#which reminds me that I need a CD player because maybe I want to listen to them outside my car

[new-romatics]

I’m going to see the Eras tour movie next Friday and I’m so fuckin hyped

[incomingalbatross]

Finished my first week (I don't go in on Fridays) of Commute Listening! (Plus a day technically because I did have to go in last Saturday.)

Here's the summary of the undertaking so far...and of just how much car/public transit time I've logged:

Bach's Brandenburg Concertos 1-6 My beloveds--the only classical music that IS for sure on my faves list, because in the period when I had a CD player in my bedroom and about three CDs, these were two of them. Still not sure how well I could identify them, but I recognized them once they started playing and greatly enjoyed them.

Artifexian podcast ep 1. Interesting! All about worldbuilding. Just far enough removed from my own interests (yes I love fantasy, no I don't enjoy worldbuilding, it took me years to process that) that I can listen as, like, a spectator, but also listening to two people who do love worldbuilding makes me feel more positive about it. Like the energy.

Several Masses by Haydn (St. Cecilia, Mass in B flat, Mass in honor of the Blessed Virgin). Beautiful, obviously, but... did not grab me. Might just be that Masses and commuting are not the right combination. Might be my chant-inclined mind going "you're drawing out the words too much." Idk.

Art of Manliness ep 1, about Easy Company. INteresting and informative—a window into a subject I wouldn't have sought out on my own.

Out Alive ep 1. About a skier buried in an avalanche! Again, not something I would have sought out myself, but hearing the skier and the other people involved talk about the impact of a crisis situation and near-death experience, without any polish or dramatization... oof. Really interesting.

Reply All Billed as a "podcast about the internet," the first ep was about a social situation enabled by the internet. Also interesting as a window into someone else's personal experience that I don't think you'd quite get in any other medium than this unpolished interview format. This time about relationships instead of death, though.

In the Wind (album) by Peter, Paul and Mary. Branching aside from classical for some folk, since I was in the headspace for something between podcasts and instrumentals. Good! I recognized several of the songs but definitely not all. They also reminded me of several other country and folk artists I could listen to if I want to keep going down that road, in addition to listening to more of their work.

Vivaldi Concertos for Diverse Instruments GOOD. I loved these! They got stuck in my head afterward! Definitely want to try more Vivaldi. Also reinforcing my theory that any kind of music is good music if it involves violins going wild.

Mozart Violin Concertos 3-5 ALSO very very good. And I think I could hear the cleaner/plainer sound of Mozart as opposed to the baroque I'd just been listening to.

My Writing Sucks podcast ep 1, in which an author lovingly roasts her 14-year-old self's writing. Very fun. Endearing. Kinda makes me want to pull out my oldest, worst writing and approach it from an outside perspective, which I think would be Growth if my fragile ego could actually follow through on that. :P Maybe after a few more episodes of this.

Pints With Aquinas episode 1. This is an introductory episode giving background on Aquinas, as opposed to later episodes which will have more actual theology. Already good, though. Little harder for me to stay focused than some of the more fun ones, but I'll be coming back.

Classics for Kids Short and educational segment about classical music. Definitely told me things I don't know! A little short and a little flat in delivery for my needs, but good stuff.

Stuff You Missed in History Class ep 1. Interesting, but same issue as the above—it was just short. I need to check if episode length varies, and if they're all short I might load up six or so at once to give it a better trial. It was interesting but I couldn't get much flavor from one segment.

In conclusion, this project is definitely a success so far. I've been enjoying my commutes even when there's traffic, and I feel like I'm taking in things that I enjoy and are constructive in some way! It's fun for me. And I have a bunch of podcasts in store for next week that I haven't even touched yet.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Meteor Shower (Part 16)

Bloom doesn’t realize that she had been holding her breath until Icy reminds her to breathe. Truly she doesn’t mean to stare, but she can’t quite help it. It isn’t as though Icy has gone out of her way to hide them—on the contrary, the tattoos inked around them seem to accentuate them. 

She could say that she had simply been admiring those tattoos but eyeballing them after her story is spoken and through with is painfully obvious. 

To her surprise Icy doesn’t snap at her to stop staring. Rather she follow Bloom’s gaze. Traces the vertical line that slices through the rest. 

“How…?” But it feels rude to ask.

“Am I alive?” Icy quirks a brow. She leans herself against the wall. 

“Chalcedony?” Bloom guesses. At this Icy gives a bitter, almost hateful laugh.

“She’s not one to come knocking when she gets ignored.” 

“Then how?”

“Some people might call it luck. It was more of a nuisance really. Diamond and her successes didn’t grab enough attention or make as much money as my story did. The paparazzi liked to come knocking now and then. They got some lovely photos and I guess that one of them decided to call it in, an afterthought really. Or a way to make sure that they wouldn’t get in legal trouble. They still did, I made a lot of money from those lawsuits. Most of those magazines were banned from publication and the online articles were removed pretty quickly.” She shrugs. “I used a good chunk of that money to pay doctors to write an official death certificate for Kyanite. Paid a few more people to have an obituary written.”

“That explains why everyone on the MeTor fansites can’t seem to decide if Kyanite is dead or a missing person.” 

“Kyanite is dead.” Icy assures her. 

It is left unspoken that Bloom best keep it that way. She can hear that much in the firm finality of her tone. A tone that brings a tickle of relief into the fairy’s belly; Icy is starting to sound a bit more like herself at the very least. 

“She’s not dead to me. Or to any of the fans. Kyanite still has a legacy that lives on. Some people still hope that she’ll reappear one day and have a comeback!” 

“Which is entirely unfortunate.” She shrugs. “People need to let it go.” She sits back on the mattress, finally putting an end to that pacing. Pacing that Bloom realizes was probably of the anxious variety. “At any rate, they can still listen to Kyanite’s music...technically. Some of them probably do, they just don’t realize it.”

“Maybe you should…”

“No! Absolutely not!” Icy reaches for the CD player. “I would sooner kiss you directly on the lips for twelve to thirty-seven seconds before I make a comeback single under the name Kyanite.” 

“Twelve to thirty-seven? That is an oddly specific number unless you have, maybe, put some thought into how long you would be able to tolerate kissing me for.” 

“Please, Peters, everyone has thought about kissing their nemesis before. It’s perfectly normal and part of a healthy long-standing rivalry.”

“I don’t think that most people think about kissing their arch rival, Icy.” 

“Ask Darcy and Stormy.” 

“I don’t think that any of you three are the picture of societal norms.” Before she can make a counter argument, Bloom adds, “or witchy norms.” 

“Whatever, twelve to thirty-seconds isn’t even that long.”

“It is too! Most people would only go for a quick peck if they were dared to kiss their nemesis. Ten seconds at the most!”

“Well why have you put thought into kissing your nemesis?” Icy asks. It sure is a funny way of asking why she hasn’t thought of kissing her specifically. 

“Because I might want to kiss my nemesis one day.” This seems to throw the woman off. She finds it rather satisfying to see how quickly she turns away to rummage through the CDs that she hasn’t yet listened to. 

So close.

She has come so close to finally asking the witch outright for a kiss. 

Just a little one. 

But now isn’t the right time.

.oOo.

The following days are much easier, her shakes have subsided and the ache in her head has faded almost entirely, coming back now and then but subsiding rather quickly. She is, admittedly, cautiously optimistic.

“And this is where I used to pretend that I was a black cat.” Darcy points at a tree, leaving Icy to wonder how many times she had gotten stuck in that particular oak. “I have fond memories here, it’s also where I punched Damon in the face for flirting too much.”

“You punched someone in the face!?” Stormy shouts. 

“Is that so hard to believe? Just because I’m not rambunctious like you or whatever Icy is…”

“Ruthless and cruel.” Icy fills in.

“Doesn’t mean that I have never felt inclined to punch someone.” 

“Maybe you should punch more people, more often!” Stormy suggests. 

“Or maybe you should learn to take it down a bit.” Stella replies. “You don’t have to fight everything that breathes.”

“I don’t just fight everything that breathes, sometimes I fight stuff that doesn’t too.” 

Icy thinks of that one time that Cloud Tower offered a field trip to a tacky haunted house. For all of her big talk, nobody screamed louder and shriller than Stormy as she bashed prop ghoul after prop ghoul. The Trix had been banned from haunted house excursions. 

“See what you’ve been missing out on.” Bloom says. 

“Stupid small talk and overpriced antique stores.” She lifts a brow as Darcy pushes the door to another one of said shops open. Naturally it was actually this one and not the other one that she had gone to all the time as a child. She had declared so at least four times already. 

“You can’t tell me that you don’t want to buy one of whatever this is.” 

“I don’t want to buy…” she begins before she turns to look at whatever Bloom is holding. “Actually I do want to buy that. Hand it over.”

“What is it?”

“For me to figure out after I buy it. Hand it over, Peters.”

“Do you want to become the owner of a cursed object? Because this is how you become the owner of a cursed object.”

“Witches love cursed objects, give it here.”

“Maybe I want it.” Bloom says.

“Fine you can have that curse…”

She shoves the item into Icy’s arms with an, “I don’t want to be cursed!”

“I think that it’s a piece of a gravestone.” Icy observes it. She can make herself a necklace of it. “Yes, this will do well.” A nice little touch to whatever outfit she picks out for their upcoming welcome back show. Her stomach flutters at the thought of it. All of these thrifted props, outfits, and accessories, better come together to make an impressive set. The three of them will work out the details when they get back to the hotel. 

After all of those details are in place and another visit with her doctor, they will be back on the tour bus.

And then she will be back on stage. 

Her grip tightens around that chunk of stone that could have come from a grave.

.oOo.

Cloud Tower provides a nice routine. 

A much needed routine. 

Something that makes her feel ordinary, she thinks that she would like that for a change. 

Cloud Tower witches love insults and verbal sparring. Wit and sarcasm.

For once, Icy gets to deliver the insults and humiliations.

It is like a revision of history.

Something to erase a mortifying past.

It is a complete antithesis to her high school days. 

No one will ever know. Not with how she carries herself these days. They ask her about her past now and then and mostly she lies. At most she tells them about almost overdosing outside of a club and the best of them commend her for going out like a real witch…badass and breaking the rules. 

It is because they have no idea what it actually looks like to die that way. How pathetic and demeaning it truly is. But she doesn’t fill them in. She’ll let them think that she is ‘hardcore’ and wicked through and through. 

Darcy and Stormy don’t breathe a word of it. 

But the three of them never join Lysa and the others for smokes in the ladies room. 

But there are still parts of her old self that run deep, that she can’t seem to shake. The parts of her that will get her right back to being on the receiving end of pranks and cruel jokes if she doesn’t convey them correctly.

She still enjoys her studies. And so she pretends like it is because she can better harass pixies with the grades of an overachiever. Not because she enjoys the act of learning.

She is still somewhat quiet, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call her shy.

But she can make herself aloof and unapproachable. Abrasive and befittingly cold of demeanor. Really she would just rather keep to herself.

She still says strange things that earn her stares. 

But she can pass those comments off as jokes. And if she can’t they usually give her a pass because she has the right look now and, unlike Kyanite, she always had the right look as far as everyone knows. 

Things are different now.

She is different now. 

And as long as she can keep her secret well concealed things will never go back to how they had been. 

As long as she doesn’t tell a single soul, her life will not unravel ever again.

It is truly a terrifying thing to have to guard a secret so closely. 

To know that she is only in her twenties but she has to take this secret to her grave. 

And she will, even if she has to find her grave early for it.

[relenafanel]

Local, Mediocre Talent: A Meet-Ugly AU

Geralt/Jaskier

Find it on Ao3:  Local, Mediocre Talent by relenafanel

For the Modern AU Challenge. Week 1: Meet-Ugly

Tag: witcherauseptember

_______________________________

“They’re setting up for the live band,” Geralt observed, finishing his pint of ale in one long swallow and gesturing to Eskel to hurry up. “Let’s go.”

“They’re supposed to be decent,” Eskel answered, his body language saying he was hunkering down and had no intention of going anywhere. He took a casual drink from his own glass, still half full as a pointed gesture.

Geralt snorted, not believing that for a second. Eskel was fucking with him. “I don’t need the assault on my senses. The—“ he gestured around the pub “—is bad enough. Add some local, mediocre talent covering the best of the 90s and it becomes unbearable.”

“EXCUSE ME!” 

Geralt barely had time to react before some brightly dressed and way too loud (visually and auditory) guy got in his face. The guy was lucky that Geralt wasn’t the type of person to greet people getting into his personal space aggressively with his fists. He made a sound in warning anyway.

“Have you even heard us?” the stranger demanded, half-draped across the table so he could stare directly into Geralt’s face, his pointer finger an inch from Geralt’s nose. 

Geralt knew he should be taking it as a threat, but it was a laughable one. He considered chomping his teeth just for the amusement of it.  “No.”

“Then maybe you should leave so someone else can have your table! I don’t need to be universally liked, but this is just insulting! You’re just. Sitting there. Complaining about a band you’ve never even heard of, right in front of the lead singer by the way, like some kind of hot but rude jackass.”

“I’m trying to leave,” Geralt answered, shooting Eskel a significant look. Eskel, the ass, just looked like he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“Try harder,” the guy suggested, straightening and digging into the shoulder bag he was carrying. He drew out a CD in a cardboard sleeve and a gold sharpie, scribbling something on the cardboard and flicking it in front of Geralt. “Gratuit for you, darling. Maybe you’ll learn some taste.”

The man could do scathing sarcasm. Geralt would give him that.

Geralt stood, picking up the CD automatically, maybe out of some long-remembered politeness of taking something handed to him. It was also the reason he kept finding fliers in the front seat of his car. “If this is your idea of taste,” he said to the guy, gesturing to his vibrant sequin shirt, “then I’m better off without any.”

He walked out, enjoying the affronted gasp behind him way more than he should.

***

Of course, the joke was on him two weeks later when halfway through his drive through the Mahakam mountains, his truck radio gave out. Geralt, typically not the biggest fan of music, had been using it to mask the death rattle coming from Roach’s undercarriage.

He didn’t have the money to fix her until he finished this contract, and as someone who took care of his belongings it was an aggravating reminder of his failures.

With a sigh, he half-remembered where he’d thrown the CD from the night with the annoying musician, and one-handedly dug it out from the garbage. He shoved it into the CD player with little fanfare.

***

By his trip back, Geralt had listened to the CD a total of three times and had to admit it was okay.

***

(Which, from Geralt, regarding music, was pretty much the equivalent of praise.)

***

Geralt turned the key to start the ignition, tensed as always that this might be the time Roach didn’t start. Once again, she came through for him and the music came on automatically.

“What’s this?” Eskel asked pointedly, his tone and expression telling Geralt that he knew exactly what it was.  

“Don’t.”

“Oh, I will,” Eskel retorted, but then didn’t follow it up with any ribbing, which was frankly more disturbing than if he had. It told Geralt he was planning.

Fuck.

***

Geralt had listened to the CD countless times over the course of the month it took to save up enough to fix Roach. Without the rattling, he no longer needed the music to distract his ears, and he popped the CD out of his dashboard like a man freed. 

It was the first time he actually looked at the cardboard sleeve. It was just a stylized silhouette of a musician with the band’s name, website, and social media.

To my #1 fan

Jaskier

Fuck, he could hear the tone it was meant in. That scathing sarcasm that landed like paint thinner. Despite the tone, or maybe because of, he could feel the burst of pleasure in his chest. 

He was halfway through scrolling through the band’s Instagram before realizing what he was doing, seeking out pictures of Jaskier. He realized, suddenly, that he’d been listening to the man’s voice for over a month.

Geralt closed his eyes.

Fuck.

He closed the app.

***

(He may have accidentally followed the band’s page.

Then he may have accidentally found Jaskier’s page and followed that too. The man had 3,000 followers, he wouldn’t notice another one.

He may have also accidentally liked a picture, but no more than two.

Fuck, three.

But Geralt was old and social media confused him. Wasn’t his fault.)

***

“This is a lovely jacket,” Jaskier said, somewhere behind Geralt. “I love a man who feels confident wearing leather.” 

A pause.

“Oh, you’ve mistaken me, I’m flirting with your jacket. Leather looks a bit like I’m playing dress-up in daddy’s clothes when I wear it. I get leather-envy.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment, trying to work through too many things going through his brain. First and foremost was the realization of how easily he’d known that voice, despite only hearing Jaskier speak that once (and also every time he’d introduced the bonus “work in progress” track on the CD). Second was what Jaskier was saying.

Geralt had a leather jacket. Geralt also wanted to hit his head against the table for thinking that in the context of listening to Jaskier flirt.

Third, he realized that this had been what Eskel had been planning: secretly orchestrating Geralt meeting Jaskier again.

Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t even wearing his nice shirt.

He wasn’t even wearing his nice shirt?! The idea he cared if he was wearing his nice shirt or not was the last, and worst, of all the realizations.

Jaskier walked by their table and then paused, backtracked, and looked at Geralt. “I know you.”

Geralt nodded, not far enough into his crisis to actually talk with Jaskier.

“Oh” Jaskier said, and his shoulders slumped. “Right. The gorgeous man who hates local music. I wasted a CD on you.”

“Not wasted,” Eskel said, while Geralt was trying to formulate a way to say ‘I think I was wrong, and maybe am into you’ in a normal way. Jaskier thought he was gorgeous and Geralt had a crush and a lasting bad impression.  “He listened to it. Didn’t you, Geralt?”

“Did you?”

“It was good,” Geralt tried. He didn’t miss that Eskel had managed to drop his name, casually, which made him forgive almost the entire plot of dragging him here in the first place.

Jaskier’s face lit up, which was -- fuck. “Did you?” he preened, leaning close to Geralt just like he had the first time. “Was it?”

“I… liked it.”

“Praise!” Jaskier crowed, slipping into the booth next to Geralt so his knee was pressed firmly against Geralt’s thigh. “My bread and butter. Do it again.”

His hand landed on Geralt’s knee in a way that was less to steady himself and more as a flirtation. It was something Geralt should and would discourage, right after he finished leaning into it.

“I listened to it in my truck. Every day for a month.”

And that. Wasn’t great, was it? If the way Eskel took a drink from his pint to hide his amusement was any indication, it wasn’t great.

Jaskier blinked. Then his expression shifted from teasing to thoughtful. “Do you normally listen to music in your truck?”

“The radio, sometimes.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side.  “Then that is praise. Thank you.”

Geralt nodded, dropping his hand so the tip of his finger brushed against Jaskier’s. He’d always been better with physical flirting, anyway. When he tried flirting, his banter tended to have barbs.

Jaskier looked down at his hand.  “Huh.”

***

“Hi I’m Jaskier. We’re going to try something new tonight: being a 90s cover band! First up, a cover of the 90s hit Baby’s Got Back, because there’s a man in the audience whose attention I’m trying to get, and I never know what’s too far. And Baby, he’s got Back. Second, we’ll go for the Spice Girls Wannabe My Lover, because I totally Googled 90s music before getting up here and both of them were in the first results and I’m trying to make a point. What? It’s called Wannabe? Fine. Corrected.” 

“Sorry,” Eskel said beside Geralt, looking pained at the spectacle Jaskier was making. 

That was the thing. Geralt should hate the attention, but. 

But.

Eskel looked over at him and his frown grew deeper.  “Are you smiling?”

“No,” he lied, because even if his mouth wasn’t stretched into a grin, Eskel knew him well enough and for long enough to recognize that Geralt didn’t hate what was happening. He wasn’t not smiling.

On stage, Jaskier reached over to grab a phone offered to him by the bass player.  “Oh! Oh! Essi just reminded me of Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover, like the good bro she is. Yes. That. A better suggestion than Spice Girls. I mean, I don’t really care if you want to get with my friends. Essi isn’t even into men.”

The drummer smashed the cymbals, making Jaskier jump.

“That’s my cue that I’ve taken the gag too far. We’re not actually doing 90s night, but thanks for not immediately booing us off stage!  And Geralt, maybe if you could slide into my DMs on Insta?”

“Joke’s on him for thinking you have Instagram,” Eskel observed. He was already done his drink and looked like he was ready to leave after sitting as the third party to some truly awkward flirting. 

Geralt didn’t say anything.

“You have Instagram?” Eskel realized.  “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me you know what sliding into someone’s DMs means.”

Geralt shrugged.

Eskel squinted at him.  “You didn’t get a smartphone until 2015. You think Tinder is for pyromaniacs.”

Geralt shrugged again.

“Wooooo,” Jaskier said on stage, holding up both his phone and the chorus of the song he was singing.  “We have contact! Geralt says:  Hi. Thank you everyone in this room for putting up with my nonsense! You have great energy. Hold on, I’m just going to...” he said, typing into his phone. “Tell me what to say!”

The audience seemed to be used to Jaskier engaging with them, because a few yelled out suggestions, including one outright filthy potential sext that Jaskier gave a ‘are you really?’ glance to.  “Oh! I know.”

Jaskier: You really do have a great butt. I noticed when you left.

Geralt: You sure you’re not flirting with my leather jacket?

Geralt watched as Jaskier read the message and then floundered a little in surprise.

Geralt: I’ll wear it if you want.

Geralt: Maybe tomorrow night?

“YES!” Jaskier replied out loud.  “Yes! I have a date for tomorrow night. Now, we should maybe re-start this song?”

“Stop looking so smug,” Eskel grumbled, stealing Geralt’s beer and downing it. 

[wanderingfanfics]

My Balan Wonderworld Story

So on Twitter I saw a trend of people talking about how they discovered Balan Wonderworld so here’s mine! I’m using tumblr because long-winded is my middle name (Wandering Long-winded Fan)

Warning I’m going to be talking about death in the family, anxiety and depression.

...I know that’s a little dramatic for how I got into a game with the funny hat man.

So I have anxiety.  I’ve always had it, but I pretended it was manageable.  I used to have a therapist but she was sort of...judgmental.  I saw her for a year before I decided that I didn’t need to anymore.  The anxiety spikes got more frequent and I’d end up going into terrible spirals where I fixated on atrocities, but I could brush it off because I’d still find a way back to things I enjoyed.

Then my grandma died last summer.  I’ll spare you the details, but she was the first person I opened up to about my non-straight situation, and I loved her for it.  The games I was playing, the songs I listened to, the fanfiction I was writing, I stopped doing all of it.  It was all trapped in a time when my grandma was still alive, when I could still hear her voice through the phone after work.

I was distraught for a couple of months and then I was able to go back to normal routine, but at the beginning of this year I had another anxious spiral, and it wasn’t going away.  The thoughts wouldn’t stop, and they overtook everything I did.  I couldn’t read, play games, work, watch movies, anything without thinking of existential dread.  After five years, I started getting panic attacks again.  I was still able to eat and work and even play games, but I got none of the joy anymore.  Having both anxiety AND depression is quite the concoction to choke down during a pandemic.

Now, this might be the point where I go, “AnD tHEn bALaN SaVED mE,” but I won’t, because that’s a dangerous lie.

You know what saved me?  Getting Help.  I went to the doctor, I was officially diagnosed with anxiety and depression and then I got some hecking medication for it.  You can’t depend on a game to save you, you need to talk to someone.

The spiraling thoughts still pop up every once in awhile, but they don’t have the same control over me like they used to.  Soon as I can afford to, I’m going to a therapist and I’m not going to brush off my depression and anxiety ever again.

So anyway, I was prescribed some medication which would take effect after a few weeks.  And HERE’S where Balan Wonderworld comes in.  Because I found this video.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about it?  Why was Penny Parker mortified when they started dancing?  What’s going on?  I looked at her impression of the full demo, and I thought “oh! this’ll be fun to watch others suffer though!” (btw Snapscube is cool streamer you should check out) I was one of those “love to hate it” fans at the beginning, or maybe more accurately a “love to watch others hate it” fans.  It was so hilarious seeing people’s brains melting over such an innocuous looking game.  To be fair I didn’t hear of this game when it was announced, so I didn’t have expectations to be trampled on.

Then I thought, “Wait...those Tims...remind me of Chaos.”  Suddenly the demo was in my hands, and I replayed it like five times.  Next thing you know I preordered the game (and then a second time before I realized I already preordered it) bought the cd, bought a freaking portable cd player to play it with, and am in the middle of writing a whole fanfic.

Then after all that, after replaying the game twice, it hits me.  I was genuinely enjoying something again.  I loved this game.  

My dog died a few weeks ago, and I cried for a couple of days.  He was the sweetest boy in the world in his passing hit me like a truck.  But instead of shutting away the fanfiction I was writing because it was when he was alive...the first thing I wanted to do was write again.  It wasn’t something to shut away and put under the bed, it was a comfort now.  

Balan Wonderworld did not “save me” from anxiety and depression.  The joy and love I have for it comes from the fact the it came to me after I decided to finally treat my anxiety.  The love and joy for Balan Wonderworld is the result of finding me at the right time and place to bring me happiness.

I know this has nothing really to do with the actual game, but maybe that’s the point.  It wasn’t the game itself, it was the circumstances surrounding it.  Though, the game looked like it was just made for me.  I mean, dance sequences?  Colorful backdrops?  Tims?  What’s not to love.

So long story short after crawling out of a terrible spot in my life I reach the top to find Balan Wonderworld waiting for me, and I’m happier for it.

If you happened to read my previous fic “Yuma and Memories” I’m sorry its taken so long, but I haven’t given up on it.  I’ll get back to it one day.  For now, I’m going to keep working on “Welcome to the Wonderworld!” because its become a comfort and a joy to me.  I hope you enjoy.

...Also I got a puppy and so I can’t finish the chapter this week I’M SORRY-

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (20)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

All artists have a muse. An inspiration. Motivation, unwavering will. A signature of their own. It’s impossible to copy the work of an artist, because he always leaves a part of himself, a small detail, whether in the choice of shapes, lines, colors, etc., which allows us, little observers to recognize his work. We could take the example of Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Sandro Botticelli, Michelangelo, Andy Warhol and finally Salvador Dali. All these artists had a particular signature, a little something that made their works unique, inimitable. Yet many have tried to reproduce them in order to make money. And even if some of them succeeded, they quickly found themselves behind bars.

But Danny is an... Particular artist. His works are particularly... Bloody. Certainly, he’s an assassin, but an assassin who wants to leave behind a trace of his passage, a piece of him in this vast world. Something that will remind everyone that he existed. At least Ghostface existed. But if every artist has a muse... What's Danny's muse? To tell the truth... He's got two. The first is simply envy. His insatiable urge for blood, to hear the gentle howls of his victims and to see the authorities tearing their hair out in the face of the lack of clues, is the reason he does this. As for his second muse...

Well, his second muse is you. For him, you are a precious jewel that he must protect at any price. No one should approach you and he won't let anyone near you. Of course, you will have the right to have friends, but don't plan to spend too much time without him. Besides, he feels frustrated that you prefer Jed to him. His alter ego is so boring compared to him! And yet how many times did he tell you? How many times did he tell you to think carefully?

And yet you chose Jed. But what happened that night ... He will remember it forever. Those little chills he felt on your skin when his tongue ran through your belly, your chest. And your little moans...A twisted smile appeared on his face just thinking about it. He's going to make you languish, but he's going to enjoy himself. And if you change your mind... it is beyond the seventh heaven that he will take you.

But for now, he has a more urgent matter to deal with. Because tonight is the big night. Everything was ready. Hoggins had brought charges to McKellan, who of course had retaliated strongly. How does Danny know? It's a journalist don't forget it. During one of his nightly visits, he had spied on a conversation between the two men and judging by McKellan's tone, the exchange was muscular.

“it's been so long that I've been waiting for this moment ... You dared to attack my angel in front of me. It's time for you to pay. I'm going to make you the best masterpiece ever created." He said, looking at McKellan house.

He had checked everything. He knew everything by heart. The round of the guards, the presence of the camera, McKellan's habits... absolutely everything. No surveillance camera.... humph, he thinks he's so untouchable that he doesn't feel the need to have security cameras. Poor fool. You're going to bitterly regret your arrogance. And Hoggins is going to pay the price.

It does not enchant Danny to attribute this murder to another, but if it is to see Wilhelm go round in circles, the game is worth it. He had parked his van in a place well out of sight. McKellan's villa is a staple, isolated from the city. No neighbourhood, no one to see or hear anything except the guards. Danny will never understand the rich and their desire to get away from people. Even if in a way, it feels good to have nothing around you, except the birdsong and the rustling of the leaves. But for these people, it's mostly a way not to mix with the "plebe".

He put on his mask and proceeded to the villa discreetly. It's time for the show. It's time for the massacre. From the bushes of the rear terrace, he watched the guards stationed. He knows that in a few minutes they will move to the sides and go around up to him. He must therefore move forward without being spotted to the building. And indeed after a few minutes, the guards moved. They always start at the inside of the terrace before returning from the outer sides. It was therefore cautiously but without concern that Danny advanced, not without paying attention to the flashlight that often came in his direction. Once near the walls, he glanced inside.  

As expected, it was impossible to get in from the back as the number of guards was too large. But he knows where McKellan's office is, and he knows that in exactly 20 minutes, he's going to go to his office and lock himself in and listen to music. He always puts the volume to the fullest, a significant advantage since so no one will hear him scream. He will be the only one who has the privilege of hearing it. Perfect. Once he's dead, Danny will have exactly 1 hour to make his masterpiece and leave because the guards will start suspecting a problem because of the music. Obviously, their boss listens to it every day for the same time. So, if it goes beyond the usual time slot, it's not normal.

Danny passed on the right side of the villa, on the side of which McKellan's office should be. And indeed, the second window of the office is open, surely to ventilate the room. He climbed to the gutter and clung to the balcony to enter the room. And the least we can say, is that this was to be the richest room in the house. He had something in common with Hoggins.

The walls were white marble making the room brighter. The many decorations in gold and red, as well as carpet flooring of the same color, recalled the time of ancient Rome. The few sculptures also for that matter.

“A passionate man of Ancient Rome... that will make my pleasure even more... Living. He will not only be my best masterpiece... but also the masterpiece of this room. It would almost bother me to soil this place of his filthy carcass and pig's blood. But he has to pay for touching and insulting my little angel...my precious love.” He said looking all around the room.  

He saw multiple objects that could be used for him, including multiples knife that look much sharper than his own. He could steal them but Ghostface is not a thief. He had taken a rope that he had found in the garden shed a few nights earlier. Like all the strings he took... this one will help him keep his "work" still.

He had the diagram of his artistic project in mind, with every little detail, of what he was going to cut to what he was going to leave whole ... Nothing much. He looked where he could hide and wait to strike. The cabinet in front of the desk will be the ideal hiding place. As soon as he will be close enough... he will catch him. Suddenly he heard footsteps. McKellan is on his way. Danny hides in the cupboard and waited. McKellan entered, furious as ever.

“Hoggins asshole... after all the services I have rendered to you to enrich yourself like a fat pig, you dare to accuse me?? I should cut your balls off... And this little whore and her damn coffee... not only has it not closed but it also gains in reputation! I'm surrounded by fools.” He said heading to the CD player. “Maybe I should kidnap her and torture her...or sell her as a prostitute...I’m sure that she can make a lot of money...”

Danny's blood was boiling. How dare he imagine for a second making you a toy for filthy fat pigs???  For a bonus profit??? He wanted to jump on him now, he wanted to slit his throat, butcher him, tear him to pieces... But if he goes out now, the guards will hear him and his whole plan will fall apart. He's got to stay calm. He's got to stick to the plan. As soon as he's at the cabinet level... he can attack. McKellan set the music on and turned the sound loud enough for the guards outside the room to hear it. Either he's deaf or he's crazy. Or both.

He stood for a few minutes in front of the reader before starting to "waltz" with his eyes closed. He reached the level of the cabinet and once in his line of sight, Danny went out to knock him out with a blow. He used the rope to tie him to the chair. He knows that from now on, he has 1 hour to do what he has to do. And he intends to take advantage of it. McKellan awoke after five minutes, trying to get away. The music was too loud for anyone to hear, so he looked at the knives but was quickly attract by a sinister sneer.

“Well, well... You finally woke up. You have a beautiful office. In fact, you have a very nice house, I would almost be jealous if it were not yours. Such a beautiful home for a rotten man like you... It's a shame.” said Danny, playing with his knife.

“You...I should be honoured by your presence... but unfortunately, I'm not very friendly with psycho like you. Hoggins sent you, didn't he? he's just a bastard.” Said McKellan with disgust.

“Sorry to tell you, but I'm not a man you can hire... I am acting and I will always act on my own. See if I'm here... it's because you and I have to settle.” Replied Danny before sticking his knife in McKellan's leg, making him scream.  

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!!! I’M GONNA CUT YOU HEAD OUT!!!!

“You see... You attacked someone very precious to me... and if there is one thing, I hate more than anything in this world... is that a rotten man like you, touch on what belongs to me. I'm sure you're wondering who I'm talking about. The "whore" as you like to call her, the boss of the Nebula... No luck for you... She's mine. And I'm going to make you regret every word you say. I hope you enjoyed your last musical moments... But don't worry... I intend to make you the masterpiece of your collection. And my best signing. Let the show begin.  

He cut off the leg where he had planted the knife, with a dry blow, recovering it before it fell to the ground. He did the same with the second and put it all on the desk. He stopped for a few seconds to listen to McKellan's delicious screams about the "tragic" loss of both legs. What sweet music to his ears... But unfortunately, he can't enjoy it very long, he has a countdown to respect.

“Oh... It hurts? I'm really sorry... I should have gone more slowly to lengthen the pleasure. But don't worry... I still have material. And limbs to cut you up. It's too bad you can't see that.”

“Please please ! I... I will give much more If you kill Hoggins for me!  I can make you the richest and the happiest man in this pathetic city! All the women will fall at your feet! You don't need that little slut! She's good for nothing! Just a little whore who thinks she's going to make a career!”

" I don't think you understood. I'm going to tell you one last time. One...” Danny started, planting his knife in one of McKellan’s arms. “I don't work for ANYBODY. If you think I'm just a puppet, I want you to know that I'm just for myself. I'm only doing this for my one and only pleasure. Never, and I say NEVER, would I work for anyone, even less for a rotten man of your kind. But if it makes you feel any better, Hoggins is going to come and keep you company in hell. Two...”

He thrust his knife deep into MacKellan’s arm to keep him awake until he finished talking to him. He drew his face closer to his.

“I only need one woman and that's her. I won't let anyone.... ANYONE, treat her like a good-for-nothing. You threatened her, assaulted her, you even sent someone several times to kill her. She is mine and only MINE and I will not let anyone near my angel, you fat pig!”

Danny pulled his knife out of Mackellan’s arm before repeatedly stabbing McKellan's skull. He recoiled inwardly at the sight of this bloodied, lifeless skull. He cut off his arms, then cut off his tongue and cut off his belly like a pig. He took out all these innards, cut them to a certain length and used them to tie his victim once again, one end ending deep in the throat, like a snake coming out of his mouth. He made sure to hold his arms and legs on the top of the skull, like deer antlers. How can he do that? A magician never reveals his secrets. Once his work was finished, Danny took out his camera.

“Look at you, you’re a masterpiece....MY masterpiece! You get exactly what you deserve you Motherf*cker. Now my little angel is safe...Almost if we count me in the lot. Well! Smile for the camera!”  Danny said before taking a picture. “Oh, I almost forgot the message! It’s necessary to give a lead to this dear Wilhelm ... even a fake one. Hoggins... You might not like the next few days.”

He wrote a bloody message on one of the walls of the office, leaving the policeman and the guard thinking that Hoggins was the author. One way or another. Then he quickly but discreetly left the premises before the guards were alerted by the unusual extension of the music. He returned to his van, changed, put his Ghostface outfit and mask back in the bag before heading home. On the road, he couldn't help but stop and burst out laughing, a laugh as he thought about what he had just done. The adrenaline was still running through his veins, he could not calm down.

He took a few minutes to calm down, then take the road again and went home. He parked and looked at your window. Everything was off and given the time, it was normal. Everyone was asleep, no one to testify anything to the police. Everything is always perfect. He went up to his apartment, entered, closed the door and walked to his office with his bag in his hand. He put it all down on the couch and looked at his hunting board, a satisfied smile on his lips.

He took his red felt, which was still working despite the rage of the last time, and bared McKellan's face with a long cross. That's it. He's finally dead. And there's more to kill. Hoggins is next on the list. But Danny will let time pass before attacking him. For now, he's going to focus on you. His sweet little star, his precious love, his angel. He looked at his bag, perhaps a little visit is necessary? Anyway, you sleep then ... you're not likely to say much.

A light cool wind entered your room, but it didn't seem to bother you. You were warm in your duvet with a radiant smile on your lip. Danny, or rather Ghostface was above you, a big smile behind his mask. He stayed for a few minutes without moving before lifting his mask slightly to kiss your cheek delicately.

“You can finally sleep easy, my angel. That fat pig won't do anything to you anymore. But never forget that you belong to me. Sleep well my love, hoping I'll be in your dreams.” he whispered so you don't wake up.

He put a small piece of paper on your nightstand to warn you of McKellan's death. The word is simple: "He's dead." He knows you will understand who it is. He left as discreetly as he had come, to go to bed as well, despite the little adrenaline he had left. It's going to be a long night.

But Damn it was so delicious.

***

(I'm practically about to pass my code exam! I'm so happy! hoping we won't be confined to the date where I'll pass it. I want to thank you all as much as you are, you are almost 40 to follow the poor little French potato that I am! In the meantime, I hope you will love this chapter as much as the others! they all deserve to be appreciated so much! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya!)

[ghostboybabies]

little ghost boy || Reggie [JATP Agere/CGLRE Story] “Toy Cars and Little Rockstars” (Chapter One)

A/N:Hi! this a warning for Reggie crying, being scared, and feeling guilty for small things. I'm not sure if that needs a warning, but just know that there's an emotional little in this chapter, but he also giggles and plays a lot so it evens out!

--

Reggie hated having to hide this part of himself.

The weirdest part was, he might not of had to hide it, but he still did. He knew that his band mates were some of the most supportive people on the planet, but he was so afraid that they'd hate him for this.

They'd call him weird and Julie would kick him out of the studio. Or worse, she'll kick him out of the band and replace him.

His eyes glossed over at that thought, and he felt like closing in on himself. "Reg? Are you okay?" Luke interrupted his anxious thoughts, causing him to glance up and nod his head quickly.

They were all sitting around the table in the studio. Alex was in the chair, Luke and Julie were on the couch. Reggie sat on the floor, and he had zoned out of the conversation in favor of letting anxious thoughts bounce around his head and terrorize him.

Luke's arm was around Julie, and Alex wore one of Willie's t-shirts. He wished he had someone who cared about him like that.

At the perfect moment, Luke patted the seat on the other side of him. "Come on, it's not like you haven't cuddled with me before." It was almost like he could read his mind. Luke didn't have that ability, of course, but he did know his friend well.

Reggie didn't reply verbally, glancing at Julie, who moved her head in a quick 'come on' nod. Luke saw that he was looking at Julie and spoke up again. "I have two arms. I can cuddle two people." he assured. Reggie hummed, still not speaking aloud as he stood up and climbed to sit next to him. Luke wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and Reggie leaned back onto his arm and the couch.

He felt much more comfortable with the extra affection, but he was still anxious. Maybe it was because that thing was happening.

Age regression, as the internet put it. When he'd feel like a kid again, and he couldn't do anything about it.

There was very few times where he'd willingly act that way, and it was always when he was alone, or just so excited about something that he didn't want to act like a mature teenager.

The point was, the majority of the time, he had no say in when it happened, and he'd have to push it down until he could get somewhere where he could be by himself. He had a few to go places, random locations that the boys could probably find him if they needed to, but they wouldn't come looking unless they were super worried. Just like him, they went off and did whatever sometimes.

That 'whatever' time was a second to step away from the real world and just breathe. A second to be in whatever their happy place was.

For Luke, that was time writing music with Julie, and hanging out in magical-feeling places for inspiration. For Alex, that was time with Willie, and going to calm places to get away from anxiety.

For Reggie, it was age regressing and playing bass, and hanging out in places that reminded him of the better parts of his childhood. Of course he had other ways to deal with stress, and he honestly wished this specific coping skill would go away, but it didn't seem like it would be any time soon.

Pushing it down felt bad. He felt guilty for not being open about it in the first place, he'd feel stressed because pushing something like that down is hard. He wanted to be held, and told that this thing he did was completely okay.

That he could be as little as he wanted.

Because when he tried to tell himself that, it didn't seem to work.

He cleared his mind of anxious thoughts to the best of his ability, taking a breath, doing his best to keep himself in the mindset of an adult, and listening in as Alex rambled about Willie.

This couldn't be to hard, could it?

--

Reggie assumed that if the others ever found out about this, it'd be because he couldn't push down his regression and he'd slip up. Not Luke walking in on one of his special safe places while he fell into his littlespace.

Before we get there, maybe we should talk about this specific safe place. This little abandoned building, not to far from Julie's school, used to be a shop the band would hang out at. He couldn't tell you why it had been closed down, they left the majority of the furniture inside and there wasn't any pest infestations.

He figured that he'd eventually steal Julie's computer and research why the little 'CD Sundayz' shop had been closed. The record and CD shop was the best mom-and-pop store around for purchasing music. And whenever they closed the place down, they left a fair amount of the music on the shelves.

So, Reggie found a CD player, and he would play the music and just relax. Right now, relaxing was sitting on the carpet and playing pretend with toy cars he had taken back when Carlos was cleaning out his older toys and told his dad he was getting rid of them.

Reggie remembered being so shy to ask Julie if he could have them. He also remembered her confused glance, her soft voice muttering, "You don't have to ask, no one else wants them." before picking up the box of toy cars and shoving it into his hands before her dad came back into the room.

One thing he never understood was why she never asked why, she just handed them over. She figured it was just a Reggie thing, something random he liked, and left it at that.

"You," Reggie plucked a dark blue car from the top of the plastic box, "and you..." he trailed off, biting his lip as he dug into the container for his favorite red car, "is gonna race!" he giggled, speaking to no one.

Playing by himself wasn't the funnest thing in the world, but it'd be even worse if he played in complete silence. He crawled across the floor, not being bothered with the idea of walking right now. He sat down, aligning the two cars in front of him. He aimed the cars to the box of the rest of the boy cars, deciding that that was the end of the track.

"Three, two, one!" he pushed them as hard as he could, making a sound to represent a car starting. He watched the cars move forward, listening to the plastic-against-plastic crash of the red car hitting the box.

He bounced in place, giggling and clapping. "Red won!" he went to stand up when he heard a shuffling sound in the direction of the door. The walls were a dark blue color, but parts of the wall had one of those stereotypical "90's" patterns on the wall, with the brightly colored shapes and background. Part of the floor, where Reggie was sitting, was a light blue carpet. The rest of it was white tile, with speckles of gray in it.

He saw Luke standing on the tile closest to the door, his arms crossed as he stood with a knowing glance and smirk. Reggie's excitement died down immediately, and he got scared. Immediately, his thoughts jumped to 'he hates me', and 'he's gonna tell everyone'.

His eyes teared up and he backed away, before Luke even got a word out. "Don't be scared, Reg. You're okay," he came closer slowly, bending own and taking the green car in his hands when he was close enough. Reggie whimpered at that, pouting. He held back the urge to make grabby hands for it.

"You like this little toy?" he held it up as he got closer, dropping down to sit next to him.

Reggie wondered why he was being so calm. Why he wasn't asking a million questions. Why he wasn't laughing at him.

Why he wasn't judging him.

Reggie hummed, with a light nod. Luke slowly took Reggie's hand, which was behind used to hug himself, and placed the toy car in it. "What were you doing?" he questioned, still speaking softly. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but he was able to figure out that he was in a vulnerable spot at the moment.

This is when Reggie realized that Luke had only seen part of that. He must've teleported in at some point a bit before Reggie heard the shuffling sound. How had he missed the familiar sound of a ghost warping reality as a form of transportation?

Reggie held the toy car to his chest, blinking and letting tears run down his face. He wished that he had a stuffed animal to hug, that would probably help right now. "Doing nothing," he mumbled out a lie, and Luke gave him a look.

"You can trust me, you know that, right?" Luke spoke again. "We're you...playing?" he asked, pulling together what he heard when he teleported, and Reggie's current soft and babyish actions. Reggie's cheeks burned and he nodded hesitantly, looking up with his with glassy eyes as if he expected him to be mad.

"Why'd you come all the way out here to play with some toy cars? Everyone's been looking for you," Luke informed. Reggie felt a sinking feeling in his chest, and he felt bad.

"m' sorry, din mean tos worry you-" he mumbled, cutting himself off with a sniffle.

"Don't be sorry, buddy. I'm just saying, you could've told the band about...this," he vaguely motioned to him. "Instead of hiding out in an old record shop."

Reggie gasped, "Like da shop. Me an' yous used to come here!" he giggled, looking around. He had done a decent job of keeping it clean, and the lights still worked. It wasn't the most ideal place to hang out, but it did work pretty well. Lifers couldn't get in because the door was boarded up, so he could be by himself.

"Yeah, we did. This place was awesome back in the nineties." Luke looked around, like Reggie had, before focusing back on the boy. "But you didn't have to hide from us. You like doing childish things sometimes, that's whatever. Alex and I already know that you have a childish personality, it's completely fine."

Reggie realized that he wasn't completely understanding what was happening. To some extent, Luke really just thought he was acting childish for fun. Yeah, some age regressors do that, and he knew that was okay too. But that's not what was happening with him.

He was in the mental state of a five year old, and Luke didn't understand that yet.

Reggie tried to think about how he could explain this while practically a toddler, pouting in frustration. He pointed to himself with the hand that wasn't holding the car. Luke seemed confused but he played along. Nonverbal communication was something that was easier then talking at points, but he's never really had to use it, because he always regressed alone.

"You're?"

Reggie nodded, before tapping his head. "Head?"

Reggie smiled, shaking his head. "Brain?"

His smile got bigger, but he refused that response. "Mental- You're mentally?" he guessed. Reggie hummed with a nod.

He then held his two hands close together, like he was going to clap, but left some space in between them. "Small? Tiny? Little?" he guessed all at once. Reggie nodded.

"You're mentally little?"

Reggie shied down, the giggly smiley baby gone for the time being. "Like...you're thinking like a kid would? How's that even possible?"

Reggie whined. He had hard enough of a time explaining that he was little at all, and Luke still didn't understand it. "You're okay! When will you be...mentally 'big' again?" he asked.

Reggie shrugged. "Well, when you are, will you talk to me about this and explain it to me?" Luke figured that a kid wouldn't be able to explain this well, and came to a quick compromise. Reggie thought for a moment before nodding.

"You don't like talking much, do you?" he said.

Reggie spoke in the babyish toddler voice. "Voice sounds little." he mumbled.

"But that's okay. You're mentally a kid, right?" he paused for confirmation. Reggie nodded, "You're probably going to sound and act like one too. Now, I was supposed to find you and take you back to the studio-" he was cut off by Reggie whining and shaking his head quickly.

"Question answered, I won't be doing that..." he trailed off, thinking. "Can you be good and keep playing here? I want to tell them that you're okay, and then I'll come back."

Reggie frowned. The idea of being alone seemed disappointing, now that he had somewhat experienced playfulness with someone who was seemingly accepting. "Come back?" he held out his pinky.

Luke had the urge to coo at that, smiling in an amused way. "Promise," he latched his pinky onto his for a moment before pulling away. He stood up, ruffling Reggie's hair. The boy giggled at that, his nose scrunching up.

"I'll be back, Little Rockstar."

Reggie smiled at the nickname, watching as he poofed out. If Luke reacted well, he wondered if Alex and Julie would too. It was still a scary thought, telling them. But with the reassurance that Luke gave him, it but the idea that being mentally little sometimes was okay in his head. And it helped him feel more comfortable

Luke didn't completely understand why this was happening, or how it worked. But he did know enough to understand that he was basically a kid right now, and that he shouldn't have to be left alone to play. So he was coming back.

He just needed to make sure everyone else knew he was safe, too. Then, he'd come back to watch over this childlike version of Reggie.

Maybe he'd even play with Reggie, and his toy cars.

--

A/N: leave feedback in the comments if you want, and votes are also very much appreciated! I really hoped you guys liked this chapter! If you decide to leave a comment, here's a question you an consider for feedback: Do you think I'm writing the characters fairly in-character? And, what's your favorite part of this chapter?

-Apple

[ridemedaddyjames]

Split - Part IV

Split - Part III

Pairing: Kevin Wendell Crumb x reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, stockholm syndrome

Words: 2,100

“You mean you don’t wanna leave?” Hedwig questioned, completely befuddled by your response, his attention span dwindling again. “Okay, I’ll show you my room,” he shrugged, taking your hand in his as he led you through the complicated maze. When you finally found his room, it seemed to be a well organized mess. Of course, you could never find anything in here, but he had no trouble at all.

“Hedwig, this is your room!?” You exclaimed, smiling widely at how much it truly represented his mind and personality. With everything strewn about, it made it difficult to maneuver through the mess, but he managed to get to the CD player and turn up the music.

“Do you like it? Miss Patricia gets kinda angry when it’s a mess, and Dennis refuses to come in.” Hedwig said, wondering how you’d feel about all of it.

“I think it’s amazing, it really represents you,” and, just like that, you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning like a child. Hedwig always had that affect on you, to make you happy no matter what the situation may be.

“Wanna dance to some Kanye West?” He asked, grabbing you and showing you how to move as he twisted his body into different directions. You tried to mimic him, turning yourself in the same way, but, instead of dancing, you’d just ended up tripping on a pile of toys and clothes.

Hedwig laughed, bending over to help you up. Being the deviant you are, though, you decided to pull him down with you instead. He landed on the pile of clothes, rolling with laughter. “You’re the bestest friend ever,” he said, finally catching his breath as the two of you got up.

“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” you reminded him as you wrapped your arms around him, comfortingly. He held you close, and you could feel him playing with your hair as you giggled.

“Okay, we gotta get back before Mr. Dennis comes, or he’ll be really mad that I let you out. Etcetera,” Hedwig nodded, walking with you back to the room where you were supposed to be being held.

The two of you exchanged one last hug before he disappeared, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. This time you imagined what it may be like to have kids. Patricia would be the aunt that would spoil them rotten. Hedwig would look at it as having a new friend and twenty-four hour playmate. Dennis would probably see it as a nuisance, and would ask that you keep it contained, and Kevin...Kevin would be the happiest he’s ever been. He would want to prove that he could do it; raise a child without all the problems he had to face growing up. That in itself seemed reason enough to do it, but it was all a fantasy made up in your head, and you realized that when Dennis opened your door and let himself inside.

“I brought you something,” Dennis fidgeted, awkwardly, as he did his best to hide whatever it was behind his back. “Close your eyes, and put out your hands.”

If he’d have said those words to Marcia or Claire they would be screaming with fear, but you could hardly contain the excitement that was coursing through your veins. When you opened your eyes, you found a book resting in your palms. ‘Frankenstein’ you read, feeling an immediate attachment to him as a person with this inanimate object. You ran your fingers over the cover. The pages looked as if it had been read a thousand times, but the binding was so perfect that it seemed to be brand new. This represented how well put together he seemed on the outside, and the story behind those walls; his beautiful disguise. Your eyes lit up at the gesture, your heart racing in your chest.

“I thought you might like something to pass the time. It’s - um - it’s my favorite. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, though.” Dennis stated, his Boston accent thicker than usual in part to his nervousness. Tears swelled in your eyes, but you did your best to blink them away, still so awestruck that he had given you something that meant so much to him.

He was being so gentle, and, without even thinking, you leapt from your spot on the small cot to throw your arms around his neck. His hands rested against your waist, taking in the smell of your hair. Dennis was falling for you, and it absolutely terrified him, but you were just as broken as he was, and he couldn’t help but find some sort of comfort in knowing that.

“Dennis, will you dance with me?” You whispered in his ear, feeling his muscles tense at the feeling of your breath on his skin. It had been a weakness of his, and you’d known it from the start. That day he brought you here, asking Marcia to dance with him, you still burned with jealousy that it hadn’t been you in his arms. At first he was hesitant, his fingers landing stiffly against your sides, and you prayed to no one in particular that he would loosen up.

Finally, he moved with you, slowly at first, before the steps had taken on a life of their own. The two of you seeming to follow the same nonexistent rhythm as you danced to nothing at all. By the time you’d finished, you were entirely out of breath, arms around his neck, beaming widely up at him as you felt his chest against yours. You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had been, or how natural it all seemed.

Your insides fluttered, dying to say what was on your mind, but there weren’t enough words to speak how this man made you feel. Which is why you broke the nonexistent barrier, and, without warning, leaned up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

Dennis stood there, awkwardly, letting it happen, eyes wide in horror before slowly easing into it. You felt his hand slowly move up your back before holding you closer to him. His other placed, softly, against your cheek. Your eyes fell shut, enjoying every second. Your gut told you that this was wrong, but Gods how it felt so right. This was absolute bliss. This was love.

Suddenly, Dennis pulled away, taking a step back as he put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. He was thinking, and you wanted to know what went on inside that beautiful mind, until he said something that cut you to your core.

“We can’t,” he realized, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have done this, it was a mistake. I can’t get close to you, it’ll only make things harder than they have to be.” He seemed to say it more to himself than to you. Finally, Dennis reached for the door to slam it shut, but you stopped him, taking hold of his thick, bulging, arm, and pressing yourself against him once again.

“Please, please, don’t go. I just,” you stopped, trying to find the words. “I dont want to be alone.”

The hurt in your eyes made him hesitate, and it was that split second of worry that told you he really did care. Before you could stop him, he’d rushed out of the room, leaving you in silence.

Feeling defeated, lost, and alone, you through yourself down on the cot before breaking down in tears. To your surprise, and after what felt like an eternity of sobbing, a soft voice came from the other side of the room. “Y/N, why you cryin?” Hedwig muttered, coming to sit beside you on the tiny bed. You had pulled your legs up to your chest, and, although you hesitated at first, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling into his arms. Hedwig didn’t know how to react, his body going limp compared to the stiffness of Dennis. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Ultimately, he opted for the safe route as he ran his fingers through your hair, soothingly.

“Is this because of Mr. Dennis? Was he mean to you?” Hedwig finally asked, mustering up the courage to talk to you. “If it is, I told him we’re dating, and that he doesn’t have a chance.”

“Hedwig, I need to tell you something,” you muttered, feeling your heart break once again.

“Wait, wait! Do you like Mr. Dennis?!” Hedwig gasped, unable to comprehend what was happening as he pushed you off of him. “But - but I thought you were my girlfriend?!” He stammered, looking at you like a lost puppy.

“You’re my friend, and I care about you in a different way than I care about him.” You confessed, trying your best to clear up this whole entire situation. “I love you both, just in different ways,” saying it out loud meant finally coming to terms with it, and it only made it hurt worse. Maybe you’d been wrong; maybe Dennis didn’t care about you at all.

“He didn’t pick you! He wanted them. The other girls! You’re mine!” He shouted, bringing you back to reality as your breath caught in your throat. This nine year old had found a way to pour salt in an open wound, and you could feel it eating at you from the inside out.

A heart wrenching sob pulled from your throat, echoing off the walls as you tried to stop yourself from falling apart in front of him. Fuck this, fuck all of it. What made Claire and Marcia so perfect?

Hedwig sat there, fearing what you might do next as the truth soared through your veins like a venomous drug. Your eyes were bloodshot, your throat burned, and you felt like you could never shed another tear, but they still came. “Y/N...do you want me to talk to him? I mean, he doesn’t really listen to me, but I can if you want me to,” Hedwig offered, seeing how hard this was for you. As much as he wanted you for himself, he couldn’t help that he also wanted to make you happy.

“You would do that for me?” You whimpered, wiping the tears from your eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you didn’t deserve Hedwig as a friend, he was too kind hearted.

“Of course I would, but, I don’t know what you see in him, I think he’s creepy,” Hedwig shivered, making a disgusted face. It was enough to make you smile, leaning in for a quick hug before he took off.

Part of you hated yourself for what you were about to do, but the other half convinced you that it was okay. So, instead of shredding the book that Dennis had given you, you’d decided to read it instead. With every turn of a page you found yourself falling more in love with him as a person, and understanding why this book mattered to him so much. As your eyes grew heavy, you pulled the book against your chest, cradling it in your arms; which is exactly how you’d fallen asleep.

When you woke up, Dennis was standing over you, arms crossed, breathing heavily. It seemed as if he were contemplating how to go about this whole ordeal. Looking up at him, you were sure your eyes were bloodshot, and you realized your appearance must have been questionable.

“Speak,” he finally ordered, making you jump at how dark his voice was. This was a side of him that you’d rarely seen, and it was starting to make you nervous. It should’ve absolutely terrified you, made you cower beneath him. No, this voice did something entirely opposite. It awoke something in you that you’d never felt before; a burning hunger in your gut that was completely alien to you. You needed him like a moth needed a flame, and like an addict needed a drug. He was your drug. Dennis never made it feel like love, though. No, this was cat and mouse to him. Just another game, and, with your head in the clouds, you couldn’t help but let your mouth flow freely with how you’d been feeling from the moment you were brought here.

“I think I love you,” you muttered, giving it everything you had as you threw all caution to the wind. This was your chance to get exactly what you wanted, pain, and lies, and chaos combined. If he didn’t kill you, the adrenaline of your love for him would.

[bubbyleh]

Equal Standing - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Year 98

Gordon and Coomer are by the Viewing Pool, in the middle of one of their weekly coffee meetings when Tommy returns from Earth. He’s waving a newspaper in one of his hands, as if he were a paperboy, with an excited grin across his face.

“Mr. Freeman! Mr. Coomer! You- you guys won’t believe this!” He throws the newspaper down on the picnic blanket between the two of them. Coomer places his coffee down and picks it up. “I remember these guys praying to me and I- and I thought they would need a lot of help! But they did it! They found it!”

“Found what?” Gordon asks.

Coomer clears his throat, and begins to read. “A team of anteologists from across the world, known for their breakthroughs in the study of precursor civilizations, have made headway in their field by being the first to uncover ruins of the city known as Mesa- Ah!” He cuts himself off, eyes lighting up. “Mesa! That’s where Bubby and I are from! What a lovely town that was...”

“Oh! It’s your home?” Tommy takes a seat next to Coomer. “Maybe if- if it opens to the public, we can visit sometime!”

Gordon takes the paper from Coomer and begins reading on his own. To be honest, he wasn’t familiar with quite a few of the words he heard.

“Well, Bubby and I haven’t lived there since we were in our thirties…” Coomer thinks for a moment. “But it is where we met, so perhaps a trip down would be worth it!”

Gordon squints at the article. “Uh, guys? What’s a precursor civilization?”

Tommy stares blankly at him, while Coomer shakes his head. “Goodness, are they teaching children anything at all down there?”

“Wh- hey! I am not representative of all mortal education!” Gordon counters. “Look, I know schools in frontier towns weren’t that great, but they taught me what I needed!”

Tommy interjects, “Not- not history.”

“Maybe they would have! I don’t know,” Gordon sighs, his head falling to rest on his upright knee. “I had to drop out when I was eleven because of family. The town doctor slipped me books when he could, but… I kinda wish I stayed.”

Coomer places a finger on his chin. “Perhaps we could put on a school for you, Gordon. We could catch you up on everything we think you should have learned about!” He laughs to himself. “We haven’t had a school since Tommy was a child.”

Tommy flaps his hands a little bit. “Oh! Yes! That’d be really- really fun!” Wow, Tommy, a God whose domain partially involves knowledge, wanting to teach people? Who would have thought?

But, thinking about it, a few lessons wouldn’t be a bad idea. Gordon would be lying if he said he hasn’t bullshitted his way through a few conversations in the past, and some part of him does ache to return to a learning environment.

“What do you say, Gordon?” Coomer jolts him from his thoughts.

“Yes.” He doesn’t need to think twice about it. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

◇☆◇

They don’t arrange an actual classroom, which is fine. In fact, Gordon’s grateful for it, going all out with desks and a chalkboard would have been extremely patronizing. Instead, they sit around one of the few nice common areas, like the garden. Gordon will listen to Coomer or Tommy ramble, taking notes if he needs to, Bubby’s mostly there to loudly proclaim when someone is wrong, and Benrey…

“I have a question,” Gordon asks on their first day.

“Go ahead, Gordon!” Coomer encourages him.

Gordon points at Benrey. “What’s he doing here?”

For a moment, Coomer seems to struggle to find an answer. “I did warn him that he might not like today’s subject matter,” he admits. “But Benrey has every right to be present for this history lesson, even if he did live through it.”

“Hell yeah,” Benrey cheers. “Gonna make, uh, macaroni art! Preschool stuff!”

“Today, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy redirects the conversation. “Since you asked, we’re- we’re going to talk about precursor civilizations. Mr. Coomer’s going to tell you about what they were like, and I’m- I’m going to tell you a history of recent discoveries!”

Coomer’s lecture is pretty interesting, considering it’s based more on his memory than any actual research. He stumbles a few times, which Bubby is quick to pick up on, but for the most part, life back then seemed… normal?

Gordon notices that sometimes, whenever Coomer mentions an invention of some kind, Tommy will remark that it’s still used on Earth. Which doesn’t make sense, because Gordon doesn’t remember ever listening to a CD player, or even hearing about one before?

“I don’t get it,” Gordon interrupts Coomer and Bubby’s tangent about how much a different city’s soccer team sucked. “If these civilizations were so advanced that we’re only now recreating what they had, then… what happened?”

Coomer and Bubby go silent, contrasting the fact that Tommy is looking at them with a hope that can only be described as worn down. And Gordon realizes this is almost like a routine.

Benrey doesn’t answer either. He silently draws his knees to his chest, attempting to hide his face behind them. But Gordon can still see his eyes, distant and glassy.

Gordon will never admit it, but he feels a twinge of pity for Benrey. Makes him want to reach out and comfort him, and he has to remind himself that Benrey doesn’t deserve it.

Coomer breaks the tension. “Tommy, why don’t you tell us about the researchers? I’m curious.”

Tommy sighs, and even his dejection looks old. Truthfully, Gordon doesn’t hear much of what he says, because whatever the hell just happened weighs heavily on his mind. Just the way that Coomer ignored his question, Benrey’s obvious fear…

“But- But this is interesting, Gordon!” Tommy saying his name brings him back to the present. “This guy has the same last name as you.”

“Really?” Freeman wasn’t that common of a name, he thought. He could only think of a few other people who had it, and all of them were his family.

Tommy nods, enthusiastic. “I was looking at the- at the dates, and anteology didn’t really take off until a few years after you. Uh. Came here.” Well, nice of him to avoid saying he died. “So it makes sense you didn’t know about it. But it’s all thanks to this guy, John Freeman!”

Gordon feels his polite smile drop in an instant.

“Did you… did you just say John?”

“Yeah! He’s- uh,” Tommy puts the puzzle pieces together in real time. “He… oh shit. You- you had family, didn’t you?”

Fuck, how old was John when Gordon left home? Ten? Could it really be him?

"Do you have a picture?" Gordon asks, and he knows if it is it's going to hurt him so bad. But he has to know if it's John, see if he grew up.

Tommy turns to the stack of textbooks he brought with him. "Oh, I think- in here," he mumbles as he flips through the pages of one. "Right! Here!" He slides the book over to Gordon.

The picture is tucked neatly into the corner, and there's no doubt anymore. That's Gordon's brother, he'd recognize that mess of dark hair anywhere. Their chins, their mother had always said they had the same chin.

Alongside the picture is a brief description of the life of John Freeman. Most of it is about his academic career, but there are few sentences dedicated to his early life.

When Freeman was six, his mother passed away from pneumonia. His sister, only eleven, dropped out of school to support John as he continued his education.

"Is that- is that him, Mr. Freeman?" Tommy speaks up.

Fuck, Gordon’s eyes are getting watery. "Yeah, that's… my little brother. That's John." He pushes some hair out of his face, fully crying now. "They um, they got some things wrong."

It's been over one hundred years since Gordon last saw his brother. There's no way he's still alive. Gordon died, and John lived. And now John is dead and Gordon is…

Here.

Gordon feels a pair of arms wrap around, then another, and finally a third pair. Tommy, Coomer, and even Bubby are there, and they have them, and they're his family.

And on the fringes, Gordon spots Benrey, who freezes when he's spotted. The expression on his face is unreadable.

But Gordon thinks he looks afraid.

[darklymelanatedstories]

Dance with my mother (ft Trunks)

"What do you mean you can't?!",father shouted, his fist clenched with her necklace in it.

"I'm so sorry but I can't. It's against the Grand Priest's orders.",Shenron said, he looked truly sorry that he couldn't do anything. Grand Priest forbid the Dragonballs from bringing someone back to life until all the Super Dragonballs were found. Sounded pretty suspicious to me. But what did I know. I was a kid.

"Damnit Shenron!!" My father slammed his fist onto the ground, breaking half of the lookout in the process. He held back otherwise it would've been obliterated.

He couldn't hold it back anymore. He broke into tears. I ran over to him, tears also running down my cheek, and for the first time in forever, I embraced him. At first he pushed me away but I guess he needed a reminder of her so he pulled me back. We were on our knees crying. Fxck Saiyan pride. It didn't matter.

He didn't care about his pride at that moment, he didn't care that everyone saw him at his most vulnerable. What he cared for most was gone. My mother was gone. And she wasn't coming back.

~

It's been 4 years since the incident and to be honest we still weren't coping but we survived.

To be honest I think the only real reason we tried to keep it together was because of Bulla. My spoilt, little sis. Daddy's princess. I remember how I was disappointed when I found out I was getting a sister but now seeing her blue hair, pretty eyes and fascination with my mothers old tools, it just reminded me of mom. She was a little version of my mom. Stubborn, beautiful and smart...even for a baby.

I was babysitting my little sis and she ran off somewhere when I wasn't looking.

"Not again." I sighed.

I went around our large house to look for her and finally reached my parents old room. Father doesn't sleep there anymore. Too many memories that it hurt him to wake up with my mother not next to him.

I quietly entered and found the little troublemaker playing with my mothers old CDs. I quickly grabbed them before she could damage them. Big mistake.

She burst out crying and I didn't know how to calm her this time. So in panic of getting a huge scolding and maybe a "discipline" from my father, I quickly put it in her CD player and played it. On it came one of her favourite old songs by this one artist. Luther I think. Luther Vandross, Nothing better than love.

Even though she's ahead of the times, my mom found nothing more enjoyable and nostalgic than playing an old song her parents listened to when they were teens.

Immediately Bulla calmed down as she listened to the music. I lifted her up and started swaying to the beat. Usually I would hate listening to this but I felt connected to my mom when I did. It reminded me of the times we'd dance together.

When I'd dance with her. How I'd love to dance with my mother.

All the memories came flooding back. When my mom's favourite song would play and she get us to dance, and force my dad to as well, though I could tell he enjoyed it.

Family bonding, she'd call it.

I danced with little Bulla in my arms. She smiled and giggled which warmed my heart a bit. Dang, I become such a softie when I'm around her.

Unfortunately our moment was ruined when an angered force entered. Father.

The music stopped and my heart sank.

"What are you doing?",he asked angrily.

"I–I was just, Bulla got–"

He held the disc in his hand and I could see and those emotions he bottled up were ready to be set free.

"Get out!",he yelled, startling Bulla. The poor thing started sobbing which broke my father's heart. His eyes told me.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just–"

"It's okay, dad. We'll leave.",I said as I headed to the door trying to calm Bulla. "Come on sis, let's go watch SpongeBob."

The mere mention of his name perked her up.

I heard my dad sigh and the door shut. I turned around but he was nowhere to be seen.

"He finally went into the room."

~

As Bulla and I were watching her favourite ridiculous show, I heard something. Something breaking.

I put her down on the carpet and ran towards my mother's room. I listened outside the door.

It reminded of the days I would do so when he locked himself in there. When he was tired of being vulnerable in front of people and just needed to be alone to let out his sadness.

I heard something else break.

No.

I kicked the door down and lunged myself at him to stop him from destroying a framed picture of our family on vacation. My mother looked especially beautiful, like always. I grabbed the picture from him.

"Stop!",I yelled.

My father's eyes were red and a bit puffy but I tried to ignore that. He bared his teeth in anger.

"Boy!!" He raised his hand and I shut my eyes preparing for impact. He's never been violent with me before, it's the first he's even raised a finger at me. I guess he finally broke. And you know what? I was gonna take it.

He brought down his hand and muttered an apology before leaving.

I looked at the picture frame in my hand and realised I crushed it by accident. Tiny shards of glass fell onto the floor in slow motion. The picture was still okay. That what mattered.

If I could get another chance, another step, another dance with her. I'd play a song that would never end.

"How I'd love to dance with you again, mom."

~

I just put my lil'sis to bed and my father was nowhere to be seen. I understood his pain. There's a reason Saiyans were raised with little love and emotion.

I went to my room early. Today was too much. My emotions were killing me. And I was only 12. Where have the years gone?

I played the CD I saved, in my room and shut the door.

I let myself fall onto the bed and listened to another song by Luther Vandross. Dance with my father.

The title and song needed tweaking for me.

I decided to rest my eyes a bit and enjoy the music.

~

I opened my eyes to another familiar setting. The lookout. Shenron was in front of me with the grand priest.

I was on my knees, tears in my eyes. Next to the Grand Priest was my mother. My dear mother. I tried to stand and grab her but it was as if I was stuck to the ground.

"Why are you here child?",the Grand Priest asked.

"I want–I need my mother back. Please!",I begged. "Me, my father, Bulla. We need her. Our family isn't the same with my mother."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. For you see–"

"I know, damnit!!!",I shouted.

"My, my, what a feisty child.",Grand Priest said. "Just like your mother."

"I'm not asking for much." Tears started flowing to my eyes. "Could you just bring back the only woman he ever loved? Please. Dear Lord he's dying...to dance with my mother again."

The grand Priest tilted his head and tapped his chin.

"Hmm.",he hummed. "No."

My sadness turned to anger. I turned Super Saiyan as I tried to attack him but I was stuck. "Damn you!!"

"If I could get one final step, one final walk, one final dance with her...",I whispered. But a miracle happened. He heard me.

"Very well then."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What? Really?! But–"

Before I could continue, I heard my mother's voice as she ran over to me. And as if the weight of what was holding me down was lifted, I got up and ran towards her. She hugged me and I felt compelled to keep her in my arms.

"I'd play a song that would never ever end." I looked my mom I'm the eyes. "Because I'd love to dance with my mother again."

She wiped a tear from my cheeks, her eyes starting to water. "Don't cry mom.",I whispered. I was so happy. She was here again.

As if on cue the music started playing. Yep you guessed it. Luther Vandross. I felt a bit obsessed with him.

I started dancing with my mom enjoying every moment until I felt an arm on my shoulder. I looked back to see my father with Bulla in his arms. I took Bulla in my arms and watched as my parents danced together. Like the good old days.

I hoped this song would never end.

Thing is...

It did.

Once it did, everything went dark. My mother vanished and my father turned to dust. I reached for my sister but the closer I got, the further she did.

I let out a scream and before I knew it...

~

I woke up. It was a dream. The same yet different. The songs never did play forever. Which was weird because this time I put it on repeat. I sat up and went to check on the CD. It was gone.

"He needs it more than me."

I went back to bed and thought about my dream. We were happy, after so long. But it never lasts. It never did.

Everytime I fall asleep, this is all I ever dream.

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Tere Bin - Chapter 1

(I changed the cover.)

Chapter 1: Tere Bin (listen while reading)

Arnav

“You don’t want to see my face? Then be happy. Because I’m going away from you forever. I’m returning to Lucknow. Forever.”

Arnav stepped out of the helicopter, figure bent as he strode out of the shadow of its rapidly spinning blades.

He had not anticipated returning, not so soon, and certainly not in these circumstances.

And yet, she had compelled him here, to the shadow of Sheesh Mahal.

To Lucknow.

The mansion lay empty, in a state of disarray. Though it no longer operated as a hotel, his plans to turn the site into a textile mill had not come to fruition as quickly as he’d hoped.

No matter. I’ll look into it personally while I …

The shrill ring of his phone distracted him from the thought.

“Yeah, Aman?”

“Your accommodation is ready, Sir. Mohan should already be there with your car. Your first meeting is at nine-thirty in the morning. I’ve emailed you the required documents and agenda items.”

“And the list?” Arnav prompted his manager. “I need that list.”

“The new secretary has compiled a list of the best sweet vendors in Lucknow. I’ve emailed it to you as well.”

“Not the best sweet vendors. All of them.”

“All of them, Sir?”

“Don’t repeat my words back to me.”

“Sorry, Sir. I’ll arrange it right away.”

Pocketing the phone with a sigh, Arnav made his way across the grounds to where a white car waited. Mohan handed him the keys with a nod.

“Are you staying?” Arnav asked his driver.

“With my Mama’s son. He’s waiting for me at the gates of the estate.”

“Hmmm. I won’t need you for the rest of the day. Meet me at the hotel at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Bhaiya.”

Arnav slid into the car, luxuriating in its familiar confines, and turned the ignition. He drove aimlessly, eyes darting left and right as he searched for a slip of a girl with a brilliant smile.

He was not, of course, here solely for Khushi Kumari Gupta. He was here for his factory, for his business, for his sister.

He was here for himself.

Two weeks had passed. Two weeks after she’d declared her intention to leave Delhi altogether. Two weeks in which he’d played and replayed every interaction, wondering where it’d all gone wrong.

Why? Why has she become so important to me?

So essential.

He’d even offered to drive his sister to the temple in Laxmi Nagar. And the sight of the locked doors of her home had shifted something inside him.

She was everywhere.

She was in the embroidery Nani admired.

She was in the gatherings Di organised.

She was in the jalebi Jija-ji made.

Manoeuvring his car into an unexpectedly narrow laneway, Arnav sighed as he waited for another car to complete a complicated series of turns. Though he usually relished the silence of his car, he flicked the sound system to life in a half-hearted attempt to dispel some of his restlessness.

Lekar yaad teri raatein meri kati

Mujhse baatein teri karti hain chandni

Tanha hai tujh bin raatein meri

Din mere din ke jaise nahin

He skipped to the next song with a grumble. Aakash’s young cousin, Babli, had optimistically made him a CD when she’d last visited.

“Arnav-bhaiya,” her lecturing had reminded him strongly of Di. “You can’t drive around in such a quiet car all day. I’ll give you some music.”

Though he’d tried to refuse, Di had happily slotted the CD into the player the next time they’d gone for a drive. And there it’d stayed, silent, until now.

The laneway finally cleared, allowing him to inch forward. With nothing else left to think about, his mind raced down a pathway he usually worked hard to avoid.

At eighteen, Khushi Kumari Gupta has more in common with Babli than she does with me.

He often felt old, as if the tragedies in his childhood had aged him irrevocably, but this went beyond that. A part of him was acutely aware that Khushi wasn’t his equal, that he had no right to push her — challenge her — as he had when she’d been in his employ.

And yet the strange cocktail of emotion she inspired in his blood didn’t allow for anything else.

When she was with him, the ache seemed to hurt a little less.

When she was with him, the world seemed brighter.

When she was with him, he was Arnav.

And with that thought, he turned the car towards his hotel.

                  #####

Time slipped through his fingers like so much water. Meetings, lunches, site tours and phone calls had taken up most of his days. The remaining waking hours had been dedicated to scouring the sweet-shops of Lucknow for his ex-employee.

Arnav refused to feel guilty about the routine he’d established — entering a store, taking a quick look around while pretending to peruse the wares, sometimes asking questions about a girl named Khushi, before leaving without making a purchase.

I’m a diabetic, what the hell will I do with sweets?

But the search was agonisingly slow. He’d asked Aman to both expand it to unregistered businesses and to focus on sweet-shops registered under the Gupta name. And though he’d had the foresight to transfer Khushi’s bio-data onto his phone, he’d been disappointed to find she’d listed her home address in Laxmi Nagar.

Always the need to be contrary. She’ll drive me mad.

The number on her file was useless — he’d smashed her phone in the store-room — and calling her was out of the question regardless. It already felt odd, maybe even wrong, to hunt for her father’s sweet-shop. In his mind, looking for her home strayed uncomfortably close to stalking.

And so he was trapped in a cycle of working and searching for her, work and search, work and search, a colourless monotony only brightened by brief calls from Di.

“Chhote,” she’d called this morning. “What are you doing today?”

“Nothing, Di. Just negotiations and meetings with the lawyers.”

“Are you taking your medication?”

“Yes, Di.”

A truth.

“And are you eating properly?”

“Yes, Di.”

A white lie.

“Did you go to the temple as I suggested?”

“What the—!?” he’d frowned. “No, I did not go to the temple.”

A giggle from his sister, “Is your work there almost complete?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Di had sobered up. “Why did you go back there? You said it yourself — there’s nothing for us there anymore.”

“You don’t want to see my face? Then be happy. Because I’m going away from you forever. I’m returning to Lucknow. Forever.”

“I have a few things I need to do.”

“Don’t forget what Nani asked for. You know how she is about sweets.”

His smile had been small, “They have to be from Lucknow.”

“Exactly. Your Jija-ji is of the same opinion ... it’s a shame you can’t get recommendations from Khushi-ji.”

A sudden quickening of his pulse as he’d deflected, “How’s Jija-ji?”

"It's wonderful having him back, Chhote. He's so attentive and caring. I can’t believe we just had our third wedding anniversary."

“I’m glad. Go pester him, I have a meeting.”

“Chhote … you …” she’d sighed. “Okay, bye. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Di.”

Now, some ten hours later, Arnav slid into his car and greeted Mohan with a nod.

“Finished for the day, bhaiya?”

“That was the last meeting, yes,” he opened an email from Aman as he answered.

“Back to the hotel?”

“Yeah,” he glanced at his driver. “I’ll grab some dinner.”

They didn’t speak again until they were five minutes from the hotel.

“Uhh, bhaiya … I ha-have something … something to …”

“Something wrong?” Arnav frowned.

Mohan spoke in a rush, “N-no. My cousin, he suggested a sweet shop in Lucknow.”

The other man quailed under his stare.

“S-sorry, bhaiya. Aman-bhaiya mentioned that you’re looking.”

Deciding Aman needed a refresher on the perils of gossip, Arnav slid the phone into a pocket as he formed a response.

“Nani asked for sweets,” he opted for brevity.

“She’ll like these. It’s a small shop but my cousin swears by them. It’s on the other side of town, though. Near that dargah you visited last time.”

A flash of memory, a figure in pure white and a small, silver key.

“Write it down.”

Arnav closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned onto the headrest.

Two more days.

I’ll go home if I don’t find her in two days.

Chapter 2

[commonalex]

Broken Nose

-Oh my, a talking fox!

-Oh my, a talking fattie!

-Wait, what?

   I don’t know what else I could expect coming down here from the tower today. I had this bad feeling stepping into the woods for the first time. It was really on the nose.

-He he, “on the nose”. Never gets old!

-Huh?

   The fox keeps on giggling but maybe not on purpose. Judging by the dirty yellowish fur and the burnt patches on its weak body, you could say this creature has seen better days.

-Uhhh girl? Still here. I can hear, you know.

   Wherever this fox was (before it comes to horrify me) the fire must’ve get it just in time, but it doesn’t look like hurting. On the contrary, the fox is playfully stretching like a cat on the dirt. I guess I seem so damn funny (or pathetic) for it to dare to come so near. Not that I would mind some chit chat at the time, I haven’t spoke to a person (or whatever that is) for far too long. But the way it follows me around with this sarcastic laugh rubs me the wrong way.

-Come on now, foxxy, I’m seriously busy right now. I can’t afford spending time with you. Stay away and no one gets hurt, nosey.

“Nosey”? Ha ha! It’s like you already know!

-Whatever.

   I throw middle fingers and keep on my route putting in and out the batteries of my walkie talkie. No luck. Dad (or whoever was talking at the frequency I was catching from the tower) didn’t speak a word again and of course no one’s around here as far as I can see. So I already had my misery, but I guess I should come down here to play hide and seek besides still life. Thank god it’s still afternoon with the sun beaming through the trees so I am not scared shitless yet.

But still, the fire keeps on burning whatever is on its way and no one bothers if I’m burned alive or not one of those days. So here comes the panic again. I’m climbing a tree to see the valley burning a bit better, while screaming furiously on the walkie talkie in case signal comes up. I scream my lungs out, touch my throat, lose balance, slip of the trunk and fall face first. When I managed to get up blood was pouring off my nose like a fountain. I guess I knew better when I was staying in the watch tower picking my…

-...”nose”, huh? He he he. You are funny, but you really don’t listen.

   I turn around to stare at the fox in a way so it gets the message and run away from me but here it is with its eyes shining like it’s waiting for something. I walk slowly to a direction, here it is following me, here it is talking shit about me, here it is turning to go somewhere else, here I am trying to catch her from going towards the fire, and we’re back at the start. Fuck it, I say. I let her leave to stop worrying. And that’s how I get lost in here. You see, all this time I had the smoke as compass and with all this chasing I failed to notice that the fumes scattered all over the place. I raise my head to see the sun radiating this weird red-like colors. Why on earth am I still here?

-Does anybody listen on this channel? I know some of you do. Dad, can you hear me? I’m the fire lookout and try to find you all this time. If you hear me, tell me your location so I can get to you. Copy?

   I’d be damned if this walkie talkie thingy is even necessary at this point. They have probably gone deaf by my stupid screaming.

-Just hoping you understand how futile this is. It’s like the thousandth time I tell you that at this exact point, but I have my hopes that one day you will stop doing this. Mainly to yourself. Just like I have my hopes that you will stop wearing shorts that make your thighs look unevenly thick.

-Can you please help me with your mouth shut? All it takes is a second to become human torches. I don’t need your kind of silly attitude.

-Pardon me? What attitude. I said what I said for your own good. But I don’t judge you. Spending all this time trapped in here, no wonder why your brain got a bit rusty.

-Trapped?

   The fox’s looking at me head to toes, sighs and sits in front of me waiting for something once again. What, exactly? No idea, but I wish it would be something that would take my guilt away and leave this thing get baked. It would smell like cooked fox all over to the watch tower.

-Highly doubt you could smell anything with a nose that fucked up.

-Shut-your-god-damn-mouth.

   I get caught off guard by the walkie talkie screeching with an incomprehensible voice. I don’t get much, just small phrases like “wish you could hear me” or “one sign of life” and such. All enough to hear my dad on this. I press to reply with my hands shaking by the stress. I keep on losing him, without ever getting my voice across. Signal worsens, but if I can hear him that must mean he is somewhere around here, right? But what if he is somewhere near the fire? I’m mic screaming “DAD JUST TELL ME IF YOU’RE HERE” like a ten year old and that’s where I lose all contact.

   Trying to catch a breath on a treat I get blood in my mouth (which has got everywhere and made me look sick) and burst into tears. I feel finished. I watch the ash raining down on my from the coal black slope on my right and I’m feeling shaky once again. I don’t even know if I’m crying being here all alone or because by the next few meters I could see my dad… You know how. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I see something like that.

-Come on, girl, please, don’t say that. I’ve listened to you say that like a hundred times and every time my heart is screaming for mercy. Come, get up.

Barely even remembered the fox is there all along.

-What do you want from me?

-Dunno. Company? A little adventure? This boredom you feel all this time on that watch tower all alone, I get that too. But you only make us the favor to come down here and spend time when you catch your dad on the radio. Only then I really have something to do.

-So you have seen me up there?

-If I seen you? What else could a fox occupy it’s mind inside those fucked up woods than stalk a fire lookout in her fourties? You know, playing with the binoculars, searching up radio frequencies, drinking beer and listening to the same music all day from her cd player? Is there anything better around here?

-What forties? I’m seventeen.

-Well I’m telling you, you absolutely are in your thirties at least.

-Why do I even bother.

   But chatting with the fox really makes you forget, whatever bs you have to endure. And you have to endure a lot. And a lot of stuff the fox says are disses that don’t make much sense. However company is very much needed at this point, inside a dirt pool filling up with ash and red smoke.

-I’m not here to make your life difficult.

-I don’t even know why you’re here. And how come you talk? If that’s not too much.

-Why are you stuck on these questions by now? You do this every time. Even though that’s the first time I see fire getting that big around here. And to be fair you got lost in the woods too early this time. And to be honest I’m kinda like a baby boy right now, asking for his mama, cause I have no clue what the hell is going on.

-”Baby boy”? Are you male?

   He looks at me with the most dead and disappointed stare a fox could ever have. I don’t know why I assumed he was a girl. But since he can hear me in my head, I apologize for perpetuating those kind of stereotypes. My bad. Ok? The fox nods as agreeing. we are ok.

   During all that I forgot I had the walkie talkie on my back pocket so when it started “whistling” again I got shivers. Trying to hold it with my shaky fingers I drop it like the useless scum I am. Even the fox gave me a disappointed look.

   The signal was better this time. I could hear for about five minutes non stop before I tried (with no luck) to respond. This is for sure not my dad. Those weird fast paced accents that invade the back of my ears are definitely from my mother. She even said her catchphrase “look at your own lil princess”.

“...should we keep on putting up a show anymore, darling?”.

“I’m tired. You wanna hear me say it? I say it right now.“.

“...I don’t understand? So am I the bad one and the heartless bitch once again?”.

“...please accept the bitter reality. We really missed the boat...”.

And then silence again.

   Same attitude, same lines played out a thousand times in the kitchen or in front of people. The same arguing over and over again with dad. The reason was always dumb, but her voice here doesn’t seem so irritating. Something serious must have happened for my dead mommy to cry like a pig.

-No crying? So you’re over it?

-Don’t know.

-I get it, we’re still at the point where you adapt to all this. We have a little bit of walking left till you have to get back.

-Tell me, what’s this thing you seem to know but I don’t?

-We know the same. I’m just here as a reminder, like an alarm clock of some sort. You know, like that fox alarm clock you had besides your bed when you were younger? Do you remember? You even brought it to the watch tower. Weird to have an alarm clock if you’re waking up at noon, though. You a freaking fire lookout, woman.

   It was a while until my brain got to work again. The fox was right, he is just like that alarm clock I have since a kid. How did I not see it before? And what does that mean now? Well, we know we won’t get any further just by asking. I don’t know if what I feel about that creature is trust, intimacy or curiosity. And those enigmatic stuff he throws here and there get tiresome. We walk and chit chat without noticing the orange fog swallowing everything within a meter around us. All we see in front of us now are burnt tree trunks and melting animals. All of them teddy bears I had while being a baby potato. If my heartbeat wasn’t hitting those three digits I would get goosebumps right now.

   I’m covering mouth and nose with my hand and try to guess where the fox is, as he’s running in circles stunned. He doesn’t seem to care if we find my parents before we all get barbecued anymore. He is too busy looking somehow concerned at all this damaged landscape.

-Tell me, how long have you seen me in secret? Spent all the summer over there and I never saw a single soul besides you right now, my secret admirer.

-Are you serious? What summer? Get it together. We wasted our young years here. But what am I even saying and basically to whom. Sometimes I wish I had your luck playing in this kind of playground. You could say disconnection from the environment has its moments.

-I’m volunteering for the summer, that’s all. It was written on the papers I signed, too. I think.

-Wait… Is that it?

-After all that I’m going back home to find out if where I’m studying by September. It’s pretty much over.

-...so this was it all along? Disconnecting? -Wait, did I take the entrance exams? My brain just froze.

-Would you shut up about your exams? Something’s wrong.

-How could I forget exams, though? After all this studying?

-Oh man. We really are in deep shit and now’s the time for you to turn your nose up at what is happening.

-Oh, here we go with these nose jokes again.

-No, no. Didn’t mean it in a literal way. That was unfortun… Ah, you get it, right?

-Maybe that’s why there’s not a single soul down here. You must’ve killed them all with your crap.

-I don’t have a good feeling about this. Our routine feels off. We have done this walk so many times and something’s not quite ok right now. It seems as if we’re stuck at the same place for hours and I guess…

-”Guess” what…?

-...we’re lost. I guess.

   Oh-you-don’t-say. When you spend so much time fucking with a broken person’s nerves, you tend miss what’s happening. We’re technically blind and we just go around for hours. Are we running away from the fire? Going straight at it? Only god know, because everything turned brown around here. We’re bumping trees and get shitless when we step on those blackened teddy bear bellies. I don’t lose my chance of cursing out the fox for driving us here, but all he cares about it digging holes while “trying to find our designated course”. That’s how we spend our next hour. Or maybe more since my watch stopped.

-How much battery is left in the walkie talkie?

-One line. And I swear I had it full, just like every time.

-”Just like every time”?

-Every time I climb down the watch tower to get here.

   The fox leaves the digging on the side and looks at me with his eyes wide open. My brain gets stuck for a moment and before he gets to respond I get vertigo. When I return to normal he keeps on asking again and again if I “know”, as if I get what he is trying to say. I’m searching for the sun above us to make everything around me stop flickering, but no luck, so I have the fox right beside me irritating me with these questions while I’m throwing up.

-Oh boy, you really don’t listen. That’s it, we’re going back. Now.

-Back where? I have my parents over here!

-You play the fool all this time. We have to go back to the starting point, don’t you get it? With you at the watch tower listening to your parents on the radio, coming down to the woods and find me while breaking your nose. Dunno how more fucked up your nose can be than right now, but we might save our asses.

-You are the most irritating talking fox I’ve ever seen.

-Wow, that’s a lot. Now give me the walkie talkie.

-Stop, YOU’RE GONNA BREAK IT!

-WOULD YOU STOP THE BULLSHIT SO WE CAN SAVE OURSELVES?

-DON’T.

   The walkie talkie slips, falls upon some cracked branches and shutters to a million pieces. Our eyes are glued to the ground, scanning for every piece in case we lose it. Time suddenly hits the brake, the orange fog from before has grown to this sick deep red light from the sun that sets down the edge of the valley as if we are in literal hell. Is this it?

-Nah. Not yet at least.

-Cut it out.

-Sure.

   I’m paralysed. My head can’t get through this twisted procedure anymore; days are marching one after another as the same exact instance being copied again and again. I tried so much to resist but my “job” here stopped helping a long time ago. Every bit on me seems hurt and rough. How long was I force to see everything slowly catch fire as I try to not get burnt alive? I could never know. All I know is how much washed out I feel here. Breaking my face, getting lost and playing chase with flames while asking for my dad through a stupid walkie talkie. Not that I ever need it to hear him. I got him right beside my ear all the time.

Even now.

“Stop acting like that, you’re an old man. It’s like you think I’m not in pain myself.”.

“But is it so easy for you?”.

“You think I’m not suffering inside? We’re in the same boat and we’re sinking.”.

“And what is she stood up right now? Looking at you and asking you what were we discussing just before?”.

“Twenty years, dear. Twenty years talking ‘bout the same damn things. Our daughter is gone, don’t you listen to the doctors? Am I wasting away on my own? Am I struggling to keep up with money by myself just to keep on hoping? Why are you doing this? Why in front of others, dear?”.

“I won’t bear this. I can’t bear this.”.

“It’s time to let her rest, us too. Or whatever is left there...”.

“Don’t cry, damn it. Don’t you see I’m holding it myself?”.

   That’s my mom. Stiff as one can be at first just to breakdown in the end. Now my dad must hug her with those big ass arms until she eventually calms down. What I’d do to see them now, even though they must got so old through all those years.

   When my mother stopped sobbing I wiped my eyes and saw the fire waiting ten steps away. Clothes, shoes, all of them slowly melt and drop to the boiling ground. I take the fox in my arms and run away in case we can get saved somehow. The fox doesn’t seem to have much time left. All I see is burnt fur and burst open skin. I barely have the courage to look at his face with this bloody tongue and two concerning little eyes.

-Can you still talk?

-As much as you can run.

   He knows what he’s talking about. My body is slowing growing heavy and lags to respond. We are really dead meat.

-So nothing in here is real, huh? It’s all in my head.

-Does it matter? The point was to get a bit away from all of this. To stretch this as much as possible, until you wake up or until you… You know…

   I’m not forcing the conversation any more. I’m grateful for his stance amidst all this chaos. He looks at me and nods to seal the mutual understanding. I smile and the saltiness from the tears and the blood goes right into my mouth. Awkward yet suitable.

   When my feet start to sink from the upward sprint up the hill, the watch tower is finally revealed about a hundred meters away.

-A little bit of patience, we’re here.

-All of this is so unnecessary. We’re gonna be consumed by the fire in the end.

-I need to talk to them. Last try. Promise.

-As if we had more.

   The rusty ladder moans while I climb it with the fox on my right soldier. The door of the tower room slams by the wind and all the glass windows are shattered with dust pilling up all the way to my knee. All the beer can thrown out, all the books and cds buried; only the desk with the main radio got away through all this. I lie down the fox on a corner of the bed and I examine the completely fucked up world outside. Everything is red and everything flickers in the flames. It’s a matter of minutes now.

   I plug the radio and fix the antenna that gets dragged by the wind outside. The fox is watching me like he wants to make sure I do everything right. I make a weird gesture with my hand to reassure him during his last moments and he smiles. Then I play with the mic switch in my hands due to awkwardness. How much time do I have left? Judging the fire coming close to the window I kinda get the idea. But it seems I don’t need this kind of boogieman anymore to live and move in here; just patience. So I’m looking the frequencies one by one, calling and waiting for a response.

-I don’t know if you can hear me, maybe you escaped. Old people don’t particularly stand those situations. I just called for the sake of it. I called to say it’s ok and I understand, dad. And please tell the other not to whine and be bitter. The only thing missing right now is one last hug with you. If only I could feel a touch on my hand, damn it. Anyway, I’m tired. Be strong. I have no idea if, but I wish we meet again someday. Somewhere by the sea if it’s easy. So much desolation and so much pine, I can’t stand it anymore.

   It’s like I had it written down with the words flowing so easily. I repeated them about twenty or thirty times out loud until my mouth went completely dry. I turn off the mic and look at the flame waving me from every direction. I wave back.

-We’ve said it well, even though no one got to hear it. The most beautiful in vain gesture ever.

How poetic. Didn’t know he had it in him.

   I leave the radio in a frequency full of white noise to scratch my ears to oblivion. I don’t wanna hear my head go off until they reply back. Afterwards I give a tight hug to the fox with all power I have left to a point I think I’m strangling him. He doesn’t flinch, he understands. We sigh together and watch in slow motion the whole process. Fire knocking on the door to come in, surrounding everything, painting them all with a different color as I leave my sweat (and something more) on this cheap mattress. Maybe they didn’t get my message, I think, and I’m kinda holding a grudge at myself. Maybe if I had another chance I wouldn’t waste so much time. Maybe I could even wake up and see them, even if that meant I would die right after. Talk about bad luck, twenty years here and the alarm clock never get me out of bed once. My nerves. I have so much anger I could a person right now. I swear if someone would close my nostrils right now I’d explode from rage.

-So much for breaking your nose, I guess.

-For the love of god SHUT UP.

[tracingdreams]

Daiya no Ace: The Dramas #10: Third Year Study Group

An explanation…

To keep my brain from rusting I started a project to translate the drama tracks that came with the character song CDs and other stuff relating to Daiya no Ace (because I love them and they’re all hilarious). My disclaimer - I am not a native speaker of Japanese, but I will do my best!

Character Song CD 07 Yuuki Tetsuya Drama Track 02 featuring Tetsu, Jun and Tanba.

Scene: Tetsu, Jun and Tanba have got together – either in the dorm canteen or their classroom – to hold an exam study group for the examinations coming up. The subjects they are most concerned with are those taught by the teachers who run the baseball club, especially Kataoka’s ‘Modern Japanese’ class…

Translator’s Note: Another appearance by the third years! And also, this time, the coach appears! And we learn some interesting trivia about the senpai! This drama is full of word discussions, so I’ve done my best to make it clear!

Tetsu: It’s finally tomorrow, huh.

Jun: There’s seriously not enough time

Tetsu: We can’t ignore Modern Japanese…

Jun: The coach is the teacher, after all. And we have to really be careful of Social Studies and English as well.

Tetsu: Ōta Buchou and Takashima Fuku-buchou’s classes, huh.

Jun: Even at the very worst we need to get above the average mark. And more to the point, where’s Tanba? I said I’d study too because he said he was going to do exam revision!

Tetsu: He said he was going to wash off the sweat of training and then come.

Jun: He’s in the bath, huh. How long is he planning to spend in there?

The door opens and Tanba enters.

Tanba: (Stretches and sighs).

Jun: Oi, you finally turned up, Tanba! How long did you take in the bath, dammit?

Tanba: I shaved my head. Completely.

Jun: You’re really laid back, you know. We have exams from tomorrow.

Tanba: I did it to focus my emotions.

Tetsu: Mm. It seems like the sparkle on your head is even greater than usual. (I think he pats it).

Tanba: Hey! Don’t touch it, Yuuki! I just got myself hyped up and you’ll ruin it!

Jun: Hey, let’s get down to it, guys!

Tetsu: Mm. What shall we begin with?

Tanba: I want to start with figuring out a strategy to tackle Modern Japanese.

Tetsu: Because it’s the coach’s class, huh?

Tanba: That’s a part of it, but it’s also the first exam tomorrow morning. If we can do a good paper then, it will set us up with a good vibe for the rest.

Tetsu: Mm. You’re quite right.

Jun: Yosh! Let’s start with Modern Japanese! Someone get the textbook open, dammit!

(they get to work).

Tanba: Hrm, it seems like the key to Modern Japanese is definitely reading prowess.

Tetsu: The power to read a paragraph, and understand the contents and meaning from doing so, huh.

Jun: I’m always reading books, so I’m pretty confident about that.

Tanba: Me too. What about you, Yuuki?

Tetsu: I often read books that examine good moves and strategy.

Jun: Those are shougi books, right? That’s not helping your reading ability, but more like your ability to carry out exercises.

Tanba: Yosh. In that case I’ll lend you a book written by the person I respect the most.

Yuuki: (takes the book): Okamoto Tarou. (Translator’s note – I believe he was a Japanese artist…but am not quite sure how that feeds into what Jun and Tanba say, so I may be missing a more native Japanese joke here. Or maybe Tanba is just really into abstract art.)

Jun: That’s a book on guidance for life, right?

Tanba: Yes. It resolves all the troubles I have and answers all my questions perfectly. It’s really beneficial.

Jun: But it’s not going to come up on the exam.

Tetsu: I’d really like a book that’s going to help with my results.

Tanba: In that case, Isashiki, don’t you have anything?

Jun: Huh? Me?

Tanba: Yeah. Something relevant to the exam.

Jun: I have, but…

Tetsu: Please lend it to me, Jun.

Jun: Tsch. I guess it can’t be helped. Here you go.

Tetsu and Tanba gasp.

Tetsu: Chihayafuru?! (Translator note: I had to stop the drama to laugh at this the first time I listened to it. I also love Chihayafuru. Go Jun!)

Tanba: Shoujo manga?

Jun: (defensive): What, you got a problem with it?!

Tanba: Uh…well…no…that’s not what I…

Jun: It helps with reading skill and with learning the hyakunin isshū as well! (Translator note: If you’re not familiar with Chihayafuru, it features a card game called Karuta in which players have to match the top and bottom halves of waka poems before their opponent. These poems come from an ancient collection of traditional Japanese waka poetry called the hyakunin isshū).

Tetsu: (Serious) It certainly sounds useful.

Tanba: But…Isashiki…The hyakunin isshū aren’t on the syllabus this time around.

Jun: (angry): What?! In that case, what about Asaki Yumemishi! (Another manga, based around the ancient text Genji Monogatari, also known as the ‘Tale of Genji’)

Tetsu: Genji Monogatari, huh…

Tanba: That’s also outside the syllabus.

Jun: WHAT?!

Tanba: In any case, both of them are based around things from Classical Japanese, not Modern Japanese! Let’s focus on Modern Japanese!

Tetsu: Right. Then what other skills are likely to be tested?

Tanba: Vocabulary knowledge, probably. Whether we know the correct meaning for idioms or kanji.

Jun: Oh! In that case, let’s try some practice questions!

Tanba: That’s a good idea. The one asking questions and the one answering them will both get something from that.

Tetsu: Yosh. Then I’ll ask some questions.

Jun: All right! Bring it, Tetsu!

Tetsu: Mm. Kanji or idiom meanings, huh…first is, ‘hachiku no ikioi’ (literally, the force taken to split bamboo, idiomatically, an irresistible force).

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: To advance with fierce energy, right?

Jun: Pretty much the same thing as taking the national title, then!

Tetsu: Correct. Next. ‘Kouitten’ (literally, one red point, idiomatically, a woman that stands out from the crowd).

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: Takashima-sensei..? (Translator’s note: Something you want to tell us there, Tanba?)

Jun: No, more like one of the manager girls, surely?

Tetsu: Nope, those answers are no good. (he answers very matter-of-factly). Next. ‘Kendou juurai’ (Literally this one makes no sense, idiomatically to regroup to try again)

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: Finding the power to try again at something you already failed at once. To turn the tables back on a defeat!

Jun: Just you wait, Inajitsu! Next time we will DEFINITELY WIN!

Tetsu: Correct.

Tanba: You really know these answers well, Yuuki.

Jun: How did you learn them?

Tetsu: I didn’t do anything particularly special. I just watched a lot of TV dramas…and they naturally just stuck in my head.

Jun: That reminds me, you like Yorozuya Kinnosuke, don’t you? (Translator’s Note: A famous Japanese actor, who performed on both stage and screen).

Tanba: From watching period drama, huh…ah! But now we really need to get back to doing Modern Japanese!

The door of the room opens and Kataoka enters. Maybe Tanba’s sudden flurry back to study is because he sees the coach coming!

Kataoka: What’s that about Modern Japanese?

Jun: C…Coach!

Kataoka: What are you guys doing here this late at night? Don’t tell me you think you can overnight cram my class material, do you?

Jun: Of course not!

Tetsu: We were just making some final clarifications together.

Tanba has basically frozen like a statue and is making incoherent sounds.

Jun: Don’t freeze up, Tanba, say something!

Kataoka: The most important thing in studying is to build on it, day by day. You understand that, right?

The boys: Yes sir!

Kataoka: I believe you can apply the dedicated attitude you have towards baseball to the approach you take to your studies. I am expecting good results from you all.

Jun: Yes sir!

Kataoka: Mm! It will soon be the time to close up. Yuuki, hurry up and go home.

Tetsu: Yes sir!

Kataoka: Isashiki and Tanba, you should go get some sleep.

Jun and Tanba: Yes sir!

(he leaves).

Jun: Ah, that was a shock.

Tanba: My palms are sweating.

Tetsu: Tonight’s study group is disbanded then, I guess.

Tanba: The coach said he expects good results from us…what do you suppose that means?

Jun: Getting higher than the class average is probably not going to cut it.

Tetsu: He probably wants us to aim for the top rankings.

Tanba: What should we do…

Jun: No point in flapping about it! The exam is tomorrow. All we can do is take it on the best we can!

Tetsu: I don’t know about results, but if we leave our fortunes to heaven, we can do our best.

Tanba: Yes!

Tetsu: Tanba.

Tanba: ‘Ichikabachika’, right? (to sink or swim).

Tetsu: Tanba. You are correct.

Jun: You nailed it.

Tanba: Uh. But…that one isn’t on the syllabus.

Tetsu: What?!

[undecidedpersonality]

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Thirteen: Music

Title: “My Friend, Music”

By: Nalijah Daniels

Word Count: 679 Genre: Creative Nonfiction

I once had someone tell me that the very first tattoo I had ever wanted was stupid. It’s a songbird, not a real one, that’s just what I call it, with a treble clef for its body and its wings turn into sheet music with notes scattered across it. I saw it on Pinterest or Instagram in the seventh grade and have been obsessed with it ever since. So yeah, I was offended when this friend laughed at it and called it dumb. That friendship didn’t last long.

Most of the time people just ask why when I show them. This is fair, especially if it isn’t their style or not something they would get on themselves. Then, I simply explain. I explain that music has always been a driving factor in my life. Even though I can only mediocre-ly play two instruments (the viola and recorder), I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love listening to music. The CDs burned on my mom’s Macbook in 2005 to play during car rides to the store. In movies to make a scene that much more impactful. Through dollar store wired headphones plugged into my iPod Nano, then expensive wireless ones Bluetoothed to my iPhone 11 for a personal listen where I feel the emotion coursing through my body. On my crappy, trendy record player just so I can appreciate my favorite albums in a physical form.

Don’t let me forget live music. The entire experience of a concert is sometimes hard to perfect but with the right people around you, it sucks you in and you get lost in the energy. There’s nothing like belting your heart out with hundreds or thousands of other fans with the artist on stage that brought you all together. It’s the same energy that gives you friends for simply having the same favorite artist or band, even if you never meet those friends in real life. All it means is that you both feel something similar when you listen to the words and hear the rhythm. The music connects with you and that leads you two or you all to connect with each other.

Oftentimes, I know which songs are my favorite because my brain urges me to come up with a visual to go with it. Maybe it’s so I’m that much more connected to the songs, but either way, I love it. Sometimes I’m the performer, in a cool, spunky band in sexy outfits belting my heart out to a crowd of 10,000 fans. Sometimes it’s a dance performance (nothing Dance Moms worthy, of course). Sometimes I’m just at a party dancing carelessly like a scene out of a movie about college kids who barely know what they’re doing with their lives. But my mind focuses on those visuals, letting the rhythm and notes take me to the first place it thinks of.

Music comes in so many different mediums and has outlasted so many other moments in history that it demands to be important. It has evolved into different styles and genres while still expressing the same emotions everyone feels in different ways so that everyone can enjoy it and relate to it. I make a lot of playlists to match these emotions so that if I, or anyone else, ever needs them, they are there to listen to. I don’t understand how some people don’t listen to music or can’t enjoy it. As cliche as it might sound, I believe they just haven’t found the right song or artist or genre yet.

So, I want a tattoo of a songbird to remind me that I always have my friend, Music, on my side. Music has held me on my saddest days and whispered in my ear that I wasn’t alone. Music celebrated my achievements with me and cheered me on. Music accompanied me on lonely walks through campus in between classes, holding my hand just to make sure they knew I was there. For that, I will always appreciate Music. That friendship will last forever.

[teddystrap]

Drama CD: [幽幻ロマンチカ・真骨頂] ≁Bakeneko Arahagi・Inugami Toneri≁

No audio track this time sorry! But anyway, I’ve made sizeable progress on the Yuuroma series: Hifumi + Utashiro’s Hatenkou, Zakuro, Toneri, and a bunch of tokuten for everybody (/*^-^)/. I’ll do the 2nd Shinkocchou first, for continuity.

And I haven’t listened to the two individual discs before this, so I had no idea who they are... or that their names are actually Arahagi (cat demon; cv. Kaji Yuuki) and Toneri (dog deity; cv, Hirakawa Daisuke) until about 3/4 into the story, since they kept calling each other ‘Stupid Cat’ and ‘Stupid Dog’. Orz

Obvsly this time there is no bromance like in the 1st disc and they fight like... err... cats and dogs (for lack of a better description XD).

As before, hidden messages from the both of them:

１．壱、都市伝説『二次元カレシ』 ２．弐、手が<か>りはどこ？ ３．参、そこは見せか<け>の幸福世界 ４．四、ここにず<っ>といよう ５．伍、意地でも負<け>られない ６．六、この世界が壊れ<る>としても ７．七、 都市伝説『二次元カレシ』看破 ８．キャストトーク

Arahagi: bold⋆ spells 「どこにでも」 (‘No matter where [you are]...’)

Toneri: <⋆> spells 「かけつける」 (‘...I will rush to your side’)

...うれしいィィ！！ありがとね、二人とも～^^

*

[The Second Rumour: Urban Legend ‘2D Boyfriend’]

All the girls at your school are addicted to a mobile otome game app. Rumour has it that players can end up getting trapped in the game world, and their bodies are found in sleeping position holding their phones in one hand.

Toilet Guy has again asked Arahagi and Toneri to investigate. This time your team name is: the Pitch-Black Executors ~DARK (K)NIGHT MESSIAH~. Σ_(꒪ཀ꒪」∠)_. And both your animal manservants have the good sense to hate this abomination of a name. But it will come in handy later on...

So. First order of business is to throw *you* into the virtual world. It’s been rumoured that collecting a full set of accessories from one game character can accomplish this, so your animal bfs possess your body and go shopping.

They push a bunch of bling on you (Toneri makes you wear a choker that reminds him of a dog collar XD), and eventually you can’t take it anymore and run out of the store because you don’t wanna turn into the lovechild of Katy Perry and Flavor Flav. And anyway it didn’t work. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ RIP Operation BringTheBling1.

Plan #2: There is another rumour that players get sucked in when they access the app at midnight. So Catboy and Dogman (henceforth ‘CatDog’) camp over in your bed, and sure enough, when the clock strikes 12, you fall into a deep sleep and enter the game world.

The game is set in a high school that’s an *exact* replica of Nanagiri, with two characters who sound (and look) exactly like your Cat and Dog bfs. [Hirarin is the senpai and Kaji is the kouhai, ofc.] You are shocked by this unfolding of events, and the two of them think you have a cold and need to go to the nurse’s office to rest.

You take this as an opportunity to escape, and as you are running you hear Arahagi and Toneri’s voices from the other side. They successfully possess your sleeping body and enter the virtual world as well.

Senpai and Kouhai can see the demons possessing you. They forcibly exorcise the duo and drag you away. As the exorcised duo come to, they find themselves turned into their chibi forms XDD. Meanwhile, Senpai and Kouhai have taken you to the nurse’s office. As they are trying to approach you, you spray the fire extinguisher at them and make your escape. Niceee.

You manage to find Arahagi and Toneri hiding in the courtyard. They repossess your body to regain their powers and apologise for not being able to protect you. But you have come up with a battle plan: Operation LoveLetter1. Dun dun DUNNN.

The plan is to put a love letter in their shoe locker asking Senpai and Kouhai to meet with you next evening. Being in an otome game, they can only do as they are told to unlock the love event. (Also what is with this 3P-harem setting where you can confess and unlock event for two characters at once?? I need to get in on dis yo. ¬‿¬)

You and CatDog stay up all night to discuss the battle plan, and Arahagi thinks this whole game reeks of the work of a human being. He figures out that they can rob the game characters of their powers by stealing their phones. (Why do even the characters have phones inside the game??) And to power-up themselves, CatDog trade hugs and kisses with each other (I WISH!!) you to feed off of your human energy.

Next day, Senpai and Kouhai show up at the arranged meeting time, and CatDog appear to start a riot. They throw out your team name Pitch-Black Executors ~DARK (K)NIGHT MESSIAH~, which confuses their opponents and gives them the perfect opportunity to steal the opponents’ phones.

Toneri ties the two characters up with chains and Arahagi drops a bunch of machinery and shit on top of them, but dis ain’t ovah ya’ll. The two of them go into *dark mode*. They change the backdrop and damage the data of Arahagi and Toneri’s bodies. As they bury CatDog alive and take you away, you tell them that you believe in CatDog, which gives them the power they need to free themselves from entombment and destroy the game characters.

...When the smoke clears, they see a student that was sucked into the game world. Strangely enough, *it’s a boy*, and they figure that he must be the human that the game monster is possessing and feeding off of.

It turns out that the boy offered himself as a human sacrifice to the urban legend and created this game world to shield his younger sister from the harsh reality. The game world begins to disintegrate, and Toneri tells the boy to face his sister properly instead of doing this stupid shit in the name of ‘protection’. To Toneri and Arahagi, who come into this world all alone, every little detail of the familial bonds and ties between humans seems magical and deserves to be treasured.

The three of you wake up in your bed, and CatDog wonder if the boy’s little sister is going to be alright. You devise a plan... for the two of them to appear to her in a dream pretending to be the two game characters. Toneri flubs his lines and gets beaten up by Arahagi XD. They tell the girl they are relieved that she has finally awoken from her slumber, and invite her to play the game again whenever she is feeling down.

Now a new urban legend has arisen: that whenever a girl gets sucked into the game world, her 2D boyfriend tells her to get out or else she won’t make it to her own wedding in the future. (#meirl XDD.) What’s more, CatDog have erased the oniisan’s memories of the whole incident, and both he and his sister have returned to school as usual.

*Meanwhile*, YOU have become addicted to this game app XD. After unsuccessfully trying to snatch your phone out of your hands, CatDog tease you with kisses and promise to make your real life more exciting than any game ever... yes please Hirarin and Kaji the two of you can come and possess me any time I don’t mind fufufufu~~~ (´┓`*)

*

[Thoughts] ⋆敬称略⋆

Ok so this was my first introduction to both characters (Arahagi/Toneri). I kept thinking as I was listening to it: wouldn’t it be great if Kaji and Hirarin switched roles? Doesn’t it feel like Kaji has more of an excitable puppy-like personality (or quality to his voice, rather), and Hirarin has more of a slow, cat-like temperament??

In fact in the Free Talk when Hirarin said that he is 100% a Cat Person and he thinks Arahagi is really cute, I was all ready to jump out of my chair all like, ‘I KNEW IT!!!’ #notoverreactingatall._(:3」∠)_. ...I guess Rejet wanted to switch it up a little? Or maybe Kimura Ryouhei was busy, because Toneri [yandere + dog ears] sounds like the job for him. Also I can’t help but wonder how perfect Hirarin would be as Utashiro lulling me to sleep with his soothing voice...

(*ฅ́˘ฅ̀*)♡

But all this fantasy casting aside, every time I hear Toneri’s adorable grumpy/growling noises that he makes when he’s dissatisfied, I feel like they made the right casting choice after all. #omgWANT ლ(⁰⊖⁰ლ)

What else, what else... HmMMmMmm, the story and characters/pair dynamics this time round is a bit more childish and less ‘tight’ than before. So idk, I didn’t feel as much of *Deh Romantic Feelz* towards Arahagi/Toneri like I did for Hifumi/Utashiro. Although I still enjoyed it because I am immature.

The doppelganger bit was pretty kewl though. Although the battle scene kind of got resolved in a very #WTF kind of way and left me wanting more. Also the overprotective older brother story would’ve benefited from a better explanation/backstory of why he did what he did, no? Overall just kind of #わけわかんない, and not a very tight story, like I said.

The otome game theme was kind of relevant and interesting, esp the senpai character in the game who kept emphasising the use of this kind of romance fantasies as a form of escapism. ...Which got a bit philosophical/personal in a way, although I’m not sure if Toneri was the best person to expound on this because he’s so... erm... simple-minded XD.

Nonetheless, the overall message was clear: that it’s always better to face things head-on, and you have limitless potential as a human being. +++

But *then again* this series isn’t meant to be analysed very deeply. It’s more just for ya’ll to enjoy the cute huggable chibi things and the powerful demons protecting the fuck out of you. Yeah? Yeahh.

Although!! From the cast commentaries it seems like the seiyuu themselves can’t/won’t actually protect you from anything in the event of an actual urban legend/haunting. It’s funny how they voice all these powerful/scary demon and spirit characters, but when they see an actual horror programme or whatever on TV they quickly look away and change the channel!! (-_-|||) SENSEI I AM DISAPPOINT. 

The only exception so far is Sakurai Takahiro, who spouted off a bunch of kaidan-banashi from his old high school enthusiastically when asked. Like, everyone else is a wimp and he is the One True Hero. He even has ‘he[/i]ro’ in his name!!

[takashimasubuchi]

Interviewed by Zoomin’ Night

 by Zhu Wenbo and Zhu Songjie 2020/5/18

1．Maybe you could introduce yourself first. How old are you? When did you start playing guitar, and when did you start playing this kind of music? I mean, quiet, with blank and some special skills, beautiful improvisation music.

I was born in 1984. I have been living in Tokyo since I was born.I started playing guitar when I was in junior high school. I don't remember why started.Maybe I wasn't interested in anything else. Pelktopia that I played with Hironobu Shimazawa is my first carrier to play this kind of music as you say. We had been playing for 2 or 3 years and released some LP, CD-R, and cassettes. This unit played by half composition and half improvisation with Folk, Blues, and Minimalism feeling.We had a common language of music and similar aesthetic sense for sound.So we were able to develop music constructively. I still think the music in this unit was great.Many of my ideas for improvisation were born at this time. After that, I started to play as a solo player. At the beginning of my solo career, I was playing drone music with many pedals. But I think this was a big failure for me. I was just turning the knob and just fun pedal's effect. It is the best way to fill in time and space. But that’s just it. I got too far away from my roots and physical myself. I felt I had to create the sound more fundamentally in a primitive way. It was around 2015 that I started to have the current style.

2.  Before playing this kind of music, what kind of music did you play? What kind of chance made you decide to change at that time?

First. I started playing as an electric guitarist in some bands, I mean something like a Rock'n'Roll guitarist. I guess every guitarist will yearn for it when young. At the same time, I was obsessed with a lot of black music. especially I love Blues like John lee hooker and Son House. I learned what is free for me back then and making space in music from them. I was also absorbed in jazz and copied mainly Wes Montgomery and learn the method by self-taught. But I couldn't play it properly. Also, I felt cramped in the chordal system. I feel that It was a necessary experience to identify what is important for me. But I eventually stopped playing in band and electric guitar. Because I felt it is difficult to play primitively and genuinely. I felt dishonesty with electric instruments my own. I want to be physically involved in my instrument without any knobs and cables. Fortunately, I don't get tired of playing acoustic guitar. There are still many discoveries from playing.

3.  Maybe you could share some details about guitar. Do you have any special or personal interests on guitar playing? Such as special tuning, microtone, objects on preparing, or some other special playing skill…..

I have been trying many open and irregular tuning. Thereby I can find a new sound and resonance from the guitar.  I'm really into my main guitar which is Martin D-28 Authentic 1931. I want to bring out all the possibilities of this guitar. Sometimes, I try a prepared guitar and some objects. For example, I was rubbing a metal bar on the fret to make overtone and drone on 2527's Track2. But my main focus is playing by fingers of both hands just normally. This is the best way to express subtle elements.

4.  Most of your performances are improvisation. What do you think about in improvisation concert? Or maybe the question could be, what do you try to keep the notice on normally in your performance?

I'm thinking about "music" When I play as a solo.I mean like phrase, scale...or Whether I'm doing well what I practiced. especially I am interested in polymodal. I want to combine some scales to connect to song myself or something like a story. Free or not free, something new or already done in the past. these are not big subjects for me. These are meaningless to think about. Because I feel like a dead-end no matter where I go. I think it should be democratic when I play with other players, like our social ideals. We have to construct something good through conversation in music. As many say. a really good situation is not to think anything during performance.

5.  What kind of music do you listen when you are driving? Last time I took your car, you played Morton Feldman’s piano box. But don’t you think Feldman is too quiet for traffic?

No. I don't think so. My car is very quiet. It's easy to listen to Feldman's music.

6.  So maybe you could share us your music taste. What is all-time favorites? Maybe you could give us a top 10 choice. And what do you listen in these days?

This includes music that I don't listen to anymore. But I listened to often. In order I listened 1「Electric Ladyland」Jimi Hendrix 2「Live at Sugarhill」John Lee Hooker 3「Original Delta Blues」Son House   4「The Complete Live At The Plugged Nickel 1965」Miles Davis 5「Olatunji Concert 」John Coltrane 6 「Riley: The Harp Of New Albion」Terry Riley   7 「In Bern」Loren Mazzacane Connors + Jim O'rouke   8 「Semi-Impressionism」Tetuzi Akiyama + Toshimaru Nakamura 9「For Bunita Marcus by Stephane Ginsburgh」Morton Feldman 10「Dead Pan Smiles」Riuichi Daijo

My recent favorite is below. Some of them are not recent releases.

「Bending Contumax」Jean-Luc Guionnet Jean-Luc Guionnet is saxophonist and organist. I didn't know him until recently. this is amazing enormous work by improvisation from 2008 to 2014. I feel this is very structural in spite of early intention feeling. Published by No School  Recordings run by Masahiko Okura.

「Memoria」Takumi Akaishi Takumi Akaishi is a Hardy Gurdy player who lives in Tokyo is very unique. This was made from Hardy Gurdy and field recording with his great poetic sense. Published by Art Into Life, a Japanese record shop and label in Tochigi prefecture.

「Œuvres Électroniques」 Eliane Radigue This was bought during my 2019 European Tour in Basel at Plattfon Records. This is a box of 14CD. You can know her pursuit of sound but need time to listen to everything!!

7.  Please tell about Straytone. You told me that you have a long and deep collaborations with him. How many years did you play together? What is the collaboration based on? Compare to other musicians, is there any special meanings of playing with Straytone to you?

We have a different idea about music and playing. Straytone attaches importance to the context in music more than me.I'm gradually becoming less concerned about context. On the other hand. I think He does not attach importance to improvisation more than me. We can complement each other for making music.

8.  The cassette remind me of Tetuzi & Toshimaru. Actually at the first time I saw your performance I found out Tetuzi’s influence. And for Straytone’s sound, I have to say, it is very closed to Toshi’s nowadays sound, though they use different instruments. I think in this cassette, Straytone’s sound does not sounds like most modular synthesizer musicians. So how do you think about Tetuzi & Toshimaru? Do you try to reference, borrow or avoid some idea from this classical Japanese duo?

I think that Tetuzi Akiyama and Toshimaru Nakamura are The most important improviser.「Semi-Impressionism」is the earliest music I've ever heard of improvisation music that's not jazz. This is my opinion on them. In particular, I was directly influenced by Tetuzi Akiyama as guitarist. His greatness is flipped over the concept of all avant-garde. It's like a dadaist but more based on his intuition and honesty. Toshimaru Nakamura is a very important person culturally of electronics improvisation scene. But he does not hesitate to break the culture himself and constantly update himself. He seems to be challenging himself at every concert without any attention to appearance. They play universal language and techniques in spite of based on very personal interest without systematized academic methods. They paved the way by this attitude especially for players without musical education or career. There have been groups with similar concepts in the past like AMM or Musica Elettronica Viva. But they are based on more western values or academism.

In the past, if we want to play with someone we had to learn the methods and languages that are already. Like Jazz, Classic also Rock music. Maybe It's also included "Free Improvisation". But They proved that we could play using each personal interests, techniques, and ideas without systematized academic methods or languages. It doesn’t mean there is no need to learn or practice. We got an environment that we can pursue what we feel really important to us individually. At the same time, we can communicate in music in any country, musical background, and culture. We can express each identity and exchange ideas in the music directly.

9.  The cassette title is 2527. What did the name come from?

It is a secret.

10.  Please also tell us about Permian, the venue you run. Could you describe it? How is the neighborhood and how does it looks inside? When did you start running this place? Why do you want to run a “only improvisation” venue? Sorry that I have never been to Permian before, next time I will, I promise!

Permian started in 2018. Running by me,Riuichi Daijo and some musicians. We often talked about almost venues have a lot of superfluous things for the concert. like bar counter, records, and BGM. We don't provide any drink, food, and BGM to concentrate on the concert and playing. An audience can choose admission fees between 1,000 to 3,000yen of every concert. By this, the audience can determine the value of the concert with independence. There are many cafes and bars nearby. But finding an improvisational audience is difficult. Improvisation is primordial practice and starting point of all expressions. It is should be open to more people. I hope that we always try to re-grab music from zero by each concert.

11. If you have to choose 3 favorite improvisation musicians, who will it be?

Tetuzi Akiyama John Tilbury John Coltrane

12. In the description I found about your album "R, R, R", it was mentioned that some of your guitar playing has the feeling of John Fahey. Do you agree with this statement? Has John Fahey's music influenced your listening and playing?

Of course, I listened to a lot of albums of John Fahey. But I’ve almost never copied his guitar. I am strongly influenced by what is called American Primitive, just like him. But I think I'm not the same lineage or context as him. I have big respect for traditional music but maybe I'm not interested in inheriting. It's not my role. As I said, I copied a lot of guitar from the 60's Rock group, Blues and Jazz music when I played electric guitar. But my acoustic guitar style is Almost self-taught.I've almost never copied someone's play except some Blues. Sometimes, I try to copy Morton Feldman's piano piece by guitar.

13. Are you more focused or relaxed when you play? Do you think there is a big gap between your performance and recording? In which state(relaxed or focused) do you prefer when making music?

To be honest, I want to relax and play. If I try to concentrate, the feeling runs away.