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aangelinakii · 3 months

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WHAT MUSIC THEY WOULD LISTEN TO.

characters written about in this piece : bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, barbara gordon, duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain

not proofread !

note : if you actually went and read through all of this i will actually smooch you

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce isn't an average music enjoyer, so he doesn't really have many preferences to what he listens to. all i know is that he doesn't like music that is too upbeat, like many pop songs.

perhaps in his angsty emo the batman 2022 phase, he would listen to metal, heavy guitars and drums, similar to jason. but as he develops as a philanthropist and vigilante, he would sway towards classical music without words. it helps him concentrate in many situations, and different artists or albums can convey so many different emotions in their music.

this music often plays within his office at wayne enterprises, the batcave whilst he's researching on the computer, or even just throughout the manor whilst he's doing bruce wayne shit.

songs i think he would like :

jazz suite no. 2: vi. waltz 2, dmitri shostakovich

12 études op.25: no. 11 in a minor "winter wind", frédéric chopin

vi. lacrimosa dies illa, slovak philharmonic

tango - bof "kuduz", goran bregović

le cygne (arr. for harp and cello), camille saint-saëns

le nozze di figaro k.492: overture, wolfgang amadeus mozart

DICK GRAYSON

i can see dick as someone who incorporates music a lot into his every day life; playing something on his alexa as he cooks dinner, listening to something in airpods as he walks around gotham during the day, hums or whistles a tune as he surveys the streets of blüdhaven at night. i don't think he would have taken up learning any instruments, but he's a very musical person, knows how to hold a rhythm as well.

he's into more modern music, very much frank ocean. he likes chill music with a good beat and maybe some good vocals. as long as the song overall sounds good, he doesn't really pay attention to lyrics. if a song he likes has weird lyrics, he'll only notice it one random day as he's singing along, and begin to overthink them in the shower and wonder why they were written in the first place.

songs i think he would like :

swim good, frank ocean

she, tyler the creator & frank ocean

novacane, frank ocean

dance now, joey valence & brae

wet dreamz, j cole

mysëlf, yeat

JASON TODD

i actually have a jason playlist here !

i think jason enjoys darker sounding music, but it can go one of two ways; either loud guitar, or absolutely gut wrenching vocals. i'm talking lyrics mixed with the perfect pleading voice to make you feel just numb inside.

jason has experienced a lot of loss and trauma in his life, so sometimes he may feel numb and just need to amp it up with a loud deftones song, or he is feeling too much, and needs a mellow, yet depressing mitski song to bring him back down. granted, neither are the happiest options, but it's what works for him.

songs i think he would like :

xerces, deftones

danger, south arcade

i don't smoke, mitski

come home to god, amaarae

smoke sprite, so!yoon!

dagger, slowdive

TIM DRAKE

LMAO i think this guy would be such a closeted theatre kid. he's watched all the heathers slime videos and watched hamilton and newsies on disney plus. he loves it, it just evokes an entirely different feeling. he would never tell anybody about this side though, which is why these playlists are kept privateee on his spotify.

so when he's with other people he shows that he listens to more mainstream artists, but likes an experimental sound, so maybe some tyler here and some carti there, but they aren't his go-to artists.

songs i think he would like :

boyfriend, tyler the creator

flex, playboi carti

non-stop, broadway cast of hamilton

once upon a december, broadway cast of anastasia

meet the plastics, broadway cast of mean girls

miso, edv & bigbabygucci

DAMIAN WAYNE

this little shit only exclusively listens to either classical music (aww look at him taking after his own papa) or the heaviest, scariest rock metal you've ever heard. bonus points if it's metal with classical undertones !!! he loves that shit, not that he would show it.

when he does his homework or falls asleep, he listens to heavyyy heavy metal. when he's eating a sandwich in the kitchen, or training in the batcave he'll be listening to classical music. see? it's not exactly linear.

songs i think he would like :

carnival of the animals: aquarium, camille saint-saëns

romeo and juliet op.64 - act 1: balcony scene - romeo's variation - love dance, sergei prokofiev

the isle of the dead op.29, sergei rachmaninoff

immortal rites, morbid angel

them bones, alice in chains

BARBARA GORDON

barbara is a woman on the quieter side, despite herself. i feel towards others she is more outgoing and reliable, but when she's with herself, she likes to wind down and just sit with her thoughts. she likes jazz, slow and soft, and the type of music you would find in music from the 50s and 60s. there's something wistful about it that she just loves.

this type of music can help her concentrate. she listens to music whilst reading, or whilst sitting behind the computer as oracle during less high-tension moments.

songs i think she would like :

the shadows of paris, elsie bianchi trio

piano and strings, henry mancini

a night to remember, beabadoobee & laufey

la javanaise, serge gainsbourg

jane b, jane birkin

my favourite game, the cardigans

DUKE THOMAS

we can all agree that duke is one of the more positive members in the family, trying his best to keep his optimistic outlook despite the rest of the world, and the rest of gotham especially. he likes songs with meaning, although hidden behind a happy instrumental and youthful vocals, but he also enjoys just plain old happy-go-lucky sounding songs.

i also think he's a very musical person, always got headphones on. he probably gets that one notification at least once a week telling him his volume is too high in his ears.

he loves to dance, so songs that he can get lost in and have a little jam sesh in his bedroom are a must!!!

songs i think he would like :

useless, omar apollo

the magic number, de la soul

batshit, dominic fike

breadwinner, floyd fuji & topaz jones

the violence, childish gambino

smokin out the window, silk sonic

STEPHANIE BROWN

as for stephanie, this girl listens to EVERYTHING. she listens to kpop, shoegaze, indie, rnb, 2010s pop, jazz likeeeee she will literally listen to anything. she doesn't have playlists she just fr adds every song she likes to "liked songs" and listens to it on shuffle, and whatever comes up she listens to without an issue. almost never skips songs because she's so open to anything and everything.

like one minute she could be listening to her fav red velvet album, and then the next min she's on the verge of tears listening to phillipa soo sing burn on the hamilton soundtrack.

songs i think she would like :

so good, red velvet

cola head, willow kayne

if you want to, beabadoobee

call me maybe, carly rae jepsen

xxl, young posse

unchained memory, cafuné

CASSANDRA CAIN

following her quieter nature, i can't see cass listening to anything too upbeat or loud. she'll like a softer instrumental but with an emotional vocal line, almost as if getting to express the things she may not be fully able to towards her family and friends.

may enjoy a good old shoegaze or indie song here and there, especially if she's feeling more emotional, as she feels the sound of the song encapsulates her emotions.

songs i think she would like :

only, lee hi

chocolate and mint, duster

slow burn, infinity song

gaia, lexie liu

emo song, beabadoobee

chaos angel, maya hawke

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years

Note

i’m thinking more of songs that describe them but ones that they listened to is fine too

I’m not really into matching music to people like that. It’s not really my jam.

But I can share what music I think they listen to.

Dick Grayson:

He listens to a lot of pop. But it doesn’t really matter what decade it comes from. He likes it all. He also loves 80s music in general. He likes a bit of punk – like The Clash. He’s basically aware of whatever is current and hip at the moment. He’s not afraid to openly listen to music that others may label as “gri

Songs Dick is currently listening to:

Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears For Fears

This Must Be the Place - Talking Heads

Blitzkrieg Bop - The Ramones

Lay All Your Love On Me – ABBA

White Flag – Dido

––––––––

Jason Todd:

To no surprise, Jason is into grunge and darker music. He’s a punk and metalhead at heart. He loved metal, hard rock – but he also fucks with some hiphop. He loves the 90s. His taste is stereotypically masculine music. But he also loves female singers. Dick claims he’s caught him listening to Harry Styles before, but Jason denies it always.

Songs Jason is currently listening to:

Zombie – The Cranberries

Rat Patrol – Naked Raygun

The Four Horseman – Metallica

Royal Jelly – Deap Vally

Time’s Up – O.C.

––––––––

Tim Drake:

Tim’s music taste is so all over the place that he is not allowed to DJ or press shuffle on his library ever. It’s a family rule. One moment he’s listening to 90s R&B and the next he’s listening to the Hamilton musical. There is no consistency. If he likes something, he likes it. There’s no explanation. Jason almost beat Tim up because he got stuck listening to his music on a long car drive once.

Songs Tim is currently listening to:

Losing My Edge – LCD Soundsystem

Cool for the Summer – Demi Lovato

Jolene by Dolly Parton

Drunk Walk Home – Mitski

Dynamite – BTS

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Damian Wayne:

Classical. Damian almost exclusively listens to classical. No matter how much his older brothers try to expose him to different types of music – especially Tim – he doesn’t budge. The only thing he listens to besides classical is movie scores. Sometimes he hasn’t even seen the movies.

Songs Damian is currently listening to:

Saint-Saens : The Swan

Spiegel im Spiegel – Arvo Pär

The Carnival of the Animals - VII. Aquarium – Saint-Saëns

The Battle – Hans Zimmer

Prologue – Alexandre Desplat

––––––––

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce has a very high-brow taste in music. It’s the most similar to Damian’s. He listens to a lot of classical and opera. However, he’ll surprise the boys by commenting on the bands they might be listening to. He doesn’t really mind when they play other stuff. But if he’s in control or alone, it’s always classical.

Songs Bruce is currently listening to:

Allegri : Miserere -Tallis Scholars

Introit & Kyrie - Requiem - Faure

Claire de Lune – Debussy

Schumann: Arabeske in C, Op.18

Prelude in E-Minor (op.28 no. 4) – Frédéric Chopin

#all men have limits #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #damian wayne #jason todd #music #songs #playlist #batfam #batboys

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slaygentford · 4 years

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hey uh. ms emily. i feel like i ‘get’ classical music but then i feel like i don’t & i’m missing something. what do?

the great secret is there’s nothing to get. I don’t know dick about music. my criteria for if I like classical music is as follows

1. does it fuck? can I bop?

thats it. if it does not bop to you do not even worry about it. for example I don’t really feel that Chopin bops a lot of the time. but seriously you can talk theory about art as much as you want but at the end of the day all that matters is if you enjoy it. also I think we should all engage with art sometimes with the brain OFF. and then if it happens to flip on thats great. if it doesn't you're still having fun.

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sunshinesukuna · 4 years

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friend activity

pairing: midorima shintarou x reader

wc: 1.2k

genre: flangst

insp: 12:45 (Stripped) — Etham

summary: he’s always looking out for you in the most unexpected ways, even when he won’t admit it himself.

an: tb to that one time i was listening to some music on spotify and i... accidentally?? (🤡🤡🤡) saw my friend listening to a playlist her ex made??? lo and behold they walked into class the next day holding hands??? even tho my friends told her like a thousand times that he was toxic af? 🤡🤡🤡🤡

Midorima opens the familiar green app on his phone and puts his earbuds in. His lucky item of the day. Debussy and Chopin have always done great jobs when he was anxious. The piano’s sweet melody fills his ears as he leans back in his chair. He takes a long breath. Another. Midorima scratches his head.

The yellow light above is reflected on the frame of the photo that he took last Christmas. It was near the huge Christmas tree in the middle of town that you had begged him to see all December.

The same place where the two of you had just had your first big argument. In public, nonetheless.

He takes off his earbuds. The sheer force of his nails scratches his earlobes a little. Midorima runs his hands over his face, his glasses pushed up to rest atop his leaf green hair. No matter how many times he tries to console himself, the image of your tear-streaked face refuses to leave his mind.

The thrumming of the rain outside does little to extinguish the dread in his gut. It only amplifies as he opens his phone, a picture of you in the rain as his wallpaper.

"Cancers need to have a photo of their loved ones in the rain, nanodayo!" he had argued. Anyone that had tuned into Oha Asa that morning would have known that Cancers would have needed golden buttons instead. But you let Midorima have the benefit of the doubt.

Midorima has never been a man of apologies. All the problems around him would seem to just work themselves out without any interference. The last time he verbally, directly, apologized would be in second grade. Would this be another one? His foot shakes from where it hangs on his thigh. It is rhythmic, unlike his brain patterns as he tries to figure out how to jump this hurdle.

Music floods back into his ears again as he opens Spotify, this time on his laptop. The cursor lingers between “Claire de Lune” and “Air on the G String”. But his eyes have found something more interesting.

There is only one person under his “Friend Activity.” The same profile picture you use for Instagram and other social media platforms smiles up at him from the screen. The audio symbol next to your profile shows that you’re listening to music too.

“dried teardrops 🌚” is the name of the playlist you’re playing right now. A playlist, he remembers you telling him, you only turn on when you feel the absolute worst.

Midorima scrambles to his phone that is charging on his nightstand. He almost trips over the soft carpet as he curses himself in his mind. Carefully bandaged fingers skid along the phone's surface.

Are you ok?

Midorima throws his phone on the bed. You’re online. Typing comes up briefly on the screen before it dissipates and is replaced by a smaller grey seen. The green bubble next to your profile disappears, signalling your inactivity.

He puts his hands on his hips and runs his fingers through his hair. It's only 9 o'clock. If he runs to your house now, you would probably just be getting ready for bed.

Had the two of you been getting along just fine, maybe you'd finish the day off with a facetime of him doing paperwork in silence, only broken when you switch apps to go back to TikTok. He would catch a brief glimpse of you laughing, and the world would turn as normal. Ok, maybe he does miss you. But only a little bit.

You haven't stopped listening to the music. The only thing that's changed is the song you're listening to. You stay on the same playlist.

Midorima glances at the clock, then back at the profile on his laptop. With a sigh, he laces up his shoes and heads out the door.

There's a small park near your house that's empty at this time of the night. The children at play are tucked happily in their beds. As you should be. The orange varsity jacket clad figure on the swing tells him otherwise. His varsity jacket, he notes.

The sand crunches under the footsteps behind you. The tinkle of the chains on the swing betrays your attempt to be as quiet as possible. No sudden movements, you tell yourself. Your keys are in your hand, the claw ready to deploy. You stand up a little from your seat on the swing, waiting for your moment to take off. Your other hand tugs the jacket closer to your form.

“I’m not going to kill you, nanodayo,” a familiar voice chides. The hand holding the keys refuses to go back into your pocket. His green hair is invisible in the dark, but you would recognize his baritone from anywhere. You hastily wipe away the snot on your nose.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask. Midorima takes a step forward. He gulps, rather audibly.

"There's only one place you go to when you cry," he says. You sit back down in the swing. He moves to sit on the swing, miniscule against his hulking 6 feet and 5 inches, but he makes do.

Your hand grips the chain holding the swing up. Midorima sighs before extending an arm. Soft bandaged fingers brush the tips of your knuckles on the chain. Before you know it, his warm chest is right in front of you, a knit grey sweater you gave him on his birthday a few months ago now becoming a makeshift handkerchief.

He makes no movement to push you away. How could he? After pushing you on the ropes even though you were just looking out for him? The only thing left to do, Midorima concludes, is to hold you tighter.

And so he does. Arms hardened by years of chucking basketballs in the air now gently caress your smaller ones. Eye bags under green pupils that check you up and down, making sure you're okay. Brittle fingers trained to perfection by four years of surgical residency now wipe the tears off your face as he somehow, someway, tries to make things right again.

When you've run out of tears and stopped hyperventilating, you scoot a little farther from Midorima. At arm's length, you can finally see him in all his late-night glory.

"I never told you I was crying, Shintarou," you manage, each word punctuated with a soft sniffle. You burrow closer into his tall frame and hide your face away from the world's scrutinizing eyes.

"You were listening to your crying playlist, dummy," he says. It's good that you're not looking straight into his eyes, lest you see the pink hue on his cheeks. Maybe he even pulls you closer to him to hide it even more. You giggle at your boyfriend's unexpected attentiveness.

Midorima pulls you away from him. You whimper a bit at the loss of warmth, but are instantly placated at him tugging your jacket tighter around you. A long arm finds its home around your waist. "Now come on. We have outpatients to see tomorrow. Can't have a drowsy doctor at work, nanodayo."

He never really says the words "I'm sorry" or something along the lines, but the basket labelled This week's lucky items for you in his doctor's handwriting on your desk the next morning does most of the talking for him, anyways.

a/n: do y'all like the header 🌚🌚

sometimes you can choose not to be a dick

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eventidespirits · 3 years

Text

Adam Allistair Freemont

Aliases: Edwin Lockhart, William Silva, Francis LaRue, Everett Brighton, James Fenwick

Apparent Age: "29"

Birthday: August 11th, 1897

Death Day: December 19th, 1926

Species: Vampire (Siren Bloodline)/Bloodbound Spirit

Gender: Cis Man

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Primarily Heterosexual

Occupation: Photographer

Residence: Santa Marta, California; Morgan Kendrick's Psychic Realm

Universe: Primarily original lore but also Vampire the Masquerade where he's a Camarilla Toreador who defected to the Sabbat.

Appearance:

Height: 6'0

Build: Tall and lanky with angular shoulders and long limbs. He has a trim, lightly muscled physique with long delicate fingers and soft hands.

Eye Color: Luminous Yellow/Gold with slitted cat-like pupils and a darker, amber band around the edges.

Hair Color/Texture: Black, 1b hair texture. Just long enough for the ends to brush against his shoulders. Partially brushed back and parted to the right but a significant amount of his hair ends up falling into his face.

Face: Angular with a square jaw and high cheekbones. He has a mostly straight nose with a slight convex curve to the bridge. He has deep set eyes with heavy lids and dark circles and usually looks somewhat sleepy but in a strangely sensual way. Defined lips that are usually curved into a sadistic little smirk. He's quite attractive but in a way that feels vaguely dangerous or even predatory.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Adam has bright golden eyes with slitted cat-like pupils. He also has a rather large, jagged scar on his back, located between his shoulder blades. I'd include his *other* distinguishing characteristic but that's kinda NSFW ;)

Posture/Body Language: Confident, even arrogant, chin up, shoulders back but not in a way that looks particularly stiff. His body language is generally relaxed and easy, bringing to mind a big cat at rest -- there's always something about the way he moves that implies a predatory nature laying beneath his cool, collected surface. Adam walks with clear purpose and long, smooth strides and always knows how to make an entrance.

Voice: Soft and smooth with a deep timbre and confident inflection. Adam's voice is somewhat like poisoned honey or arsenic laced velvet -- smooth and sweet but with something slightly off.

Clothing Style: Adam prefers dark colors -- burgundy, blood red, black, charcoal, rich deep browns and the ocassional pop of gold or cream or a white dress shirt. He wears primarily expensive, tailored button downs made from things like silk, velvet or very high thread count cotton with the sleeves rolled up and the top three (or four) buttons undone. Sometimes with brocade, floral or striped patterns. If it's cooler out, he'll wear a black blazer or something similar. When it comes to pants, it's almost entirely black or charcoal tailored pants or pitch black jeans. He usually wears very few accessories -- a nice watch, a belt, a silver and garnet ring and a pendant on a thin silver or gold chain. Generally wearing pointed toe oxfords or other dress shoes. When it comes to outerwear, Adam generally prefers things like wool coats and the ocassional leather jacket (always real leather, too) (to get a better idea, check out his [Pinterest Board]

Skills

Social: Manipulation, Lying, Gaslighting, Flirting, Proper Etiquette, Public Speaking, Blame Shifting, Negging, Seduction

Physical: knife combat, some hand to hand combat, basic combat training (circa 1914), long range firearms/sniping, Ballroom Dancing, Fencing, Horseback riding, the carnal arts

Talents: Photography, Drawing, Poetry, Lying, Being an Asshole, Manipulation, Painting, Seduction, Sex

Knowledges: Fluent in French & Italian, Masters in Psychology (circa 1926), Photo Development (wet plate, autochrome, modern methods), some basic knowledge of financial law and property law

Hobbies: Photography, writing, breaking pretty girls, avoiding his deep-seated psychological issues, general hedonism

Special: Emotional Influence, Telepathy, Emotional Transference, Enhanced Stamina, Enhanced Strength, "Immortality", Enhanced Senses (esp sight), minor regeneration, sweet blood, emotional radar/supernatural empathy, hypnosis/mind control

Psyche

Strengths: Charismatic, quick-thinking, clever, good at understanding the thought processes of others, empathetic, deeply romantic, treats service workers well, dedicated, generally calm, high emotional intelligence, has critical thinking skills, polite*, can be incredibly sweet, adaptable, pays a lot of attention to his partners in bed, passionate, artistic, creative, protective

Weaknesses: selfish, self-absorbed, arrogant, manipulative, almost completley lacks compassion, disdain for basically everyone around him, dishonest, has a horrible temper, needs constant attention and praise, has a massive inferiority/superiority complex, overconfident, easily susceptible to flattery, deep-seated intimacy issues, can't stand being wrong, terrified of vulnerability, paranoid, detached from his own emotions/denies his own humanity, callous, sadistic, can be incredibly rude, actually a bit of a coward, condescending, possessive, jealous and generally kind of a dick.

Fears: genuine intimacy, abandonment/loneliness,true death, being buried alive

Goals: To finally create the perfect art piece (i.e., break someone in just the right way -- he's not even sure what this MEANS, he's just sure he'll "know" when he finally does it), to just enjoy his immortality.

Personality: On the surface, Adam seems likable enough -- at least, at first. He's incredibly charming and thoughtful, often anticipating people's wants before they're even able to articulate them, witty, intelligent and seemingly very polite...

But beneath that surface lurks a spoiled rich kid who learned early on in life that having money, being good looking and charming meant he could get away with almost anything. Adam is self-absorbed and arrogant and almost everything he does is a carefully crafted performance intended to get people on his side and manipulate them into doing what he wants.

Beneath even that, which he desperately tries to ignore, is a little boy who was spoiled by his mother and entirely ignored by his (largely absent) father -- a young man who was traumatized by being forced to fight in WWI and who is full of deep-seated fears and insecurities.

To make up for this, Adam is often sadistic towards the people around him -- but in that way where it's difficult to tell that he's actually being cruel until one looks back at the conversation.

He has difficulty genuinely connecting to others because of those insecurities and instead uses his powers as a Siren to make the people around him love and adore him-- no matter how badly he treats them.

Life

Best Memory: Being gifted his first camera, meeting his Maker.

Worst Memory: Somewhere between when he almost died during WWI and his actual death...

Biggest Achievement: Getting his Masters

Prized Possession: Silver and Garnet ring gifted to him by his Maker, his first camera, his black 2020 Ferrari Portofino (with the red leather interior), (he also has an engraved custom sniper rifle but a friend picked the model and shit for me and I cannot remember what it is for the life of me)

Favorite Color: Red, Gold

Favorite Food:

-Mortal Food: Partial to anything rich and flavorful, prefers food that's not pointlessly ostentatious (nothing coated in gold leaf, that's absurd), dry red wines, Italian Cream Cake, Eggs Benedict, Crepes Suzette

-Blood: Blood taken in the heat of the throes of passion from someone that's truly and deeply in love with and obsessed with him...

Favorite Scents: Blood, Gasoline, Cloves, Cinnamon, Resin, YSL Nuit, roses, vanilla, rain, the sharp smell of a cloudless winter night

Favorite Songs: Winter, 1st Movement - Vivaldi, Raindrops - Chopin, La Vie En Rose - Edith Piaf

Can't Leave Home Without: At least one knife somewhere on his person.

Birthplace: San Francisco, California

Childhood: Adam is the only child out of six in his family to survive to adulthood with four older siblings who had either in infancy, had been stillborn or died of tuberculosis when Adam was still too young to remember them. He had one younger sibling, a sister named Mary who was killed in an accident at the age of 6 when Adam was 8 years old. His parents were already a little bit older by the time he was born and his father was the owner of an incredibly lucrative railroad line and had profited greatly from the Gold Rush as well as owning multiple properties in San Francisco and neighboring Santa Marta...

Due to the loss of her other children, Adam's mother doted on him -- giving into his every whim, supplying him with the best education she could and basically just spoiling the ever loving fuck out of him. His father, on the other hand, was always busy with work and when he was home, had nothing but criticism for Adam who desperately tried to gain his approval to no avail.

Adolescence: Adam developed a passion for photography as a teenager and discovered that being good-looking, clever and rich meant he could get away with A LOT more than most people and also meant that he rarely heard "no" and accepted it as an answer even less often (though he rarely resorted to force to get his way, relying instead on bribery, flattery, blackmail and implied threats). All of this gave him quite an interest in psychology and he intended to become a clinical psychologist. During his adolescence, Adam would have a great many girlfriends and despite being a selfish and manipulative little shit, was actually not the world's worst boyfriend and no hint of the violent temper and genuine sadism he'd develop after being Changed.

Adulthood: Adam's education would be interrupted by the outbreak of WWI,which if asked he will describe as "incredibly distasteful and personally inconvenient." He was a skilled marksman and sniper but was otherwise unremarkable -- much to his father's disdain. After nearly dying in one of the trenches of France after taking a grievous bayonet wound in the last few months of the war, Adam would be sent back from the frontlines and would shortly begin work on continuing his education...

However -- despite the fact that he would complete all seven years necessary to get his degree, Adam's interest in becoming an actual psychologist wouldn't ever come to fruition. In 1925, he would meet Amelia Madeleine Smith -- an unbelievably beautiful and charming socialite from Santa Marta who would see Adam's potential as a source of money and influence for the Nightingale Court of Northern California. She would spend the next year carefully grooming him to become her protege -- manipulating him much in the same way he would later manipulate the women he dates as a vampire -- using emotional transference, mind control and mundane manipulation to cause him to fall madly in love with her... In December of 1925, Amelia would finally perform the ritual of transformation on him and bring Adam over into the world of the Supernatural.

Unfortunately for Adam, his Change would take nearly two weeks to complete -- two weeks spent in absolute agony beyond anything he'd experienced before. Amelia, believing the most important first step for a newly born vampire is to break their bonds to humanity would kidnap his mother during this change and leave her for him to kill upon waking. Adam would remain with Amelia (who used her bond as Adam's maker to control most of his actions and her abilities as a Siren to continue to influence his emotions) until 1980 when she was killed by a member of the Bram Park Wolf Pack in Santa Marta, leaving Adam behind. During this period, Adam would end up being "taken in" by a bonded pair of Stryza -- Camille Belikova and Lucy DeSantos and would act as their primary draw for new playthings.

Recent: Adam met Morgan Kendrick at the Velvet Box goth club in Santa Marta when Morgan was twenty two years old and would sweep her off her feet, intending to make her into his "masterpiece"... Three years into this relationship, Adam would finally Change Morgan, which would break the initial control he had over her and result in her, in a fit of rage, completely draining him and through a magical fluke, causing his spirit to become bonded/fused with her blood...

Recently, Adam's presence has disappeared from Morgan's psyche due to the machinations of Miss Belikova and her wife -- though it appears that the two of them are still inextricably linked in a way beyond the usual bond between Maker and Fledgling.

Relationships

Family: Lawrence Freemont (Father; Deceased), Anne Freemont (Mother; Deceased), Mary Freemont (Sister; Deceased)

Lovers: Amelia Smith (Maker; Deceased), Morgan Kendrick (Fledgling, Ex, Soulbond), Many other unnamed girls.

Friends: Camille Belikova, Lucille DeSantos, Jonathan Andreason

Enemies: Morgan Kendrick, the Bram Park Wolfpack

Acquaintances: Miranda Cortez (Queen of the Nightingale Court of Santa Marta)

Income: Moderately Wealthy

Vehicles: 2020 Ferrari Portofino

Residences: Penthouse Apartment in Vista Rosa, a small Victorian row house in Val Del Mar and a 1br/1ba apartment in Park Verde (all located in Santa Marta)

#about: Adam #Adam Freemont #character profile

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gooddadstan · 5 years

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The Sleek Allure of a Grand You Can’t Ignore

Tim Drake learned early on that his parents hated the silence. They’d do almost anything to fill it, from playing their regal classical music they sat and read to, to swing music his mother would sometimes laugh and dance with his father to, all through the genres with only the exclusion of the more ‘teenager sounds’, that his mother insisted wasn’t even music. When there wasn’t any music, there was the hum of voices and sound effects from the television, or the harsh yells from his parents fighting again.

Music seemed to be the only thing keeping his parents from turning their tight and fake ‘public voices’ to the angry roars they only had alone in the house. Music meant that the night was safe from their rage.

So Tim was almost overjoyed when one day his parents came home with movers behind them, bringing a grand piano through the door as carefully as they could. His mother had sat on the sofa, motioned for Tim to sit next to her, and told him that he would take lessons for the piano and learn to play like the recordings they had heard time and time again. His heart leapt, resolute to stave off the rage that filled the silence but intimidated by the massive responsibility it seemed to bring with it. To be the only thing between his parents and their fights, to have his fingers on the keys as the final barrier from another night of hiding in his room with his stuffed lion clung tight in his arms.

His lessons started after his parents had left again, two days of silence filled with music and one day of silence filled with shouts fading into long days of silence with nothing but small feet to break it. He liked being able to fill his own personal silence, though it was clunky at first. He liked having something to distract from the empty house, the nanny only coming three times a week at this point (Once to bring him to his lesson, once to check the groceries, and once to clean).

The grand piano in the sitting room became his home, from when he had to lug the pedal extensions his teacher lent him back and forth from lessons to when pushing the cold metal under his feet felt more natural than walking.

When the last nanny was fired, though, his lessons stopped. The teacher was too far away and couldn’t do home visits, so his parents stopped paying for him to learn. They still asked him to play for them when they were home, as they had since about a year and a half into his lessons for them to use as background noise without standing to change the songs, but the disappointment at the slower rate Tim picked up new songs was more than visible.

It was only when Tim became Robin that he really stopped playing the piano. There was no time, between his schoolwork and training to be with Batman on the streets to drag him out of that rut that had criminals in full-body casts since the last Robin’s death. So he stopped playing, until his father returned to Gotham in a coma and his mother was dead.

When he heard of his mother’s death, his eyes lingered on the black grand longer than it had in months. The lid closed on the keys, the lid shut softly from when the maid who now came to clean the house again had closed it and Tim had never opened again. The maid who would no longer come to clean the house without anyone to pay her. Tim’s soft footsteps on the worn wood around the piano, louder than he remembered them, brought him to lightly run his hand along the side of the instrument. The silence had returned, with none but Tim to break it once more.

Lifting the lid was easier than he remembered, the lid prop rising gently with his hand as it settles into place like it did every time. He strode to the bench with a vigor he hadn’t held in this house since his first night as Robin, too awake to sleep and too tired to do anything but go into his room and collapse onto his bed. The fall board, too, was light under his calloused fingers, as the empty music rack stared at him, daring him to play from memory.

So play from memory he did, hands poised above the keys for less than a second before he launched into a song. His mother had called it his favorite, before she died. Chopin’s Etüde Op.25 No.1, also called ‘Aeolian Harp’. It had been hard for Tim to pick up, to say the least, a bit more than two months spent practicing it before he felt ready to show his parents. But the true, genuine smile on his mother’s face when he finished and looked at them, the lack of novelty in the situation keeping his internal grin off his face until he saw their expressions, it was worth it. So every time she asked, every time she seemed to be slightly more annoyed than was preferred, Aeolian Harp would ring through the halls with the same feeling it held when the Drake’s first heard it from under their son’s fingertips.

Years later, Tim wasn’t sure if his mother truly deserved how much he poured his soul into that piece. Wasn’t sure if the hours he spent burning it into his mind just for a smile on his mother’s face was the amount of effort he should have had to put into the pursuit of motherly affections. But still, the song danced through his head, one of the few songs he never seemed to get tired of letting play over and over in his mind as a personal performance. He hadn’t played the piano in… too long, not since his father died at the hands of Captain Boomerang and wasn’t there to ask him to play anymore. The manor had their own full grand, the lid eternally propped and sitting in wait for someone to tickle the ivories. No one did, not in the years of his life Tim had spent there.

But every so often his fingers would twitch for it, darting along a surface unconsciously in the controlled movements of one of the songs he still had memorized after all this time. Alfred noticed, he was sure, but the butler never commented on it so his skill remained hidden from the bats and birds that made up his new pseudo-family. He could settle for that, listen to their sound and jokes and laughter. It was never silent anymore, in the manor, so he didn’t need to play.

Until, Tim looked back, the silence managed to follow him. From the Drake household to the manor when he was Robin, to his time with the Titans and his own apartment, back into the manor where things had been blissfully, kindly, loud since his return from his solitude. Where Tim Drake goes, silence seems to follow. So one day, an afternoon where he knew Jason and Dick were arguing on the other side of the manor, where Damian was off doing whatever he does with Titus in his trail, Bruce was being Bruce in his study, and Alfred was busying himself with housework, Tim found himself in the same room as the grand so alike the one still sitting in the room on the Drake’s land. The keys exposed to the world, the tablet in Tim’s hand is quickly forgotten on one of the end tables as he approaches the bench.

He’s not quite sure when he sits, just that being at a piano like he is reminds him of every time he turned to look for his parents approval, every time he would stop at a wrong note and play the section over and over again until he couldn’t get it wrong. Every hour of every day he spent pouring his soul into the music sits behind his eyes as his hands stand poised above the keys from muscle memory.

He didn’t need to do all he did for his parents approval back then, he swears, as his fingers fall into the starting notes of the last song he played for his father, his mother’s favorite, as he watched the man’s expression shift between love and sadness with every measure. He didn’t need to take such responsibility into his music, his fingers dance across the keys in notes he’s not sure he could ever get wrong at this point. But he still loved those keys with all his heart, for every note played wrong or right and every chord striking his heart. The rise and fall of every measure flows into his body, swaying slightly side to side as his hands fly. Even now, the music was a haven for him, a way to be free of the silence that followed him. The pedals eased silently under his foot, holding onto the notes before letting them go, measure after measure, phrase after phrase. Even through the pressure he placed on it, on himself, the music embraced Tim and held him close. The pressure on the keys growing with every crescendo and falling all the same, weaving a web of feeling as intricately as it could. And Tim, too, embraced it back.

The low trill of the piece went seamlessly into the final chords, and as Tim’s hands froze above the keys for just a second, a loud applause makes him frantically turn in his seat.

Dick, with the rest of the birds and bats there with him, clapped obnoxiously despite the awed silence from the others in the room. When he settled his hands back to his sides, the chorus of compliments rose to fill the silence, more genuine and excited than his parents had been in the years he’d purposely put on a show for them. They encouraged him to play for them, assorted grins ranging from Dick’s face almost splitting in two to Damian’s barely an upturned corner that was somehow still more rewarding than Janet’s tight smile he got most nights.

His parents weren’t worth the amount of effort he put into making music for them, he realized. But maybe? Maybe this family was.

#Tim Drake #Piano #Music #Fanfiction #Batfam #my writing

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danfanciesphil · 6 years

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Mr Novokoric doesn’t cross paths with Dan for the rest of the day, so Dan doesn’t get a second opportunity to gawp at an entitled semi-celebrity, not that he has much of a desire to, after their first encounter. It’s probably for the best that Dan avoids him for a while, given that he’s still shimmering with rage. How was he supposed to know that this man is some sort of Royal exception to the hotel rules? Just because he made a mistake doesn’t mean he deserved to be talked to with such... disdain.

So, devoid of any further unpleasant - albeit unnervingly handsome - strangers, the rest of Dan’s third day passes without much to note. Mona had been right about the days here being pretty much the same. He imagines it will soon become hard to distinguish one day from the next. He’ll have to use the evening film as a marker so he can remember which days he did what, though that won’t be easy either, as Mona has an apparent love for heist movies, which aren’t known for their vastly dissimilar plots.

Dan heads to bed weary, wondering how long it will take to fall into a routine, so he can drift through the days without thinking. As he fumbles for his key, he notes the light on in the next room again, and pauses. He spends most of his days alone here, either in the suite on the top floor, or out on the slopes somewhere. If Mr Novo-dick is really in the room next to his, then that presumably means the music Dan has been hearing is coming from him. At least that means Dan isn’t developing a slow schizophrenia, but it does seem odd. Dan wouldn’t have had the man who shouted at him this morning pegged as a Chopin enthusiast.

Putting it to the back of his mind for now, Dan goes inside and gets ready for bed, only realising he’s being especially quiet when he’s already in his pyjamas, sat under the covers, ears staining to hear something above the silence. As the wait stretches on, Dan feels the familiar weight of his own guilt, failure and misery closing in, and soon the first of his tears begin to drip from his lashes. Soon, he is full on sniffling, eyes streaming, mouth pulled down in an unattractive curl.

And like clockwork, a melody begins, drifting slowly and calmly through the wooden wall. It’s soothing and delicate, making Dan’s sniffs lessen, and then stop altogether. He sighs in relief, settling back into his pillows, and lets the music buffet him gently into a long, deep sleep.

The next couple of days pass in a similar vein. Dan is woken early by the extreme light pouring into his room. He drags himself downstairs and into the kitchen, where Louise teases him for ten minutes straight while he drinks the coffee she makes him, and eats whatever delicious food she’s prepared. He sets up for breakfast out on the balcony with Mona, and serves the four guests that attend, all of whom tell him he’s a ‘charming’ and ‘polite’ young man.

In the intervening hours between breakfast and lunch, he cleans the guests’ bedrooms and changes the beds, tidies the communal areas, and if he’s feeling brave, goes outside to sweep the area around the hot tub and wipe down the benches in the sauna. He and Mona then serve lunch, eat whatever Louise has left over, then do a general stock take. After that, they serve dinner, eat dinner, and finally set up the evening film. During any downtime, Dan sits at the front desk, answering the phone when it occasionally rings, booking in new guests, or granting the requests of current ones. At the end of the long days, Dan falls onto his bed, sometimes managing to worm out of his clothes, sometimes not, and makes a valiant attempt at crying himself to sleep. Inevitably however, that light, classical music starts up before he can get too lost in his own sadness, and he finds himself floating away with it, his cheeks sticky with dried tears when he wakes up the next morning, ready to repeat the whole thing again.

He’s never exactly rushed off his feet, but he rarely has time to be bored, apart from late in the evening, when Mona leaves him at the desk, and he wiles away the hours until his shift ends playing on his phone, or reading one of the books left for guests on the mezzanine lounge.

For three days, Dan doesn’t speak again with Mr Novokoric, though he does glimpse a flash of crimson from his window each morning, and occasionally catches sight of him wandering through the hotel, on his way back from the hot tub, or clasping a cup of coffee as he sneaks back into his room. On his fifth day, Dan watched from the desk as Mr Stevens - a middle aged guest with a receding hairline and an aversion to wearing anything except a robe - accost Mr Novokoric in the lobby to discuss the weather. Somewhat hilariously, Mr Novokoric appeared to be too polite to simply turn his back on the man, and had stood for eight patient minutes, responding in short, stunted sentences, and looking extremely uncomfortable. It had been the highlight of Dan’s day.

On Saturday, Dan’s seventh day, just before noon, Dan is sat at the front desk, wondering if Louise might have finished making lunch yet, and if he could go up and see, when the front door slams open, and Mr Novokoric hurtles through it, still wearing his skis. Dan can only watch, mouth agape, as the man awkwardly but determinedly slides his way into the lobby before reaching down, muttering angrily, and undoing the skis one at a time. He then proceeds to kick each one hard, sending them skittering across the wooden floor, and into the far wall. It’s reckless, idiotic behaviour, and if it had been anyone else, Dan would not have hesitated to call them out on it. The skis are heavy, and the walls are made of wood, for christ’s sake. Dan can see the chips they’ve made from all the way across the room.

Mr Novokoric does not, apparently, care about this. He marches across the room towards Dan, pulling off his thick gloves and tossing them to the floor as he goes. If he thinks Dan is picking them up for him he can forget about it. By the time Mr Novokoric is at the desk, Dan’s mouth is a set line, and he’s having trouble keeping himself from curling his fingers into fists.

“Sir, is there something the matter-”

“I need to use your phone,” Mr Novokoric barks. “Now.”

Dan thinks about saying no, or refusing, mostly because he wants to piss this asshole off, but his years of customer service training override his petulance. “Certainly, Sir,” he says through gritted teeth, then reaches underneath the desk, and lifts the corded telephone up onto it. “Go right ahead.”

Mr Novokoric snatches the receiver at once, and immediately begins punching in numbers with such vigorous jabbing motions that Dan fears for the keys. He lifts the receiver to his ear, fingers drumming restlessly on the lip of the desk. He turns to Dan, incredulous.

“Are you just going to stand there and listen to my private call?”

Heat surges into Dan’s cheeks, mostly born of the intense anger that sweeps through him. He doesn’t trust himself to reply, so he simply turns from the sight of the man in front of him, and begins pretending to be engrossed in the guest information database on the hotel’s only ancient computer.

For a moment, Dan can still feel eyes on him, and is convinced he’s about to be shouted at further, but then he hears Mr Novokoric’s voice say “about bloody time!”

The voice on the other end of the line, which Dan can just about hear, replies, “who is this?”

Dan has to hide his smirk in his hand.

“It’s your husband, you wank-stain,” comes Mr Novokoric’s hushed, furious response, which has Dan’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t recognise my voice.”

“Phil?” the disembodied voice says, vaguely. “This isn’t the number you were calling from a minute ago.”

It’s taking an extreme amount of effort for Dan to keep his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. He tries valiantly to appear as though he’s engrossed in reading the Stevens’ guest information. It seems that under ‘special requests’, Mr and Mrs Stevens had asked for ‘an extra robe each’.

“That’s because you pissed me off so much that I dropped my phone down a mountain!”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and then the responding voice says, a touch amusedly, “a little harsh to blame me for that, darling. What could I possibly have said that would upset you so much?”

“I’m upset because you cancelled on me, again!” Mr Novokoric snaps. “I can’t believe you, Nikolai. How long are you going to leave me up here at the peak of Mount-fucking-Whatever? Are you playing out some warped, Rapunzel love story for the media?”

There’s something vaguely pathetic lurking beneath Mr Novokoric’s words. Dan squints at the screen, not seeing it, and strains to hear whatever is being said on the other end of the line.

“Darling, you know I’d have you with me in a heartbeat if I could,” the voice says, sounding slow and distracted. “I’ve just been drowning in all these meetings and dull media-stints. You’d be bored stiff if you were here. It won’t be much longer. There’s that benefit thingy in a week or so, right? You should probably come along to that. I’ll send the helicopter to collect you.”

“Oh I should probably come, should I?” Mr Novokoric snarls. “Good to know that, as we’re married, it’s probably a good idea for us to be together at least one fucking night of the year. You know, most married couples actually live in the same house. We’re not even in the same country most of the time!”

“It’s for the best that you stay out of the public eye for a bit, Phil. We’ve spoken about this.”

“Even if that’s true, Nik, you said you’d take a few days off to spend some time with me-”

“I have to go, darling, I’m sorry,” the voice says. Dan might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears a splashing noise, followed by a shriek of laughter. “I’ll see you in a week.”

“What’s that noise? Nikolai, are you in the Ibiza apartment again-”

He cuts off as the dull note of the dial tone replaces the other person’s voice. Dan chews the inside of his cheek, and sneaks a glance up as Mr Novokoric places the receiver down, slowly, and turns to lean against the desk. At first, Dan is smug; he wishes he were able to hang up so brutally on him, but on closer inspection, he notices that Mr Novokoric actually appears to be crying. At least, his bright blue eyes are glistening. Traitorously, Dan’s good nature wins out, and he feels his heart squeeze in dumb sympathy. Dick-brain or not, Dan can’t just sit by while a guest he’s employed to look after cries right beside him. He plucks the box of tissues from the shelf behind him.

“Ex-excuse me, Mr Novokoric,” Dan says, swallowing a wash of pride for getting the name right on his first out-loud try. He holds out the box of tissues even though the other man doesn’t acknowledge him. “Here, take these.”

Mr Novokoric turns to Dan coldly, snatching the box from him. “I’m not crying,” he insists, but yanks a tissue from the box anyway, scrubbing it over his face.

“Oh, no,” Dan says, nodding in complete agreement with this outright lie. He really is an absurdly patient and talented customer service worker. “I just thought…” he scrambles for a viable explanation. “Well, I don’t know about you but I think the, er, high altitude of this place does something weird to my sinuses. I’m blubbering every night,” he jokes, thinking that the peppering of truth might give his ramble a little weight.

It would be so easy, Dan thinks, for Mr Novokoric to accept Dan’s fumbling excuse for the offer of tissues, to blame the thin air for his tears and never speak about it again. But evidently the man has a defensive arsenal so loaded and precarious it can be triggered with the slightest wrong step.

So, Mr Novokoric’s expression hardens, and he says, “so it’s you that I can hear wailing on the other side of my wall, is it? You should keep these for yourself.” He shoves the tissues back into Dan’s hands. “Maybe then I'll actually get some sleep.”

Like he’s been whipped, Dan shrinks back, attempting to swallow the burning lump of coal now lodged in his throat. Any response he might have had, stupidly kind or not, dies on his tongue. For a split second, he imagines he sees a flash of regret pass over Mr Novokoric’s features, but then he is stalking away, skis lying forgotten against the wall, and stomping up the stairs. Dan sits heavily down in his chair, and tries not to let the flames of angry, hurt humiliation burn him to ash.

That night, Dan does his best to muffle his sobs in his pillow. They’re worse tonight, because the embarrassment of knowing he’s being heard, that he’s been heard this whole time, only makes him feel worse. If he could halt the tears altogether for Mr Novokoric’s sake he would, but nightfall has always been the time where his resolve leaves him. With nothing to distract him, Dan can only dwell on everything that’s wrong. At ten past one, however, the music seems to know to start up anyway; it’s baffling, obviously, but the only explanation Dan can think of is that the music is either unrelated to Dan’s crying, or being played to drown it out. He tries not to be grateful for it, knows that before long he’ll rely on it to send him off, but in the end he can’t help letting the swells of notes wash over him, and press him into unconsciousness.

Just after lunch has been cleared on Sunday, Dan is caught in a pleasant but rather over-detailed discussion with Mr and Mrs Stevens about their show-dog, Sherbet, when Louise calls him over from the serving hatch. He excuses himself politely, leaving the middle-aged couple to their game of Uno, and walks up to her.

“What’s up with you today?” she asks as soon as he’s within earshot, then places a mug of coffee in front of him. “You’ve got a face like a trodden foot.”

He manages a smile, but he doubts it’s very convincing. “Just tired,” he says, picking up the mug. “Thanks.”

She slaps his wrist, and he almost spills some. “That’s not for you, foot-face.”

“Oh.” He lowers it, glancing back at the Stevens’s. “Did they order…?”

“It’s for Phil,” she says, briskly wiping up the coffee Dan spilled with a wad of kitchen roll. For a moment, Dan just looks at her blankly, and she raises an eyebrow. “Mr Novokoric.”

“Oh,” Dan says, and smartly places the mug back down, stomach squeezing.

For whatever reason, his abrupt action makes Louise laugh. “Christ, he’s not a yeti, Dan. Anyway, he’s been looking for you all morning, so I thought you could take this to him.”

Exhausted as he is, it takes the words a few tries to penetrate Dan’s addled mind. “Wait, what?” he asks eventually, sure he must have misheard. “Looking for me?”

“Yes,” Louise replies, like this is a perfectly normal occurence. “Mona mentioned it earlier. Apparently he was hoping to catch you at breakfast but you weren’t serving.”

“I… I was adjusting the chlorine levels in the hot tub,” Dan says, feeling as though he’s stood on the edge of a crumbling cliff. Mr Novokoric is looking for him, specifically? Had he not made Dan feel awful enough yesterday? Is he looking for another chance to brutally attack his ego for a trivial reason? “Do I have to take this to him?”

Louise looks at him strangely. “Are you scared of him or something? I know he’s technically Royalty, but he’s just a regular guy underneath, Dan. Not much older than you. I know it’s a bit daunting at first, but don’t worry. He’s pretty chill.”

This makes Dan snort. “I’ll try and remember that next time he’s verbally abusing me.”

“Yeah, he’s a hot-head at times,” Louise allows. “I remember my first few encounters with him being on the snippy side. You’ve just got to get past that though, he doesn’t mean it. I just think he’s a bit… frustrated.” This makes Dan’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and Louise laughs at her own phrasing. “Not like that. Well, maybe like that. I mean, he’s here for weeks at a time, supposedly having ensnared this fabulous young hottie. But where is this prize pig, y’know?”

“Ibiza,” Dan mutters, and when Louise sends him a puzzled look, he picks up the coffee mug, sensing defeat. “Where am I taking this, then?”

“He was heading for the gym, last I saw.” Louise watches him make his way towards the stairs, being extra careful not to spill any coffee lest he feel the wrath upon its delivery. “Dan?” she calls out, making him pause. “Be nice, okay?”

“Me be nice?” Dan exclaims, and turns to shoot her an incredulous look, but Louise’s expression is unmoved.

“Just let him say what he’s got to say.”

“Let him belittle me, you mean?”

Louise sighs heavily, turning away from him, and Dan is left in the middle of the mezzanine with a steaming mug of coffee, and a niggling sense that there’s still some great secret etched into the wooden walls of this place that he still hasn’t been entirely privy to.

Dan has only been in the gym once, on his first day, which is a perfect allegory for his entire mentality around gyms in general. From outside the door, he can hear a rhythmic pounding noise, like someone is punching the shit out of something. It’s unsurprising, then, that as he enters the gym, he sees Mr Novokoric in the corner by the mirrors, punching the shit out of a big cylindrical bag. For obvious reasons, this sight does not instil Dan with a desperate urge to go over and interact with Mr Novokoric, who is wearing headphones, and appears not to have noticed Dan come in.

Giving him a wide berth, Dan slowly approaches, intending to place the mug of coffee down on a nearby surface and escape quickly before Mr Novokoric has the chance to either hit him or yell at him some more. Instead, what happens is this: Dan attempts to edge along the wall to put the coffee down, and at the same moment, Mr Novokoric draws back his elbow and catches Dan in the arm, jolting him. Louise makes a good cup of coffee, Dan will admit. As it soaks through the fabric of his shirt sleeve, however, he can’t help but wish it was a little less scalding.

“Fuck,” Dan shouts, just as Mr Novokoric jumps back in surprise, ripping his headphones from his ears. He’s panting and damp, strands of his jet black hair sticking to his forehead, making it look like he’s got a stupid noughties side-fringe.

“Careful!” Mr Novokoric exclaims, as if Dan hasn’t already done the stupid thing. Surprisingly, he takes the mug of hot coffee from Dan’s hand. “Are you hurt?”

Dan shakes out his sleeve, wincing. “I’ll live. Sorry for startling you.”

“You should announce yourself next time,” he says, like a wanker. Like Dan calling out ‘whaddup it’s me your boy Dan’ would have done any good at all when he was blaring what Dan thinks is... Fall Out Boy? Really?... through his headphones. “I could have really hurt you.”

Doubtful of this statement, Dan’s eyes flick down to Mr Novokoric’s biceps. Begrudgingly, as he surveys the shallow valleys of his arm muscles, Dan admits to himself that out of the two of them, there’s no question of who would best the other. Dan’s never been more glad of his own long sleeves.

“Yeah,” Dan mutters, wanting nothing more than to scurry away to his room and recover from this incident with the excuse of changing his wet shirt. “Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again. Enjoy your coffee.”

“Wait,” he says as Dan turns to go. “I wanted to speak with you.”

Oh, God. It’s true. Louise wasn’t pulling his leg, it seems. Dan seriously considers just legging it. He could potentially feign a third degree burn from the coffee and sprint back through the doors. “Um, yeah,” Dan says, his own cowardice feeling vaguely nauseating as it curdles in his stomach. “She mentioned.”

“Yesterday, when I used the phone at reception-”

“I’m really sorry that I’ve been keeping you awake,” Dan blurts, badly needing this to be over now. “I never meant to-”

“I owe you an apology,” Mr Novokoric says, which stuns Dan into silence. For a minute, all he can do is stare into those two darting blue eyes, utterly perplexed. Mr Novokoric sips his coffee self-consciously. “It was rude and completely unacceptable for me to hone in on something so personal. I have no idea what your circumstances might be. I was upset, and I lashed out. So,” he sticks his hand out, awkwardly, into the space between them. “I’m sorry. Can we put it behind us?”

Dan stares at his outstretched hand as if it were a foreign beast. Then, belatedly remembering societal norms, he reaches out and takes it. “W-well, I suppose-”

“Great,” Mr Novokoric says, shaking Dan’s hand quickly, once, up and down, and then dropping it like it’s coated in poison.

Dan stares at Mr Novokoric’s back as he sets the coffee down and pulls his gloves back on. Could it be that there’s a shade of decency to this man? Not once did it cross Dan’s mind that the reason he might be looking for Dan was to apologise.

“Yeah, great,” Dan echoes softly, and Mr Novokoric turns, eyebrows raised, as if he’s surprised Dan is still standing there.

“You can go now,” he says, puzzled, and turns his back.

All thoughts that Mr Novokoric is anything less than a rude, entitled bitch flies out of the gym window. Dan rolls his eyes, shaking his sleeve dry as he turns to leave.

(Chapter Four!)

#phan #phanfic #too high #enemies to lovers au

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casualclassical · 5 years

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Michelle’s Three Biggest Classical Music Pet Peeves

Put under a Read More because this got a little rant-like, but overall my biggest classical music-related pet peeves are:

When Bach is played on the modern piano,

When people see classical music passively, like as just background (so just for studying/sleeping),

When people get composers’ personalities wrong.

When Bach is played on the piano: I’m not sure if this is just me, but I dislike Bach on the modern piano and absolutely can’t stand when I have to play Bach on the piano. Don’t get me wrong, I love some good Bach, but guys, the pieces of his that are often played on the piano these days were written for claviers (which, at his time, were harpsichords and clavichords rather than fortepianos or modern pianos). The claviers of Bach’s time were very different from modern pianos (despite being forerunners to the modern piano), which may explain why it always feels so wrong and difficult every time I have to play Bach on the piano. To a much lesser extent this pet peeve applies to Mozart too because he composed for the fortepiano rather than the modern piano, but I’ll let slide the fact that Mozart’s piano pieces are most often played on the modern piano rather than the fortepiano. After all, I feel that Mozart’s piano pieces are actually pretty good on the modern piano, whether played or listened to. (Besides, Mozart’s fortepianos are closer to modern pianos than Bach’s claviers.)

When people see classical music as just passive background: I saw this pet peeve on another classical music Tumblr, but I agree so much. It’s cool that classical music helps some people relax, sleep, read, or study. But... I dunno, using classical music as nothing more than some background to help you do something else encourages such a passive relationship with the music. I mean, a lot of classical music is amazing and slaps, and rather than immersing yourself in it and listening you just hear it passively without really taking it in? Whether the piece is fast or slow, chances are if you really listened to it you’d get a much more whole experience than just using it as background. I personally find it difficult to listen to music while doing anything that requires a considerable amount of brainpower, such as reading and writing. Because I just want to enjoy the music without my attention being elsewhere. I do sometimes use classical music as a relaxation tool but I don’t just use classical music as background - that’s an attitude that annoys me.

When people reduce composers’ personalities to a single aspect, or get them wrong completely: I read this from a now-inactive Tumblr but guys, Beethoven wasn’t always angry and petty and full of rage - just listen to the first movement of his Moonlight Sonata and you’ll see that he could be calm and contemplative as well. Mozart wasn’t always cheerful and childlike - just listen to his Requiem and you’ll see that he, like all of us, had his sad moments. As much as I adore Chopin, he wasn’t always the sweet innocent little Ill Boy angel - he, like all of us, could be a dick at times and had his angry and/or passionate moments (just listen to his Heroic Polonaise). Tchaikovsky was gay and often nervous, yes, but he could also be savage and extra, and also the thing he had with his nephew was probably gross. And don’t get me started on Mendelssohn, who was NOT the nervous nice guy that a lot of people think he is - he was most likely pleasant and agreeable only fifty percent of the time, and he was prone to rage-filled nervous mood swings (and this is not considering what he did with Jenny Lind). Overall, classical composers were humans, and no matter what their personality was like they all experienced the wide range of emotions that humans experience.

What do you think? What are your classical music-related pet peeves? Feel free to reblog or comment!

#mypost #classical music #classical composers

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sybilius · 6 years

Note

the green book ot3 :3

who hogs the duvet

Honestly, Don CLAIMS that Tony hogs the duvet but actually it’s him that does it most nights

Delores is in the middle therefore she doesn’t care :3

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Delores is a sweetheart and does this from time to time. Don tries to and is extremely awkward about it, it’s very endearing.

also when he gets over the initial awkwardness of calling Tony, Tony tells him an absolutely stupid story about his day and he’s just like “smdh...why am I in love with you...why is this endearing”

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

Don by a long shot! He has great attention to detail :)

who gets up first in the morning

Don, definitely :) sometimes he wakes everyone up by playing Chopin.

who suggests new things in bed

Delores, probably :)

who cries at movies

Delores, because she’s the only one who is Socially Allowed to cry, though occasionally Tony will cry and deny it.

who gives unprompted massages

Both Tony and Delores :) it takes Don some time to get used to it.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Delores! She’s used to it with the kids.

who gets jealous easiest

Oh, definitely Don. He’s the most uptight and the one most sensitive about losing them.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

TONY.

who collects something unusual

Hmm, well everything Don collects seems unusual to Tony. I would guess Delores might collect something quirky that interests Don and they bond over it. Maybe boxes of matches.

who takes the longest to get ready

Lmao...Don, absolutely.

who is the most tidy and organised

Also Don, for suresies.

who gets most excited about the holidays

Delores! But honestly Tony is a big kid about it.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

They don’t spoon too much but in the rare opportunity when Don and Tony casually cuddle, Don is the little spoon. Also, Delores is canonically Tony’s little spoon.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Tony, unless it’s an intellectual game, in which case, Don. Delores is no slouch at chess and she and Don play sometimes. Tony is amusingly hopeless at it.

who starts the most arguments

Probably Don and/or Tony? Delores is a good mediator.

who suggests that they buy a pet

Tony, and Don is like “absolutely not”

what couple traditions they have

Listening to Don play his latest compositions. Tony and Don drive out for terrible fried chicken together. Don takes Delores to the symphony, occasionally all three of them will go. Delores is better at talking about it, and she appreciates some of the modernists.

what tv shows they watch together

Gonna punt on this one cause I don’t know any 60s TV shows, also i feel like Don just doesn’t watch TV

what other couple they hang out with

Don’s not really great with other people and couple situations feel weird for them so mostly they don’t hang out with other couples as units.

how they spend time together as a couple

Still don’t really know how to distinguish this from the last one.

who made the first move

Oh god, I have headcanons for this but maybe I will save them for the fic I may or may not write. Short answer; it was Tony’s idea, but Delores had to do most of the hard parts.

who brings flowers home

Don, of course! he’s so classy.

who is the best cook

Delores by practice, but eventually Tony and Don learn a few things from her. Don learns first, and can cook really fancy, and then Tony feels like a dick cause he’s the only partner who can’t cook. So he learns to make a really good fried chicken :3

#green book #problematic piano dork ot3 #thank you!!!#asks #Anonymous

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allthephils · 6 years

Text

Repose

Chapter 12

Rating Mature (adult themes, sleeping beauty au, implied sex)

word count: 2604/35104 so far

Read on Ao3

Excerpt: “I see how you look at him, like he’s you’re whole world. I imagine it will come to you in time. But, I’ve learned that’s not for me to say.”Sitting here across from Dan’s mother, Phil felt he had nearly as much to lose as her. The conflict and confusion began to sort into neat rows of love and affection and devotion. He wanted to tell her, to tell Dan, but he knew he couldn’t trust this version of himself.

Dennis was different this morning. He seemed troubled, a subtle difference from stoic, but clear to Phil.

“Hey Dennis, How you holding up?”

Dennis kept his eyes on the road. “I’m fine, just fine.”

“Ok, you look, uh, worried. And well, you never look worried so that makes me worried. So, um, are you worried?”

“No, not worried, just tired.” Dennis replied flatly.

Phil gave up and watched the scenery go by, quietly chewing his lip the rest of the trip.

He settled into the chair next to Dan. His usual sunny disposition was hampered by lack of sleep and the tension that Walter had brought into the room but didn't seem to take back out with him.

“Hi Dan. I missed you.” He sat and listened as Chopin played softly from the radio. He didn’t feel like reminiscing. The story unfolding right now felt like enough. So he sat and held Dan’s hand, just held it, and watched him, knowing they were on borrowed time. When he heard the knock, he braced himself for anger, hostility, aggression, but there was nothing. No one came in. He stood and walked to the door, opening it. Princess Danielle, stood, a smile on her lips. She was the antithesis of those things. She was patience and strength, and love. She passed Phil and stood next to her son.

“Hello darling.” She stroked his forehead and leaned down to press her cheek to his. When she turned back to Phil, her arms were open. They hugged and Phil pulled up a second chair.

“Adrian told me you asked for me. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

The shadows under Danielle’s eyes revealed an exhaustion that Phil could not fathom. He was sorry for asking her to come here. He wanted to get her a blanket and some tea. She should be the one sitting here with Dan, talking in her soothing voice, telling him tales from his childhood.

“Danielle, I’m so sorry to have bothered you, I’m not sure I know what I expected you to do. I guess, well, I was angry. The Prince, he, he was...”

“An intolerable prick?”

Phil stifled his shocked laugh.

“He’s hurting, just like me. Just like you. Unfortunately, he’s a right arse who was raised by a right arse and he can’t see past his own face. He won’t come around, Phil. He won’t. This family is ranked, in all the public ways you know, and in so many private ways you don’t. I am very low in the ranks, I just don’t have a lot of power here. But believe me, he’s my son, and he wouldn’t be lying there if I hadn’t… Well, I’m not giving up.”

Phil reached over and took Dan’s hand, like he always does but never had in front of anyone. Danielle’s eyes settled there, on their hands. “I’ve seen you, on the cameras.”

“The cameras?” Phil asked, confused.

“The security cameras.” She pointed to the corners of the room. “I don’t sit and watch them, don’t worry, but sometimes, Adrian and I do have a look, to see him. Coming in here was too hard before you came. So we just prayed, I felt I had to. But when I needed to see that he was still here, I would watch.”

Phil felt a little sick. Of course there were cameras, he had to have known that. He just didn’t think about it. This space was so intimate to him and knowing they’d been watched in those moments. The hand holding, the tears, the waltzing around the room, he felt invaded. Oh god, had she heard his stories?

“So you heard the things I said to him?” Phil asked, mortified.

“No, no, there’s no sound. But Phil, I could see the way you treat him. Tender, kind. What are your feelings for Danny, Phil?”

Hearing her call him Danny made Phil weak. It somehow brought him back to the sweetest of days. His eyes stung and he coughed. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t seen Dan in years before all of this. I care about him, but I don’t know that it goes deeper than that.” He wasn’t lying, he really didn’t know. He had feelings for Dan, but were they friendship, affection, obligation? He had no idea.

“Hmm, well, you certainly have shown him a great deal of care, setting up this room, leaving everything behind to come here. When’s the last time you spent all day offline, every day for a week?”

Phil shrugged, she had a point. But surely he’d do that for a friend in real danger. He watched Dan’s face as she spoke, hoping his mother’s voice would comfort him somehow.

“I see how you look at him, like he’s you’re whole world. I imagine it will come to you in time. But, I’ve learned that’s not for me to say.”

Sitting here across from Dan’s mother, Phil felt he had nearly as much to lose as her. The conflict and confusion began to sort into neat rows of love and affection and devotion. He wanted to tell her, to tell Dan, but he knew he couldn’t trust this version of himself.

“Danielle,” he began carefully, “what would that even mean? To Dan’s future, to your family? Would the queen give her blessing, hypothetically, to a marriage like that?”

Danielle’s eyes searched Phil’s. “The queen is a complicated woman. She comes from a different time. Walter has a great deal of influence over her now that his father is gone. I’m just not sure Phil.” She sighed, tired. “But whatever you decide, whatever he decides, you have my blessing. I just want him to be happy, loved. To live a rich and full life. I don’t give a rat’s arse about the throne or which of my children sit on it. I don’t truly believe Daniel wants to be king anyway. Besides, I think Adrian would make an excellent monarch. when he’s grown and his time comes. I think he’d tell his father’s political allies where to put their agreements.”

Phil smiled at her. More and more, he could see where Dan got his rebellious streak.

She continued, “If Daniel wants to marry, it should be for love. The countess, Donata, she tried to save us from ourselves. We were just too stubborn to admit that we are miserable. I’ll never forgive myself for asking Danny to deny who he is, to marry for show and politics.” Her voice cracked and she wiped a tear from her cheek. Phil rushed to the table where he’d stashed a box of tissues a few days ago. Taking the tissue, she dabbed her eyes, then stood on tiptoe to kiss Phil’s forehead.

“You’re a brave and honorable man, Philip. I would be proud to call you my son. I’d be honored to sit with your mother at her table.

Phil embraced Danielle, thanking her. As the door closed behind the princess, he collapsed back into his chair but he didn’t take Dan’s hand. Instead he slowly rested his head on Dan’s chest, feeling him breathe. He could just see his eyes darting back and forth behind the lids. He closed his own eyes and let the fatigue of the last few days set in.

Phil showered and slipped into skeleton pajamas and his haunter T shirt. He wore one pumpkin sock and one bat sock. He sent Dan a happy Halloween message and went to make himself some food, leaving his phone on the sofa. He did not expect a response. Dan would be shaking hands and hitting talking points, too busy to be texting his boyfriend who was currently microwaving leftover pad thai. Phil popped in the Shining and settled into the sofa to eat, glancing at his phone. Turns out Dan wasn’t too busy.

Dan: Why am I here? This is the worst party ever.

Phil: Yes but it’s for a good cause, right? What’s the cause?

Dan: Childhood Leukemia

...

Dan: Well now I sound like a dick.

Phil: Lol You really do.

Dan: OK, I just think we could all give our £3000 per plate directly to childhood leukemia and stay home and watch scary movies with our beautiful boyfriends.

Phil: Now you’re talking

Dan: I wish you were here. Or I was there.

Phil: I wish you were here, with me, under this blanket.

My sofa is cozy and I’m about to watch Jack Nicholson try to murder his family.

Dan: That sounds so romantic.

Phil: You really were made for me.

Dan: <3<3<3 I believe that to be true. I have to go pretend I know what I’m talking about. Enjoy your movie. I’m crazy jealous but whatever. xoxo

Phil: Break a leg! Xoxoxoxo

Dan: Tomorrow, I expect you to turn every one of those xs and os into the real thing.

Phil: Every one? Wait…

...

Phil: xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dan: So many kisses! I can’t wait.

Phil: The first row is for your lips.

Dan: What about the second row?

Phil: ;)

Dan: Fuck

Phil: Now go save the children

Dan: sigh

The credits rolled to the familiar tune of Midnight, the Stars, and You. Phil hummed along as he went to the kitchen to clean his dinner mess. A sound broke through his crooning and he turned off the water. He wasn’t sure if he was just jumpy from the movie or if his heart was beating this fast because he had actually heard a knock. He froze and listened and nearly jumped out of his skin when it started again. Serious, determined, loud knocking. He ran down the stairs, feeling like he should have brought some sort of weapon, a knife from the kitchen or a vase like they do in movies.

“Who is it?”

“Candygram sir.”

Dan. Phil threw the door open and Dan rushed inside and up the stairs.

“Oh my god Dan you nearly gave me a heart attack! My heart is beating so fast. Feel.” He grabbed Dan’s hand and placed it over his heart.

Dan feigned a grave expression and said “that’s concerning.”

Phil laughed with relief and surprise. “What are you doing here? What are you wearing?”

“It was a costume party, I’m a bear.” Dan was out of breath as well.

Phil just raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Oi, fuck off. You aren’t getting the full effect. The makeup was professionally done, very impressive. I washed most of it off at the tube station.”

“Wait. You took the tube? Is that safe for you?”

“Definitely not.” Dan said, shaking his head.

“Why didn’t you text me, I would have met you.” Phil couldn’t believe this was happening.

“I ditched my phone. That’s how Dennis tracks me so I left it on the front desk at a hotel across the street from the benefit. They’ll put it in the lost and found. Usually I’d ditch it somewhere farther away but I didn’t wanna take the time.”

“Wow Dan, I’m impressed.”

Dan shrugged, “It’s not my first rodeo.”

Dan was here, in Phil’s flat. They were truly alone for the first time ever, no friends, no Dennis. Phil suddenly had all sorts of ideas. Dan, on the other hand, just looked very uncomfortable. He was wearing furry pants and still had quite a bit of make up smeared on his face.

“Do you want to take a shower? To get all that makeup off?” Phil asked, trying to sound casual at the mention of Dan getting naked.

“Oh my god, yes. I’m so gross under this weird fursuit. Mum thought it would be so cute to dress as a bear. People remember me being called that as a child. I regret everything. I should have been something simple, like a vampire.”

“Ooh, vampires are hot.”

“Alright Buffy, take it easy. I’ll be quick.” Dan rubbed his blackened nose against Phil’s, leaving a smudge, and pecked his lips.

Phil gathered clean pants, joggers, and a his Sunnydale High t-shirt. He stacked them all neatly on a clean towel and walked into the steam filled bathroom.

“Here’s some comfy clothes and a fresh towel.” Phil said, keeping his eyes averted. He went to his room and sat on the edge of the bed, tapping his foot nervously. He thought about dimming the lights and lighting candles, he thought about putting on music or pouring them some wine. In the end, he just chewed his cuticle, too excited to make a move. He heard the water turn off, then Dan’s shuffling steps. He appeared in the doorway and Phil’s breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t put on the clothes Phil had left. He stood with just a towel around his waist, biting his lip, his eyes boring into Phil’s, searching for a reaction.

Phil’s shoulders dropped, his body softened. Seeing Dan like this should have turned him on and he knew it soon would. But now, he just felt comfort and adoration. Phil had seen his body before, briefly, but this was something else entirely. Dan stood exposed, his eyes questioning, all that tanned skin glowing. His feet were bare on Phil’s carpet, his hair damp and curly, like it had been that night at the beach. That was the closest they’d ever been to alone, and now, that same sense of intimacy sat warm in Phil’s chest and grew overwhelming. He felt a lump in his throat and struggled to swallow it down, afraid of what Dan might think of him if he got emotional right now. Drawn as he was to Dan, he stood and walked to him.

“If this is too much, I can get dressed.” Dan said, timidly. “We can watch a movie. But I don’t want to… get dressed.”

Phil slid his hand behind Dan’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was practiced, easy, they knew this now. Kisses had been all they’d had and they’d perfected the exchange, the push and pull, the move from soft and sweet to passionate to hot and wet. This kiss stayed sweet though, lingering in that moment just before the breathing gets heavy and the hands start to roam. Phil pulled away, his body starting to catch up to his heart.

He shook his head quickly. “Don’t get dressed.” Phil pulled Dan in now, holding him close, feeling his soft skin under his hands. He felt joy like childhood and he wasn’t sure how his small room was holding it all. Dan rested his head on Phil’s shoulder and held him just as tight.

“Are you ok?” Dan breathed into Phil’s neck and a shiver rolled through him.

“Yeah, I’m ok. You feel so good in my arms like this. It’s a lot.” Phil didn’t know how he would ever let go.

Dan nodded and whispered, “I want to tell you something.”

Phil wrapped his arms tighter, pressing his lips to Dan’s neck, just above his collarbone. Dan gasped and Phil parted his lips to taste with the tip of his tongue, his teeth lightly grazing and pulling at the skin. Dan’s words failed him but the soft moan he let out was enough. Phil’s hands skimmed over Dan’s back, his fingers slipped beneath the towel, knocking it to the ground. Phil reached behind Dan for the switch on the wall and now the only light streamed in from the hall. Silhouetted in Phil’s dim room, the angles softened. Phil wanted to forget where he ends and Dan begins.

“Let’s get into bed.” Phil took Dan by the hand and heard him murmur through a long slow breath.

“Fucking finally.”

#Phan #Phanfic #Phanfiction #sleeping beauty au #wip

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urdearestmom · 6 years

Text

Airport Ballrooms | A Delayed Flight

so I don’t think I ever posted this there, and it reminded me that I need to post the rest of the chapters of LSS. but for those of you who haven’t come here from my ao3, here’s a little something I wrote back in January.

Summary: What happens when you hear a piano at 3 am?

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332432

She hears it before she sees anything. Right as she exits the washroom, a song’s beginning is heard from a piano. As it proceeds, she finds that it’s vaguely familiar.

Coming into the open area where she’s been sitting and trying to nap for the past three hours, she sees that the formerly vacant piano is now occupied by a man whose fingers are gliding across the keys, his dark hair slipping over his brow. He looks like he might be about her age, although she’s not sure.

He’s very concentrated on his playing, so he doesn’t notice when she stands off to his left, watching. He ends the piece softly and when he looks up, he sees her and jumps, putting a hand to his chest.

“Jesus Christ! …almost gave me a heart attack there,” he laughs.

She smiles. “Sorry. That was really nice,” she says, gesturing to the keys. “What was it?”

He shrugs. “Just some good old Chopin.”

She nods. “Sounds familiar.”

“Did you recognize it?” He asks. “It’s one of his most famous pieces.”

“Yeah, kinda sounded like a lullaby or something.” She scrunches her nose. “Never mind.”

He hums. “No, I get what you mean, it has that quality to it,” he says, getting up and pushing the bench in. “What’s your name?”

For some reason, it’s at that moment that she notices he has freckles, although not many. “Jane Hopper, but I go by El. I like your freckles,” she unashamedly comments, then cringes. Fuck.

They start moving toward the seats where she left her luggage, and she sees that there are a few more bags nearby that must be his.

“Really?” He answers. “I used to have a lot more when I was younger, it’s kind of a side effect of aging that you lose freckles.”

“They’re cute.” She looks at her feet. Again? Seriously?

“Alright,” he chuckles. “If you say so, El.”

It’s then she remembers she hasn’t asked his name.

“Michael Wheeler, but no one except my parents call me Michael. Mike’s easier,” he says, tilting his head. “Were you on that flight to Indianapolis? I think it’s the only one that got delayed this late.”

She sits back where she’s been this entire time, and he sits next to her. They’ve just met, but it’s nice not to have to sit in an empty airport terminal at three in the morning by herself, chasing sleep she knows she’s not going to find. “Yeah, I’m going home. I was in Vegas at a speech pathology conference."

Mike grins. “Vegas, huh? What’s it like, hit up any casinos?”

El lays her head back. “I was there for work, so no. I guess I could have, some of my coworkers did, but casinos aren’t really my scene. Too loud,” she responds. “My friend Dustin definitely did, he’s still there,” she adds with a smile.

“He sounds like fun.”

“Definitely is, though sometimes he can be a bit of a handful,” she laughs. “How about you? Going home too?”

Mike nods. “Yup. I was in LA visiting my cousin, but also working. I’m a piano teacher,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “And there’s been a new initiative here in the States, to get some sort of standardized way of teaching, like the Royal Conservatory in Canada. So there’s been collaboration happening, stuff might be in the works.”

She turns to look at him, taking in the excited way he says this. “You seem really happy about that,” she remarks.

He nods again excitedly, his mop of hair flopping over his eyes. “Absolutely! It would make things easier if every teacher across the country had a certain level of things to teach students. Be easier for students too, especially if they ever have to switch teachers.” Suddenly he blows air upwards. “I need to cut this shit,” Mike says, gesturing to the dark locks surrounding his face.

El contemplates him for a second, taking in how he looks. “Nah, it looks good with your face.” GOD, EL! Stop being so forward, you just met him! “I think so, at least, if my opinion counts for anything,” she says, suddenly shy.

It’s weird, she thinks, that she just met this guy less than ten minutes ago and they’re already talking so easily.

He smiles. “It does,” he says, taking out his phone. He shows her what’s clearly a selfie, but it looks like there’s two of him. “That’s my cousin.” Mike points at the one who’s wearing a Guns N’ Roses shirt. “And this is me.” He’s wearing a simple striped t-shirt.

She looks more closely at the picture, trying to find some difference between them. “You guys look like twins!” She exclaims.

“We could be, if he wasn’t five years younger. We get that a lot though,” he answers. “I think you’re going to agree with me on this.” He continues. “He says he’s more attractive, but I say we look the same and therefore have the same appeal. What do you think? As an outside party.”

El looks at it again, and finds that she disagrees with Mike. “I think you’re cuter. Something about you,” she replies.

She looks up to find that a lovely pink blush is spreading across his cheeks. “Something I said?” She winks. Oh my god you fucking idiot. She suddenly feels crushed by the weight of her mortification.

He makes a strangled noise, and the hour and her tired brain must be getting to her, because somehow she finds it the funniest sound she’s ever heard. It’s also a little comforting that he doesn’t seem completely put off.

“Damn, that was smooth!” He says, starting to laugh too. “I gotta tell him you said that.”

“Isn’t he sleeping by now?”

He shakes his head. “No, he says sleep is for the weak. And it’s only two in Cali, and it’s the weekend.”

She reads over his shoulder as he types.

Cute girl said I’m cuter than you LOL

Suck on THAT tozier

“You think I’m cute?”

Mike blushes again. “Yeah, pretty. Really pretty,” he says softly. He gets a text almost instantly.

I dont believe u wheelie

U probably paid her or smth

Also, suck on what ;)

Actually nvm thats incest its just my reflex response

Mike looks at her. “Is it okay if we make a video and send it to him so he believes me?”

She shrugs. “We’ve still got at least four hours to kill, so why not?”

He pulls up the camera and starts recording. “Fine, you don’t believe me, here she is herself,” he says, turning the camera on her.

She waves awkwardly. “Hey… um, what’s his name?” Cringe.

“Richie.”

“Hey, Richie, just a little video to say that in my opinion your cousin’s cuter than you. And no, he didn’t pay me to say that,” she states, glancing off camera with a small smile.

Mike turns the camera back to him. “There you go, asshole. Video proof.”

He sends it, and they wait a minute in anticipatory silence before Mike’s phone vibrates with another text.

Lmao that doesnt convince me

She is cute tho ill give u that

Mike heaves an over-exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. You’re a dick, he types, go to sleep I’ll text when I get home.

SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK, MICHAEL.

GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, RICHARD. YOU HAVE WORK TOMORROW.

FUCK WORK

Mike stares at his phone for a second before turning it off. “If I keep talking to him then he’ll never actually go to sleep.”

El smiles at him. “He seems like a fun person.”

“Oh, he’s an absolute dick. But I love him,” Mike says, shaking his head again. “We weren’t really close as kids but then he moved nearby and we talked more, except then I went to college. He’s closer with my little sister.”

She nods. “Do you have any siblings?” He asks.

“Nope. Just me and my dad.”

“That’s nice. Sometimes I wish there had been less people in my house, would’ve meant less embarrassment in certain situations,” he says. “I have two sisters, one older, one younger.”

“I wish I’d had a sister growing up, would’ve made things easier sometimes,” she answers. “Can you even imagine how awkward my dad was the first time I got my period?”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have said that. OH MY FUCK.

“Sorry, that was awkward,” she laughs. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK.

“No, it’s fine, just unexpected is all,” he says. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for like fifteen minutes.”

They look at each other, the same thought going through their minds. “This is weird,” they say together, and then they start giggling.

“I just-” He takes a breath. “Do you feel like you know me from somewhere? Because I feel like I know you but I don’t think I’ve ever met you before.”

It’s what she’s been thinking. She feels a sort of familiarity with him, something she’s never felt so quickly with anyone else. It’s like she’s known him for a long time, or maybe in another life or universe.

She grins. “Isn’t there a multiverse theory?”

After spending an hour discussing parallel universes and the physics involved in understanding any of it (which they both have enough of a basic grasp on because of watching too much History Channel), Mike is sitting at the piano again, El having asked him to play something else. She doesn’t recognize the beginning, but as it progresses she realizes she does know it. It gets her moving, and she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, but she’s circling the piano and the man playing it in a way that somehow fits with the music. She even sings along with the main melody and the trills.

She feels like he’s transforming the place into a gigantic ballroom with his music, and she’s the princess dancing with her prince (except there’s no prince to dance with, because he’s too busy making the music). It’s a stupid thing to think, but she never had dolls or was allowed to watch princess movies or read fairytales when she was a kid, and she feels like she missed out. Hopper let her watch movies and read, but it wasn’t the same as a teen as it would’ve been as a kid. And maybe it’s just a dumb fantasy, a creation of her mind because she’s tired and suddenly thinking about her horrifying childhood, but she thinks the imaginary ballroom that only has her and Mike in it is a wonderful place to be.

He ends the piece with a theatrical flourish, throwing his hands up off the keys as soon as the last notes are played. “How was that? You were dancing!”

A laugh escapes her lips as she claps. “It was amazing! I knew that one, it’s from the Nutcracker, right?”

Mike nods vigorously. “Gotta love me some Tchaikovsky.”

“Is that why it’s so dancey? Because it’s for a ballet?” She asks, curious.

“No, it’s because it’s a waltz,” he answers, stretching his arms up above his head. His sweater rides up to reveal a sliver of pale skin, and she finds herself staring without being able to tear her eyes away. “Waltzes are inherently dancey, I think. At least that’s what I always tell my students who play them, it helps them really hear the tempo and accents if they try to see the dancers.”

She averts her gaze, and he’s still talking. “You know, ‘cause waltzes have the accent on count one, so it goes one-two-three, and sometimes when you’re caught up in playing you forget about it so it’s good to try and envision the dancing. The music was written for dancing after all,” he finishes. “El? Sorry, was I rambling, because I have a tendency to-”

“No,” she breathes. “You’re just really attractive. The piano suits you.” She almost face palms. WHY am I like this????

That shuts him up, a redness spreading across his face once again (but this time along with a wide grin). He might just combust if he looks at her, so he looks at his hands instead.

“Sorry,” she says, worried she’s crossed a line she wasn’t supposed to yet.

Mike’s head whips up. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“I’m too forward. It almost always ruins things with guys.” She deflates almost imperceptibly, and she wonders if he noticed.

Apparently he did, because El feels herself pulled into a sideways hug, tugged down to sit on the bench next to him. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re just saying what you think is true, which is a great quality to have. You saved me from my own rambling, so thanks.” He gives her a squeeze and adds, “It hasn’t ruined things with me.”

Suddenly the air is charged and she thinks that if they weren’t in an airport she might have kissed him then. Sadly, they are in an airport. Instead, she requests that he play something more contemporary than Chopin or Tchaikovsky, and he starts up with a rendition of Halo by Beyoncé.

They spend another hour around the piano, him playing more and she observing. El thinks he plays with a lot of grace, his fingers moving deftly across the keys almost as though he’s stroking the instrument. He looks like he belongs in front of a piano, making beautiful music for all the world to hear. In this case the world is a strange woman in an airport at the asscrack of dawn.

It’s five in the morning when the pair crashes back onto the seats next to their bags, and they lean their heads on each other and fall asleep. However, it seems things are only in increments of one hour on this night, because it’s six when El awakes with a start, knocking Mike’s head off of hers.

“Attention passengers: flight 337 to Indianapolis International is now scheduled for take-off at eight thirty. Boarding will begin at gate twenty-three one hour in advance.”

“Hey,” she says, seeing Mike next to her looking disoriented. “Flight’s at eight thirty but we gotta be there at seven thirty, do you wanna get some breakfast?”

Looking around, she sees that the open area that was so empty during the night now has other people milling through it, and it shatters the warm space she’d felt she and Mike were in. It’s time to go back to the real world, away from the fantasies of ballrooms and princes and dancing. The magic of the night has been erased by the movement of the morning and she hopes what she thinks she felt between them hasn’t been erased too.

He yawns. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, getting up to stretch and grabbing her bags.

They walk around the slowly filling terminal, looking for a place to eat, and light upon a cute coffee place in the food court. They order and eat in silence, avoiding looking at each other, until he speaks.

“Does last night… feel like it was a dream, to you?” Mike asks.

I thought that was just me. She takes a sip of her black coffee. “It kind of does, yeah. This entire encounter has been weird.”

He looks down at his croissant, crinkling his nose, then peeks back at her through his lashes. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He says nothing else, and neither does she, so they head off to gate twenty three, and she thinks something’s wrong because he wasn’t this quiet or awkward last night. The tension is palpable, but she’s never been very good at social interactions and she doesn’t know what to say. He probably realized how dumb I am. She thinks she may have come across as very brazen (which she is, but she hates it for how it ruins everything all the time). Mike hadn’t seemed bothered by her earlier, and she had hoped that something good might have come out of their chance meeting.

It seems it was not to be, however, because the only thing he does as they board the plane is wave and give a little half smile when he finds his seat. El sighs and settles in for the hour and a half flight. She’s decided she’s going to try to catch up on the sleep she missed instead of sitting in abject misery, and it works because she’s blinking confusedly when a flight attendant wakes her to say that they will be landing in approximately forty minutes.

She’s excited to be back home, to work, her patients, her dad and Max. But she’s also the teeniest bit sad because she wants to explore that special connection she feels with Mike, to see what it means and what it’s about and she believes she’s ruined her chances (okay, so maybe she’s more than a teeny bit sad). She’s convinced herself that nothing was ever going to happen, she had imagined the unexplainable thing she felt between them.

She makes it through baggage claim and isn’t sent to customs, so El’s on her way out of the terminal to catch a taxi because both Max and Hopper are working today when something does happen. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a person running out of the passenger exit, and she thinks that they must have seen a loved one they missed.

That is, until she hears the shout. “El!”

It’s Mike of course, and he comes to a skidding halt in front of her, breathless. “I just- ran- all the way here- because- I’m a dumbass-”

“Whoa, hey, breathe,” she says, “I don’t need you dying on me in the middle of the airport.”

He nods and waits until his breathing levels out before straightening up. “I wanted to apologize for being so stupid and awkward this morning, I don’t know what got into me.” He swallows before looking at her directly. “I really want to see you again, so… do you wanna go out sometime?”

WHAT! She doesn’t respond for a few moments, shocked. But then she grins and says, “Are you asking me on a date?”

He sucks in a breath, about to shake his head, she can tell, but then he stops. “You know what, fuck it. Yes, I am.”

“Well, I’d certainly like that.”

El leaves the airport with Mike’s number in her phone, and she’s only been in the taxi for a few minutes when it pings with a text.

Can you do tonight at 7?

He’s eager, and she likes that she’s not the only one. It assures her she’s not being some creepy, obsessive, stalker.

Someone’s eager lol

But yes

Where?

I was supposed to go to a “friend’s” party tonight but I never actually said yes and I really don’t want to haha

Kinda cheesy but I was thinking a roller rink if you want to go

There’s one near my place and it has an arcade too!!

Growing up in the 90s, El remembers being fond of arcades. She and Max used to hang out in them all the time. Another thing in common!

Aaaaaa the arcade I miss those

Sounds good, pick me up or meet you there?

I can pick you up lol I don’t mind

She sends him her address, and he sends back a GIF of a penguin dancing.

See you later :D

(part 2)

#it's the shakira penguin gif #airport ballrooms #mileven #mileven fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #mike wheeler #eleven #au #alternate universe #urdearestmom

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iwillchangemymind · 4 years

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the doctors and the divineWhat do we learn when we diagnose genius? BY STEFANY ANNE GOLBERG

In her Histoire de Ma Vie, the author George Sand describes an encounter with Frédéric Chopin upon returning one night from a trip to Palma. Chopin was playing a melody on the piano, in the grip of a strange delirium. “He saw himself drowned in a lake,” she wrote:

heavy and ice-cold drops of water fell at regular intervals upon his breast, and when I drew his attention to those drops of water which were actually falling at regular intervals upon the roof, he denied having heard them. He was even vexed at what I translated by imitative harmony…. His genius was full of mysterious harmonies of nature, translated by sublime equivalents into his musical thought, and not by a servile repetition of external sounds.

The work that Chopin was playing that night — according to “The hallucinations of Frédéric Chopin,” an article published recently in the journal Medical Humanities — is thought to be the Prelude in D flat major, or Prelude in F sharp minor, or even Prelude in B minor. But for the authors of the article — Manuel Vázquez Caruncho and Franciso Brañas Fernández — the exact piece Chopin was playing, or how it got composed, is less interesting than what might have been happening in Chopin’s mind while he was composing.

The diagnosis is distinctly medical. Chopin was having “hallucinations”. What many have read in Sand’s words to be an example of Chopin’s mysterious genius are in truth the result of a neurological condition. Caruncho and Fernández present a laundry list of possible diagnoses that could account for the Chopin’s hallucinations: schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depression, fever, migraine. Eventually, the authors decide that the best explanation for Chopin’s hallucinations is temporal lobe epilepsy.

What does this say about the work of Chopin? The answer, the authors admit, is nothing. But they think the question is beside the point. What drives Caruncho and Fernández comes in their conclusion: “We doubt that another diagnosis added [to] the already numerous list will help us understand the artistic world of Frédéric Chopin, but we do believe that knowing he had this condition could help to separate romanticized legend from reality…” The particulars of Chopin’s compositions are somewhat outside the scope of the authors’ purview. Their conclusion, though, hints that Caruncho and Fernández are not even that interested in the specifics of Chopin’s physical hallucinations. Their real focus is how these hallucinations affect the story we tell of Chopin. They are interested in the mythology of Chopin’s genius.

For all the sickly Romantic geniuses out there who purportedly succumbed to the wild thrall of their passions — Robert Schumann, Edgar Allan Poe, William Blake, etc. — there have been as many doctors, psychologists, and literary Darwinists itching to diagnose them. Chopin’s exact diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy has also recently been given to Poe, Gustave Flaubert, Philip K. Dick, Sylvia Plath, Lewis Carroll, and others. “The hallucinations of Frédéric Chopin” is thus in the tradition of what some call neurotheology, the attempt to medically explain spiritual experiences. The not-always-subtle subtext is that unexplainable visions, or other divine madnesses, have no place in our enlightened, modern world. Neurotheologists have never been comfortable with the idea that romantic visions exist, and far less comfortable with madness as the catalyst for works of genius. The impetus behind these diagnoses is a desire to secularize genius, or to democratize it, and in some cases, to do away with the notion of genius altogether. The aberrant experiences of our great artists and writers have, as a result, often landed them in the loony bin (think Schumann or Robert Walser) or, at the very least, raised serious questions about whether we can distinguish between their illness and their work.

In short, “The hallucinations of Frédéric Chopin” is an attack on the romantic notion of genius. In “Genius and Taste,” a 1918 essay from The Nation, the critic Irving Babbitt discusses the two notions of genius—the neoclassical and the romantic—that are played out so nicely in the exchange between Chopin and Sand above. Whatever our personal opinions about genius are, they likely derive, in part, from one of these camps.

On the neoclassical side of the ring, we’ve got Voltaire and Kant, who defined genius as “only judicious imitation” (that was Voltaire). This means that genius is deliberate and that ideas come from somewhere, rather than from nowhere. When Sand walks into the room and calls Chopin’s playing “imitative harmony,” she’s representing the neoclassical position. “His composition of this evening was indeed full of the drops of rain which resounded on the sonorous tiles of the monastery.” Sand implies that Chopin can hear something extraordinary in the drops of rain that most people can’t hear. His genius is that he can imitate these raindrops and make them his own. (It also implies that he is working in the tradition of other great, rain-loving composers.)

The romantics, on the other hand, replaced judgment and grace with imagination and originality: “The power of acting creatively under laws of its own origination,” in the words of Coleridge. Notice that, genuine romantic that she is at heart, Sand backtracks when Chopin himself protests against the suggestion that he’s just monkeying the sound of the rain. She says, “His genius was full of mysterious harmonies of nature, translated by sublime equivalents into his musical thought, and not by a servile repetition of external sounds.” Both writer and composer agree it is Chopin’s wild reverie (or hallucination) that actually birthed the composition he was playing. Chopin was not just tinkling around to the sound of the rain; he had been seized by the sublime.

In its romantic form, genius is irrational and beyond our control. In fact, true genius requires a loss of control. In a way, the romantics shift genius away from what we do and toward what we feel, from what we create to what we are experiencing. Thought of this way, genius is really a state of being, closer to a state of ecstasy.

Whether we call them reveries or hallucinations, (mostly) everyone agrees that Chopin had extraordinary visions of some kind that corresponded with distinct physical effects. Romantics and neoclassicists alike — along with Caruncho and Fernández — would agree that these experiences played some role in the work Chopin produced. The hallucinations and the man and the music are all one package. What is exciting, then, about the work of Caruncho and Fernández is not their dismissal of the sublime in Chopin’s experience, but rather, their engagement with the physical experience of genius.

In the end, Caruncho and Fernández say they want to separate romance from reality, but their diagnosis leads to a conclusion no less romantic, and no less religious, than the legend: that our own bodies can generate within us a sensation of the divine. From this, maybe the romantics and neoclassicists can be brought together for a new notion of genius, one that allows for, and sometimes necessitates, ecstatic irrational reveries that must still be grounded in practice if good works are to be produced. After all, visions alone are not enough. If Chopin hadn’t practiced his piano, he may never have gotten past the Polish border. But his experience of the sublime, whatever its cause, was a real factor in his ability to compose as well.

Even William Blake might have approved of this synthesis. “As a man is, so he sees,” Blake wrote. “As the eye is formed, such are its powers.” Likewise, just because great ideas might come from somewhere doesn’t always mean that genius can be, or should be, explained away. • 15 February 2011

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titleleaf · 7 years

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I have a burning need to know the answers to #5 (for noir), #6, and #8 in the self-fic-rec meme you reblogged!

$5: film noir AUs and film-noir adjacent stuff

Adagio For Piano (Four Hands) -- Stoker, postcanon fic about India as a freewheeling matricide.

All semblance of distance has been shucked off of her like a damp undergarment. She swims naked and lies awake while Charlie sleeps, biting her nails and making sure they don't run aground. On course, always, even when she's got no idea where they're really headed at the end of all of this. It's a long way from here to Paris, to Petra, to every place Charlie has ever lied about being -- will he like them once he's arrived, or is the wanting better than the having?

The Artificial Wilderness -- pre-canon Rope fic about Rupert being a benign destroyer of young boys.

(There are other moments, ones he'll later call to mind and not know what to do with. Brandon drawn up close to light Phillip's cigarette, as the pair of them share a glance — Phillip's enormous dark eyes, Brandon's fixed consideration, each daring the other to blink. Phillip takes the first pull, and exhales smoke, smiling. Long week-ends and tiresome lectures, side-by-side in dark earnestness, Brandon with one leg crossed over the other and with his arm slung across the seat next to him. Or Brandon's hand on the downy back of Phillip's neck, conspiratorial, as the pair of them scrutinize Marx's Capital. And what was so funny in the middle of chapel that it nearly brought Mr. Shaw to tears? And what was Phillip Morgan doing in Brandon Shaw's rooms so late after curfew? He holds up his ink-stained hands in perfect innocence: transcribing Chopin.)

Sheer Heart Attack - The Nice Guys, boning down on a stakeout.

Sometimes they get to make it — they get their man, serve their papers, bust the coke smuggling ring, catch the movie-star stalker with his arms so full of long-stemmed roses and newspaper cut-out notes he can't run too fast and Healy can bring him down with a well-placed boot to the back of the knee.

Forest In The Desert - LA Confidential, Vincennes is a sad vice cop and Exley is a hooker who doubles as an amateur detective and they bone down. This fic is probably the most full-fledged noir-influenced thing I’ve ever written and I’m fucking miserable and bitter that circumstances beyond my control make working in this fandom basically undoable for me now.

Exley takes him apart on the way to the bedroom, unbuckling his wristwatch, unpinning his cufflinks, slipping off Jack's tie bar and loosening his silk tie. His thumb brushes along the border where Jack's collar terminates and his throat begins and the tiny touch is electric. Jack resents it. He's risking so much for this — this is his head on the chopping block, a few good snaps through the curtains or somebody with Jack's own scruples kicking down the door and Vincennes is toast. The way Exley's eyes mark out the exits isn't lost on him, however — checking sightlines before he proceeds.

#6: Favorite underrated fic

Nobody fucking rained down praise on me for writing 7k of bleak dour Three Days Of The Condor fanfiction about being brutally stripped of all your illusions about the American democratic process and also getting dicked by Max von Sydow and I’m fucking livid.

Neither was I feted as a hero for writing a one-shot about tiny shithead Randall Flagg burning down his parents’ mill.

#8: Favorite fic for a weird concept

Falling, Falling - Twin Peaks, Dale Cooper’s disembodied spirit tries to help special agent Audrey Horne out from beyond the beyond. (Not Return-compliant.)

Caleb Sessions is an Ex Machina fic about weird shitty bonding and coming to realize you’re one of the bad guys while you’re dying and getting sexually assaulted in an underground lab.

#ska writes a thing #marypsue

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diabolik-sai · 7 years

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Hello! You're doing a great job with the blog; I love your writing! I was wondering if you could do a post with the Sakamakis & how they would treat their SO if they were overly stressed out about work/school/etc? I'm currently stressing myself out so... XD

Sure thing! And I feel you, it’s summer and I’m more stressed out than I was in school 😅

Shu: -Doesn’t really understand why you’re stressing out so much, mostly because he just skips all his classes-Reminds you to take breaks in between work/studying so you don’t self destruct-Lays on the couch with you while you’re studying and actually helps out from time to time, though it won’t be more than a short note-He may skip his classes but he’s still very intelligent -If he finds you working absurdly late he’ll literally pick you up and carry you to your room despite your protests -He plops you on the bed and tosses a few extra blankets on you before getting in himself-Wordlessly climbs into bed beside you and gives you of his earbuds -You lay there and quietly snuggle into the blankets, listening to Chopin and feeling your anxiety melt away

Reiji: -Immediately offers to tutor you to help with your school work or gives you advice for your job-Insists it’s because he won’t allow his significant other to become a slacker with poor grades or status, but really just cares about your mental health (not that he’ll show it)-Doesn’t like seeing you stressed out-He says it makes you look less like a proper lady, but it also bitterly reminds him of all the work he did as a child to try and catch up to Shu’s level-Every night after school you two sit down and study for a bit in the candle lit library-He’s strict but incredibly efficient at getting you to memorize the material -Practically makes you a check list so you can take things one at a time-Rewards you at the end of a long day with a warm cup of tea and some quality time reading together in bed

Ayato: -Acts like he doesn’t understand your stress (to him he’s already at the top of everything)-However, memories start to creep up from his childhood; the work overload he was forced into isn’t exactly something he likes to remember -Decides to make it his personal mission to de-stress you-Tries to take your mind off things by going to theme parks and basketball games so you can take a break-Will probably attempt to help you with your job or school work but he’ll most likely be terrible at it, which will stress you out even more-Actually acts oddly… Nice for once??-You can’t stop smiling when you see he’s really trying his best -Maybe you should be stressed out more often so he’ll stop being a dick for a while

Laito: -Gets slapped immediately when he suggests his method of “relieving your stress”-Can’t really relate since most things come easy to him in school; he doesn’t really think about it too much-Figures you’re probably not in the mood when you’re stressed so he helps you out of your little rut-Will sit with you at the table while you study, keeping your desktop clean and your mind somewhat focused-When not thinking of his ulterior motives he’s actually quite helpful with your work-You sort of forget how smart he can be sometimes, he’s a pretty entertaining tutor-On the days before your tests or job interviews he’d buy you a little box of macaroons to ease your nerves -Will always congratulate you after a victory at school or work, but of course will ask for a little reward~

Kanato: -At first he’d jab that you should have better time management and just figure things out by yourself -However as your physical conditions worsen from your deteriorating mental state he’d try to do something -But doesn’t really know how to help??¿-His grades aren’t the best, he skips assignments he doesn’t feel like doing and he’s too combative with the teachers -Suggests you do the same thing with your work and doesn’t understand why you’d reject his advice -When all else fails he drags you to the dining room for tea and sweets-You’re a bit surprised he’d share his sweets with you, but you feel a lot better after sitting down and resting for a bit-It’s actually a rather relaxing afternoon, simply enjoying each other’s company and eating cake in comfortable, calming, silence

Subaru: -Doesn’t really know how to handle your stress-Like your stress is stressing him out-He’s never seen school as something too important or something he needed to take seriously so he’s in the dark here-Wants to offer but doesn’t really think he can help you much as far as academics go-Makes small gestures to help you relax and take your mind off things, even tried to make tea without Reiji’s help-He’s found that the best way for you to relax is to take a little walk through the garden-When it starts to get dark you two go out for a bit to admire the roses -He doesn’t mind sitting on the garden bench with you, stargazing -Will defiantly get flustered when you thank him for everything he’s done, and even more so when you gently lean your head on his shoulder

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moon-soo-ah · 7 years

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Hanyu on track in preparations for Pyeongchang

Yuzuru Hanyu is continuing to build momentum in his run toward a second straight Olympic gold medal.

Hanyu began his Grand Prix season with a second-place finish at the Cup of Russia on Saturday, but his free skate was much improved from his showing at the Autumn Classic International last month in Montreal.

American Nathan Chen scored a narrow victory over Hanyu in Moscow, edging the world champion by just over three points (293.79 to 290.77) for the title. Russia’s Mikhail Kolyada (271.06) was third.

Hanyu’s streak of not winning his opening GP continued for an eighth season. At this point, winning or coming in second is almost irrelevant, however. It’s all about continuing to progress and trying to peak for the Pyeongchang Olympics in February. That is the goal for Hanyu.

Hanyu under-rotated his opening quadruple loop and then fell on his quad toe loop/triple toe loop combination jump in his short program to Chopin’s Ballade No. 1 and trailed Chen by nearly six points going into the free skate.

So high are the expectations now for Hanyu, that it’s almost a disappointment for his fans when he doesn’t win or set a world record.

Eurosport announcer Simon Reed relayed this message after the short program.

“Yuzuru is not infallible,” Reed stated. “Sometimes he’s perfect. It wasn’t one of those days.”

Reed’s partner on the telecast, analyst Mark Hanretty, noted that Hanyu’s use of previous programs has raised some eyebrows.

“He’s used this program before and there has been a little bit of controversy over the fact that he has reverted back to it,” Hanretty noted. “Some say that shows some sign of perhaps weakness or insecurity. But I think Yuzuru knows that this is such a beautiful piece of music and it is so well suited to him and it is very judge friendly this kind of style. Very different to the short program style that he used to win the Olympic Games in Sochi.”

Once again, even in defeat, Hanyu’s class was recognized by those commentating on the event.

“Even when he makes mistakes, his quality is so high on the other elements it keeps him in the conversation,” said former U.S. champion Ryan Bradley on the Olympic Channel broadcast.

Hanyu’s triple axel in the short program was sublime as usual.

“Beautiful triple axel within the choreography,” noted Bradley. “Just seamless.”

When Hanyu fell on the combination, Bradley was as surprised as anyone.

“Doesn’t get the lift on the second jump,” Bradley stated. “Can’t hang on. Very uncharacteristic mistake for Yuzuru.”

Bradley’s broadcasting partner Andrea Joyce said Hanyu is not invincible.

“Despite all of his impressive results, he still does struggle at times with inconsistency,” Joyce commented. “On a good day it seems like he is unbeatable, vulnerable on others.”

Hanyu earned the top score for his free skate to “Seimei” and drew more rave reviews, even it it was not enough to lift him to victory. Bradley was profuse in his praise as Hanyu landed three quads, including a quad lutz for the first time in competition, and five triples.

“So incredible to me to see the potential in this free skate,” Bradley stated. “This program, specifically in the second half, is so action-packed. That second quad toe, triple axel, triple axel, those happened in about a 25-second span, where he is seemingly just going from one jump straight into the next, straight into the next, really wrapping up that technical score.

“With that level of musicality, he is unmatched by anyone else in his discipline,” added Bradley.

Hanretty had an interesting take on Hanyu’s free skate.

“The last minute I thought was brilliant,” Hanretty said. “He has something that’s both a blessing and a curse. He has a really great knee action, which makes everything look very easy. But part way through the program it looked almost casual.

“Shoma Uno, who we will see next week at Skate Canada, his program is so jam-packed with content that it looks much more intense throughout. It will be interesting to see how the judges’ component scores will reflect that.”

Hanretty then pointed out the gravitas that Hanyu has because of his track record.

“Yuzuru, as an Olympic champion, he is considered to be a 9 out of 10 at least component skater. Whereas, Shoma doesn’t have that Olympic title behind him to help him.”

The mention of Uno was telling, as Ice Time has noted in recent months that while many are focusing on Chen as Hanyu’s prime challenger for the gold in Pyeongchang, there are some who believe the real threat will come from Uno.

Ice Time felt this when he recently spoke with Dick Button and there are other analysts who share that sentiment.

CBC’s Carol Lane, one of the top analysts in the sport, was clearly moved by Hanyu’s free skate and identified some of the reasons why he is still assimilating it.

“He doesn’t skate this program, he lives it,” Lane commented. “He’s invested in every movement. Every thing he does has intention and purpose. That’s what makes it such a dynamic vehicle for him.

“In repeating the same program, he’s not necessarily repeating the same elements in the same order. The pacing and the timing may have changed, and he has to get used to that.”

Four-time world champion Kurt Browning believes there is something special not yet realized in Hanyu’s free skate.

“The magic of this program didn’t show up today,” said Browning, on the CBC telecast. “It’s early in the season. Was it because he doesn’t feel like the same person as he did back then? Or is it just one of those nights when you have to work for things? Time will tell.”

Hanyu still has some rough edges to smooth out and he recognizes it.

“The most important thing is for me to rotate each jump, each combination,” Hanyu was quoted as saying by the ISU website. “That made the three points difference. I realized once again how important it is to practice each element and to perform each element with care.”

source

#羽生結弦 #Yuzuru Hanyu

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