#somehow the songs that came up are pretty representative of my music taste | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tanoraqui · 4 years ago

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hey, pls tell us about those 'kidnapping sizhui back to the burial mounds' aus? 'grave dirt baby'? 'speaker for the dead'? put me down as Scared! and! Intrigued!

Alright, so, the au I’ve mentally titled Speaker for the Dead is inspired by this fic series, which I think has great concepts but wildly insufficient follow-through on consequences

edit: er, this is gonna be the first of several parts. At least 3.

You know the Cluster in Steven Universe? Think of the Burial Mounds like that. Hundreds, maybe thousands of restless souls; some shredded, some simply lost; all neglected. Forgotten. Stewing in their own resentful energy and their exponential shared resentful energy, trapped in these abandoned lack-of-real-graves and forged over time into a nearly-single mass of rage and loss and unfinished business.

And then someone came along - well, was bodily dropped from a height - who could match them rage for rage and loss for loss, unfinished bloody business for unfinished bloody business. No one living and perhaps no one dead remembers if he said, “serve me, lend me your power, and I will carry your sentiments into the living world”, or if the Burial Mounds said, “serve us, wreak our fury and sorrow upon the living world, and in turn you will live and wield our power.” Or maybe it was an instant mutual recognition and agreement?

Well, we all know what happened next. And then he came back, their deathly messenger, and brought others, and for a brief while there was...life, inexplicably, in the land of the dead. Stubborn, hopeful life.

Then death swept through once more, from the outside this time, and the Burial Mounds took their diplomat into their embrace - but they’d gotten a taste for having their voice heard, now. The living far and wide had buckled under the force of their weeping rage, shared the burning sorrow of their thousand dead hearts. And there was one living thing left on their grounds sympathetic to their power...

But not because he shared their rage, loss, unfinished business - save in that he was young, and all his life was unfinished before him. And he was starting to understand loss, as the rest of his family died out of sight. Mostly he was sympathetic in the other way: kind and accepting, and even as a child disinclined to forget those abandoned by everyone else.

Well. Disinclined to forget intentionally. Because a three-year-old isn’t designed to be swarmed by the thousand and one voice(s) of the Burial Mounds, howling their rage and loss and determination to be heard.

A-Yuan would have died that day, if one ghost in particular hadn’t been too fresh to have sunk into the horde. Barely aware of his own death yet, save that it had hurt, the Burial Mounds’ previous master/messenger stepped in between the boy and the onslaught of the dead - and he was a warrior and defender, he always had been. It had served them well when their unfinished business was little more than the bloody spread of death.

It’s hard to say what exactly happened, then. Suffice to say, once the dest and resentful energy settled - and certainly by the time the cultivator in white arrived - the Burial Mounds had a representative to the living again, their roots sunk deep into his soul, and their representative had a guardian.

Lan Xichen was very carefully not wondering where his brother had gotten this child, not wondering at all - why question; there were far too many orphans, these days, and of course Hanguang-jun was noble enough to save one even while wounded to near death himself.

But the fact remained that the boy - A-Yuan, Lan Yuan now - was laced with incredibly persistent resentful energy. The healers had noticed it first and done their best to cleanse it, and the best of the healers of GusuLan was no small effort. At first, it had seemed to work - the darkness stopped wisping from his lungs when he coughed; the cough and fever themselves disappeared. But still the resentful energy remained, a patina of grime on an otherwise pure soul, and even when Lan Xichen himself played Cleansing, it only seemed to fade, not fully dissipate.

A-Yuan grew sick again, feverish and weeping, complained of hurting in the way of a small child too miserable to give clear answers. Lan Xichen stayed with him, playing Cleansing through the night, and by the wee hours of the morning the boy was positively listless - and still, under close inspection, resentful energy clung to him.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes and sat back to meditate for a moment. He had to collect himself.

His brother was asleep in the next room over. He’d been asleep since he got back from...somewhere, nearly collapsing off his sword with blood pouring from every whip mark and with a feverish child in his arms. His continued unconsciousness was partly at the order of the healers, partly of his own accord.

Multiple rules forbade superstition and the taking of omens, but Lan Xichen could feel in his heart that if the boy died, Lan Wangji wouldn’t wake. Or if he did, he would be...empty, the way he’d been for years after their mother’s passing. The way he’d been, to be quite honest, until Wei Wuxian walked into the Cloud Recesses.

Meditation didn’t help. Lan Xichen picked his [xiao] again and began the first notes of Cleaning, pouring every ounce of power he had into the music. On the bed, Lan Yuan whimpered weakly.

There was a rattling from his waist, where jade keys to all the wards of Cloud Recesses hung as a badge of office. An instant later, something yanked Liebing from his hands and flung it across the room, and with the same force shoved him backward. For an instant, he saw a figure standing above him, dark-robed and terrible.

Then it was gone, a mirage of the flickering lantern - but on the bed, A-Yuan had moved. Instead of lying flat, he was curled up as though leaning against something, clutching the air near his chest like something invisible had been placed there for him to hold. ...Hovering slightly above the mattress as though on a lap, and tired tears spilled from his eyes; he murmured something too quiet to hear.

(Cool hands picked A-Yuan up and held him; a hand brushed through his hair and a gentle voice said, “Shh, shh, A-Yuan, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” He looked up to see a pretty face and soft, sad smile, clad in robes that were dark and smelled of damp and blood.

“Mama?” he said blearily. It wasn’t right, but it was the closest word he had for how safe and loved and somehow refreshed be felt. He clutched the roughspun robes like they might vanish from his grip.

“Is that what we’re working with?” The man’s smile turned teasing, and he held A-Yuan a little closer. “Sure. I did birth you from my own body.”)

Lan Xichen picked himself up carefully, retrieved Liebing from beside the far wall and eyed the boy on the bed. Some presence watched him back - resentful, to be sure, but not like any spirit he’d ever felt. The tokens representing the wards against resentful energy and restless ghosts had both stopped shivering - because it was quiescent, or because it was already inside?

He needed answers, but at the same time, he very much needed to not have answers, because they might force him to a decision that his brother would never forgive.

Lan Yuan has never left the Cloud Recesses since he arrived. This wasn’t entirely abnormal - he’s only just six years old; there are few reasons for a child that young to go beyond the wards. There are excursions for hikes now and than, to introduce the children to nature, but something always interfered - illness, other duties or even punishments. There is the Spring Festival in Caiyi Town for which disciples of all ages are permitted one day free of all responsibility, including the youngest who are taken down with appropriate adult minders. But Lan Yuan always filially elected to use the special dispensation of this holiday to spend all day with Lan Wangji (per Rules 267-270, exceptions to seclusions were allowed for close family, at the Sect Leader’s discretion.)

In his third year of seclusion, Lan Yuan now age six and bubbling enthusiastically about the tales and treats he expected his friends to bring back from the festival, Lan Wangji had asked why he refused this holiday. Wide-eyed and pious, Lan Yuan had replied, “Because I want to spend time with Father!”

Sensitive to too-wide eyes, and too aware of his own shortcomings in the area of festivity and excitement, Lan Wangji had pressed to be sure that this was how he wanted to spend his day: sitting quietly inside, playing music, practicing reading stories of Lan Sect history?

Pressed, Lan Yuan admitted that his Mama said he shouldn’t go outside the boundaries of Cloud Recesses unless his father was with him.

It wasn’t the first time this “Mama” had come up. Lan Yuan’s Mama said it was not just permitted but required that he run shrieking up the path to the jingshi, to greet Lan Wangji by tackling him about the knees with gleeful laughter. Mama said it was okay if he didn’t eat dinner when he was supposed to, Lan Yuan insisted, because the food was “boring anyway.”

“Mama”, Lan Wangji was very, very sure, knew a song that Lan Wangji had composed at the age of sixteen and only ever played for one other person, because somehow Lan Yuan knew it to hum himself to sleep on restless nights. It was possible that he simply remembered it subconsciously from the times he couldn’t otherwise call to mind - music was like that. But when asked, he took on the overly cute look of an untrained liar rather than the dreadful uncertainty that slipped into his voice when questions arose of any time before the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Yuan had never stepped foot outside the Cloud Recesses since the day he’d been carried in, yet it was Lan Wangji who hesitated on the border, marked on this back hill by nothing more than a thin strip of bricks at the edge of the field.

“Rabbits!” Lan Yuan cried, and tugged him forward by the hand. “There are rabbits!”

“Xichen would not have misled you,” Lan Wangji said, amused.

“I know.” Lan Yuan immediately slowed down contritely, and looked up at him with confusion. “But there are no pets allowed in the Cloud Recesses.”

“The rabbits are not pets,” said Lan Wangji, perhaps more automatically defensive than the occassion called for. “They simply find this meadow enjoyable, as it is filled with clover and, coincidentally, sometimes scraps from the kitchens. Also - ” He gestured to the line of brick several feet behind them - “we are no longer in the Cloud Recesses.”

“Huh.” Lan Yuan cocked his head as though this was something he’d never heard before, rather than something he’d been explicitly told they were going to do, this first day of Lan Wangji’s release from seclusion. “It’s colder, in a nice way. And there’s a lot of - ”

He shut his mouth abruptly, as though someone had hurriedly told him to stop talking.

“Rabbits!” he shouted suddenly, for all appearances remembering thei presence with absolute delight. “Can I play with them, Father?” He pulled on Lan Wangji’s hand again. “Can we play with the rabbits?”

“You can and you may,” said Lan Wangji, and let his hand go.

Lan Wangji was itching now, burning, to draw his guqin. But of course this permission meant that he had to spend several minutes carefully coaching Lan Yuan on the way to quietly approach a rabbit without causing it alarm, how to offer some of the lettuce they’d brought and how to pick one up and hold it safely. Mitigating his impatience was the unabashed awe on Lan Yuan’s face when the first rabbit let him pet its ears, and his own gratitude at how several of the older rabbits seemed to remember him. (Or possibly they just recognized “man in white sitting quietly with lettuce”, and found it a more attractive invitation than “quietly bouncing six-year-old with lettuce.”)

But, fascinated though he’d been, Lan Yuan quickly lost interest in the rabbits. He pet them absently, but kept looking around as though more interesting things were happening in the clear air. A sudden wind whipped though the meadow, acrid with resentful energy, and he scooted to Lan Wangji’s side.

(”Everyone shut the fuck up!” Mama’s robes and hair lashed as resentful energy rushed out from him, pushing back the clamoring crowd of ghosts. His fists clenched and his eyes flashed red, and the scent of blood rose about him. “You will line up single-file to talk to A-Yuan, if and when I say you get to talk to him! Right now, he’s playing - oh, look, Hanguang-jun’s getting out his guqin, probably to play Inquiry. Go bother him!”)

Lan Wangji couldn’t stand it anymore. He settled Wangji on his lap and set his fingers for the strong opening chords of a general Inquiry, to announce his presence and summon any spirits within range - and paused, and leaned over to ask Lan Yuan, “Is your Mama here, now?”

“Ye - ” Lan Yuan squeezed his lips shut and shook his head. “I mean, no. Who’s Mama?”

“Lan Yuan,” Lan Wangji said sternly.

Lan Yuan shrunk, but didn’t break.

“Mama’s a secret,” he whispered fiercely. “It’s a rule, like on the wall.”

“I know.” They’d had this conversation before, and Lan Wangji had never pushed beyond this. Even a child was allowed secrets, and Lan Wangji was in forced seclusion, punishment for a crime he didn’t regret but would accept the consequences of nonetheless, in spirit as well as letter (fave for A-Yuan’s near-daily visits - but that was allowed.) Moreover, even from the secluded jingshi, someone might hear his Inquiry and have questions of their own, and- and what if he was wrong? The disappointment would be like death again.

But now he was not just out of his house but beyond the border of the Cloud Recesses for the first time in three years, far from any plausible earshot save the rabbits’ and soaking in sunlight that reminded him of a smile. Now, he thought he’d seen a figure in black for a split second when the cold wind blew. and suddenly the idea of being right and not knowing it was more horrific than any other outcome.

He swallowed a rasping, Please - unseemly, and unjust to burden a child with. He gathered parental authority about himself like a cloak and improvised, “Rabbits do not like secrets. It is rude to keep them in this, their home.”

Lan Yuan bit his lip, and Lan Wangji gentled his voice. “They will still be secrets away from the rabbits’ meadow, and there will be no consequences for any broken rules.”

“Oh!” Lan Yuan sagged against Lan Wangji’s side and let out a sigh like he was coming home at the end of a month-long night hunt. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.” He bowed formally, from the seating position, in the direction of the greatest cluster of rabbits, which seemed unconcerned by the gathering resentful energy. “And thank you, rabbits, for your hospitality!”

He sat up, posture Lan-perfect, and pointed. “Mama’s there, pushing all the other ghosts into line. He says they have to talk one at a time, like in lessons. Are the ghosts in lessons, now? Is Mama a teacher, like Senior Feng and Great-Uncle?”

Lan Wangji, quite honestly, didn’t hear most of his son’s questions. He was too busy playing, perhaps more hesitant than he had ever played Inquiry in his life, Wei Ying?

He held his breath as the small light of a lost soul alighted upon the strings and plucked out, I am Ying Huang.

The breath seemed lost for good.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Ying,” said Lan Yuan. “Um - ” He glanced at Lan Wangji and back at the space above the guqin. “Yes, I- we- Father can tell your husband that it wasn’t his fault - oh wow, you had a baby? What’s its name?” A pause. “That’s pretty! I bet she’ll be pretty, too - you are, so I bet she’ll be pretty just like her mother!”

The chatter, a six-year-old’s mix of earnestness and polite nothings mimicked from adults, reeled him back from that distant, breathless place. Inquiry was still in effect and the spirit continued to play, far more slowly than Lan Yuan responded, Tell Ying Chao it was not his fault, nor the baby’s.

“A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji managed. “This - Ying Huang. She is not your Mama?”

“No?” Lan Yuan looked utterly baffled. He pointed to somewhere directly ahead of him. “Mama is right there. He’s tall and wears black and has blood all over, sometimes, when he’s angry or sad. Miss Ying is here - ” he pointed at the space on the opposite side of the guqin - “and she’s short and has a greenish dress, and only only has blood on her - oh! Mama’s coming here now...”

Another spirit light solidified as it approached the guqin. This one was brighter and darker at once, strong and resentful - yet not...active in it. It simply was.

It hovered over the strings for a moment, quivering side to side like the eyes of a shamed person, before alighting and gently plucking out, Hello, Hanguang-jun.

There was no way to know that it was him, and yet... Lan Wangji was breathless again, but this time it felt as though he simply had too much inside him to have room for air.

His fingers moved over the strings without conscious direction. He thought he might be mouthing the name. Wei Ying.

The guqin language of Inquiry was necessarily limited; there were only so many combinations one could make of seven strings. There was only one clear affirmative, yes, and no formal or informal intonations.

Nevertheless, Wei Wuxian managed to express, Yeah. Lan Wangji could imagine him shrugging, giving a rueful smile. Sorry about the whole ‘Mother’ lie. It was his idea.

Understandable. The rhythms of Inquiry called for question and answer. Did you not birth him yourself?

“Mama is laughing,” Lan Yuan announced, as pleased as though he’d organized every part of this himself. He sat up straight, hands in his lap, every inch the proper Lan disciple. “Father, can- may we just talk, now, instead of using Inquiry? It’s much faster, and I can understand it.”

“I’m afraid I cannot understand Wei Ying any other way,” said Lan Wangji, feeling real regret, On the guqin, Wei Wuxian played, We really do need a better way - this is boring. But a way with less soul-binding resentful ghost fuckery.

(Another word that was absolutely not in the vocabulary of Inquiry. Wei Wuxian, as always, managed anyway.)

Three years of parenting practice had one of Lan Wangji’s hands protectively on Lan Yuan’s shoulder, the other darting across Wangji’s strings. What do you mean, soul-binding resentful ghost trouble?

Wei Wuxian’s soul moved back from the strings, fading until it was barely visible. Lan Yuan nodded and shifted until he was sitting beside the guqin, between them.

“Mama says don’t worry, A-Yuan is fine,” he told Lan Wangji seriously. “He says it’s a...” He narrowed his eyes in focus. “‘Severe but non-ma-lig-nant case of resentful energy inculcation and imprinting, with a side order of a little bit of passive possession. By the conjoined spirits of the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Wangji must been visibly horrified, because Lan Yuan looked worried as he leaned forward and patted his knee.

“It means I can talk to Mama and other ghosts,” he explained in his own words, “and they can understand living people better when I’m there.” His face twisted skeptically. “Because that’s special?”

“It is very special,” Lan Wangji confirmed, still reeling a little from “passive possession by the conjoined spirits of the Burial Mounds.” But if Wei Wuxian said it was fine, then it must be fine - he would, Lan Wangji was exquisitely sure, mask any danger to himself, but never to A-Yuan.

Still, his gaze flicked to beyond Wei Wuxian, where there was nothing but silence, sunlight, and idle rabbits sleeping, or gnawing down the grass - and, he was sure, still a line of ghosts apparently determined to speak to his son.

Wei Wuxian must have noticed the movement of his eyes, because Lan Yuan began reciting dutifully again: “Mama says that there’s fourteen more spirits here, not counting Ying Huang - who went back to everyone else, now. There’s a draw, he thinks, to A-Yuan, even if they don’t know con-scious-ly that he can talk to them. And, of course, the handsome - oh, the great Hanguang-jun, known master of Inquiry.”

"Will they accept Inquiry with myself,” Lan Wangji asked, “while Lan Yuan continues to play with the rabbits?”

Lan Yuan watched the space where Wei Wuxian was.

“’Lan Zhaaan,’” he repeated, less certainly. “’You’re too - sorry, Mama. ...Yes, Mama.” He turned back to Lan Wangji. “He says you’re a very good dad and he’s so glad you’ve learned so much since the street in Yiling.”

Lan Wangji felt his ears turn red, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t exactly a high bar, to have learned how to treat a child better than to stand in silent bewilderment while the child wailed at one’s feet.

Oh.

“A-Yuan. Do you remember...”

Lan Yuan shook his head, looking down in shame.

“That is fine,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “Do you wish to resume playing with the rabbits?”

Lan Yuan’s entire being seemed to brighten; if he’d been a rabbit himself, his ears would have stood straight in excitement. But he looked guiltily at the line of waiting ghosts.

(They were mostly common people of Gusu, ghostly echoes of clothing in rough cloth and dull colors. Many were bloody, from missing limbs or cut chests or more, others were simply pale and thin. One had the ghost of a cat draped stubbornly around her shoulders. The farther they got from him, the less clear they were to see, but sadness and yearning radiated from all of them, even the ones who scowled or glared, dark energy flicking around their forms like a shadow of the aura Mama could summon.

“Go on, A-Yuan,” said Mama, with one of his warm smiles that felt like home. “Your dad and I will handle the deathly supplicants, but we can’t play with the bunnies nearly as well as you will - but be careful! They might recognize that you’re part radish, and try to eat you!”)

Lan Yuan leapt to his feet with a grin, and bowed quickly to both of them. “I’ll be careful! Thank you, Mama; thank you, Father!”

“Go slowly,” Lan Wangji called as he darted off. “The rabbits - ”

The rabbits had already scattered in the face of Lan Yuan’s run, save for one particularly lazy old one with a whole leaf of lettuce to itself.

He will learn, Wei Wuxian said on the guqin, with a meaningless trill that Lan Wangji had no trouble translating as a smile.

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chickynn · 4 years ago

Text

“Inosuke learns how to read”

I have no idea what this is supposed to be.

But enjoy.

Hana belongs to @pandabobachan

Rin belongs to me uwu

Hana sat across Inosuke as she teaches him how to read. Rin was beside her, enjoying Inosuke's suffering as he struggles to read a word.

"Alright, Inosuke, what does this say?" Hana smiles, pointing to a word written on the paper.

Inosuke squints at it, "B-bo...boooaa...-" Someone help him.

"It's 'boat', you idiot" Rin konks him on the head. Before anyone could even blink, the table flew across the room. Hana tried to restrain Inosuke from trying to rip Rin's hair out.

"WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT READING! IT'S NOT LIKE I NEED IT FOR DEFEATING DEMONS!!" Inosuke gives up, then proceeds to stomp out of the room. Hana follows after him.

I mean, he's not wrong.

Rin stared at the mess he made. Looks like they're going to get in trouble again.

"W-what happened?" Tanjiro, who had just entered the room with Zenitsu, asked. He then noticed the broken table at the other side of the room, "Oh"

Rin shrugged, "That's not my problem now," she peaced sign, "later!". Then she walked out of the room, Zenitsu following after.

"Rin-chaaaan~" He did one of his weird giggles. But for some reason, Rin find them cute-

"What do you want?" Rin whipped around, glaring at him, trying to hide her obvious blush.

Zenitsu only pouted at her, "Where are you going, Rin-chan?"

Rin's facial expressions soften, "I'm going on a mission...like, really far away from here" she scratched the back of her head, "So I had to take the train for that..."

She started to have Vietnam war flashbacks. She shivered.

Zenitsu whined, "But Rin-chaaan! You're going to be far away from me!"

"Quit your whining, I won't be gone for too long anyways"

Zenitsu was about to comply more, but Rin already went ahead and shyly kisses his cheek, before stumbling away from him.

Tanjiro went out the room to see Zenitsu fainting. He walked over his body, "Zenitsu, wake up! We're going on a mission!"

-------------

Rin sat on a booth, farther away from everyone else so she wouldn't be disturbed. But then she started to hear Vector's theme song from Despicable Me.

A strange looking man wearing an orange jumpsuit sat in front of her, smirking, "Hey"

Rin ignored him and continued staring out the window.

He got up and tiptoed beside her, "I'm thinking about applying to be a tsuguko of a pillar going by the name 'Vector!'"

She only scooted away.

He continued, "It's a mathematical term represented by an arrow in both direction and magnitude!"

Rin was now already at the far side of the seat.

Vector slid next to her, "VECTOR! that's me! Cus I'm stopping demons with both direction and magnitude! OH YEAAHHH!"

Rin wanted to beat the shit out of him right now, but decided to preserve her energy for the actual battle.

Seeing as she is ignoring him right now, he still continued, "Check out my new weapon..." He then pulled put a gun, "PIRANHA GUN! OH YESSSS"

Rin looked at his weapon, isn't that dangerous? But then again, she remembered that her squad has Inosuke in it.

"It shoots out live piranhas! Ever seen one? NO! I invented this myself, want a demonstration?"

She doesn't even need to answer that because he had already shot it and it accidentally hit a person. He started screaming and immediately ran towards the very front part of the train.

Rin shot up from her seat and was about to run after the person, but the train stopped. Everyone on the train starts panicking.

Rin screeched, "WHAT HAPPENED-?"

"THE CONDUCTOR DIED!" A random stranger screeches back.

Rin fell to her knees, "nOOOOOO- HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO GO TO MY MISSION?!"

Then she turned to glare at Vector, who just slowly hid his gun and pretended like nothing happened. She grabbed him by his collar, ready to throw a punch at him.

"YOUUUUUUUUU!!!"

Vector starts sobbing, "NO WAIT PLEASE!! I HAVE CHILDREN"

"Rin! Please him go! He PROBABLY didn't do anything!" A voice that sounds like Tanjiro said, catching her off guard.

She turned around to see Tanjiro, behind him were Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Hana.

Wait what.

"What are you all doing here?" Rin furrowed her eyebrows. She is beyond confusion now.

"I guess we're all sent to the same mission" Tanjiro chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

That kind of explains it.

"Attention passengers; please remain calm, this isn't the first time that our conductor has died. We'll fix this issue which will take a couple of hours. So in the meantime, listen to this really calm music used in Titanic."

A loud screeching noise was heard from the speakers. Everyone started screaming and covering their ears, begging for it to stop. That totally calmed everyone down.

"Damn, I sure do wonder how they're going to fix this situation" Hana said, munching on her hot cheetos that she has taken out of nowhere.

Rin groaned and went to a different train cart so that she can do something while they're stuck here. Zenitsu follows after her, "My love! Look, I'm here with you right now! Why don't we just enjoy each other's companies- wait what the-"

There was a rave going on in this cart. Rin stared at it in disgust but decided to enter it anyways. It probably has food in and drinks in it, better than Hana's hot cheetos anyway.

Zenitsu followed her in confusion as she starts eating the food on the tables. "Hey, Rin...are we really supposed to be here?"

Rin didn't answer him, only stuffing more food in her mouth. She honestly doesn't know what she's eating, but holy shit these tasted good. Zenitsu only watched her as she drank something from one of the cups that were placed there.

"Hey! You gotta try these!" Rin offered him a drink, but he refused. He's probably still thinking that they weren't supposed to be eating or drinking in here. She shrugged and drank the whole thing by herself in one gulp. She felt a little tipsy after drinking that, but she can still manage.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!" Someone yelled, but Rin didn't even care, she just continued refilling her cup, completely unaffected. That is, until Zenitsu grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the place, causing her drink to spill. Once they were out of the place, he noticed that Tanjiro and the others are nowhere to be found.

'Oh God oh please oh no-' Zenitsu starts hsving a mental breakdown internally.

"nOoOOoooOOO, wHy'D yOu do THaaAT-" Rin whined, throwing weak punches at him, none of them affecting him. Zenitsu sighed, pulling her arm over his shoulder to help her walk properly. Rin complained, saying that she can walk properly by herself.

He doubts that.

Zenitsu sets her down on a booth, then started to think of ways to handle this. It wasn't the first time that he is handling his drunk partner. It's just that Tanjiro was there to help him. But now he is nowhere to be found.

He just decided to stay and watch over her to prevent her from doing stupid stuff. Right now, she's trying to get out of his iron grip so that she can go back to that cart. Rin didn't know when he got so strong to hold her down without struggling, but holy shit that just turns her on-

I CANT BRETAGE WTF

Anyways, this wasn't the 'enjoying each other's companies' that Zenitsu pictured earlier. He starts to pray for Tanjiro or the others to come back.

Soon, Rin started calming down and is now dozing off to sleep. "N-nOoo i dOn'T waNnA sLeeP...yet...." lmao too late bitch you're snoring off your fat ass now.

Zenitsu was thankful that she finally fell asleep. Now all he needs to do is keep praying for the others to come back.

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

Rin finally woke up from her sleep. She immediately sat up to look at her surroundings. She noticed everyone else sitting on different beds next to hers. They looked like they just came out of a warzone or something.

"Holy shit...what happen to you guys?" Rin asked.

Tanjiro struggled to sit up, "Well...Inosuke-"

"Makes sense"

"B-but I didn't get to finish-"

"Rin-chan! You're awake!!" Zenitsu came in the room and was about to run and hug her, but he realized that he's holding something. So he walked over to her and placed them on her nightstand before hugging her.

"So uh,, what day is it?" Rin asked, trying to free herself from Zenitsu's bone crushing hug.

"One" Inosuke said.

Hana sighed, "What he meant to say is, it's just been a day since the train incident"

Everything suddenly comes back to Rin. That Vector guy. Hana's hot cheetos. That rave party in the cart. Her heads started to hurt just by thinking about it.

Zenitsu noticed how she's holding her head, so he gives her a painkiller that he had brought in earlier.

After drinking the painkiller, she tried processing everything again. Then she realized that she's supposed to be on her mission right now. She then proceeds to wonder where the fuck they are.

"If you're wondering, we're actually in the village for our mission now" Han said. Wow- it's like she read Rin's mind or something.

"Yes, I can read your mind" Hana smiles at her.

"Wait what-"

"Nothing, anyways, let's just stay and rest here for a bit before we yeet out"

"I DON'T WANNA SIT AND WAIT, I WANNA KILL SOME DEMONS NOW!! " Inosuke screamed, jumping out of his bed.

"Inosuke, calm down! Remember your breathing exercises!" Tanjiro panicked and got out of his bed to restrain the angy boi, "Try doing some Yoga too!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS A YOGA, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT"

"Do the dang Yoga!" Hana intervened.

"I SAID I'M NOT GOING TO-"

Rin rose up from her bed (which made Zenitsu fall because he was sitting on her) and started stomping on Inosuke.

"Uh guys, I'm pretty sure this isn't how yoga went" Tanjiro said.

"STOP! THIS ISN'T CALMING HIM DOWN!" Hana screamed. Zenitsu starts screaming aswell as he tried to pry Rin off Inosuke, but he somehow managed to get into the mess.

Hana looked at Tanjiro, who just laid back down, "Aren't you going to do anything?"

Tanjiro pulled the covers over him, "It doesn't matter, they're not going to listen to me anyways"

He has a point. With that, the two of them went back to sleep as if nothing is currently happening.

Meanwhile, Inosuke managed to run away from Rin and Zenitsu. Rin ran to chase after him, screaming, screeching and yelling can be heard from outside the room. Zenitsu tried to follow after but he realizes that there was also no point in that, so he just went to bed too lmao

Inosuke and Rin ran to the front desk, the lady in charge starts screaming, thinking Inosuke was a monster because of his mask. He hisses at her and proceeds to climb on the walls, away from the place.

What did Hana see in this creature.

Rin starts running after him outside the inn they were staying. Inosuke stood there, completely frozen and staring at something. “Come on, pig head, let’s go back in-” She was cut off short when she saw what was in front of them.

A demon. A huge one. A bunch of letters that can be formed into words looked like they were tattooed into his skin. The letters are also moving and shifting, forming new words. Rin wonders what his demon art is. But anyways, she wasted no time in grabbing her blade, preparing to swing at him.

Inosuke went behind to inspect something from the back of him. Rin swing her blade to the demon’s neck, but he dodged, kicking her side. She slams to the wall, the impact made her vision a bit blurry. She looked over at Inosuke, who was still looking behind the demon’s back.

“MWUAHAAHHAHAHAH!! THAT THING WON’T WORK ON ME!! THE ONLY WAY TO DEFEAT ME IS IF YOU SAY A MAGIC WORD”

“Please die” Rin groaned, laying down somehow comfortably on the broken debris of the wall.

“NICE TRY! BUT THAT’S NOT IT, THE WORD IS MERELY IMPOSSIBLE TO THINK OF!!” The demon does a jojo pose, continuing, “ONLY PEOPLE WITH MASSIVE IQ CAN BE ABLE TO THINK OF THE WORD”

“Hey this spells boat!” Inosuke happily says, pointing to a word behind his back. He is proud of himself for remembering what had Hana thought him. Everything fell silent for-

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MY WEAKNESS”

“wait what”

Then he explodes. Bits and pieces of body parts of the demon came flying everywhere, those whose mouths were open were blessed with demon limbs.

“I have so many questions right now, but I’m gonna sleep” Rin grumbles, closing her eyes to peacefully rest around the splattered insides of the demon. Until she heard a bunch of footsteps running over her.

“OH MY GOSH RIN IS DEAD” A voice laced with worry said, who Rin assumed was Hana. She still didn’t budge, to exhausted to even open her eyes. Another voice that sounded like Zenitsu’s spoke, “MOVE!! I KNOW HOW TO DO CPR!!”

Rin’s eyes shot back up sitting up instantly, “nO WAIT- MMPH!!”

Ah too late. Zenitsu had already performed his so-called ‘cpr’ which is literally just kissing her. He pulls away after, inspecting Rin’s now wide awaken face. “HEY IT WORKED- OW!!”

Rin repeatedly smacks him on the head, a furious blush plastered on her face. Meanwhile, Hana runs up to Inosuke with the most worried look on her face, “What happened?!”

Inosuke smirks under his mask, sticking up his nose in the air in pride, “The great Lord Inosuke has defeated the demon!!” Then he victoriously laughs. Hana giggles, hugging him tightly as she nuzzles her face against his chest.

“Wow...you’re so strong hehehe”

Inosuke scoffs, “Of course I am! Who do you think I am?!”

“My strong Inosuke~”

“YES!! PRAISE ME MORE!” Inosuke cackles more, picking her up and spinning them together. A matching blush adorning both of their cheeks. Tanjiro felt single now.

“Hey uh...sorry to interrupt but how exactly did you defeat it?” Tanjiro nervously intervenes, thinking it was rude to interrupt them. Inosuke didn’t seem to mind that much though.

“That’s easy! I just simply have big IQ!” Inosuke snickers, pointing at himself pridefully. Everyone else doubts that. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Hana looked at him in confusion, then they looked at Rin. She shrugs, “I don’t know guys, I had a concussion earlier and started seeing....things”

She shivers, after having another Vietnam flashback for a split second. Everyone else decided to just ask her later after her headache have subsided. They headed back to the inn, not even bothering to clean up the demon limbs or the broken wall.

#demon slayer ocs #kny ocs #kimetsu no yaiba ocs #hana fujiwara #rin honoyama #rinzen #hanosuke #panda-chaaaan!!

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hysteriaww · 5 years ago

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Your favorite bonkai scene and why?

Oooohh i’ve never gotten a Bonkai ask before how exciting!! Ok possibly a controversial opinion but I honestly love the TVD 8x14 Bonkai scene in the 2018 prison world because:

1) The way the scene was lit up with that sultry red mood lighting like bonkai were about to film a porno right then and there was so perfect bc of how RED is just the perfect color to represent their whole dynamic (blood/rage/lust)

2) The fact that we got to hear Kai canonically call Bonnie “hot.” Even tho it was already canon that he was crazy attracted to her by this point, we’d never actually gotten to hear him (or really any hot charismatic dude on TVD) call Bonnie “pretty”/“hot” etc. until this scene, at which point literally NOBODY could deny that a charismatic, hot, fan-favorite character like kai was attracted to bonnie anymore

3) “Are you here to punish me? ‘Cause that’s kinda hot” as he smirks at her all chained up at her mercy and checks her out FELT LIKE WATCHING A FEVER DREAM COME TO LIFE bcs that was honestly something straight out of the realm of fanfiction and the fact that OUR SHIP actually got THAT LINE gave me 20 extra years of life. To me, it honestly felt like that line was specifically inserted just for the Bonkamily in a rare display of kindness towards us from plague??

4) Bonnie smirking and looking so pleased with herself and Kai’s situation like she was genuinely enjoying toying with him. Bcs that really cemented in canon the fact that iNnoCeNt Bonnie enjoys their antagonistic cat-and-mouse battle of wits game just as much as pSyChO Kai does!! (Which is why it’s bullshit that plague claimed Bonnie was “too pure” for someone as dark as Kai bcs clearly this proved she’s more complex than that smh)

5) Super tiny detail, but the fact that Bonnie knew Two Princes by The Spin Doctors was a song Kai hated, low-key warmed my heart bcs.. even tho she hates him she somehow knows, remembers, and keeps track of exactly what his taste in music is and which songs he likes/dislikes?? It made their “hate” feel more personal/intimate to specifically each other

6) The fact that this scene made it so that Kai’s last word on TVD was “Bonnie” (which is also incidentally the only TVDU name he ever gets right lmfao)

7) Bonkai narrative closure (at least for me). Back when I was watching S6 and all I knew about the finale was that Kai was gonna die, my mind had instinctively assumed “ok well if Kai dies then obv Bonnie’s probably the one who kills him, considering all their history. If anyone kills him, it should be her. She makes the most narrative sense. It would bring their whole arc full circle and serve as poetic justice/resolution for both her and him. Ok I think I’ll be sad but fine with him dying if she’s the one who gets to kill him.” So imagine my damn shock when I reached the TVD 6x22 Bonkai showdown scene expecting some epic fireworks display of a fight, but all I got was 2 secs of banter and actual fighting before DAMON of all people killed him…??? THAT felt like one of the biggest injustices to Bonkai (in a sea of other injustices). So when the Bonkai 8x14 scene came along, and this time, BONNIE was the one who got to defeat Kai ALONE with zero involvement from the eternal Bonkai cock-block/third-wheel Damon, and she was truly the last character to interact with Kai onscreen, it felt like I finally got what I’d wanted in S6. (It also opened the floodgates for a SEA of Bonkai fanfic possibilities with how surprisingly open-ended it left them).

…I didn’t expect my answer to end up being this long but then again it’s Bonkai! Thanks for your question!

#bonkai #asks #bonnie bennett #kai parker #anti damon salvatore #anti tvd #anti julie plec #bonnie bennett x kai parker #mine

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foodbytesback · 4 years ago

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I Try One of Everything at Salt City Market (Part 1)

I often rag on my hometown of Syracuse for not having a particularly creative restaurant scene. A city with largely Italian and Irish populations has, surprisingly, yielded a lot of forgettable Italian family restaurants and Irish pubs that all kind of blur together. Admittedly, I’m also a bit of a shut-in (especially with the pandemic), so I won’t claim to know all the ins-and-outs of some of the more “underground” restaurants. So when I first heard about the Salt City Market, a collective of vendors selling foods from a wide variety of ethnicities, I was excited to hear about something new coming to that seeming-abandoned lot downtown. They’ve had plenty of setbacks (most, obviously, pandemic-related), but now they’re finally open for our dining pleasure.

This project has been almost a year in the making, so it’s no surprise that, on the day of the grand opening, people were so excited that everyone ended up running out of food. Being the fool that I am, I assumed that going at 4:00 on the second day would be less busy. We ended up waiting in line for about 10 minutes, as they were being very diligent about enforcing occupancy limits and getting people in and out as safely as possible. Even though it was about 15°F out, I would say the overall experience was well worth the wait.

I honestly was too busy trying to figure out what to get and also staying 6 feet away from everyone else that I didn’t pay much mind to the decor within the space. I didn’t even notice music was playing until one of my friends pointed out they were playing a song she liked (I know I’ve heard this song dozens of times, I could have sworn it was Animal Collective but after scouring their discography I guess it isn’t). It had that kind of hip, start-up-y vibe that, when juxtaposed with the run-down apartment building across the street, would have raised questions about gentrification if it weren’t for the sheer number of POC chefs and entrepreneurs involved.

So, without further ado, let’s talk about the food. When I say I’m trying “one of everything,” I guess I actually mean “one thing from each vendor (or, rather, for this week, half of them),” which may be a little misleading, but let’s be real, I can’t afford one of everything. (I briefly considered emailing them to see if I could get some sort of “Media Pass,” but I figured even if they did things like that it would require me to actually have readers lmao) Also, some places had also started to run out of things again, but I will do my best to review what they were able to give me without a sense of “ugh, this isn’t what I wanted.” And obviously, since we got takeout and drove like 20 minutes to get the food back home, I’m not going to be judging the food in terms of things like “it was cold,” or “the breading got soggy from the condensing steam in the package.”

BIG IN BURMA- Samosas- $5

2 disclaimers- 1.) Of all the ethnicities represented at the market, I have the least knowledge and/or exposure to Burmese cuisine. Judging by the menu and my basic understanding of geography, I’d say the simplest (and thus probably not super accurate) way to describe it is a cross between Indian and Thai food. 2.) I used to work with the dad of the owner, so I felt like trying Big In Burma first was a priority.

While I initially wanted to try the Nan Gyi Thoke, they were out of noodles so I eventually settled on an order of samosas. I say “settled,” but really, is there really anything better than a dumpling?

The dough was flaky and crisp, almost like phyllo dough. The potato and onion filling was simple (and in my opinion could have used a little more of the curry spice blend they used), but tasty. The sauce that accompanied them isn’t described anywhere on their menu, but tastes a lot like Frank’s Red Hot but with a little more of a vinegary tang to it. All in all, a great little snack that, despite being a fried dumpling, didn’t get too heavy, which was good because I had a lot more food to eat.

FIRECRACKER THAI KITCHEN- Spicy Basil Chicken- $13.50

My first thought upon tasting the chicken by itself was “Hey, that’s way too much fish sauce, I’m probably not gonna eat this whole thing.” However, once you mix the chicken and the rice together, the flavors become much more well balanced, and I did end up eating the whole thing, thank you very much. My biggest gripe, however, was that this “Spicy Basil” Chicken didn’t deliver very strongly on the “Spicy” or the “Basil,” two things I love in Thai food but found myself wanting more of. The fried egg was good, though. I’m always a sucker for a fried egg.

It might also be worth mentioning that one of my friends got the “Street Style Eggs Over Rice,” which, despite the menu description including other things, was just a fried egg over a pile of rice and a cup of sauce.

MISS PRISSY’S- Fried Chicken Wings- $12.50

(I hope I’m remembering that price right, the online version of their menu seems incomplete.)

Miss Prissy’s seems to be one of the busier stands, given they were probably the hardest hit of the ones I went to when it came to shortages. They were out of the braised oxtail and pepper steak that were my first and second choices, so I “settled” on the wings. Once again, that’s not a bad thing.

The breading on the wings was just the right thickness, and was somehow still crispy after traveling. They were also a very good size, too. The only negative thing I could say about the wings was that it seemed like they were seasoned after cooking, instead of seasoning the breading, which lead to some pieces being more well seasoned than others. (I’m noticing a trend of me thinking everything was underseasoned… did I catch the ‘rona without noticing or something…)

The mac & cheese may look like my mom’s sad, dry mac at first glance, but it is NOT. It was much creamier and cheesier than it looks. The green beans, however, were pretty much just as sad and probably-canned as they look. I look forward to getting the collards some day, once they stop running out.

(Also, this is really neither here nor there, but the leftover samosa sauce goes really well with these wings.)

PIE’S THE LIMIT- Oat and Berry Slice- $3.50

While they do have an interesting selection of savory pies, I decided to get something more dessert-y to round out my night of hedonism- uhh I mean supporting local business.

The crust was surprisingly tender and flaky for a vegan dough (ie no butter/lard/etc). The berry filling was a pretty much perfect blend of tart and sweet that you would want from a pie filling. The oat topping clearly uses some kind of steel cut oat- or at least something other than the instant oats I’m accustomed to in streusel toppings like this- because it has a more toothsome chew to it, which I thought added a nice contrast in texture.

All-in-all, everything was very good, with most of the shortcomings easily being excused as these businesses try to keep up with how busy they’ve been. I’m much as it kills me to have to wait, I’m probably going to have to wait a week or two for part 2 for the crowds to die down a little.

#food #restaurant review #syracuse #salt city market #hey tumblr? how the fuck did THIS get shadowbanned

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you-are-worth-the-wait · 4 years ago

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This is going to be super crazy long I think. I tried to address all the things you talked about. This is prolly as serious as it gets. You don’t really have to respond to it or anything. It was just an explanation to hopefully clear things up and any questions asked are prolly rhetorical. I don’t need you to explain or justify anything. I was just hoping to clear things up in my own rambling muddled way.

You never did tell me what happened or what happened during your weekend/days off. I don’t know if you purposely avoided that or what not. I only ask because I know you do come to me when things got difficult or you need someone to talk to. I know you also have your therapist as an outlet for your feelings/emotions. It’s not that I want to take his place or am a therapist. I’m still someone that cares for you and wants you to still feel safe that you can confide in me not only as someone who loves you but genuinely cares for you. I know it’s difficult because of who I am and what I may represent in this situation but I still do love, respect, and care for you even though we may not be together and I’ll always want to make sure you are okay.

Ehhh...who knows if sushi was our thing. But truth is, I think “we” are our own thing. I think we’ve experienced so much and connected on a different level that it’s possible to say that our entire relationship and everything that we’ve experienced could be “our thing”. From something as complicated as planned trips, road trips, seeing musicals, spending nights/mornings together to the simple things such as driving to work together, holding each other’s hands, talking on the phone to and from work, watching terrace house, messaging each other. From the physical aspect of raw and uninhibited sex, to exploring and sharing our kinks, to intimacy of passionately kissing and just randomly fooling around and being able to laugh during the most intimate of moments and still find a way into each other’s heart. Even to something as weird as doing a taco taste off to making fun of the way I cook. It’s almost as if pretty much every moment/memory/experience that I’ve had in my life that was enhanced and/or made more memorable in one way or another because I was able to share it with you could/would be labeled as “our thing”.

I do feel sad for him too but at the same time it’s difficult for me to rationalize my empathy to others because of what he has and what I don’t have. I’m not a bad person and it’s not like I’m oblivious to the hurt he feels. It’s just hard to say to him that I’m sorry. To say I’m sorry that he feels that way and that I see him hurting the way he does. But who would ever believe me when deep down I do care and love you. Like, I can see myself saying those words and meaning it but at the same time I could have you standing right next to me, lean over and kiss you on the check, and be just as genuine in saying that I love you. How I could look him in the eyes and honestly say that I never meant to hurt him but in the same breath tell him that were the one who opened up the possibility to/for love and when I accepted it I knew that I would do anything I could to make you happy because I loved/love you too.

You also know I think about you daily. Simple things like whenever I flip through Netflix and see terrace house. Or Disney+ and I see Hamilton or the greatest showman. Hearing a Mraz song. Hearing a girl with a “unique” voice. Randomly doing clumsy things and wondering if that’s ever happened to you. Dropping food, spilling something, needing a napkin because I’ve made a mess. Seeing couples doing random, fun things. The way I use a knife to cut things. Putting my scrubs on inside out. Seeing your name on a chart or birth month and day. When I see “emergency contact” and I think of how we used each other. When someone asks if I’m attracted to or like someone. How I do see your name at random shops/stores. When I gravitate towards chopsticks instead of forks. And like I said, when I want to share an experience with someone and give them my take on it but it involved you and I’m so set on saying, “my girl and I...my friend and I...”Lily” and I...” and I have to cut myself short because I don’t necessarily want people to follow up my statement with “who is “Lily”...how is “Lily” and what not.

Not to say that we treated him or what we had as a “big game” but we both knew the risks with what we were doing. We both have each other outs and we discussed it at times. But each time we came to the same conclusion that the other person was worth the risk to have them in our lives. I don’t know if it’s fair to associate how we did things and compare it to how good you may be when it comes to playing games with strategy but there prolly is some element of truth to it. But I think the only reason why we could have been perceived as “good” as what we did was because I think we both wanted it/each other bad enough to make “us” work somehow, one way or another. Yes, when I admitted the snout of things we did, the places/trips we went to/on in state and abroad, the amount of hikes, over night vacays, and for however long/short amount of time, and to have done all that...you and I did a lot of sacrificing and compromising in able to do what we did. But we did it because the other person was worth it. Every time you ran late to something or chose to hang out wotn me instead of him/family. Coming over early and staying out later to be with me. Picking you up and dropping you off at work when I didn’t have work. Coming to get you from work when you weren’t well enough to drive home. Choosing to be with you instead of going to the gym or hanging out with my family because I wanted to spend that extra 5-10 minutes, 1-4 hours with you, because be it 5 minutes or 5 hours, it never seemed like it was enough time. I think we both figured out a way sacrifice things in/during our lives but it was for each other, and we did it in a heartbeat with no regrets in the moment because the other person was worth it. So I’m not saying that you/we both know how to play games. I’m saying that with the proper motivation of it being you and me, we did need to figure out how to “play” and sacrifice certain things but we both knew who/why/what we were doing it for and for you/that, I wouldn’t apologize or let someone hold it against me because if I had the chance, I wouldn’t change a single decision I made when it came to you and me. That’s just me and my honest opinion.

I guess it’s the way I word things or the timing of it all. I am genuinely concerned about you and I do want to know what is on your mind and what you are thinking. You and this entire situation is so hard to “read” though when all I’ve got to go through are “words on a screen” and unknown lengths of time/pauses in between, be it minutes, hours, or days. I learned and picked up a lot of what I could figure and learn to understand from your nonverbal cues, the inflection/tones of your voice, your eyes, your genuine and fake smiles, your silence, your kisses, the way you hug/hold/cling to me. It’s difficult for me to go from all of that and feeling that I was learning/getting to know you, and now I’m relegated to just words on a screen. So yeah, maybe I might jump the gun on asking certain things before you are ready or the way I type something out on here doesn’t necessarily reflect what I meant to say. It’s hard to go from you wondering at times how I could tell something is on your mind and figuring out how you felt based on a look or the energy you gave off to seeing us “fight/argue” more on here than we have face to face. To know that I’ve hurt you, angered you, made you question me, more on here than when we were together. How helpless I feel when you start to get get angry, sad, or feel you’ve said something wrong and pile on to your insecurities when I’ve never told you that you are ever a bother, that you are too much, that I can’t handle you, that you aren’t worth it, that you may not be good enough for me. I’ve never said or believed that about you. So yeah, it is difficult for me to gauge if what I’m asking is jumping the gun of what you are feeling or processing. From my side, all I know is I’m asking how you are feeling and trying to get a better understanding of where you are and what you may be thinking. Like you said, there are times when I ask/say things that maybe I’m lucky enough that you are in the moment of when those questions are asked at the moment you are receptive to it and are ready to think about it from that aspect. And then there are times where I ask the same questions for the same reason but you may be in that moment when you are figuring things out and my questions come across as being nosy, pushy, or as if I’m forcing you to think one way or another. I honestly don’t think I’ve asked how you’ve been and what you could be thinking about and inquiring further about things any more than I usually do. I guess it’s really hit or miss as the timing of when I ask them depending on what state and how receptive you are. I mean, there have been some times where you’ve kind of laughed off how ridiculous your situation is because of how absurd or nonsensical it was from your point of view.

But truth...yes. Sometimes I feel if I don’t ask, you may take it as me not caring or having moved on in some way. Like, if we talked for 6 months straight but not once do I ask how you are truly feeling, what’s on your mind, if I don’t say that I’m here for you, that you can talk to me if you need to. If all our conversations were just about random nothingness and never about what’s really on our minds or how we feel or if during a span of 6 months I never say that I miss you, not even once. Then yeah, I’m afraid that I may give you the impression that I don’t think about you, care about you, don’t miss you, or have moved on. It’s a subject matter that would be easier to confront and there are a lot of things that makes more sense to speak to each other face to face or even on the phone. But this is what we have at the moment. Although it’s helped us to stay in touch, given us a sense of comfort and hope, it has on more occasions than I’d like to count caused us grief, heartaches, and misunderstandings that could have totally been avoided.

Also, along your journey of whatever it is you are trying to discover about yourself, I feel that if we were together, you wouldn’t necessarily be doing it on your own the way you are trying to. If we were together, the journey you are taking, I feel, is something that you’d be talking to me about, bouncing off your thoughts and ideas, letting me know of your hopes and fears, what your reservations may be yet what you ultimately want for yourself. And the thing is that even though it’s a self discovery of who you are and what you want for yourself, if we were together, it’s a journey that you’d be talking and confiding in me about. At least that’s what I think it would be. Like, I have dreams for myself just as much as I have dreams for the both of us but just because it’s my own dreams, goals, and aspirations, it’s not like I’d hide it from you or not ask your opinion of it. Because yeah, ultimately it’s going to be me who figures and chooses the path I attempt to take in order to reach or discover things, but if we were together, I’d still ask you about your thoughts and opinions. It is a journey of self discovery but you play just as big a part of who I am so of course I’m going to want to include you and get your thoughts and opinions. I think maybe that’s what I’m trying to be for you or help you understand where I am coming from when I sometimes ask you things or may come across as intrusive or maybe I’m making you figure things out before you can figure it out yourself. And yes, I can see that you are still struggling to figure things out so I randomly say things here and there not so much to influence you or make you justify your thoughts or actions. It’s more so to help in any way I can or to maybe see things from a different perspective that you may not have seen or considered before. Like I said, I don’t know exactly what you are thinking or feeling but I sometimes do get the sense that it could be along the same lines of what I’m thinking when I mirror my thoughts and feelings but from your perspective. And again, only because I feel I’ve gotten to know you based on how we’ve connected. I’ve never said “this is how you feel...I’ll tell you what you are feeling/supposed to feel...this is what you should think...these are your thoughts”. The only time I venture into that realm is when you confirm what I thought of in the past or you admit/open up to me about certain things. Then do I say, “I thought you felt this way but now I know. I wondered what the reason was but now I understand.” And then I will go off on some random tangent as to why I thought those things in the first place. I don’t know if I had the reasons correct but you confirmed action/feeling.

I think I explained the reason why I thought about the ultimatum the way I did/do. Yes, the black and white of the ultimatum at the time ws difference of you being with me or him. Did I ever want to give you one, no. After he did it and that was the reason why you chose/had to be with him did I wish I had given you one, yes and no. The plain black and white explanation of that moment in retrospect was if I had given you the ultimatum, you prolly would have been with me. But the truth and grey of it all was/is that I knew back then and wat before then that I didn’t want you that way. It’s why I didn’t give you one, it’s why he gave you one before me, it’s why even when you were at a low point and wondered if maybe you needed an ultimatum to save you from yourself, I still asked and said the only way I’d do that is if you yourself gave me the okau to do so because at least then, it would have still been a mutual understanding and you were giving me permission to ask you to be with me and I would have done so because you couldn’t trust yourself anymore and you were willing to put your trust in me that I’d take care of you. Oddly enough, when he did give you the ultimatum, even though I didn’t realize you would have “obeyed/abided (I don’t know the proper term to use here)” by it, a part of me thought that that was the biggest mistake he could have ever made. Pretty much for all the same reasons he’s realizing now, I kinda knew back then which is why I didn’t give you one. The thing is, even though I didn’t give you and ultimatum, the fact of the matter was, just like you said, you’d be physically there. Here’s the difference in the grey vs the black and white of the ultimatum. His ultimatum is playing out the way it is now. After almost a year of “physically” being there, at this moment, this is what has happened since and what you have to show for “physically” being there. If it had been me who had done that, I would have possibly had the black and white of you being “physically there” with me. The grey of it all is the difference. In that same amount of time, at what point would you and I be in the relationship. Would we be better/worse. That’s the thing I can’t tell and that’s the grey of it all. And that’s the only reason why I mentioned the thought of me giving you an ultimatum. Not that I would have given you one. But if I did, maybe you would be with me now, which leads to wonder what I/we would have done/figured out in that time. Of course I’d be hopeful in thinking that yes, you still would have corn through a tough time and there would have been those moments of depression. But a part of me feels that together, maybe, you would have come out of it for the better in the long run. But again, that’s me and hopeful thinking. But that’s based on what I know about you and me and how we are when we are together. Alone, we are okay and prolly better than okay. Together, we are amazing. And if you were in the position you are now, trying to figure out/understand your life, you, how to process things. In the alternate universe where I gave the ultimatum and you were with me, you’d be asking my opinion when it comes to trying to figure out/understand yourself. That’s alternate universe with so many “ifs”. But to present reality, you are still trying to figure out/understand yourself and big picture. And I’m still here still trying to help you but not being physically with you. Gawd...does any of this make sense? You are gonna have to have another 4 day weekend to figure this all out.

Sooo...yeah...sorry. Crazy long. My bad. And same...you mean something to me as well. Even if I don’t say those words or as often as I could/should. I just wanted you to know that.

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harryknowsme · 5 years ago

Note

What songs remind you of the first five mutuals to pop into your head?

The challenges with this ask are many. First of all, I can’t possibly choose just five mutuals. I worry that I will hurt someone’s feelings if I don’t mention them, so please don’t be offended if you’re not in the list! It doesn’t mean I don’t love you dearly. It simply means that I had to limit it somehow. Secondly, my music tastes are not always contemporary or common, so I’m not sure that everyone will agree with the choices I’ve made for them. But…at the risk of upsetting people, I’m diving in since I got this ask twice.

@a-butterfly-on-his-tummy Somebody Loves You by Betty Who. (Not because I love her, but because this is how she loves me. It makes me feel warm and cuddly.) And you get a second song. Fighter by Christina Aguilera (because you’re always fighting against your body, but it’s making you stronger.)

@melissas173 Giants by Matt Nathanson (Matt is my second favorite artist, and he talks about how this song represents how amazing we are as human beings. In my world, Mel is a giant in her support and love for those around her.)

@harolinastyles None of Them Are You by Brendan James (I adore this song and it’s message. I hope you’ll listen and see why I chose it for you, L.)

@heart-attack-harry Sometimes It’s a Bitch by (who else?) Stevie Nicks (It just seemed to fit, Court.)

@styloff You Get What You Give by New Radicals (You got the music in you, Don’t let go! You give a lot of love, M, and I hope you feel you get it back.)

@stylesschmyles Lights Up by Harry. (You know who you are, and I’m honored to be getting to know you, too.)

@icanseeyourholo: Stand Up by Sugarland (I don’t know if you know this one, but I’m hoping you’ll listen and understand why I chose it for you. It fits.)

@cheshirepuddin: London by Fillmore (no explanation needed, I hope. 🤞🏻)

@julilentille: God Moving Over the Face of the World by Moby. (Don’t ask me why this one came to mind because I can’t explain it. It just fits you. And thanks for starting this little association game. It’s been fun.)

@nikibi6: Hot in Here by Nelly (You know why. Don’t pretend you don’t.)

@aggresivelyfriendly: TPWK by Harry. (Every time I have the pleasure of being in your company, I am reminded of how genuinely kind you are to everyone.)

@harryisart: Hall of Fame by The Script (It’s where you belong for sure!)

@cantquitu: Follow Your Arrow by Kacey Musgraves (You definitely follow your own arrow here, and I appreciate that so much!)

@accidentalharrie: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World (No clue why this is what came to mind. Perhaps it will resonate with you anyway?)

@justharried: Just Like Fire by Pink (No one can be just like you anyway. 😉)

@holo-styles: Brave by Sara Bareilles (I’m not sure why I think you’re brave exactly, as I can’t pinpoint anything specific you’ve said or done, but it’s absolutely how I see you.)

@chasm2018: Try Not To Look So Pretty by Dwight Yoakum (chosen because I can imagine you saying this to H)

@papiermachecat: Superwoman by Alicia Keys (because you simply ARE superwoman!)

@stylesinthewild: Me by Taylor Swift (Cause there’s no one else like you, you, you.)

#Anon

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shireness-says · 6 years ago

Text

Playing the Part

Prologue: Overture

Summary: As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: It’s finally here - the Broadway AU I’ve been threatening to write for ages! I’m excited to finally post this, and I hope you’re excited to read it. I’ve got a bunch of these saved up - 7 completed chapters and significant chunks of 4 more - so I should be able to post these every Monday.

I had a lot of help getting this to its final state, so special thanks to @katie-dub for coming up with the title, @kmomof4 for proofing my outline, and @snidgetsafan for her ever-exceptional beta skills. Y’all are the best.

Each chapter title will be pulled from musical songs. The overture is traditionally the music that plays after the lights dim but before the show starts, and oftentimes sets the stage for the show to come by combining snippets of the musical numbers to come.

Overarching disclaimer: my theater experience is purely on the community theater level and only on the techie side, not the acting side. I strive for accuracy, but pull on my own experience and as such may not achieve it.

Tagging those who have expressed interest or I think will like this: @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, @revanmeetra87, @onceuponaprincessworld, @courtorderedcake, @snowbellewells, @branlovesouat, @aerica13, @searchingwardrobes, @teamhook, @awkwardnessandbaseball. Send me a message if you want me to keep tagging you or to be added to this list!

Without further ado: enjoy!

Emma Swan falls into working theater crew somewhat on accident.

That’s the story of her life, really – unexpectedly pregnant at 18, moved to New York on a whim (the reasoning being roughly “if not now, when?”), ended up with a job at Granny’s Diner because it happened to be next to what must be the only free parking in the city, and with a roommate because the owner’s granddaughter just happened to be looking for an apartment and a roommate at that very time.

In the same vein, while it was less of an accident that she became friends with Mary Margaret Blanchard (NYU theater major and friend of Ruby’s who liked to study at the diner), it was entirely by chance that Mary Margaret got her working crew. The truth of the matter is that Emma had a 4-month-old and very little cash, and the NYU theater department needed someone to do some scenery painting. While she may not have been the most artistic of people, Emma was pretty sure that she could handle putting paint on the wall. She could come in whenever she wasn’t working at Granny’s, and best of all, she could bring Henry with her in his carrier. It’s a perfect convergence of circumstances. The powers that be must have been pleased, because come show week, they’d asked her to stay and help move sets. And after that, well… things just spiraled from there.

The funny thing is that Emma had never considered herself a theater fan. When she had started working NYU shows, it had just been a job, not some great passion. Granted, she had only seen a terrible high school production of Fiddler on the Roof and a nearly worse community theater production of Ragtime – and both only because they were free and through her school at the time. There just wasn’t really a chance to see any quality theater as a foster kid. Ruby, when she found that out, naturally decided to fix the situation immediately by taking Emma and Mary Margaret to see Chicago for her own birthday. And as soon as Emma heard “All That Jazz”… she was gone. There was no going back.

Emma somehow found herself an unofficial member of the NYU theater family, especially when visiting lecturers and special events used the auditorium – events that still needed staffing but that the theater majors were reluctant to assist with. From there, she followed Mary Margaret and Ruby (their own aspiring costume designer) through their own smaller roles and shows. Ruby took extra classes in hair and makeup at a local cosmetology school, hoping to expand her portfolio of talents. Mary Margaret kept adding to her resume any way she could, working on any show that would cast her. And Emma somehow continued working her way up the ranks, recommended by word of mouth, towing a toddler (and later a child) along with her. Somehow, all those fortunate accidents brought her here, to this moment – an adult with her own place, a great kid, a support system of friends she views as family, and an ever-rising positive reputation in a decently paid profession. For someone who thought, ten years ago, that her life would be a series of dead end jobs and tiny apartments shared with roommates she’d despise, every day is like she’s living a dream.

This feels like the pinnacle of her achievements, however. She’s certainly worked as a stage manager before – in fact, it’s become her own niche, calling the shots. Her unconventional education has resulted in a working knowledge of nearly all the aspects of technical theater, which has proved incredibly helpful in dealing with her various colleagues. It’s like speaking another language - people are more willing to fill her in on the more complicated terminology when she shows she knows the basics. But this… this is a whole different thing. This isn’t one of her Off-Broadway shows, or one of her limited runs, but a major production. It wasn’t supposed to be – when she signed on as stage manager, set to work with a young director she came up with at NYU, it was still Off-Broadway, an adaptation of Pride & Prejudice they already knew would either be a huge hit or sink into obscurity. But then, some investor who loved the original work caught wind of Merlin’s vision, and suddenly, they had a significantly higher budget, a theater right in the heart of the theater district, and likely a lengthy run – if all goes well. Oh, and one more thing had significantly increased – the pressure on everyone involved.

Of course, just to complicate things, the change in venue isn’t the only thing weighing on Emma’s mind. Initially, Emma had been asked to serve as one of the assistant stage managers, to work backstage the way she prefers and relaying the stage manager’s orders, helping the entire show run smoothly. However, even that plan had changed. The intended production stage manager, finding herself pregnant with twins and violently ill as a result, chose not to participate in the show. Emma can’t blame her – she remembers how tired she was with Henry, and he was only one baby. But Merlin had then asked Emma to step up into an expanded role, saying that he trusted her for this position more than anyone else.

Emma’s flattered, she really is, but the truth is that she’s never run a show at this level. Call the cues for a show, check the equipment, coordinate everything that needs to happen? Yes, sure, of course. She can do that in her sleep now (somewhat literally, sadly – she’s developed an unconscious habit of dreaming the various light cues). She’s stage managed her smaller shows without any issues. But with a budget this large and stakes this high? Feeling like she personally is the linchpin that could make this show soar or crash in spectacular fashion? On a show they’re all aware could make their careers? That’s new, and terrifying, and Emma privately wonders if she’s the right woman for the job.

But she takes the promotion for that very reason - it’s new, and an incredible opportunity to get her name out there if the production succeeds. She’d be an idiot to turn this down, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Really, at the end of the day, this latest promotion is representative of how she’s made her way through most of her career – a bunch of happy accidents and an unwillingness to say no to any opportunity, now having lead her to a cold room and a crowd of men who all want to be Mr. Darcy.

Nice.

Honestly, this part of the job leaves her as basically a glorified secretary, recording everyone’s contact information so that she and Merlin can handle callbacks later. He asks for her opinion every so often, but honestly, what is he expecting her to say? She can’t carry a tune, and her opinions are usually “yeah, he seems like he won’t be a complete pain in my ass”. They’ve already pre-cast their Elizabeth – a lovely woman named Belle French, who had been an up-and-coming TV actress before an ugly scandal with a prominent producer – but Merlin had wanted someone new for Mr. Darcy. Emma can’t help but understand and agree with that decision – Mr. Darcy is somewhat of an unknown factor for so much of the source material, it seems appropriate that their actor also be something of an unknown quantity, someone the public doesn’t know how to define yet. Unfortunately, they must have overly emphasized the arrogant side of Darcy in the casting call, not the shy romantic, which seems to have brought out every egotistical actor in the city - all convinced that they would be perfect for the role. Don’t get her wrong, the arrogant façade Darcy presents is certainly important (and definitely present in this room, good lord), but Pride & Prejudice was one of the few books in high school Emma actually enjoyed – she knows there needs to be more than that. Whoever they choose needs to also be able to pull off a certain amount of vulnerability, a certain level of discomfort and awkwardness. So many of these would-be Darcys are just too… suave for her taste.

That’s why she’s particularly hopeful about this next prospect. He had swaggered in, as confident as the rest, but as she’d watched him interact with the others, there had been a certain amount of nerves that the rest weren’t letting show. He aces the choreography audition (perhaps because he throws himself into rehearsing in a way the others don’t, like it’ll ruin their persona if they’re shown practicing the steps), has a singing voice that will work well for Darcy (while looking adorable, scratching behind his ear when they ask about his relatively small experience on the stage). What really sells things for Emma, however, is how, when introduced to Belle for a test of how they’ll act together, he stutters over all his words and turns bright red after finally blurting out a “oh, I’ve heard so much about you!”. He’s an awkward mess behind that swagger and false confidence, and it’s a little perfect.

(It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, and one of the more polite Darcys she’s dealt with today.)

So when, after a very long day, she’s asked her opinion about the variety of men who auditioned that day, Emma doesn’t hesitate to put her personal vote in for Killian Jones.

God, she just hopes she doesn’t come to regret that decision.

#Playing the Part #my writing #cs ff #modern AU #Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 7 years ago

Text

Hjem(løs) - Ivar x OC - Modern AU - Part 2

*Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It's Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

Word count: 8.3k

Part 1 <<< >>> Part 3

MASTERLIST

However, that didn't prevent him from keeping an eye open. Like an invisible guardian making sure nothing bad happened to her, Ivar stayed in the same area as Silje for a while. It was borderline creepy, Ivar was well aware of it, but he felt like he owed her big time, and if the only way he could repay her was to lurk in dark alleys and make sure no creep was following her home, then he would do it. There were worse places in Copenhagen to hang out; Silje's neighbourhood was lively and overall safe - which made him wonder why he felt entitled to become her guardian angel at all, and from what exactly he was trying to protect her, but that was a place he didn't want to let his mind wander.

He had no idea how much longer he could persuade himself that he was only staying here for her sake. Truth is that he could not bring himself to walk away and wave goodbye to the possibility of ever running into Silje again. It had been quite a while since Jul, be he could not move on from their meeting. The need to see her again was strong, though not as strong as Ivar's reason telling him to stay at a distance. He had no right to bust in her door after a month without any explanation. He had no right at all to even talk to her again. He was giving himself headaches from thinking about this too much.

Therefore he remained in his dark alleys and on his isolated benches. Anger bubbled up inside of him whenever he saw her walk by, carelessly strutting home to the tune of some song blasting in her earphones. She didn't notice him – why would she? People don't look at homeless people, and homeless people don't like being looked at. She represented quite the temptation though. On the one hand he was pulled towards her like a magnet, on the other, he knew it would be wrong of him to give in.

It was snowing today. Ivar's fingers were blue and he hadn't felt the tip of his nose in four days. Strangely enough, he still felt good – maybe not fine, but good. There was peace in the air. People were still high off the bliss brought by the winter holidays, and the new year. Not to mention that he remembered how much Silje loved snow. Fuck, he was being ridiculous. She would make fun of him if he said his thoughts out loud. He had to fucking move on and stop nearly interfering with her life again.

So far he hadn't done anything, he hadn't uttered a word as she walked down the street across from his new sleeping bench. He looked up, smiled a little when he saw her mouth the lyrics to a song he couldn't hear, and hid his face in his scarf. As much as it caused his heart sink in his stomach each time he saw her strut by, simultaneously so close and so far out of reach, it still made him feel better to know that she was doing all right. It helped him sleep at night at least.

“Hey! Watch it man!” Someone yelled at him when he accidentally bumped into their shoulder. He had zoned out again. “Fucking hobo!” The other man grumbled in his beard, shooting a nasty glare at Ivar.

Today was not the day to mess with Ivar. As quick tempered as he usually was, tonight was worse and if this guy took so much as a second to think before speaking, he would have kept his mouth shut.

“What? Is the side walk not large enough for you?” Ivar barked back. He was so tired of being treated like a dog with rabies. “Bloody idiot.”

“What did you just say?!” The guy turned around to face Ivar. He was taller and broader than him, but there was no backing out now. It was like a switch that flipped inside Ivar.

“Is your masculinity so feeble that you cross homeless people merely to show off your steroid induced muscles?” Ivar heard his voice snap at the increasingly furious stranger. He couldn't help the cocky smirk on his face just like he couldn't help the scoff that followed his declaration.

It was too late to try and get out of this situation. Ivar had let his frustration and anger take control of his actions and he was about to face the consequences. The man was red in the face and looked about to blow up. Meanwhile Ivar tensed his entire body, ready to receive a blow. After all maybe that is what he wanted, or needed. Nothing like a sucker punch right in the jaw to put one's ideas back in place. If this guy hit hard enough maybe he would knock Silje right out of Ivar's mind.

He had no idea how much he craved a good fight until this very moment. Ivar's hand itched to throw a blow himself. He clenched it into a fist before stretching his fingers again. His knuckles hurt from the cold despite his gloves. He saw it coming and raised his arms in defence when the man's fist was mid-air but it hardly did anything so soften the blow. Clearly, Ivar had underestimated his adversary.

It all went black rather quickly after that.

“Skål!” Her friends all cheered, the sound of beer bottles clanking together filling the air.

It was accompanied by heartfelt laughter and the distinctive smell of alcohol. Silje was not a huge fan of beer and only drank one so her friends would stop pestering her about it; now they are already too intoxicated to notice that she was drinking tea. Her palm was held up toward the sky in an attempt to catch a few snowflakes but they melted the second they touched her skin.

The results of the first semester just came out and her friends dragged her to this picnic table in the middle of a park to celebrate. Although it was freezing, the alcohol running in their systems kept them warm enough to keep the party going, attracting the attention of passers-by with their music and loud chatter. Her tea wasn't doing that good of a job at keeping her limbs from getting numb, and neither did her skirt and tights.

“I'm going to head home” she declared only to earn a round of protest and teasing about how early she left. “I'm tired,” Silje objected when one of her classmate slung his arm around her shoulders to try and make her stay. “And cold. You can continue this party without me and I can celebrate in my apartment, wrapped in a warm blanket.”

“You are such a grandma!” Her friend snickered playfully as he shoved her in the arm. “Go, I'll distract them while you flee.”

Before he or anyone else could change their mind and decide to chain on her the bench with a beer in her hand, Silje stood up, gathered her belongings and stuffed them in her backpack as she walked away. While the music of their improvised party faded, Silje turned up the volume of her own and closed her eyes. It was a gentle night, the snow fell steadily and slowly from the sky, the kind of night you spent sitting in front of your window and looking outside.

However Silje had no intention of going home right away to find comfort in the many blankets she owned. As most days, she settled on a part of the city and wandered through the streets in search of - in desperate hope of finding – Ivar. She had regretted her decision of letting him leave the second she saw his dark figure walk away from her building. It was stupid really, but she wanted some kind of assurance to see him again, a means to contact him.

She expected him to wave, or smile, or do something but he merely disappeared in the shadows and from her life. Today was the 27th of January, over a month since the last time she saw him, and already she was beginning to forget what he looked like. The brevity of their encounter, although intense, had left a bitter-sweet taste in her mouth. She felt guilty – for not doing more for him, for not understanding his situation, for not sharing his problems. It was pointless to dwell on these things but here she was, roaming aimlessly through streets she didn't know, at night.

Somehow she knew this would enrage him if he knew – he made it very clear during their conversations that he thought it was reckless and careless for her to walk around at night in dark passageways. This forced a smile on her face and she let out a silent laugh, her hot breath visible in the air. Silje took out her earphones for a second. She thought it might help her find him if Ivar was around but the music and conversations coming out of the bars in this area drowned out any other noise.

She had been walking for half an hour when she decide that it was enough. It was late and cold. She'd look again tomorrow. It was time to head back and hide in these blankets she told her friends about. Someone wolf-whistled and Silje's head whipped to the right to see where it came from. There was a group of four or five boys staring at her. She scrunched up her nose in distaste and ignored them. They protested and called for her but she put her earphones back on.

“Jerks,” she grumbled to herself when even with her music she could hear their shouts.

“Hey!” Someone suddenly grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her back. “I'm talking to you, bitch!”

As any girl would in her situation, Silje tensed up and her blood ran cold in her veins. Already cold sweat was forming in the nap of her neck – the instinctive response to a man raising his voice at her and being aggressive. She counted to ten in her head to gather herself and calm down. She got this, there was no reason for her to panic, she could handle the situation. There was no room for fear right now, she had to show this jackass that she wasn't some little mouse he could intimidate into talking to him.

After a short moment, Silje felt confident enough to look up and meet his eyes. The way he looked at her made her want to vomit in her mouth. Disgusting. Revolting. Clearly this guy was not familiar with the concept of a woman not being interested.

“And I'm ignoring you, asshole. Are we done stating the obvious?”

It was pretty ballsy and she might regret it but the words were out now, she couldn't take them back. One of the dude's friends whistled as she said that, apparently admiring the nerve she had to talk to him like that.

“What? You think you're too good for me?” The guy snarled, eyeing Silje up and down in a distasteful manner. “You're not even that hot, you should be flattered.”

“Oh be still my beating heart,” she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes. “There, happy? Let me go now before I scream bloody murder and get the cops on your ass for assault.”

She would do it. She was ready to. At this point sarcasm was merely a defence mechanism. It took all of her concentration not to tremble like a leaf.

“Jeez! Girls nowadays can't take a compliment anymore!” He exclaimed but still let her go.

“You just told me I wasn't even hot, in what world is that a compliment? You need to work on your approach techniques dude.”

He grumbled a few more insults under his breath but he was already stepping back. He was obviously not happy about this defeat but his friends were laughing and telling him she wasn't worth the trouble so he let it slide. When she was sure they left, Silje carefully placed her earphones back on, hands shaking and eyes prickling, and she turned around to resume her walking. Just when she thought she might have to make a detour in case they decided to follow her home, she stumbled on something and almost fell.

She caught herself in extremis by reaching out for the corner of a wall, scratching her hands in the process. A string of curses tumbled down her lips while she rubbed her palm on her coat to get rid of the dirt, then she looked down to see what made her trip. When her eyes fell on the metallic cylinder on the floor, she thought they might pop out of her head.

That she would recognize anywhere. It was her Thermos. The one with the mismatched lid she had given to Ivar a month ago.

“Ivar,” she whispered, hoping against hope. “Ivar!”

On her feet she was before she had the time to think about it, nearly falling once again. Her hand found the Thermos and clung to it for dear life as she stumbled into the alley on her right.

“Ivar you bastard, if you're here say something!” She shouted this time, making sure that the entire neighbourhood heard her. “I swear I'm going to drag your hobo ass out of the hole you're hiding in!”

Her threats mustn't have been very convincing since no one answered, or maybe he simply wasn't here anymore. After a few more seconds of listening intently, one sound stood out of the distant music from the nearby bars. Faint, almost inaudible laughter.

“That the best you got, woman?” The strained but already so familiar voice of Ivar asked from the shadows.

Silje dived down towards the source of the voice and her hands found him before her eyes did. Her fingers grasped at the material of his clothes and Silje did as she promised and dragged him out of the darkness and into the light of the nearest street lamp. She only let go when he groaned.

“Shit, where did you get that strength from?” He asked, a bit out of breath.

Now that she could see his face Silje understood why he sounded in pain. The entire left side of his face was bruised and swelled. He had a black eye and a split lip; the blood had dried on his wounds.

“Don't say anything,” she ordered him, already taking his chin in between her fingers to better examine his beaten face. “You look like a bloody mess.” Her voice was stern but gentle.

“You look beautiful.”

“And you're delirious!” Silje exclaimed, her hand flying up to feel his forehead. “You have a bit of fever. How long have you been here in this state?”

“Few- hours-” he said, short breathed already. “Silje.”

He simply said her name with no intention of saying anything else, but it got her attention at last and she looked into his blue eyes, pleading her. Her hand let go of his chin and she moved it to his shoulder.

“I wanna hug you and punch you so bad right now,” Silje said between her teeth. “Come back with me. I'll fix you up, we're not too far from my apartment.”

“I can't- my legs... fuck. They messed up my legs,” he whined pitifully and winced in pain, his eyes drifting from hers to his legs. “I can't walk.”

“Even if you lean on me?” She asked hopefully. He shrugged but was already trying to stand up, willing to try anything to get out of the gutter he had put himself into. “We only have a couple streets to walk before reaching my place. You can do this.”

The strain was visible on his face etched with agony. Silje's arms were there to support him and help him up, no matter how much bigger he was, she was not about to complain or leave him to his fate. She had looked for him, she had found him, and now she was going to be true to her word and drag his ass back to her apartment, even up the five floors if she had to.

It was a lot harder said than done, but not impossible. She had no means to establish exactly how much pain Ivar was in because he hadn't said a word during their slow progression through the streets. His mind was entirely focused on not screaming or collapsing on the floor. The vein on his temple throbbed menacingly, if that was any indicator of the ache he currently endured. Nothing would have prepared either of them for the trial it represented to climb up so many stairs with only Silje's tiring legs to get to the top.

“Just leave me here, you won't make it with me,” Ivar groaned with difficulty.

“We're almost there, two more floors to go,” she said, completely ignoring his resigned tone. “Quit being a drama queen.”

“You killing me, Silje!”

“Oh is that what I'm doing? Funny because I thought I was once again saving you from the cold harsh world. A little gratitude would be welcome, you know? And I know precisely how you can repay me. I have a monstrous pile of dirty dishes waiting in the sink just for you.”

“This makes me want to stay in the staircase even more,” Ivar sighed, holding his breath each time they ascended another step.

“If you're well enough to make jokes then you're also well enough to climb up a few more steps,” Silje declared confidently. “We've made it this far, Ivar.”

“So stubborn,” he grumbled again though she thought she detected a hint of admiration in his voice, but maybe she was hearing things. “I am not joking, my legs are killing me.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it? I suspect you don't want me to bring you to the hospital, do you?”

He stiffened against her side and glared at her.

“I don't have money to pay for healthcare, you know this.”

“I do, that's why you're going to crash on my couch and I'll call my brother. He'll come and examine you properly. I don't know how to assert the extent of your injuries but he can,” she assured him but it did little to nothing to calm him down, in fact it had the opposite effect.

“Which brother?” He asked warily.

“Ubbe,” Silje managed a laugh even though she was exhausted. “The one you've met.”

“I remember Ubbe,” Ivar huffed.

Suddenly they realised they had made it. Silje's front door was standing right there. No more stairs. Black dots danced before her eyes and sweat trickled down her spine but they had made it.

“I remember the way he almost crushed my hand while shaking it,” Ivar added, a little out of breath but nothing compared to Silje's state of breathlessness and sweatiness.

“That's just his way of saying hello,” she said and with a little wave of the hand to gesture him it was nothing worth getting grey hair over. “I am in strong need of a shower.”

She managed to help Ivar onto the couch, both of them sighing in relief when their seemingly never-ending journey finally ended. She told him that she would call her brother then hop in the shower, and that she was all his after that.

It took a little more time and energy than she expected to convince her brother to get out of bed, grab the crutches they'd given him after his injury and come over to her place, all of this to look at Ivar's legs.

“Ivar? Who's Ivar?” Ubbe had asked, only to remember the moment he said his name. “Oh, the guy from Juleaften? What happened?”

“I don't know yet, okay? Just come, it's important and quite urgent too.”

He complied after two more minutes of convincing, and Silje was finally allowed a moment of peace. She got Ivar a glass of water and a pillow, then took her well-deserved shower. When she opened the front door fifteen minutes later, her hair was still wet, her previous clothes discarded by the bathroom door, and Ivar was grunting on the couch, trying not to move his legs. Their tumultuous journey had woken up the wound, it throbbed and deformed his attractive features into an expression of anger and pain.

“Come with me,” Silje grabbed Ubbe's arm to lead him right in front of Ivar. “It's his legs. I need you to examine him.”

“What are you now, a doctor?” Ivar spat. It was the pain speaking, not him, Ubbe knew better and he simply smirked. “I thought you were a reject soldier.”

“Big mouth, eh?” Ubbe huffed and knelt down by his legs. “Didn't serve you well from what I can see. And no, I'm not a doctor, but soldiers are trained to tend to their companions if something were to happen on the field. Landmine explosion for instance. That shit can blow your legs off.”

“I didn't step on a fucking landmine,” Ivar barked back. “Those assholes beat me up.”

He didn't specify that he provoked them but the siblings shared a look that spoke volumes. They knew he wasn't just randomly attacked. Ivar didn't say anything after that and allowed Ubbe to feel his legs and assert his injuries.

“Are they broken?” Silje asked after a couple minutes, not holding it in anymore.

Ivar hadn't realised how worried she really was up until now. Her foot tapped on the floor at a fast pace, one of her arms rested across her chest while the other held her hand up in front of her mouth. Her eyes did not budge from her brother once while he took a look at Ivar's messed up legs.

“No,” Ubbe said, earning a round of relieved sighs. “Wait before popping the champagne. That was the good news. The bad news is that while I can tell that your legs aren't broken, I can't guarantee that your tibia bones aren't shattered. And worst of all your left knee is out of joint. Did you walk here?”

“Hardly,” Ivar said with a little one-shoulder shrug.

“Well, you must be a tough motherfucker, because that hurts like hell. I can put it back in place but I should warn you that this is usually done under anaesthesia,” Ubbe explained under Silje's increasingly anxious gaze.

He looked Ivar straight in the eye without budging, like a real solider. Ubbe's relaxed demeanour from Juleaften was gone, his face was plain and serious, his mind focused on the task at hand, and no room was left for jokes.

“I can take it,” Ivar assured him.

“Sil,” Ubbe called his sister, waking her from her fear induced trance. “Get him something to bite into, a wooden spoon, a folded towel.”

She did as she was asked without uttering a word and soon came back with what he asked, leaving him to choose which of the two he preferred. Ivar simply grabbed the spoon and put it in his mouth.

“All right, here goes nothing,” Ubbe said, positioning his hands around Ivar's knee. “Silje don't look.”

He didn't need to tell her, she was already putting a conscious effort into staring out of the window instead of looking at the two boys in front of her. The towel would have worked better to muffle Ivar's pained groans and cries. Silje's hand shot up to her mouth and she had to turn around. Tears prickled her eyes but she swallowed them back. There was no time for this, Ivar was the one suffering, she could act like a weak little thing later. Right now she had to get her shit together.

“It's done,” Ubbe declared and after a few more seconds of panting, Ivar took the spoon out of his mouth. It hit the floor with a loud clatter. “He'll need a knee brace. Sil can you get him one?”

She nodded, still shaking.

“Y-yes, I have a friend who had one a few weeks ago, I can ask him.”

“Good. And you-” Ubbe's attention went back to Ivar. “If you don't want to end up at the ER, you have to rest until your bones heal and your muscles recover from the beating. Where do you live? I can drive you back. Do you have someone to take care of you? Because you won't be able to make it through this alone.”

“He does. I'll take care of him,” Silje stated firmly, two puzzled gazes turning to her. “He's staying here.”

“What if he doesn't want to crash on your couch for the following month?” Ubbe replied, pointing at Ivar as though he wasn't here. “Because that's how long I would suggest he doesn't use his bad leg.”

“He'll be fine,” Silje assured her brother.

“Bu-” He started but was interrupted by Ivar.

“I'm homeless, man!” To say that it cast a cold in the room would be minimising this. “The couch is fine.” In the state he was in, anything would have worked, he was tired enough to fall asleep standing. Not that he would be doing much of that from now on.

Ubbe stood up abruptly, almost knocking over the coffee table.

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, looking at his sister.

“Not now, Ubbe,” Silje sighed and rubbed her face. “Thank you for coming, and for the crutches. We'll talk later, okay?”

“No, not okay, you can't just make me come here in the middle of the night during work week only to have me examine a homeless dude who got into a fight, then tell me you'll have him sleep on your couch and not give me a stellar explanation!”

“It sounds terrible when you put it like that but it's not as shady as it sounds,” she promised him. “Come now.” She gestured him to follow her to the door, away from Ivar's curious ears. “Ivar is my friend. I'm not going to turn my back on him when he's injured.”

“But he is homeless,” Ubbe protested with vehemence as if he was making a valid point. He wasn't.

“That does not define him. Listen, we'll argue tomorrow, okay? I'm tired and I think Ivar has a bit of fever.”

She must have sounded particularly worn out because Ubbe closed his mouth – for now at least – and opened the door. The trained soldier he was recognized the priorities but he would not let her go away with this.

“This conversation is not over-” he told her with a warning finger pointed at her. He pushed his sister to the side and walked up to Ivar who barely managed to open his eyes when Ubbe called him. “And you-” he started sternly. “-I meant what I said. You don't jump around, you don't try to exercise, you don't run, you don't even walk anywhere apart from the bathroom and the kitchen, anything farther than that is too far for you until I say it isn't anymore.” He looked furious but also determined to help him heal. “In case I'm not being clear enough, my sister's bedroom is off limits.” He had whispered the last part for only Ivar to hear – and he did hear it loud and clear.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled in response, barely conscious at this point.

Ubbe walked back to his sister who was still waiting by the door. “Don't post-pone our conversation for too long or I'll have to tell the others.”

Contrary to Ivar though, Silje wasn't about to pass out and wasn't in the mood to get intimidated by her big brother.

“Hvisterk already knows about Ivar anyway. Sigurd wouldn't care, and if Bjorn learns that you let a homeless stranger sleep in my apartment, you'll be the one in trouble. Goodnight brother.” Silje smiled and shut the door before Ubbe could find something else to threaten her with.

Her shoulders slumped down and she leaned against the door just or a few seconds, to catch her breath and get a small break from the intense last hour she had. When she felt she was ready to go at it again, she went back to Ivar, once again put her hand on his forehead and told him to stay awake just a little bit longer – his eyelids were droopy but she didn't want him to fall asleep before changing him and giving him some medicine to reduce the fever. It required another twenty minutes to accomplish these tasks but when she was finally done and Ivar was about to fall asleep in his new dry and warm clothes, she felt rather happy with herself. In an ideal world Ivar would take a shower too but they were both too exhausted for that. Tomorrow would be there soon enough and if they were lucky, by then Ivar's fever would break and his knee wouldn't feel like it was on fire anymore.

“Are we good now?” Ivar mumbled, fighting off sleep as best he could.

“Yes, we're good,” Silje told him, gently pushing some of his hair out of his face. “You can go to sleep. Hopefully you'll feel better tomorrow.”

She had a feeling he was already asleep mid-sentence and didn't even hear the end. A little smile tugged at her lips but it vanished quickly. This reunion was a bitter-sweet one – light years away from what she had imagined. Finding her friend beaten and feverish in the shadow of a container in a small back alley was not how she had hoped to find Ivar – actually the romantic inside her was convinced that despite her searching through the streets, she would end up bumping into him in that same park where they first met.

Soon her living room was filled with the light and steady snores of Ivar and she smiled again. Exhaustion washed over her and Silje lost no time in changing into her pyjamas and turning off the lights. Whatever happened today was over and it was time to breathe again.

“Ivar... Ivar. Ivar!”

The voice sounded distant, like an echo. But whoever was calling him seemed to get closer and closer each time they called his name. At first he wanted to groan and turn around, tell whoever was disturbing his sleep to go away and leave him in peace – the voice became too loud. But he realised that they weren't shouts.

“Ivar,” he heard again, more aware of the proximity of its source. He felt something heavy on his forehead and winced. It was cold too. “Ivar, open your eyes.”

He did not want to but the voice was soothing and warm, so he complied. His eyelids fluttered open, and he was glad to see that it wasn't too bright in the room. His eyes finally glanced towards the form next to him and he was met with Silje's worried gaze.

“Welcome back,” she told him with a somewhat tense smile. “How do you feel?”

“What-” shit his mouth was dry. “-what time is it? How long was I out?” He asked, ignoring her question. He felt awful, like a truck ran him over - twice.

“It's almost six in the evening, you slept over sixteen hours.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Not much. Believe it or not I went to class today,” she told him with a huff, as if wondering what the hell she was thinking. She didn't want to go but she had an important presentation and her professors didn't know or care about the fact that she gave shelter to an injured homeless man. “The three longest hours of my life, I thought I'd come home to your dead body lying on my couch.”

“You're the worst- caretaker- ever,” Ivar painfully breathed out. The air didn't come easy in his lungs, like something weighted down on his chest.

“Here,” Silje said and handed him a glass of water. “Need help?”

Ivar shook his head no and propped himself up on one elbow to down the water.

“I trust you're a fighter, you wouldn't let a fever get the best of you,” she chuckled.

“You just said-” Ivar started but left his sentence unfinished, simply gesturing to her with his right hand and hoping she would understand.

“I was worried, can you blame me? I was hoping your fever would get down a little bit. I probably should have woken you up to give you your medicine but you looked like you needed the sleep,” Silje explained, already reaching down to grab something Ivar could not see from where he was lying. “It's probably for the best that I'm not trying to become a nurse, right?”

“Your brother would make a better nurse,” Ivar began to laugh but it turned into a cough. “I bet he'd look pretty in the uniform.”

“God, I can't tell if this is the fever speaking or if you're really a on death wish. Do not say that in front of Ubbe or next time you wound up beaten up he'll refuse to take a look at you.”

“Just you wait until I'm better. I bet I can take him any time,” Ivar kept bragging.

Silje's hand reached out and brushed his hair out of his face. His forehead was sticky and his hair greasy. It was a tad longer than last time she saw him and his beard had grown back. The contact of her fresh hand against his hot skin made Ivar close his eyes in delight and lean into her touch. Next thing he knew Silje was giving him pills to swallow and asked that he sit up.

“I know it's painful but you have to get up, you need to take a shower.” Dread must have been written all over his face because she quickly added, “It'll make you feel better and I'll help you.”

“You'll help me shower? Like a baby?” He grumbled in complain. “How do you plan on doing this anyway? I can't stand on my left leg and I can't take a bath either.”

“Actually you can, I had it fixed,” Silje declared with a wide smile. She put her arms on the couch and rested her chin on her joined hands. “I think it'll suffice if I help you in the tub, you can take it from there. Unless you feel like getting a hair massage?”

“I feel like dying,” Ivar said, ever so positive and joyful.

“You're a ray of sunshine Ivar,” Silje laughed. “I'm glad you're fine. This might sound weird but I missed you – you really have a talent in bickering back and forth with me.”

“Don't you have enough brothers to fill up that role?” He wondered, trying to stand up with Silje's help.

Like yesterday, she let him lean on her and together, they stumbled across the room and to the bathroom. Ivar sat on the lid of the toilet. Silje ran his bath and turned on the wall heater to hang the towels on it.

“Apparently not,” she sighed, her hand lingering under the running water to see if it was hot enough. “They are a lot of things but intellectually stimulating is not one of them. I love them all but they can be a little boorish and obtuse at times.”

“Dunno.” Ivar shrugged. “Ubbe seemed pretty sharp to me when he examined my leg. The look in his eyes-”

“-you were on the receiving end of the soldier stare,” Silje laughed. “It rarely shows but it's scary when it does, it means shit's going down. After his injury, Ubbe wasn't the same; he had this look in his eyes all the time. But he's getting used to civilian life again, with Margrethe's help.”

“His girlfriend?”

“His fiancée,” Silje corrected him. “They are getting married in August.”

After that he didn't say anything anymore. Ivar stayed quiet until it was time to strip and get into the tub.

“I won't look,” Silje promised him when his fingers tugged at his belt to unbuckle it. She had no idea how she would accomplish that because she hardly managed to keep her eyes off his naked chest, but if she had to close her eyes to give him some privacy then she would do it.

“I didn't say anything,” Ivar replied, a smirk appearing on his face as he looked at her.

Silje couldn't help the blush on her cheeks but she didn't answer to his shameless flirting. He was feverish, he didn't think what he said – that's what she repeated to herself like a mantra while he finished taking off his remaining clothes while leaning on her to keep his balance. The girl let him take the lead and get into the tub on his own while trying her best to keep his weight off the bag leg.

“There. Will you be okay?” She asked him when he was in the water. Thank the gods, bubbles hid most of his body.

“Sure,” Ivar assured her. He raised his hand out of the water and flicked it at Silje, throwing drops of soapy water at her face and making her close her eyes. “I'll call you if I need help.”

“You won't try to get out of the tub by yourself to prove a point?” She asked just to make sure, squinting her eyes at him. “No misplaced pride? You call as soon as you're done, yeah?”

“Whatever,” he sighed and rolled his eyes but she didn't move a muscle. Silje would stay where she was, kneeling next to the tub and staring sternly at him as long as she wasn't sure he wouldn't do anything stupid. “I promise, okay? Now let me bathe, woman!” He flicked some more water at her and they both smiled.

Without another word, Silje walked out of the room, closed the door, then leaned against it and slid to the floor. Damn this boy.

Three weeks had passed and Silje was forced to admit that Ivar was far from the model patient. And she sure as hell would never become a nurse, that was final.

He was grumpy, stubborn, unwilling to comply, restless, capricious, and a bunch of other non-flattering adjectives. Silje was just about done with him. Then again, in spite of his foul behaviour when the pain kicked in, he was still of good company the rest of the time. He never voiced it but Silje knew that he only acted the way he did because he felt useless with his injured leg. It itched him to get up and get something done – she noticed he was particularly irritable whenever he sat on the couch, his legs resting on a cushion on the coffee table, while Silje ran around tiding and cleaning the apartment.

“This is ridiculous, let me help,” he grumbled for the hundredth time. Each time Silje laughed and told him to shut up. “I'm serious Silje, I'll go mad if I have to stay here any longer.”

“I've been cleaning my apartment on my own long before you crashed on my couch, I think I can handle this,” she reminded him. “Do something else to keep you busy. Read a book, learn sign language, knit a sweater.”

“Do you think I am an old lady?” He scoffed, obviously offended. “I need to get up, my muscles are stiffening from lack of use.”

If he was still bargaining instead of simply getting up my himself it meant that the pain was still too strong for him to do so. Silje stopped vacuuming the floor and pushed her hair out of her face to look at him and give him a scolding glare.

“We've been through this conversation already,” she said. “As long as Ubbe doesn't give you the green light, your ass is glued to the couch.”

“I'm sure I can stand on my leg, he just wants me to stay a cripple a little longer because he doesn't like me staying with you,” he argued, pointing a finger at Silje. She rolled her eyes and resumed vacuuming.

“Fine, you win. If you insist so much gather my mugs and put them in the sink, and put the bath towels in the washing machine,” she told him.

Those were easy tasks he could perform with his knee brace and crutches. As though she had just provided him with a life purpose, Ivar stood up, trying to conceal his wince of pain, and did as he was told. Silje couldn't wait for his leg to heal. Faint laughter came from the bathroom a few minutes later when Silje was putting away the vacuum cleaner and she peeked inside. A furious blush crept on her face when she saw him standing by the washing machine with her freshly washed underwear in his hands.

“I can't tell which one I like best,” he said, turning his head toward her, a boyish grin on his handsome face. His black eye had faded now, the wounds from his fight disappeared almost completely – the only remaining trace being the healing split lip.

In his left hand Ivar was holding Silje's cat knickers with the two little ears on the back, and in his right hand were her more revealing and expensive bottoms. Her mouth was ajar and she couldn't find anything to say for a solid ten seconds, then she gathered her wits.

“What are you, five?” She asked, her eyebrows shooting up and her arms crossing over her chest.

The way he looked at the underwear and then at her was purely indecent and certainly not how a five year old would behave. His wolfish smile sent shivers down Silje's spine and she dropped her arms to her sides and stood a little straighter. There was no knowing if he was messing with her or not, Ivar was difficult to read. He was a huge flirt, which made it increasingly hard for Silje to keep her cool around him. One day she was going to pin him against a wall with no warning and he won't see it coming.

“C'mon, Silje,” Ivar began. “Do you think I am that innocent?”

However today was not the day. She refused to answer this and engage on this slippery slope. Ivar was playing with her, he wanted to elicit a reaction.

“I can tell you where I bought them if you want the same,” she said, enjoying seeing his smirk drop. “They make bunny ones too.”

Defeated and disappointed, Ivar turned away from her. He mumbled something about her taking the fun out of everything, and went back to his task.

The comedy lasted another week, until Ubbe came along again and told him he could walk again.

“Not running a marathon, hear me?” He added right away when he saw Ivar's face light up. “You keep the leg brace, and you use the crutches. But you can take a walk, go grocery shopping or whatever you do with you time usually.”

“How thrilling. Might as well pick up an apron and settle down if I'm going to spend the rest of my days limping around,” he immediately complained, throwing his head against the back of the couch.

Ubbe patted his shoulder. Silje had called him a couple days after Ivar's injury and explained everything, which had considerably reduced Ubbe's hostility towards the young man. But not completely either.

“Can you lay off the drama for a second?” Silje huffed from the kitchenette. “Rejoice,” she told him in an overly optimistic voice. “You are now allowed to set foot outside of these four walls. Maybe you won't be as grumpy after some fresh air.”

That prediction came true. After his first walk Ivar was already less of a pain in the ass and stopped behaving like a child. Funnily enough, the nearest green area was Vestre Kirkegård which meant that Ivar and Silje regularly walked past the bench where she found him. He savoured the moment, enjoying how far he had come since this day. He liked to think that he had a little more control over his life than the first time he met Silje.

He even felt confident enough to make a move – at least he would if he could walk without those damn crutches. They didn't allow him to put his arm around Silje or even to let her hold his arm while they walked. No she simply strolled beside him with her hands in her pockets and cradling a cup of tea.

“Let's sit down,” he said, stopping in front of the bench instead of walking past it. “I wanna sit on this piece of wood one last time.”

“Feeling a little nostalgic?” She teased him, standing in front of him while he sat down, putting the crutches aside.

“No, I sit on it to establish dominance,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or maybe I like this bench? It's where I met a pretty girl.”

“I can't tell if you're joking or not, you're always looking at me like you know something I don't,” Silje told him and sat down.

“They say knowledge is where lies true power,” Ivar philosophized. “Why wouldn't I be serious? What makes you think I'm not?”

Silje laughed at this and gave him a scolding look.

“You are a relentless flirt, Ivar,” she told him but he only looked at her as if to say 'so what is your point?'. “You do it for the thrill and to make me uncomfortable.”

“Are you uncomfortable right now?” Ivar asked, leaning in closer to her and not detaching his eyes from her while she pondered her answer and bit her lip.

“No, uncomfortable wasn't the right word,” she eventually decided. “You try to make me nervous.”

“Unsuccessfully from what I can see, you always have an answer to my teasing no matter what I say.”

If anyone had heard this conversation they would have cringed. The air was tense and so electric Silje wondered if her hair wasn't standing on end. Speaking of hair...

“We need to do something about your hair,” she blurted out, effectively breaking the tension. “It's getting out of hand.”

“Wha-” Ivar began, gesturing around to show his disagreement. “My hair is perfect as it is.”

“It's not.” Silje shook her head under Ivar's puzzled gaze. “If you don't groom a little you'll never find a job.”

“A job?”

“Of course. Did you think I was gonna let you crash my place free of charge forever?” She scoffed and took a sip of her tea. Ivar leaned back against the bench and stared at her.

“You're kicking me out as soon as I can walk again?” He asked, truly astounded.

Not that he didn't see it coming, or thought he deserved it, but it was out of character for Silje. Or was it? Could he really tell after knowing her for a total of two months? Even if she did plan to dump him in the streets as soon as he was healed, this still came pretty much out of nowhere.

“No, I'm saying you help put bread on the table. You're not my charity case, remember? You're just a friend I'm helping get back on track.”

You're just a friend.

“You'll have to wait until August to apply for university, but until then you'll work. You don't need to pay a rent, my parents already cover the charges for the apartment and it's not like it changes anything for them if you live with me. I only ask you help pay for groceries and the water bill. You sure do enjoy your bath time so you can pay for it. The rest of the money you should save for dog days.”

“Sounds like you gave it some thought,” Ivar observed. “All right, I was going to do it anyway by the way, I wouldn't have abused your hospitality. I intend to contribute as best I can. But can we negotiate about my hair?”

“No.”

“What- but, why?”

“No.”

“That's not answering my question at all,” he complained but Silje merely smile innocently and finished her tea.

“It's beginning to rain,” she said. “Come, let's head back. I used to do my brothers' haircuts whenever their girlfriends didn't want to. I'm good at it.”

Ivar wanted to object again but he figured it might indeed feel good to get his mane tamed. It hadn't seen a pair of scissors in quite some time and grew long in the past year or so. Besides, going to a hair salon was out of the question, at least until his first pay check.

“Okay, but I get to choose what you do to my hair!”

“Whatever you say Ivar.”

Silje stood up and held her hand out for him. Ivar glared at it but still took the offered hand somewhat reluctantly. At least he tried to look reluctant. It was still warm from the cup of tea and she enclosed her fingers around his hand, dragging him away from the bench with a big smile on her face while he stumbled forward.

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

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nimzzz · 7 years ago

Text

“So, What’s Your Favourite Type of Music?”

A good question.

A classic icebreaker. A great conversation starter. A brilliant way to assess a potential new friend.

Except with me. Ask me this question, and expect silence – or expect to be pretending to look interested after 6 hours of me pondering out loud over the plethora of genres – with your eyes glazing over and regretting your decision to ever consider me a “potential new friend”.

I wish I was joking.

Now, I’m not just being pretentious; hear me out.

It’s just – I love all music. Music is such a universal language – a form of expression of emotions, a communication that transcends cultural and language barriers. It can be used as a political statement or to add an extra dimension to media in the form of soundtracks. And I love it all.

As you may have noticed, I love a good list on this blog. This one: it’s a big ‘un. Lists within lists of artists in the hope that you will branch out and listen to something different – or indeed recommend more music to me (please)!

(Unfortunately, because I don’t pay for WordPress Premium, I cannot embed videos or audio into the post – so for every artist I mention I have linked a music video of theirs you can check out. I have also got a spotify playlist of all the music mentioned here that you can listen to here while reading!)

Here goes.

Bands

I’ll start with bands. For the majority of my teenage years, I liked to listen to the stereotypical “emo” music – the pop punk and rock that stemmed from the garage/grunge revolution in the late 90s and 2000s. I refused to listen to pop music. I assumed none of it had musicality or the deep meaning that is offered in these bands. Some of those iconic bands, such as Green Day or My Chemical Romance, I no longer listen to, but the likes of Welcome to the Black Parade will always be nostalgic anthems.

Having moved to University, I am actually getting back into those old bands again, as I finally have the chance to see them live. You Me At Six were incredible at Leeds festival last year, Fall Out Boy‘s dystopian narratives are gripping (particularly notable in the album Save Rock and Roll), and I love the authenticity and full-on Northern-ness that is represented in Arctic Monkeys‘ music. The rawness of Foo Fighters as the modern(ish) equivalent to Nirvana is also fun to listen to. Lyrically, I think Twenty One Pilots are definitely worth listening to, even if you don’t like the duo’s musical style. They juxtapose hope and despair, and faith and existentialism in a clever yet sensitive way.

Mayday Parade, however, were my ultimate favourites out of the “emo” class. Their songs are just saturated with emotion and the sound itself is relatively musically complex.

I tend to go through phases with bands and music (such as my mad Mcfly phase when I was fourteen #GalaxyDefendersStayForever), but one band I will never grow tired of is Muse.

If you were to take my personality and put it into a band, the end result would be Muse (and not just because I share a birthday with Matt Bellamy).

Muse Playing Live in 2012

Muse draw inspiration from classical music, philosophy, science, jazz, politics, social issues and even other popular culture and blend it together in a heavy, yet melodic, rock trio. They are also incredible to see live – they put so much thought and meaning behind the set that somehow relates to the songs and creates an intricate story. I love the use of the Benedictus of Palestrina’s Missa Papae Marcellis in their album Drones, and the fact that The Resistance is based off Orwell’s 1984, and that Origin of Symmetry was greatly influenced by Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto.

Muse are the definition of art in my mind – they are musically complex, versatile, challenge world views and make you think. Every thing they do is down to the last detail and tells interesting narratives.

Guys, if you listen to one band in your life, listen to Muse. Don’t just take my word for it. Listen.

2. Pop

If I told the fourteen year-old me that the nineteen year-old me would love pop, I would have scoffed. I actively didn’t listen to pop. I was adamant not to be caught up in One Direction mania. I had a hatred for Justin Bieber. (I was such a music snob.)

I have to say that my taste in pop music fluctuates more than any genre. In two months time, this post will be outdated. There is always so much music coming out that it’s impossible not to get new favourites all the time, if you ask me!

Dua Lipa

Staying at Tamara’s

Currently, I am loving George Ezra‘s new album: Staying at Tamara’s. It fits in so well with the beautiful summery aesthetic of last week. It has a light-hearted sound and all in all, the songs are bops. Dua Lipa is a current icon of British diversity and multiculturalism, and her self-titled album is well put together and catchy. She is widely becoming a global sensation, and for good reason. On a complete contrast to her dark sound, I will always love the funk and soul infused songs of Bruno Mars‘ music, as well as his unique voice and catchy tunes. Other notable mentions are Florence and the Machine, Jess Glynne and (call me basic but) Ed Sheeran.

Of course, I am a big fan of the cheesy oldies and one-hit wonders of the naughties. I am also a huge musicals and disney nerd.

The problem with many popular artists is that they’re really original and authentic until they’re overplayed. There’s a fine line between a well-known, catchy song and an annoying earworm.

3. Classical Music

(Or, to be more specific: Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic and 20th Century music.)

There is a plethora of subgenres and types in classical music. Maybe it’s because it’s my first instrument, but I’m particularly partial to solo piano music. For this, there are a multitude, my favourites including Liszt and Debussy. I believe Chopin, however, truly is the king. The Etudes complilation is stunning; his Waltzes are beautiful. My ultimate favourites on the other hand are the Ballades. I first came to love Ballade No. 1 through the Japanese animation Your Lie In April and, it’s just exquisite.

Your Lie In April character Kousei Arima playing Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 in G Minor

Favourite piano concertos of mine include all of Rachmaninov‘s concertos, Grieg‘s piano concerto, and Tchaikovsky‘s Concerto No. 1.

In general, I mostly listen to romanticism and early 20th century Russian music. I love that it can be used for political protest against the Soviet union without even using words – I mean, you can hear and analyse the rich emotion Shostakovich‘s Symphony No. 5, especially the third movement.

Although I am more likely to listen to relatively modern romantic and 20th Century music, we mustn’t forget the sphere of influence of the early composers. We wouldn’t have such vibrant and diverse classical music today if not for Bach‘s baroque genius, especially in his fugues. Mozart gets a little samey to listen to, but he really helped build the foundations of classical music.

In modern classical music, it’s often very atonal and avant garde, which at first I could not listen to. (Give me tonality!) But, being exposed to it more and more, I am beginning to see the genius behind the likes of Stravinsky and Schoenberg, even if I don’t particularly listen to them.

Modern classical music I definitely do listen to is soundtracks. They are often a gateway to classical music through other popular culture. John Williams‘ composed a library of amazing soundtracks, including Star Wars and Jurassic Park. Hans Zimmer‘s iconic works include Pirates of The Caribbean and the Hidden Figures soundtrack (one of my all-time favourite films). Hands down, the most iconic film score has to be The Lord of The Rings soundtrack by Howard Shore, whose other works include the soundtracks of The Hunger Games and How to Train Your Dragon.

The iconic soundtrack of Lord Of The Rings is perfect accompaniment to its scenery

5. Jazz

My love for jazz is largely due to my grandfather, who is pretty much a walking jazz encyclopedia. I also have the privilege to immerse myself in jazz music at university.

Jazz’s roots stem from horrific black oppression in America. Blues music originated in the fields of the slave trade, and New Orleans marching bands were gatherings of African-Americans who were displaced after slavery was abolished. The combination of these things as well as the western classical tradition influenced early jazz in the 1910s-20s. Jazz’s rich history and emotion can be heard so well in the music.

Early jazz pioneers in the Dixieland (20s) period included The Original Dixieland Jass Band and King Oliver. I don’t usually listen to this early jazz because of its old recording quality, even though they are just as important in the development of jazz. The 1930s marked the swing period, where great artists like Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald made their names. From the 40s onwards, the style of bebop was born, and some of my favourite jazz artists from this era include Oscar Peterson, Miles Davis, Stan Getz and Charlie Parker.

While South African jazz artists like Abdullah Ibrahim and Brazillian artists like João Gilberto frequent my listening list, I mostly listen to contemporary jazz. Last summer, I had the privilege of seeing the Billy Hart quartet and Joshua Redman at the Village Vanguard in NYC. The best way to enjoy jazz is live in an atmosphere like that; the music is made for it.

The Village Vanguard in NYC is one of the best venues I’ve been to

A clarinet inspiration of mine is Anat Cohen, who covers a broad range of the jazz spectrum. Furthermore, I love artists that take core elements of jazz and put their own twists on it. Herbie Hancock was one of the first artists to do this in the 40s, fusing jazz, electro and funk styles together. For example, Snarky Puppy are a large contemporary instrumental group that use jazz harmony in many of their albums. Similarly, solo artist Jacob Collier uses modern music technology and multi-layering techniques with jazz harmony to produce complex and interesting music. Nubiyan Twist are an British jazz group incorporating Afro-jazz and hip hop into their style, and I was only introduced to them recently. There is so much to choose from!

One-Man jazz-infused musician Jacob Collier

Many people say jazz is dying. But there are so many ways to keep it alive. start by listening.

6. K-pop

Dear reader, I am going to let you into a little secret. A guilty pleasure of mine. And that is Korean Pop.

My love for K-pop is purely superficial. It goes against everything I stand for within art – meaning, authenticity, musical complexity. It’s a manufactured industry that is full of flaws, including overworking and paying artists unfairly.

But it’s mesmerising.

Seventeen’s MV “Don’t Wanna Cry”

Watch one music video – or even better, a live performance – and see the highly trained voices and slick choreography and beautiful people and you’ll be hooked. With the world getting smaller and the internet the way it is, it’s never been easier to fall down the K-Pop rabbit hole. It’s a mish-mash of all pop-like genres, with a fusion of multicultural influences – with the most popular groups specialising in the sounds of Hip Hop and EDM. It’s as much, (if not more) of a visual experience as a sonic experience.

K-Pop singer Ailee performing at the 2018 Paralympics Closing Ceremony

If you are persuaded, here are my recommendations. Sonically, I think the soft sound of band Day6 or the soulful voice of Ailee are fantastic. Choreography-wise (and looks/popularity-wise), my favourite groups are BTS (you’ve probably heard of them – they beat the likes of Justin Bieber in a popularity vote at the BBMAs), Seventeen (there are a lot of them), Blackpink, KARD (one of the few mixed groups), GOT7 and EXO.

I dare you to try listening to a new genre this week. I also dare you to recommend me more music! If you want to have a nosey – here’s a link to my spotify.

My favourite radio stations:

Radio 1 (Their greatest hits show especially)

BBC Radio 3 (both new and old jazz and classical music, as well as live concerts like the Proms)

BBC Radio 6 Music (who doesn’t want to hear about the new stuff?)

Absolute Radio (commercial radio with the #NoRepeatGuarantee for all your rock, indie, and nostalgic needs)

Classic FM (not as wide repertoire as BBC Radio 3, but their Facebook page’s memes are on point.)

Stay sound!

– Naomi

“So, What’s Your Favourite Type Of Music?” A good question. A classic icebreaker. A great conversation starter. A brilliant way to assess a potential new friend.

#albums #bands #classical #emo #funk #indie #jazz #kpop #muse #Music #music videos #musician #pop #recommendations #Reviews #rock #songs

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dancer4813 · 7 years ago

Text

Under the Mistletoe

Took some time today to edit/revise this fic I originally wrote for @teammompike a year ago, based on this post. It was a pleasure to revisit, and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season!

Summary: Keyleth gets in the spirit of Winter's Crest and takes full advantage of the opportunity. Words: 2.1k [AO3]

Pike was the first to notice the berries, when they were wandering through the streets of Whitestone examining some of the local merchants’ wares.

“Keyleth, is that mistletoe?”

Keyleth turned her head to smile down at Pike. “I’m so glad you noticed! I found some on a tree when I went out to the forest earlier, and thought it was perfect for Winter’s Crest!“

The gnome tiled her head to one side. “You know what mistletoe means, right?”

“Of course,” Keyleth said, grinning. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I suppose…”

“Pike! Did you still wanna do the arm-wrestling contest?” Grog asked, coming over to them. “It’s startin’ soon!”

“Yes, but give me a moment!” she said, opening her mouth to say something to Keyleth before apparently changing her mind and turning back to Grog.

“Grog, do you know what mistletoe means?”

“Missle-what?”

“Mistletoe,” Pike repeated, gesturing up to Keyleth’s antlers.

“I mean, looks like berries to me,” Grog said with a shrug. “And I’ve never really liked green things, like the leaves on them. They never taste good.”

“Come here.” Pike gestured for Grog to crouch down and Keyleth went back to looking at the various jewelry on display, hiding a chuckle.

“Wait, really?” Grog exclaimed from behind her, and Keyleth turned to see Pike shushing him but nodding, grinning.

“Does that mean…”

“Only if you want to,” Pike said with a shrug. “But it’s tradition, so…”

She gave him a knowing look, and he stared at her for a moment before turning back to Keyleth.

“Do you know what mistletoe is?” he asked her. Keyleth laughed, unable to hide it, and nodded.

“I think so,” she said, and Grog considered her for a moment before stepping forward and placing a hesitant but firm kiss on top of her head, barely needing to stoop because of her height.

“Any more participants for the arm-wrestling competition?” came a general call from behind them, and Grog straightened up.

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth!” he said quickly, already backing away to get to the tables. “Pike can explain the mizzle-toes if you ask!”

“Thank you, Grog! Happy Winter’s Crest!” Keyleth shouted back with a laugh. She looked back to Pike, who was smirking.

“You don’t need mistletoe explained, do you, Keyleth?” she asked, and Keyleth shook her head.

“I think I’ve got it pretty well sorted, but thank you, Pike.”

“Well, I might as well get in the spirit of the season,” Pike said. “Right?”

“Of course! I mean-”

“Pike! Are you joining the arm-wrestling competition?” Grog bellowed from behind them.

“Yes! Give me a moment!” Pike yelled back, leaning to the side. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a smile, and beckoned Keyleth down to her level.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay a bit longer,” Pike said, but Keyleth only shrugged.

“Go kick their butts.”

“Anything for my favorite druid,” Pike murmured, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Keyleth on the cheek. “Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth.”

Keyleth returned the kiss and pulled Pike into a quick hug. “And the same to you, Pike.”

“Pike! They’re startin’!”

“Oh- gotta run!” Pike exclaimed, peeking around Keyleth’s shoulder. “See you later!”

And she ran off to join the other contestants at the array of tables in the square.

Keyleth, chuckling behind her fingers, made her way over to Scanlan, who was absentmindedly humming and tapping his foot along to a tune played by a lively string quartet. She lowered herself onto the bench at the table next to the bard, watching the musicians as he hummed.

“What’s the name of this song?” she asked, trying to sort out the rhythms and figure out if she’d heard them before. She didn’t think she had, but Scanlan seemed familiar with it.

“An old folk song,” he said, stretching and glancing toward her. “But the lyrics were…”

He trailed off, blinking twice at the white berries tied securely onto either side of Keyleth’s antlered headdress.

“What about the lyrics?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“The lyrics?”

“The lyrics to the song,” she said, gesturing to the quartet. “You said that the lyrics were…”

“Ah, yes,” Scanlan said with a short sigh. “The lyrics were lost to time, I suppose they’d say. I once met an older bard who knew them, but I was with Dr. Dranzel at the time and we were simply passing through, so I never learned them myself.”

“That’s too bad…” Keyleth said, trailing off as the song finished.

“You know, mistletoe has a particular meaning around this time of the year,” Scanlan said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “A very particular meaning, if you get my drift.”

“Of course it’s got an important meaning,” Keyleth said, reaching up to adjust the berries on the left antler, doing her best to hide a smile. “Why else would I be wearing some?”

Scanlan seemed at a loss for words for a moment, and Keyleth watched the musicians arrive at the correct pages in their music, and start playing together, an upbeat and vaguely familiar tune that Keyleth was sure she’d heard at a previous Winter’s Crest - probably the one in Emon a year prior.

“I really don’t think… Oh, fuck it,” Scanlan said, hopping up from the bench to bow to Keyleth. “May I have this dance?”

“Well, if you insist, though I’m not the best dancer…” Keyleth said, chuckling as she stood and Scanlan practically dragged her to the center of the square, where a few other couples had already started something of a jig.

Keyleth had never learned many social dances - the Ashari used dance less for communal purposes and more for representing the elements around them - and she had never really been one for coordinated movement. (Her father had always said her talent made up for her lack of grace.) And yet, somehow, Scanlan was managing to lead her around the dance floor expertly, skipping between couples and keeping up with her hesitant steps despite the large height difference between them.

Well, until the song drew to a close and Scanlan attempted to dip her, his arms hardly long enough to wrap around her torso, her weight too much for him. He whistled quickly, summoning Bigby’s Hand to support her, and gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her lips that she barely was able to return before he pulled back, grinning, his chest heaving as her own was while they both gasped for air.

“Thank you for the dance, my lady,” Scanlan said, adding a flourishing arm of embellishment to his bow. “And Happy Winter’s Crest.”

“No, thank you, Scanlan,” Keyleth said with as neat a curtsy as she could perform, her face flushed with excitement and exertion. “And a Happy Winter’s Crest to you as well.”

Throat dry and spirit light, Keyleth waved goodbye to Scanlan and made her way to the tavern, coming out with a tankard of water after only a minute or so and taking a seat at one of the empty tables lining the street, looking around happily at the festivities.

“That’s some lovely mistletoe you’ve got there,” came Percy’s voice from behind her as he sat down.

“Thank you, Percy! I think it’s a nice touch, don’t you?” Keyleth asked, smirking slightly as she turned to face him.

“Very nice. Winter’s Crest-appropriate, as well.”

“Exactly. Though, it is poisonous, you know, which makes it an interesting choice for decoration.”

“Is it?” Percy asked, a smirk of his own sliding into place on his lips. “I guess I’ve never had any reason to eat mistletoe and find out, but thank you for letting me know. Now I’ll be aware should anyone try to feed me some.”

Keyleth laughed, and Percy laughed with her. He pulled her into a hug with one arm, kissing her forehead gently before releasing her.

“Has Vax seen this yet?” he asked, gesturing to the top of her headdress.

“He’s next on my list,” Keyleth said, glancing over to where the twins were standing together, cheering on Pike and Grog in the arm-wrestling competition.

“I usually wouldn’t recommend lists, but I think that’s a good plan,” Percy said, chuckling. “I’ll have to keep watch for that amusing interaction.”

“I hope it will be,” Keyleth said, reaching up to check that the vines she’d druidcrafted to hold the berries in place were still holding strong. “Well, no time like the present, right?”

“None at all,” Percy said with a knowing grin.

Keyleth made to stand, and Percy grabbed her hand.

“By the way, Happy Winter’s Crest, Keyleth.”

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Percy,” Keyleth said with a smile, waving farewell as she made her way over to the twins.

“Hello!” she greeted, approaching the two of them.

“Hello Keyleth!” Vex said, the look she gave Keyleth mildly confused until she replaced it with a wide smile and a wink. Keyleth let her own grin grow for a moment, then worked to school her expression, waiting for Vax to turn around.

“Hey, Kiki,” he said distractedly, watching Pike take down a teenager whose smug smile had been wiped clean off his face. When the gnome stood up proudly and fist-bumped

Grog, he turned to look at Keyleth with a smile that fell off his face after only a moment, replaced with a look of confusion.

“You’ve got mistletoe,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

“No shit, brother,” Vex said, elbowing him in the side. He elbowed her back.

“I just…” he seemed lost for words, and Keyleth made a supreme effort to keep herself from laughing and continue looking innocent and just a little confused at his words .

“Yes?”

“Uh, well…”

“Did you have a question?”

“Well, umm… Do the Ashari have a particular meaning for mistletoe? Being a plant, that is.”

Vax’ cheeks flushed and Keyleth lifted one hand to hide her laughter as she pretended to think about her answer.

“Mistletoe to us means life and longevity, I suppose, and can be used as a symbol of love. It’s also said to grant protection from poison, though I always find that strange since it’s actually a poisonous plant.”

Vax gulped audibly. “Is it?” he asked, his voice higher than it normally would be. “That’s interesting…”

He swallowed once and breathed deeply, then continued. “So, is there any special tradition the Ashari use mistletoe for during the holidays?” Vax asked, shifting from foot to foot with awkwardness screaming from him. Keyleth was quite sure it was the sort she was usually victim of and not witness to, and she had to admit, it felt rather good to be on the other side of things.

“We hang it up around Zephra, I suppose…” Keyleth said, deliberately vague. She found herself glancing at Vex, who smirked and winked at her from over Vax’s shoulder.

“But is there any…”

Vax made a vague gesture to his face and puckered his lips slightly.

“Is there any… what?” Keyleth probed, making Vex catch herself on a laugh.

“Yes, any what, brother?” she chimed in.

“You’re not helping!” Vax shot back over his shoulder. “Any- oh, you know!”

“Do I?”

“Kiki!”

“I don’t understand, Vax,” Keyleth said, softening her eyes with extreme difficulty, since she wanted nothing more than to burst out laughing. “Any what?”

She knew their relationship hadn’t progressed much outside the bedroom, but she hadn’t imagined such a strong reaction from him when faced with a public display of affection.

“I think he means any kisses, darling,” Vex said, stepping forward, which was all the warning Keyleth had before the ranger planted a kiss square on Keyleth’s lips.

It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, and Keyleth returned the kiss happily before Vex pulled away, cheeks flushed and with a sultry grin on her face.

“Vex!”

“Oh, but brother, you were just going to leave your girlfriend hanging while you stuttered about,” Vex said, turning back to him.

“That didn’t mean you had to just- I can’t believe you-”

“Vax, of course the Ashari tradition involves kissing,” Keyleth said, side-stepping Vex. “Doesn’t every tradition with mistletoe?”

“Well, I suppose,” Vax said, still looking very uncomfortable, his cheeks pink. “But then why-”

“-Did I wear some?” Keyleth asked, stepping toward him and lifting her hand to cup his cheek. “Why, just to see the look on your face, of course.”

And she kissed him, closing her eyes as their lips met, the warm breath against her face contrasting sharply with the cool air around them.

The kiss itself was soft and gentle and not at all how she had intended to kiss him, but she couldn’t complain. They held it for a long moment, then separated, and Vax sighed before resting his forehead against Keyleth’s, his cheeks still a darker pink than the winter air warranted.

“Part of me wants to be mad at you, but somehow I can’t manage it,” he said, reaching up to cover the hand that was still on his cheek.

“Glad to hear it,” Keyleth said, taking his fingers in her own. “Happy Winter’s Crest, Vax.”

“Happy Winter’s Crest, Kiki.”

#critical role #critfic #winter's crest #keyleth #vox machina #these friends and their found family and their platonic/bordering on romantic love is my favorite thing #imma miss them #my writing #happy holidays!#teammompike

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thisaintascenereviews · 7 years ago

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A Conversation About Fall Out Boy & Friendship

By Bradley Christensen & Jake Higgins

Recently I reviewed M A N I A, the new album from Fall Out Boy, and I talked about the personal meaning behind the album for me. It’s an album that represents happiness, above all else, since I can say that I’m truly excited for another album from them. It’s been a few years since they released an album, and when 2015’s American Beauty / American Psycho was released, it took me some time to get excited about it (at least before its release), since I was going through a messy breakup at the time. M A N I A is a record that I can just be happy about. It’s an album that I can be excited to hear, as well as listen to. It’s definitely not the first Fall Out Boy album that I have positive memories with, but it’s the first album since 2013’s Save Rock & Roll that I can be truly excited about. Not that I don’t like American Beauty / American Psycho, or anything close to that, but I wasn’t excited for weeks or months until its release. I was dreading it, really, because it’s an album that I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear. My point is, though, M A N I A has no negative connotations attached to it, but even then, American Beauty / American Psycho doesn’t anymore, either. I’m at a much different and better point in my life, and M A N I A is a good reflection of that, but there were some things I didn’t talk about in my review. I did that on purpose, though, and you’ll see why in a second. Consider this to be the “sequel” to that review, but Fall Out Boy is the reason that my best friend, Jake, and I met. We met in late 2012, give or take, and we really started talking, thanks to him picking up a copy of 2007’s Infinity On High. I had posted about it on a Facebook page that I was apart of, and he saw it one day at Walmart, so he thought he’d check it out. He messaged me about it, and since then, we’ve been the best of friends.

It goes even further than that, though, because Fall Out Boy has always brought our friendship together. Jake and I are two different people, but at the end of the day, we both love music. Our tastes are definitely different, but they’ve grown over time. We’ve gotten each into other stuff, as well as challenged our tastes, especially by me indirectly getting him into Fall Out Boy. Speaking of which, we have a mutual love and respect for that band, because they’re the band that brought us together, so to speak. Because of that, we’ve always had this bond over Fall Out Boy. We talk about, dissect, and analyze everything they release, as well as love it and revel in it, but Fall Out Boy albums being released in something we both can be excited about. That’s one thing we both share, and M A N I A is great, because we both can be excited about this record, no strings attached. I wasn’t able to get fully immersed into American Beauty / American Psycho for things that were happening on my end at the time, but that album brought us closer together, because we were both going through things. M A N I A is an album that we can both be excited about, because we’re both at a good place in our lives. We knew that we had to review this album somehow, especially together, but Jake came up with a cool idea – an interview. It’s an interview with two best friends, just talking about an album, versus a review where we go back and forth. It’s something we’ve done before, and we wanted to try something a bit different. I really like the idea of an interview, because we can just talk. It’s a conversation about this album, Fall Out Boy (as well as their body of work), our friendship, and music in general.

Bradley: Aye bbygurl! <3 That’s a little greeting that we’ve used for each other over these last six years, give or take. It’s really cool that we decided to virtually sit down and talk about M A N I A, but I wanted to start off the interview by talking about how we met. Our friendship and Fall Out Boy have been intertwined since the beginning of everything, and thinking about it now, that really blows my mind. I can’t say that a band is the reason why I’ve met anyone else, let alone a specific album. We wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for Fall Out Boy, and you wouldn’t have gotten into Fall Out Boy if it weren’t for me. I guess I’m most curious about what compelled you to pick up Infinity On High in the first place, since your taste was a lot different compared to how it is now, so what compelled you to randomly pick it up? When you came across it at Walmart that fateful day, what was going through your mind?

Jake: Aye bbygurl! <3 First, I'd like to thank you for bringing me on board to do this, and for really running with my idea. This is a special album and a special review, so I knew we had to do something unique and different.

Anyway, I think to really go deep into this, I should go back to my initial history with Fall Out Boy. It was a pretty passive one, honestly. Given their mainstream success, I obviously knew who they were, and I had heard some of their biggest singles, but given my musical interests at that time, I never really bothered to look much deeper. As you know, for most of my musical life, I was pretty much only into hard-rock/alternative metal. Bands like Three Days Grace, Breaking Benjamin, and Chevelle dominated what I listened to. I was pretty content with that at the time, honestly, so looking back, it's kind of funny that I ended up gravitating to a Fall Out Boy album.

When I came across Infinity On High at Walmart that day (December 4th, 2012, to be exact), something in my head clicked. Obviously, the biggest factor that led me to take a chance on it was how highly you spoke of it on your page. I can't remember when I started following your page exactly, but aside from the usual content, I'd always see you praise this Fall Out Boy album. Funny thing, I actually recognized the album cover before anything else, because I didn't really know what the album was called. I saw it, picked it up off the shelf, and thought to myself "Huh, so this is that album Bradley loves so much." I flipped it over to look at the tracklist, and I recognized two of the songs, those being "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race" and "Thnks Fr Th Mmrs." I then thought to myself "Oh yeah, these songs are pretty cool, so you know, maybe I should check this album out. It wouldn't hurt to finally give these guys a proper listen, after all." I initially put the CD back on the shelf just to look at the rest of the CDs (I wasn't using a cart that day, as I remember it being a really quick trip), but I quickly came back around to pick it up and buy it. I made a quick run by the groceries to pick up a pack of Twizzlers, grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, and finally got in line to check out. And as the saying goes, the rest is history.

So, Bradley, I'd like to swing this back to you and ask you something that I don't think we've ever talked about before. When you got my message about me deciding to pick up the album, what was going through your mind?

B: I like that you gave me your history with the band before anything else, because that helps a lot in understanding why you picked up Infinity On High, even if it was merely a curiosity, considering how I would praise the hell of that album (I still do, obviously). I’ve talked about my history with them many times, but they were the band that got me into music. Infinity On High is the album that got me into music as I know it. I was around 14 when the album came out, and it’s the album that made me fall head over heels for music, so I credit that album with everything. It’s the most important and meaningful album in my whole collection, frankly, and that’s why it ultimately ended up back as my favorite album. The more that I thought about this record, the more that I realized it’s my all time favorite, because of the importance that it has to me.

I don’t remember the specifics, but I remember talking about Infinity On High a lot on that Facebook page, since I wanted people to get to me a bit better, personally speaking, versus being a faceless admin on the page. We haven’t really talked about my reaction when you messaged me, though, which is really interesting. I don’t remember the exact message, or even the time, but I do remember my reaction. The thing is, that wasn’t our first interaction. I do remember that the reason I added you on Facebook was because I wanted to see your review on Yellowcard’s Southern Air, because that was an album that I really liked from earlier in 2012. That was when I was big into pop-punk, and Southern Air was an album that I really enjoyed from that summer / early fall, so I wanted to see that review. I thought that was the end of it, but when you messaged me about picking up Infinity On High, I remember being surprised in a really good way. That was the first time that someone picked something up based on my recommendation, whether it was a direct recommendation, or in this case, more so indirect. It was the first time where someone took to heart something I said about music, or at the very least, they decided to take a chance on something I talked about. That’s something I love about being a music fan. There’s nothing like recommending something to someone, or even just merely posting about something, and someone’s like, “Hey, I checked this out, and I absolutely love it.” There’s nothing better than someone taking a suggestion you made to them to heart, and that’s what I felt like happened there, even if it was an indirect one. No one really came to me, and said, “Hey, I listened to this album, because I saw what you said about it, and I love it,” so it was a humbling and surreal experience. It still is, honestly, because look at us all of these years later.

Moving things back to Fall Out Boy, since that’s what we’re focusing on here, do you remember your first overall impression of Infinity On High? M A N I A, their new album, is pretty similar to Infinity On High, but not in the typical sense. Both albums are awfully scattershot, sonically interesting, and feature a very diverse palette of sounds and sounds, so what was your first impressions with Infinity On High? Personally, I feel like I have an advantage of jumping onto their bandwagon through that album, because if I had heard their first albums, which were relatively consistent and generic pop-punk (with some pop-influenced material, here and there), I would have been thrown for a loop with how scattershot and diverse Infinity On High ended up being, so I can’t imagine how I’d feel about it then. Do you feel the same way, Jake?

J: So, funny thing about this, Bradley; I actually listened to the album for the first time as we talked that day, so we had a really cool conversation about the album as I gave you my live reaction. I don't remember all the details, but I do remember the very first thing I said, and it ties into my general first impressions of the album. Obviously it being five years later, I have all the knowledge and context of what this album meant for the band and their sound, but at the time, I wasn't thinking about any of that. I just remember being blown away by how talented the band was and how slick and effortless their sound was. The first thing I said to you as I was listening, though, was "Damn, I never realized just how good Patrick Stump's voice is." And that was true; Patrick Stump's insanely charismatic and soulful delivery is the first thing that grabbed me. How could it not with his first note of "Thriller?" That's seriously as perfect an album opener as you could can possibly get, but I digress. Stump's voice is what initially hooked me, but I was really blown away by how infectious, catchy, and effortless the band sounded. I still have that feeling when I listen to it now, but it's even cooler with all the added knowledge and context. But it wasn't about that back then, because all I was thinking about then was "Holy shit, this is awesome."

B: That’s kind of how I was when I first listened to the album, actually; the context and meaning behind it didn’t really matter, because I knew virtually nothing about the band, but I was really into its sound. It was unlike anything I really heard prior to that, but it really affected me. Knowing the context behind the album makes it that much better, but the reason I ask that is because Fall Out Boy is known for having such a diverse, inconsistent, and scattershot career. Their music has gone through a few different shifts over the last fifteen years, and M A N I A is at the forefront of yet another major shift for the band – going full blown “pop.” They had toyed with this on their last couple of albums, 2013’s Save Rock & Roll and 2015’s American Beauty / American Psycho, as well as going into R&B, hip-hop, and electronic music, but how do you feel about their shift into pop music?

J: I feel like if nothing else, I was ready for the pivot to a pop sound more than most, because 1, I didn't have the attachment to the pure pop-punk albums so many others do, and 2, I came in at the middle point, much like yourself. Hell, Take This To Your Grave was the last album of theirs I got into at the time, before the hiatus ended, of course. Also, I think Save Rock And Roll being their comeback album and being this rebirth of sorts for the band, I was all for it. That's why Save Rock And Roll is my second favorite album of theirs, actually; it represents Fall Out Boy's rebirth, and it's also a culmination of my initial fandom and getting into them so much before the reunion. Even outside of that, though, I think it just makes sense, given their evolution even before the hiatus. Perhaps the change from Folie A Deux to its follow-up wouldn't have been so sharp had the hiatus not happened, but we would have eventually ended up to some form of where we are now.

B: I definitely think that we had the advantage of getting into the band through their most experimental album before their return, because listening to Infinity On High indirectly introduced me to a lot of other styles of music, too. Because of that album, I was much more “accepting,” I guess you could say, of their “pop” rebirth, because they already had experimented with that stuff before. I also had the chance of getting into Patrick Stump’s solo work before Save Rock & Roll, too, so I knew that Stump loves pop, R&B, and soul music, but I digress. There’s definitely a reason why I wanted to bring up the band moving into a more pop-focused sound, because it’s all led up to their new album, M A N I A. There’s been a lot of mixed feelings on this LP, and it’s been in the making for the last year and a half, too. As you know, they delayed the album for a few months, because they weren’t happy with it, but they did keep a couple songs from the original album that they had already put together, one of which being “Young And Menace.” It’s easily their strangest, most “experimental,” and even most divisive song, but what was your initial reaction to that song when it first dropped?

J: I think like everyone else, even people who love the song, I was certainly taken aback initially by the song. That chorus in particular is a weird mashup of sounds, and at first, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. At the end of the day, though, this song still has everything I love about Fall Out Boy; a killer vocal performance from Patrick Stump, a fresh take on their genre, and Pete Wentz's signature lyrical style. It's Fall Out Boy through and through, just with a new and weird coat of paint on it. You could say that about M A N I A as a whole, huh?

B: You could definitely say that about M A N I A, as a whole, because it’s a very “different” album. I know when I first “Young And Menace,” I was surprised, because I didn’t expect an EDM-esque sound to it, but I love it. It’s so weird, different, and odd, but like you said, it’s Fall Out Boy. The whole album is like that, really, but I mean that in the best way. I wouldn’t say, especially since it’s so new, that it’s one of their best albums just yet, but I can say it’s one of their most unique and scattershot records that’s also very experimental and different for them. Going into this thing, I had no idea what to expect, but I was extremely pleased with it. It gets better with each listen, honestly. A lot of people have been whining about how they “sold out,” or whatever, but I really don’t think they have. They’re just as sharp, unique, and interesting as they’ve always been. We’ve both written stuff about that before, too, but this album exceeded my expectations, especially when I didn’t quite have any. What are some of your favorite standout moments?

J: Right off the bat, I think you have to talk about the one-two punch of "Church" and "Heaven's Gate." Who could see Fall Out Boy making a gospel-infused love song, then having the next song being a modern variation of a 1960's soul song? Yeah, Fall Out Boy have the guts to do that, and it works.

B: I was hoping you’d mention those two songs, because those are a couple of my favorites. As someone that really loves soul music (and to some extent, gospel, since a lot of soul music has gospel influence), it was great to hear Patrick Stump sing like that, as well as the band do something in that vein. This album has a lot to offer, but what I like about it is how short and sweet the album is. It’s close to 36 minutes, easily their shortest album, but it’s also one of their most diverse albums, too.

J: My other standouts are "Hold Me Tight Or Don't" and "Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)," speaking of that diversity. These two songs remind me the most of classic Fall Out Boy, just with the modern twist. Throw some heavier guitars on these, and they wouldn't sound too out of place on Infinity On High or Folie A Deux. Patrick Stump's vocals are also a little more loose and free on these songs, and even Pete Wentz lyrics remind me of stuff he would write back then. Ultimately, though, if you're on board with the surface level of M A N I A being a full-on pop album, there's a song on here for everyone. Even "Sunshine Riptide," the only song on the album I'm still slightly unsure of, is really cool because of how it embraces an international vibe and isn't afraid to let its guest star shine.

So, Bradley, I think that about covers the album itself. We've also touched on fan entitlement and reaction to this album in plenty of other places, so I don't want to revisit that. Instead, I just wanna ask; how does it feel to finally be here, with a new Fall Out Boy album we can both be equally as excited about with no strings attached? Also, I guess I'll ask the same question I always ask you after a new album; where do they go from here?

B: Those are two of the best songs, too, especially for those reasons. Honestly, Stump’s vocals shine on the whole entire record; he’s one of the best parts of the album, and it’s insane at how much better he keeps getting on each album. “Sunshine Riptide” is the only song that I’m a bit iffy on still, but even that song has some good stuff on it. I love its hook, and its reggae sound isn’t really that bad. It’s a bit too weird, especially for Fall Out Boy, but it’s something different, nonetheless. Anyway, I talked a lot about how excited I am to be finally able to enjoy a Fall Out Boy with no strings attached in my review of the album itself, where I go into much more detail, but it’s still great. It’s amazing to finally be excited for a Fall Out Boy album in every way, shape, and form, without having to worry about anything in relation to it. It’s great to be excited for an album from them again. I mean, I’ve been excited for the last few albums, of course, but there was always something going on, ultimately preventing me from fully being excited about it. This one, however, everything’s changed. As for where the band will go from here, Jake, I’ll just say this – I don’t know. That’s such a cop out answer, I know, but isn’t that great? I was starting to think Fall Out Boy would get locked into a formula with their albums, but no, I was dead wrong. That’s why I’m happy to say that I have no idea where they’ll be going from here. You can’t say that with many bands, huh? You have an idea of where most bands are going, but with Fall Out Boy, you can never really tell.

#fall out boy #m a n i a #patrick stump #pete wentz #infinity on high #young and menace #folie a deux #take this to your grave #from under the cork tree #pop #rock #alternative #the last of the real ones #wilson expensive mistakes

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iwillsendapostcard · 7 years ago

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Lizzie’s anniversary playlist

A playlist to celebrate one year of being in this fandom! 🎉🎉🎉

Listen to the whole thing here.

Part One- The Affair

Part Two- The Chill Era and The Trial

Part Three- Boyfriends to Fiancés Era

Part Four [Final Part]- The Wedding, The Guilt and The Break-Up

February 2017 The Love We Stole- Bear’s Den I was heaving/ breaths I couldn't bear to breathe in/ you came running/ and stood there silent, summoning my sin/ to let it all out now/ show the world the love that you stole…

I would love to know who it was that was in charge of picking this song for the wedding because one day I’d like to thank them in person. It’s so perfect on all levels. For the tone of the vocalist’s voice, to the rhythm (perfect for walking down an aisle to!), to the subject matter. I mean, their relationship started as an affair for Christ’s sake. Aaron outed Robert against his will. And yet here there are, as in love as they ever were (frankly, more so) standing up and showing their love to the world.

The song was perfect. The wedding was perfect. And then it all went wrong.

March 2017 Hallelujah- Panic At The Disco I was drunk and it didn't mean a thing/ stop thinking about/ the bullets from my mouth/ I love the things you hate about yourself…

Another wedding song (it plays as Liv is organising the decoration of the pub) this one suddenly became all the more relevant on the night of The Incident. This has always been a robron song for me due to the way it is laced with references to past mistakes but set to an upbeat and hopeful rhythm. I even made @thisdamndesire make me a gifset with these lyrics.

PATD is also nerdy enough as an artist that Aaron would take the piss out of Rob for listening to the album this song is on. But I also reckon Aaron would secretly find himself enjoying it too.

And for those of you who still reside in theoriesville: this song opens with the singer declaring “a moment you’ll never remember, and a night you’ll never forget” and I don’t know about you but that seems AWFULLY relevant…

April 2017 Unsteady- X Ambassadors Mama, come here/ approach, appear/ daddy, I'm alone/ ‘cause this house don't feel like home/ if you love me, don't let go…

This song is as much a song for the fandom as it is for robron at this point in the story. The chorus is simple; it simply repeats “hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady’. This was my roughest patch in fandom, filled with both highs and lows and, let’s be real here, it was pretty unsteady at times. I call this era ‘the guilt’ and I think Ryan did a wonderful job in portraying a man who is being eaten up inside while trying to put on a facade of control.

This song is the sort of song that plays in the background of a dramatic scene in Greys Anatomy. I often find myself daydreaming of running through some big cinematic landscape as this plays in the background. How very SSW…

May 2017 Rearranged- Ella Vos Pressing my way to the surface/ wonder if I’ll ever feel you close/ stuck in my head, I can’t get out/ can you be sure that I’m worth it?

Keeping with the moody music here this song is about trying to change for a lover but knowing it will never be enough. And while Robert has, as he said, “got a bit of a way to go” he’s mostly been very willing to try to change his behaviour in order to be with Aaron. It’s a promise that is easy to make with your mother-in-law hovering over your shoulder. Especially when said mother-in-law is a Dingle.

June 2017 Hourglass- LANNDS If you were only mine/ if I were only good enough/ and if I never wasted your time/ would you still love me?

Another song about not being good enough for a lover. It was around this point that I started to feel a bit… well, mopey. At least there’s this absolute tune to keep me going though, right?

Right…?

July 2017 Both Sides Now- Olly Alexander I've looked at love from both sides now/ from give and take and still somehow/ it's love's illusions I recall/ I really don't know love at all/ tears and fears and feeling proud/ to say "I love you" right out loud…

Ok real talk- I’ve cheated here because there is already a Years and Years song on this playlist. AND I could have used the Joni Mitchel original. But I really really love this version. I also found it on one of the playlists spotify made for pride month. My theory is that this time on his own (i.e. out of a relationship) might be good for Robert to reconcile himself to his sexuality. Does Rob really know what it means to identify as a bisexual man when he’s not in a relationship with a person of the same gender? Did he spend time listening to music and thinking about his history and how everything he’d been through affected his very sense of self?

I’m getting carried away here.

I cried the first time I heard this song. I want it played at my funeral.

It’s so sad and honest and raw. And if you’re going to lie on the massive sofa in the Mill, bury your nose in the fabric and try to see if there’s any lingering trace of your husband still there, as you fight down the feeling that you’re insides are being pulled out through your ribs then this, THIS, is the song you need to do it to.

August 2017 Nervous- Gavin James Cause we lived at the carnival in summer/ we scared ourselves to death on a ghost train/ and just like every ferris wheel stops turning/ oh I guess we had an expiration date/ so I won't say I love you, it's too late

Ok, firstly, the image of Robert and Aaron on a ghost train is super cute. But yes, summer is on the wane and the boys are breaking up. But this song is way more upbeat in tone than the last three and for me represents Aaron desperately trying to put a positive spin on things. He can look back with fondness at parts of their relationship as he works on himself and his relationship with his sister.

That’s what that great big empty feeling in his chest is, isn’t it? That’s what fondness feels like, right?

September 2017 The Best You Had- Nina Nesbit 'Cause it's crazy that you're moving on so fast/ but baby it's okay if I am still the best you had/ and it hurts to think of you like that/ but baby it's okay if I am still the best you had…

We’ve had canon confirmation that sex with Aaron is the best sex Rob’s ever had. But how does Aaron feel? Did Dr Alex ever measure up? Well, obviously not; he slept on the sofa. But Robert doesn’t know this…

We know form his conversations with Larry, and from Ryan and Iain interviews that Robert thinks Aaron is ready to move on. It’s not what we’re seeing on screen, but again, Robert has no way of knowing this. All he can do is pretend he’s ok with the thought of someone else running his hands down Aaron’s spine and tasting his lips.

HE’S TOTALLY FUCKING FINE WITH IT AND SO AM I *heavy breathing*

October 2017 You Can’t Always Get What You Want- The Rolling Stones You can’t always get what you want/ but if you try some times/ you might find/ you get what you need

Another thing we’ve had confirmed in canon that Robert likes to listen to The Rolling Stones. I admit that when the spoilers confirmed that there would indeed be a break-up I listened to this song on repeat for like four days. This song fits pretty nicely with the current canon and fanon discussions about what you want and what you need being different things. Well, my perspective on this is that they can be the same thing, and with the boys they almost certainly are 😉

This song ends on a hopeful note, and so too does this playlist!

Looking forwards to another year with the boys and with this wonderful fandom. Much love to you all!!!

#robron #one year in fandom #35 months of robron #lizzie's anniversary playlist #you know at points this was actually quite hard

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jesus-otaku · 7 years ago

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Okay, so it’s a little past afternoon, but it’s still Sunday, so...this fanfic post is officially on time!

Title: Shall We Dance? (Part 5)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Ladynoir, Adrinette, some implied Cheesecake (Plagg/Tikki)

Word count: 3396 oops how do these chapters keep getting so long

My personal playlist for this part: Surely (I Love You) [Huey Lewis and the News], What’s Next? [Big Bad Voodoo Daddy], You’re Only Human (Second Wind) [Billy Joel]

I am so proud of myself for getting this posted on time. I had a fiasco during research and I was afraid I might not get it out when I said I would. But it’s here! On time! Happy day! (Enjoy!)

“God, there was so much that could go wrong.”

________________________

The classroom brackets to choose their pair for the district competition were posted. Marinette felt vaguely as if she might throw up. She and Adrien were assigned to go up against Alya and Nino, of all people, in the first round. Marinette personally thought it would be a miracle if they made it past this round. She still hadn't gotten used to dancing the tango with Adrien; they'd be lucky if she didn't trip them both within the first two minutes. “Am I allowed to forfeit?” she asked Alya, who was standing next to her and looking at the brackets, although she already knew the answer was no.

Alya smiled with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Unfortunately, unless you want a failing grade for not participating …”

Marinette grabbed at Alya's arm. “You have to help me. I'm going to make a fool of myself and make Adrien look bad in front of the entire class. I can't let that happen! He'd never forgive me!”

“Well, actually, knowing Adrien, I'm pretty sure he'd forgive you before you even apologized,” Alya replied with a laugh. She removed Marinette's hand from her arm. “And you'll be fine. If it's that bad, you could always try imagining that you're dancing with someone else.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she caught sight of something or someone behind Marinette, and started heading across the studio to Nino. “Good luck. I'd better go help Nino figure out our choreography!”

“Alya, wai—”

“Morning, Marinette,” Adrien greeted her, coming up beside her. He gave her his usual cheerful, sunny smile that always set her heart pounding double-time. “We start working on choreography today, right?”

“Yeahning—I mean norming—I mean morning,” she stammered. She pasted a smile on her face and hope it looked genuine enough to cover up how nervous she was feeling. “I mean good morning! Yeah. Um … that is, yes. Yes, we're supposed to start choreographying—choreographing! We're supposed to start choreographing today.” God, she needed to stop talking before she made herself look like an even bigger idiot. Her stupid mouth couldn't seem to listen to her brain, though, and she found herself stuttering on like a fool. “Since … um … the competition district is … ack, I mean the district competition is coming up and we have to—well, the class has to … um … pick who we're going to send for our age bracket. To compete. In the competition.”

Somehow, Adrien must have understood what she was trying to say, because he nodded and asked, “Is there an assigned song that we have to choreograph our dance to?” He set his bag down and crossed over to the warm-up bar so he wasn't blocking the door anymore.

Marinette hurried to join him. “We have a few songs to fick prom—I mean pick from.” This day was off to a horrible start so far. She couldn't even talk like a normal human being. Choreographing anything today was going to be a nightmare.

Adrien, of course, (bless his soul,) had more presence of mind than Marinette, and proved to be a natural at choreographing. With her limited, stammered input, he selected the music for their dance from Miss Bustier's provided CDs, and immediately set about figuring out how they would open the dance.

“… And then maybe some kind of turn? That could work really well with this crescendo in the music.” He turned to Marinette. “What do you think? Should we do a turn here?”

“Huh?” Put on the spot, she could hardly manage more than a few broken syllables. “I … well … if … maybe … we could … and … um …”

Adrien stepped away from the bar. “How about we practice what we've got so far? Then we can see how well the turn would work.” He held his arms out in the ballroom position, waiting for her to join him.

Inwardly, Marinette cringed. This was not going to end well, she could tell already. She could barely even talk to him today. There was no way she was going to manage dancing with him. Especially not the blasted tango. But, since it was Adrien and she could never tell him no in a million years, she got to her feet and let him take her hand in his for the ballroom position.

It was a catastrophe.

“I'm sorry,” Adrien apologized when the third move nearly ended in Marinette tripping both of them. “I forgot, I learned that one back when I was in private lessons. I should have asked if you knew it first.”

“That's—it's—I mean, um, it's okay,” she managed to say. “I know it—the move, I mean. I just—I wasn't—I forgot, um … I forgot what came next, and I … I'm sorry, my brain just—stupid brain, I …”

“Don't worry about it,” he assured her. “We can try again, from the top. We've got a couple weeks to figure this thing out. There's no rush.”

Marinette thought that two weeks was nowhere near enough time for her to get used to dancing the tango with Adrien, let alone compete with him against their classmates, but she kept it to herself and let Adrien start their routine over.

“We've got your first bracket!” Tikki announced, waving a piece of paper in her hand as she came over to where Ladybug and Chat Noir had just been about to start their first dance of the night. Plagg joined them moments later.

“Unfortunately, it looks like you guys are gonna have one of the harder preliminary brackets,” Tikki continued. She tucked the paper into the pocket of her suitcoat. “You're up against a pair that's competed before several times representing Papillon.”

“Papillon?” Ladybug and Chat echoed in tandem.

Tikki's eyebrows went up in surprise. “The biggest swing club in Paris,” Plagg explained before she could even open her mouth to answer. He propped his arm on Tikki's shoulder. “It's run by an anonymous benefactor who uses the name Papillon as his alias. He's been sending in competitors for … how long has it been now, Tikki? At least twenty years?”

“Twenty-one,” Tikki supplied.

“Twenty-one years,” Plagg said. “And one of his pairs has won almost every single year. We always go up against them in the finals. Haven't beaten them in the finals since the original Ladybug and Chat Noir retired. Which was about seventeen years ago.” He eyed the two of them. “I'm a bit surprised you haven't heard of Papillon before. They're a lot bigger than we are in the swing dance world.”

“I've heard of them before,” Chat said, shrugging, “but I thought they were some kind of dance school for people who wanted to learn as a hobby. I never really paid much attention to the names of the clubs who sent the winning pairs for the swing competition.”

Plagg looked at Ladybug. “I always got my info about the competition from a friend of mine,” she explained. “And she was more interested in Kwami Dance Club and Ladybug than the other competitors. So I never got names.”

Plagg grinned. “Your friend has good taste.”

“In any case,” Tikki said, drawing their attention back to her, “you're competing against Monsieur Pigeon and his partner Colombe in the first round.”

Monsieur Pigeon?? Ladybug snorted in amusement. Chat Noir seemed to find the name just as funny as she did; he burst out laughing. His laughter set her off, and though she tried her best to stop laughing, she couldn't.

Tikki propped her hands on her hips. “Laugh all you want, but they're good dancers. They've made it up to the semifinals before.”

“Still,” Chat Noir managed to snicker, “Monsieur Pigeon? What's his first name? Homing?” He dissolved into another laughing fit at his own joke.

“Papillon stole our code name trend,” Plagg said by way of explanation. “And Tikki's right. He doesn't sound like much, but he and his partner can be a tough pair to beat. He's been competing for at least the past ten years.”

“An old pigeon,” Ladybug quipped to Chat in a whisper, having stopped laughing enough to at least regain her faculty of speech. He nearly doubled over.

Tikki and Plagg seemed to silently decide they should just wait until Ladybug and Chat had stopped laughing about the name Monsieur Pigeon. Plagg leaned against Tikki, his arm still propped on her shoulder, and she folded her arms across her chest patiently. When both Ladybug and Chat Noir had finally managed to cease their laughing fit, Tikki resumed the conversation. “The thing you're going to have to watch out for with this pair is their aerials. They know a lot of aerials you two haven't learned yet, and they've had years to perfect them. Their big finishing moves are sidecar and the angel.”

Chat waved his hand dismissively. “They don't sound like all that.”

Plagg and Tikki exchanged glances. “Sounds like someone needs a reality check,” Plagg remarked as Tikki took his hands in hers, obviously preparing to dance. He shifted with her into the closed position, and they fell into the rock step with the ease of years of practice. “This is sidecar.”

In the amount of time it would have taken Ladybug to blink, Plagg swept Tikki up off the floor and dipped her to first one side, then the other. She would have thought they were doing the double cherry bomb if it weren't for the fact that Plagg wasn't supporting Tikki the same way at all. She was about to ask Chat if he thought it was all that impressive a move when Plagg swung Tikki straight towards himself and then up, with only his hands on her waist for support. Tikki balanced, upside down and pin-straight, above Plagg for what seemed like an impossibly long amount of time, though it was probably only a few seconds at most. Then she was swung back down onto her feet.

“Holy crap,” Chat said under his breath. Ladybug was inclined to agree.

“Monsieur Pigeon won't put his partner down that soon,” Plagg warned them. “He likes to strut his stuff a little first.”

“I know someone else who used to like to strut his stuff,” Tikki remarked with a sidelong glance Plagg's way. He either didn't hear her or elected to ignore her. She turned her attention on Chat Noir and Ladybug. “Plagg makes it sound like a bad thing, but showing off is actually a really good idea when you're doing aerials. The longer the girl's up in the air, the more impressive it looks. As long as you don't hold her up for too long,” she amended. “Otherwise it can start to seem like you just don't know what to do next.”

“So that's sidecar,” Ladybug said slowly, “but what about the other one you mentioned?” She didn't think anything could possibly top that near-impossible balancing act, but if there was one thing she had learned about swing dance, it was always full of surprises.

“The angel,” Plagg said. Tikki took his hands in hers in obvious anticipation. “It's not as impressive from a brute strength perspective, but it looks cooler.” With that, he and Tikki started the rock step again, and Tikki was spun around only once before being flipped up onto Plagg's shoulder. Although this time she was balanced on her stomach and not upside down, she still remained pin-straight as before.

“That's so cool,” Chat gushed. Rather than intimidated, he looked … excited? Did he forget that this was a move their opponents had mastered?

Plagg looked smugly pleased by the praise. “As an additional option, for added effect …” He spun in a tight circle, keeping Tikki perfectly balanced the whole time. At the end of the turn, Tikki was flipped off his shoulder to land back on the floor. “And that's the angel.”

“Could you teach us that one?” Chat asked eagerly. He seemed to catch himself, and looked over at Ladybug. “If it's all right with you, of course, my lady.”

She smiled. It did look like a fun aerial to learn. And it couldn't hurt to brush up their repertoire before going up against someone with as much aerial experience as Monsieur Pigeon. “I wouldn't mind.”

“You're not going to beat him at his own game,” Plagg said, as if he could read her mind. “In a contest of aerials, he's always got the upper hand.”

Ladybug eyed him curiously. “Then what do you suggest?”

Plagg smirked. “Make him play your game instead.”

In less than twenty-four hours she was going to be competing on a stage in front of half of Paris.

“–ette.”

In less than twenty-four hours she was going to compete for the first time as the new Ladybug.

“–rinette.”

God, there was so much that could go wrong.

“Marinette.”

Fingers snapped in front of her face, jolting Marinette back to reality. She looked up from the spot on the floor she had been staring at fixedly for the past couple minutes and was greeted by the sight of Adrien looking rather worried. “Are you all right?” he asked her. “You seem kind of out of it today.” He paused a moment before amending, “Well, more than usual, that is. Is everything okay?”

Marinette felt heat surge into her cheeks. She'd been so worried about the competiton tomorrow that she'd ignored Adrien. And in the middle of class, too! “I'm fine,” she stammered. “Everything's fine. I was just … thinking. I got a little distracted for a minute. But everything's fine. Um … could you repeat what you said?”

He didn't look disappointed or frustrated with her because she'd stopped listening. As a matter of fact, he was still smiling in that sweet way of his that made her heart pound twice as fast. The boy really was an absolute angel. “I just asked if you would mind staying after school for a while so we could practice our routine some more. Nino mentioned that he and Alya have been practicing outside of class to get their dance down, and, well, I thought it might not be a bad idea to try practicing a little extra ourselves.”

Marinette's brain short-circuited. Staying after school with Adrien? To practice the tango? Together? Alone?

When she didn't respond right away, Adrien's expression fell ever so slightly. “We don't have to,” he added. “I just thought maybe—well, it was just an idea. If you can't stay then that's–”

“It's fine!” Marinette blurted. Adrien seemed taken aback by her vehemence, and she did her best to dial down her enthusiasm by several notches. “I mean—well—I don't mind. It's fine. I can call my parents and let them know I'll be a little late coming home. Um—how long were you thinking?”

Adrien shrugged. “Maybe an hour tops. I don't want to keep you here all day and I have a c—something important coming up tomorrow that I'll need to be well-rested for.”

Marinette hoped the “something important” didn't have anything to do with watching the first preliminary round of the swing dance competition. “An hour should be fine,” she agreed.

“Great!” Adrien beamed. “I'll go ask Miss Bustier about letting us use the room after class gets out, then. I'll be right back!” And he hurried off to do just that.

Marinette sank into the nearest chair. Had she really just agreed to spend an hour alone with Adrien after class? Her brain was sure to turn into total mush!

Then again, was this really a time to be worrying about spending a single hour alone with Adrien? There was a competition coming up tomorrow, one that would have far more consequences than the classroom bracket against Nino and Alya. Whatever happened tomorrow would reflect not only on her, personally, but on the Ladybug persona, Kwami Dance Club, and Tikki and Plagg, too. It had taken years for the club to rise to fame. To represent it poorly now would be to subject it to enormous ridicule. She didn't want that to happen, not to Tikki, who had been so eager and kind to help her come into her own as the new Ladybug, and not to Plagg, who had given her the best partner she could have asked for.

“Marinette, we're all set,” Adrien said, coming back over at a trot. “Miss Bustier said we can have the studio for as long as …” He trailed off as he caught sight of her face. “What's the matter?”

She did her best to school her face into a more neutral expression. Going by the concern in his eyes, she must have looked like it was the end of the world. “It's, um … well, not nothing, but … it—it's nothing important. Just …” She sighed. He wasn't buying it, she could tell. Every word just seemed to increase his concern. She would have to explain while revealing as little as possible. “It's just … competition jitters.” There. That was vague enough. He would assume she meant the classroom competition, not the swing dance one tomorrow. At least, she hoped he would.

Adrien sat down next to her. “You're nervous?”

She attempted to laugh, but it came out too shaky to be convincing. “It's kind of pathetic, isn't it? Getting nervous after so many years of competing …”

“It's not pathetic,” Adrien said with surprising force. Marinette looked at him and almost had to look away again when she saw the intensity in his face. “Marinette, there's nothing wrong with being nervous. It happens to everyone.”

This time, she did look away, focusing on her hands where they were folded in her lap. “But I've been screwing up so much the past couple months. I've never been the best in the class, but this has just been …”

The bell rang to signal the end of class, and their classmates began to filter out of the room. Adrien paid them no heed, except to give a wave of goodbye to Nino. His attention, for the most part, remained on Marinette. “It hasn't been that bad. It can take a while to get used to a new partner, that's all.”

“But two months?” She didn't lift her eyes from her hands. “I've been falling and knocking you over since day one, like a total klutz, and it hasn't been getting any better.”

He paused. “Well, I guess I can't argue with that part, but …”

“But …?” she prompted. She glanced up, curious, and noticed that aside from them, everyone else had left.

They were all alone.

Adrien was fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I noticed while I was partnered with Chloé that you danced really well with the other guys. I thought maybe it would be easy for you to adjust to having me as a partner. But, well, I guess that was kind of silly of me, huh? It's a lot to expect of someone, just assuming they'll adjust to dancing with someone they hardly know right away. If either of us is to blame here, then I think it should be me. For expecting too much from you.”

“Not at all!” Marinette protested. “That's not—you're not asking too much! You're right, that I should have been able to adjust sooner. It's not your fault that I haven't been able to dance the way I should be able to.”

He smiled, but it wasn't his usual angelic smile. It was a bashful, half-relieved and half-apologetic smile, the likes of which she had never expected to see on Adrien Agreste, let alone at a time like this. “You're too kind, Marinette. I guess that's probably why I wanted to project my expectations onto you so much.” He stood up, twisting so he was still facing her. “I'm sorry. For expecting too much, and for not noticing sooner that you were nervous. We'll take things slower, okay? As much as you need.”

She bit her lip. “And if I still screw up?”

“If we've done our best, then I won't have any regrets,” he answered resolutely. “No one can ask any more of you than your best.” He offered his hand. “Ready to practice?”

Smiling, and somehow feeling like a huge weight had just been removed from her shoulders, Marinette took his hand.

#drabble #miraculous ladybug #AU #ladynoir #otp #adrinette #cheesecake #miraculous fanfic #shall we dance?

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