddi özümseyebilmek için çoğu durumda fiziksel acı gerekli oluyor.

Scott Fitzgeraldın Muhteşem Gatsby eserindeki karakterlerden zengin ünlü polo oyuncusu Thomas Buchanan şöyle diyor: Şu dünyada ahırını restore ederek garaj haline getirenler çok ama garajını restore ederek ahır haline getiren bir ben varım. Övünüyor değilim ama ben de buna benzer bir şey yapıyorum. Yani CDde olan şarkıların yerine kaliteli LP bulduğum zaman hiç tereddüt etmeden CDsini satıp LPsini bırakıyorum. Aynı LP olsa bile sesi daha güzel orijinale yakın bir şey bulduğum zaman tereddüt etmeksizin yeni bulduğumla değiştiriyorum. Külfetli bir iş masrafı da hatırı sayılır ölçüde çok. Dünyadaki insanların çoğu böylesi şeyler yapan birini deli diye nitelendiriyor olabilir.

[ekac5524sem22022]

updates on sound work: 

sound clips used mainly from “duck amuck” , sack of woe (live) by cannonball adderley, ltd by dexter gordon, various cartoon sound effects (flinstones feet scrambling sound etc), hot sonate by erwin schulhoff, looney tunes opening theme song. 

Duck Amuck (text taken from Jane Batkin’s article)

One of the most important and, arguably, cultural films to emerge from Looney Tunes is Duck Amuck (Jones, 1953). It has been viewed as both ‘a parable of modern man’s powerless alienation from his environment and a hilarious “Merrie Melodie”’ (Schneider, 1994, p. 112). It remains Warner Bros.’ most critically acclaimed animation, with Louis Black calling it “a clinical study of deconstruction of a text” (Pilling, 1997, p. 210) and Alex Evans comparing it to the work of Samuel Beckett (2007, p. 378).

Daffy was created to be the antithesis of the rabbit; he is a “social misfit” claims Sandler (1998, p. 171). Jones’ duck is an outsider, “struggling to enter the mainstream” yet resisting it, (Schneider, 1994, p. 158). If we return briefly to Adorno and Horkheimer’s theory of the free spirit of man being in jeopardy within culture, we can see how Daffy, too, is quite literally subject to forces beyond his control. In Duck Amuck, Daffy is aware and yet not, his control is a fabrication, he is tormented by an off screen presence and his all American freedom is compromised as the cel collapses in upon him, restraining him. Looney Tunes speak directly to the audience about freedom and its jeopardy; they become siphons of culture.

Within Duck Amuck, Daffy adheres to the rules of the art form, living and breathing within the cel. It soon becomes apparent however that the cel is untrustworthy, leading Daffy to ask the audience “alright, where am I?” (Jones, 1953).

Alex Evans claims that Duck Amuck is seminal through its exploration of the body, and its transfiguration. He suggests that presence and absence make the cartoon comparable with Waiting for Godot. Will the tormentor be revealed? How does absolute absence inform the work? Evans suggests that absence “represents a considerable departure from the history of animation/live action interactions” (Evans, 2007, p. 380). Previously, animated characters and real actors shared screen time in the work of Warner Bros. and Disney, as well as Trick films such as J. Stuart Blackton’s early cinema, in which the artist is clearly present, drawing the drawing. When Bugs is revealed at the climax of Duck Amuck as the artist, this is anything but reassuring, says Evans; the “responsible” figure is a toon (ibid).

The breaking of the fourth wall is significant in Duck Amuck; the traditional method of the audience eavesdropping on characters who function within the three walls of their environment, the fourth wall being the transparent one, is commonly broken in the Looney Tunes filmography. Auter and Davis conducted research that points to a heightened sense of audience enjoyment when the fourth wall is broken (1991, pp. 165­171). The inspiration for this can be seen as originating in Vaudeville. Klein interviewed a man who remembered the vaudeville acts and how accessible they were to the audience and Klein notes the importance of Vaudeville to cinema, with both appearing on the same bill at many theatres. He cites Jones’s One Froggy Evening (1957) as a clear example of this and Jones agrees that his frog was “a little vaudevillian” (Klein, 1993, p. 21).

Auter and Davis suggest that viewers feel an increased interest and become involved in the action; they move from passive to active participants as Looney Tunes characters draw them in and whisper asides to them, usually at the expense of the other protagonists (1991, pp.165­171). Bugs does this repeatedly, at Daffy’s or Elmer’s expense. In Hare Remover (Tashlin, 1946), he remarks to the audience “what do ya know! This stuff works!”, whilst in Rabbit Punch (Jones, 1948) he escapes the boxing ring after 110 rounds with a formidable opponent, and apologises for the film breaking to the audience, before holding up a pair of scissors and quipping “confidentially, that film didn’t exactly break.” In essence, the reimagining of the fourth wall in Looney Tunes cartoons creates a connection and simultaneously a deconstruction of the text.

Pilling observes that the entrance of the creator into the film (in the case of Duck Amuck, Bugs as artist into Daffy’s world), creates an incarnation or “incartoonation” and that this transforms the world of the cartoon, introducing a “magical ontological concreteness” that gives the character a reality (Pilling, 1997, p. 212). Animation becomes limitless within Duck Amuck in particular, through the cartoon’s ability to dissect itself and allow characters to step into and out of the frame. Bugs lives beyond the confines of the cartoon and its scenery, whilst Daffy is tortured within it. Self­awareness is revolutionary here, the medium of animation becomes transformative whilst still retaining its essential anarchic core.

[daydream-cement]

on my knees BEGGING for more of your phasma content, I absolutely love the way you write her. maybe a continuation of sparring practice? that’s one of my fav fics of yours 😭😭

In The Shower (NSFW)

Captain Phasma x Fem!Reader

Authors Note: THIS IS ANOTHER COLLAB FIC BY ME AND @bri-sonat. i cant say it enough, i LOVE writing with you, dear. and im so excited for everyone to see the other wonderful works we have written together!!!

The final time Phasma threw you down on the mat, you thought all of the air had left your lungs. It always seemed that towards the end of these private lessons, the captain would take advantage of your exhaustion to punish you for showing such weakness.

After the last sparring practice, which had ended with Phasma grinding down on your thigh, being pinned by her once again brought back such pleasant memories, memories that only made the heat between your legs grow.

You watched as she glowered down at you, her chest heaving from the way she was exerting herself. Moving an arm to prop yourself up, you were waiting for Phasma to tell you to get up once more for her to only throw you back down again. With a sigh, the captain shook her head and turned from you, “We are done for today.”

The captain released her grip on you, rising to her full height and once she had, you darted up from the floor. “Yes, Captain.” You acknowledged her order with a courteous bow before leaving the sparring room. Almost running down the hallways to get to the showers.

The showers were fairly empty due to the timing of your sparring practice taking place in the middle of most troopers’ shifts. Grateful for the few moments of peace, you make your way to the farthest shower in the row, turning on the water before undressing in an attempt to get some type of warmth from the typically frigid water.

Padding down to your locker, you pull fresh underclothes out, leaving them on the nearby bench to be thrown on after you bathed. You then stripped, tossing your clothes in the large communal hamper to be laundered, and snatched a towel from the shelves nearby. Hanging the towel outside your shower, you hold out a hand to the lukewarm water, knowing it will have to do. Warm or not, the sensation of the water hitting your skin pulled a long sigh from your lips.

The echo of the locker room door shutting made you furrow your brows, no one was supposed to be here at this time, and you found it strange that there was. It remained in the back of your mind as you resumed your shower, the footsteps of the intruding being sounding before they stopped, yet the door didn’t close again, the person was still inside.

After a short time had passed, the steps continued, this time much quieter, no longer making the same amount of noise without the boots on them. They got closer and closer until they eventually stopped right outside the closed shower curtain, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit uncomfortable. The person clearly there for you. Until, a familiar hand pulled the curtain aside, and stepped into the continuous stream of water from above.

The pacing of your breath quickened from the anticipation and mild fear you felt for the woman standing before you. Captain Phasma had interrupted your shower and now stood before you completely naked with what you assumed to be sinful intentions.

Phasma didn’t seem to care when your eyes drifted down, raking over her body, in fact, she seemed to like the way you drank her in like a tall glass of water on a hot day. She was clearly proud of the fit form she had judging by the tiniest of smirks on her lips.

Your eyes went from her boobs to her abs, to her biceps, and finally, to her legs, all defined perfectly by the uninterrupted, ruthless training regime she had kept up over the years, and it was obvious that she took great care of her body, “Do you like what you see, FN-2156?”

You wished you could have hidden your eagerness and appreciation for the woman before you, but you nodded quickly, still remaining entirely silent. What could you say to your fearsome and ruthless captain? Your mind moved quickly, remembering the events of the steamy sparring session from weeks ago. Would you be getting a second chance at pleasuring your superior?

Phasma took a step forward, causing you to take a step back, and continued doing so until your back hit the tiled wall of the shower, “You know I like a verbal answer, but I’ll take it. I’m not here to talk anyways… Get on your knees. I want to use that pretty mouth of yours. See if it can’t be used in a more… productive way.”

She suddenly flipped you around, her back leaning up against the wall for support as you got down on your knees in front of your captain. You said nothing, only wanting to please her in any way she would allow you to.

Your mind was reeling at your current situation. Knees pressing into the tile floors, you reached out tentatively, placing your hands on either of her thighs. Leaning forward, your eyes scan their way up Phasma’s body, landing on her face which was staring down at you in the most intense manner. Her eyes bore into you while her lips contained a smug smile, pleased with herself for having you on your knees before her.

There was a small amount of hesitation in you as you crept closer to her center, waiting for her to offer further instruction or verbal degradation for your current position.

Phasma cocked her head to the side slightly as she stared down at you, spreading her legs slightly to offer you a better view of your future meal, “Well, don’t you look pretty on your knees for me… Such a good little slut, following my orders without a second thought. Good to know that you know your place.” The captain reached down a hand to comb through your wet hair, bending slightly to grab your chin in her hand, “Make me cum with that sharp tongue of yours, will you?”

“Yes, captain.” You nodded, your voice somewhat subdued, but at least you were offering the verbal confirmation she wanted. When she released your chin, there was no more hesitation left within you. Pushing your face forward, you were now centimeters from her core. Being close enough to her heat, you could smile to yourself in pure satisfaction that you were the chosen one to please your captain.

The captain hummed, pleased with how obedient you were being today, knowing that this served as a perfect reward for your good behavior. Phasma hadn’t taken her eyes off of you, watching as you inched closer to her cunt, groaning before she used her hand to push your head the final centimeters, grunting when your mouth closed around her clit.

You circled her clit gently, wanting to savor the moment and take your time as you knew your performance would indicate if Phasma would use you once again. Listening carefully, you were looking for any indication from the captain as to the level of your performance. Pushing your tongue deeper between her folds, you lapped at her cunt, enjoying Phasma’s taste.

Rolling her head back against the wall, Phasma used her hand on your head to hold you in place as you used your tongue on her, the only thing muffling her noises being the sounds of water hitting the tiled floor. Her mouth was open in silent pleasure as she stubbornly held her moans back, her voice shaking slightly as she croaked out more vulgar words, “You’re such a filthy little thing… If you keep using your mouth like that, I might have to use you more often.”

This was exactly the encouragement you needed to continue your movements. You slid your tongue back to her clit, circling it gently before beginning to suck at the sensitive bud. The tile flooring caused your knees to ache, but you persisted, hands gripping her muscular thighs to keep yourself upright.

She spread her legs even more, giving you even more access as she groped her breast with her free hand, rolling her hardened nipple in between her thumb and index finger, your continued offense on her pussy driving her closer and closer to her eventual climax. At the added stimulation, Phasma released a growl, mostly muted by the loud noise of water against the tile.

You glance up at the captain, the blissed-out look on her face accompanied by the way she teased her nipple caused you to release an involuntary groan, sending additional vibrations against her clit. Switching from sucking to licking, you swirl your tongue around her clit once more, making Phasma tighten the hold on your head as she started grinding your face, chasing her orgasm that was fastly approaching.

The grinding against your tongue caused you to moan again, the wonderful filthiness of the interaction making the ache between your legs grow. Your jaw was beginning to ache, but the discomfort was well worth the experience of making Phasma cum.

The vibration from your moan was enough to send the captain over the edge, her entire body tensing up as she remained silent, not wanting a single noise to spill out in case anyone had entered the locker rooms during your shared shower. Her thighs clenched around your head as she let the pleasure rip through her body, her breathing heavy.

You continued your lapping against her core, knowing if you stopped without a formal order, you could jeopardize any further sexual encounters with your captain. It was a calculated risk, but you allowed your hands to slide upwards to grip her hips, maintaining a hold on Phasma while you fought to lap up every last drop of her juices.

When Phasma had regained her breath, she ripped your head away from in between her legs, so aggressively that you had to catch yourself by placing your hands behind you on the tiled floor, unless you wanted to end up on it.

She took one final look at you, sitting down on the floor, looking up at her with her wetness covering your chin before walking past you, stopping right before the curtain, “See you next week, FN-2156. Don’t be late.”

And with that, the captain had left; the sound of the shower curtain shutting behind your back followed by her footsteps moving away from you. Leaving you sitting on the tiled floor, water hitting your head as the neglected throbbing between your legs only grew stronger, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue.

Her words played over and over in your mind, and you allowed yourself the hope that when she said ‘see you next week,’ she was referring to another experience such as this.

[archivalia]

(via Erwin Schulhoff - Hot-Sonate - YouTube)

[sorryihavemarchingband]

have you ever played hot sonate by schulhoff?

nope

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Tagged by @rizzzzzk  ❤

Rules: Copy-paste in a new post, answer the questions and tag 20 followers.

Name: Sarah

Nickname: ……Sarah

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

Height: 156 cm

Orientation: Straight

Nationality + ethnicity: Egyptian

Favorite fruit:  POMEGRANATE FOREVER  ❤ and حرنكش (called physalis but nah)

Favorite season: Winter

Favorite book: too many to count, but let’s just stick to The Fall by Albert Camus and Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre

Favorite flower: none, hate them all equally

Favorite scent: *بتشمر* Paris Hilton Heiress - Dupont Blanc - Victoria’s Secret Crush /// Body Fantasies White Musk - Fruttini Passion Fruit

Favorite color: honestly none

Favorite animal: CAAAAAAATS.. all animals really, anything NOT human tbh

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: mint tea \o.o/

Average hours of sleep: 8+ and NOT ashamed -.-

Cats or dogs: C A T S  ❤

Number of blankets you sleep with: currently none, but could go up to 4

Dream trip:  RUSSIA! or any place cold af

Blog created: the old one 2015, this one like a month ago or so

Number of followers: 347 

@sam-the-second @ladyalanoud @tarek-96 @three-fiftyeight-am @themarr @howdark-howdoom-howdeathful @eltayh @hateroh @kamanana @tumnerd @thebroken-wings @osamagamal-weber @hugs-and-shawarma @theendingofalullaby @sonatic-sidewalks @samy-osama @egyptian-disappointment @ahmedali800 @s-daw @osama-mostafa @sarayasserr @thatsthedangerinstartingafire @amr-m @themediocrekid @skid-scarecrow And these are 25 not 20 because I can -.-