#(but most people leave the A out of STEAM when it comes to academic appreciation)

[an-organized-confusion]

Thinking about neurotypes again and about Gymrat!Remus.

Unlike Roman, he never had problems with dyscalculia (or any specific skill associated with that challenge.) In fact he excelled in those arenas - so picking up STEM knowledge was pretty easy for him.

But a few of his challenges that were more of a problem than his brother were...

Alexithymia - he’s shit at properly identifying his (and other people’s) emotional states (especially in the moment) and even though he has more vocab and supportive company to help him out here. It’s kinda like having Kid!Me learn how to finally read analog clocks without getting completely stumped/frustrated (it takes time and probably a bit more processing power than someone who doesn’t have any issues in the numbers arena.)

Which is wrapped up in stuff like his incredibly bad impulse control and interpersonal skills. He’s not a total monster in this AU, but it usually takes the consequences to hit either him or other people to realize he probably fucked up. (See: the whole AXE Body Spray incident in HS - realizing he aggravated the health of kids like Janus with that stunt.)

This also even more exacerbated by the fact that his gifts made him excel enough in coursework to be chronically under-stimulated and bored. He had a longer leash than Roman did just because of the gifted parts being more “conventionally respectable“, but absolutely inadequate help for the rest of his problems.

(And Esteban probably just  thought a lot of this shit was a phase Remus might outgrow, thinking Remus had no excuse whatsoever. Aaand probably some notions that makes it generally harder for AFAB people to get accurately screened for developmental concerns, anyways. He slipped through the cracks.)

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

[hopefulstarfire]

Astrarium: The Adventures Between Realms: An In-Depth Look

What is Astrarium: The Adventures Between Realms?

Astrarium is a massive, written work of online fiction created by myself and my boyfriend Jonathan, with the art department fully manned by our best friend Tai (@cowboytai) and edited/possibly narrated by our other best friend Watta (found here at his YouTube channel).

The story follows the adventures of Artemis, or Ari as she's better known, a human girl raised by Dragons. The Dragons of are the deities of the universe, with a select group delegated to the task of Watchers, whom take the role of nurturing, shaping and recording the histories of the Seven Realms found in their universe. Ari, at age 16, is able to begin her training to become a Watcher (and the first ever human Watcher), and takes the four years of her training to explore each and every Realm, making friends and enemies along the way, and discovering more of who she is and who she wants to become.

We're currently looking at publishing it on its own website sometime in 2022. What we're looking at having done before then is the prologue, first five chapters, and the first trips to every Realm. Currently, we have the prologue and chapters 1-3 finished, with chapter 4 in progress along with the first round of trips. The prologue and chapters 1-5 will be posted together on the launch of the website. We will also have a Patreon set up for it, with some varying reward tiers!

What are the Realms?

There are Seven Realms featured in Astrarium, all named after constellations. They are Hydra (The Water Serpent), Auriga (The Charioteer), Ursa (Greater Bear), Cygnus (The Swan), Orion (The Hunter), Lepus (The Hare) and Lyra (The Lyre). Each one also features its own aesthetics, cultures, and even specialized races/species of civilized life.

Hydra takes place in a very water and island based world, with an aesthetic setting of the Age of Exploration/Golden Age of Piracy. There are seven major oceans on this world, and hundreds of islands, both inhabited and uninhabited and many filled to the brims with treasures. There are also large underwater cities that are elegantly built and homes to all sorts of academic pursuits.

Auriga is a world inspired by both the Old West and the Steampunk fashion and aesthetic. They have new inventions coming out every day, fueled not just by steam power but also by magical crystals. And they thrive off of having big communities that all rely on each other.

Ursa is a very natural world filled with gorgeous forests and lovely springs. It's world is heavily inspired by high fantasy, dungeons and dragons, and a certain other old tale that'll be evident in its cast of characters. It is filled with magics of all kinds and magical creatures left and right.

The citizens of Cygnus live on floating islands, all connected to each other by tethers, and the inhabitants fly anywhere they please. The aesthetic is based in 1920s/1930s fashion and glitz and glam, with a little bit of a seedy underbelly lurking in the city...as well as interesting horrors down in the jungles below them.

The Giantesses of Orion have kept to the simpler life, with a definite cottage core aesthetic throughout. They are an agricultural society with many settlements and even still wandering nomadic tribes that all unite for the big Games every year.

Lepus' people have been facing an endless winter for over a thousand years. The people have long forsaken and forgotten about their magic, and have relied heavily on science and technology to help rebuild their lives and try to find a way to combat the winter. It's a very sci-fi setting with some style influence from all over.

Lyra is the land of the dead and the home of an eternal party. With plenty of Halloween based influences, there is never a dull moment for those who find themselves in the built towns, and those who are stuck in the fog wander and sing their songs until they find their way to a new home.

Outside of the Realms, there is Dragons Keep, a large mountain in space that acts as the home to all Dragons. It's caves are vast and plentiful, winding all the way through from the head of the mountain, where the High Council meets, to the very bottom. And even with many areas claimed and made use of in this large mountain, there are always mysteries to be found.

Who are the characters?

Astrarium has one of the largest casts of characters we've worked with, with tons of new friends, rivals, and enemies for Ari to meet. Along with Ari, there is a main character for each Realm, with a cast of supporting characters.

Ari (she/her) acts as the main protagonist, helping guide some of the plot and seeing everything through her eyes. On Hydra, our protagonist is Gibbson "Gibbs" Cayde (he/him); on Auriga, Huxley "Huck" Holiday (he/him); on Ursa, Ronan Löx (he/him); on Cygnus, Clyde (he/him); on Orion, Fauna (she/her); on Lepus, Henrietta "Henri" Franklin (possibly she/they, still figuring it out!) ; and on Lyra, Alexei (he/him). Also on Dragons Keep, we have Aris' family, with her adopted mother/Mama, Arabella, her Uncle Killick, and her cousin, Libelle, who is a main character for Dragons Keep.

I hope to get to share more about our supporting cast with you all soon, as they all have some very interesting stories to get to share!

We also are working on art for the main characters as we speak, but we do have Ari's done and that can be found here!

More About The Team?

We're a group of friends who have all known each other since, for the most part, high school! While I'm someone that kind of wants to keep private lives private, I can say that these are the best group of friends to have and we're honestly like our own little family. We've workshopped other projects with each other since, God, like, my senior year of high school? Just about? It's been an insane ride together. We're also just a big bunch of nerds who are all really chill and fun to be around.

How Long is The Story Going To Be?

Astrarium is looking to be the longest project we'll ever do in terms of story timeline, and page count. As the Dragons are masters of time, Ari has the ability to actually mess with it slightly and create what is essentially a "Save point" for herself to go back to after she leaves a Realm. So say she leaves Hydra on a certain day. She can make that save point, go hang out in the other Realms, and come back and it'll be either that exact save point she left at or a few hours later, give or take (though, there are chances of "hiccups" in this, usually occurring when she leaves from Dragons Keep specifically, as it is considered to be outside of the normal flow of time!).

My goal is kind of a fun one of I want it to be one of the longest word count stories out there. I don't really know why I want it to be, other than I think it'd be really cool if I could beat out that Loud House fanfiction in terms of longest works in literature. That's just a nice little goal.

How Can Readers Support the Series?

Honestly, the best thing I can ask for is just getting this around! If anyone takes an interest in this series, reblogs and likes go a long way and are greatly appreciated. We also love, love, love questions!! It's a great feeling to see people want to know more and some questions can really get our thinking caps on to develop more and more! When the site launches, we will again launch the Patreon right alongside it, so if you want to financially support, there'll be reward tiers ranging from $1 a month and upwards! We may look at a Ko-Fi as well and if it looks like people are really interested in it, we may open a merch store and I do want to start releasing some of it as actual books you can have for your shelves!

Financial support is 100000% optional, though, for when that does happen, and like, everyone's situation is different, we just want to make it an option for our audience. But the best feeling in the world to us is seeing people's interest and them sharing it with their friends!

And if anyone has anymore questions, please please please feel free to ask! We're gonna be working on getting to share more updates here soon!! And thank you all for your time!!

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Centerfold [Pt.2]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale

(Read Part one here)

Beca Mitchell’s phone was a box of constant communication. She had her emails redirected so that she could feel every single time she needed to address something at the office, even if she was there and the soft pinging culminated in the very screen she stared at. She had a multitude of contacts and would video chat with the team in Italy, and sometimes L.A.

So, what she knew deep down, was that it was impossible for her not to look at her phone all day. Physically she had to check the notifications to keep her world running. Emily intercepted most of them, keeping her deep stare on her own screen before glancing up at her boss every couple of minutes. They were both on edge and Beca didn’t much appreciate the tension that sparked between them.

She held her breathe each time a new ping sounded off until eventually that lull of anxiety was hushed to a dull ache in the pit of her chest. She went through her morning meets and a new presentation to her team about how their coding for a new watch wasn’t up to parr- they had a few days to fix it before it dropped, and the CEO made sure she knew that.

When the notification from Chloe did finally come through, Beca almost didn’t’ notice. She registered the pink of the logo that slowly shifted to a deep purple. But the name? Oh, the name she hadn’t clocked for a few seconds after that. And even then, Chloe Beale? Her Chloe, actually responded.

Beca lilted the computer screen and frantically looked up at Emily, who was already at her door. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she situated the office and closed the blinds and very coolly, but not so coolly, pressed her back against the wood and breathed.

“Dude,” Beca said.

“I know,” Emily said “Did you read it?”

She hadn’t read it. She hadn’t even thought to read it because her mind got stuck behind the massive roadblock that was Chloe Beale and her stupid pun username. She opened the application and hesitated over the message icon. She was supposed to be playing it hard to get like she didn’t’ care if she even got a response. But she did care and apparently so did her assistant because she was right behind her, blindly gawking like her halo fell into her eyes and blinded her from right and wrong.

“If I click this she’ll see that I read it and then there’s no going back.”

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“You told me to keep her guessing,”

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even get a response.” Emily shrugged sheepishly “Figured you would forget about it in a few days and… open it.”

Beca frowned but hovered the mouse over the message. She wanted to close her eyes but felt like she was watching a car accident, complete with the red and blue flashing lights and the metallic crunch of metal. Either way, she couldn't avert her stare. She didn’t want to.

Chloe: Hey stranger. I must admit that I was never expecting to hear from you again, big shot manager. I’ve kept my tabs on you… New York is my home, so if you’re serious about coffee, so am I.

Her breath caught in her throat. Chloe Fucking Beale had said yes. Her childhood love had agreed to coffee that neither of them could probably stomach. Chloe Fucking Beale who was a playboy model with more than a million Instagram followers, and Chloe Fucking Beale who she was pretty sure she still loved.

There had been other people, men, and women that she had thought she fell for. She folded into soft touches and stronger commands. She was happy for months at a time and on one rare occasion a full year with a man who ran his own tours of the city. But none of those relationships had ever been like the one she had with Chloe.

Beca pulled in a long breath that filled her lungs with stale coffee and copy paper. She tilted her lid and looked to Emily because she was the expert. And Beca was frozen. That same cold excitement filled her and it also rocked her ever-loving shit. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.

Emily looked at the darkened screen, then at her boss, then back at the screen before lunging forward and typing back a reply. Perfect. Are you free this Saturday?

It turns out that Chloe was free that Saturday and if she wasn’t, she didn’t’ say a word and quietly cleared her schedule. The day was quickly approaching and Beca really wanted to know why the New York Branch put her in charge of everything when she could barely figure out what to wear to a simple cup of coffee.

This felt more like a simple cup of coffee.

Emily eventually got tired of the barrage of pictures she was getting and took a cab to Beca’s apartment an hour before the actual date. They settled on black jeans and a blue button-down that Emily pulled closer to her chest for extra measure because according to her “You look good in anything and Chloe won’t be able to make eye contact with you.”

Then she was on a subway that smelled like stale snow and hot morning breath. They picked a small shop downtown that not many people knew about. It was a feat in the city to find a place that wasn’t packed like a sardine can and Beca trusted Chloe’s judgment tenfold.

Beca got there first, and her palms were sweating despite the cool atmosphere that swept through the little shop each time the door opened. It was a meta cross between a thrifted bookstore and a café. People sat and ate and read and the scent of what Beca imagined old magic to be, mingled well with coffee grinds and fresh pastries.

She ordered a simple black americano and settled by the front window, the glass fogged from a warm contrast with the cold of the busy street and curved lettering faced the patrons. There was a simple logo and one barista behind the counter. She chose a random book and pretended to read, but only skimmed the same paragraph over and over again.

Her main focus was on the door and the bell that chimed each time it was opened. One of those times, after a businessman and a hipster kid hugging his laptop close to his chest, it was Chloe. Soft and vibrant compared to the rest of the dim academic setting.

Her hair was pulled behind her ears and a pair of golden framed glasses rested on her nose. She had aged like wine and the wind that blew in behind her carried the sweet scent of southern peaches through the front door. She wore a white sweater with a plaid peacoat and high wasted jeans, and Beca knew she was staring.

Everyone was, they couldn’t’ help it. She overtook the room with a warm and sparked presence. If anyone recognized her they didn’t’ say a thing, out of saving their own face or because the girl in the centerfold of the latest playboy was wildly different than the one standing in front of her. This… this was her Chloe.

She didn’t’ know if she could hug Chloe, if touching was okay, but as she stood to greet her, she was pulled into the warmth of the woman. She was wrapped in overwhelming touch and emotion and she buried her nose into Chloe’s hair as they held onto each other, not quite willing to let go of the familiarity before realizing that it was inappropriate not to.

“Wow,” Chloe ran her hands down Beca’s arms, stopping at her elbows “You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

“It’s the lighting in here, I think it’s one step up from basement overhead.”

Chloe laughed and it was a magical sound. The only thing more intoxicating was her smile, which never seemed to leave her lips as she ordered her own drink, something loaded with sugar and caramel, and leaned forward across the table to get a better look at her date.

Beca sipped her coffee and quirked an eyebrow “What?”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for me to study you.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” She tested “What have you been up to all these years?”

Chloe leaned back in her seat and cupped her mug. It was a russet red and steam rose from the pale liquid that soaked inside. There was a sickeningly sweet odor to it and part of Beca regretted ordering nothing but a black coffee. It seemed like a disservice to the atmosphere of the shop.

“Oh, a bunch of stuff here and there. I used to be based out of LA, I did a lot of acting there. Little stuff like soap operas and a couple of commercials. It wasn’t for me, though so I moved here to pursue modeling and it’s been going well. Really well.”

Beca didn’t’ want to mention the playboy magazine or the curve of Chloe’s legs and the way her skin shown under the bright summer sun. She never returned it to Jason because he never asked for it back. It was an unspoken solidarity between the two.

“That’s amazing,” Beca smiled, feeling excitement in her chest “Anything I would recognize?”

Chloe hummed into her drink “Mm, maybe a few things. It depends on how you feel about Playboy. I never thought you were much of a reader.”

Beca looked down dejectedly at the old spined book to her right. It was true, she hadn’t read the Catcher in the Rye and she barely got through the introduction paragraph because of the nerves and the heartbeat that beat so strongly against the inside of her wrist right now.

“I’m not usually. But I do enjoy looking at the pictures.” Beca flicked her stare back towards the woman across from her “Though, that’s not the reason I reached out to you.”

“Truth is, I’ve always wanted to message you, but you looked like you were doing so well. Like you were so happy. I didn’t want to throw you off or seem like I was chasing something that we used to have.” She said, “So I waited.”

It was Beca’s turn to laugh, “I felt the same exact way. We’re both pretty stupid, then huh? Waiting like this for something we knew… for something we knew we wanted.”

Chloe smiled wider and clinked her mug against Beca’s yellow one, not spilling any of the mostly full drink. “To being stupid. And getting to know each other all over again.”

And that’s exactly what they did. They sat and talked until they were the only two in the coffee shop and Beca even dared to kiss Chloe when they got to the subway platform.  She tasted like caramel and sunshine if such a thing was even possible.

But it was because she had found Chloe. Centerfold Chloe. High school Chloe, and most importantly, her Chloe.

[havenesa-sera-fina]

Hidden Marks [4: Promises and Regrets]

Summary: Wrapping his own arms around her shoulders, Namjoon pulled her in, resting his head on the crown of her head, his heart beating steadily, which Sera heard and smiled to herself. Even with his odd lengthy limbs, they fit together perfectly, "Sera, I'm falling in love with you, that I want to convince you not to go, but I trust you. I just want you to be happy, to never cry over us again. I can't promise you that if you choose to stay with us, everything will be rainbows and sunshine, but I promise you that we won't give up on you, on this relationship. We're not perfect like everyone thinks we are, we're not the perfect bunch of soulmates, we have problems as a group and individuals, secrets that we all keep, burdens that we try to carry on our own. Though we all have each other, to fall back on when things get brought, and that includes you now. We're soulmates, so if anything happens, don't be scared to tell us.

(Poly BTS/OT7 x Reader/OC)

College Au / Soulmate Au

Disclaimer: Bts isn't my or any real life people (obviously.) Any other characters are my though. This is my story so do not republish this anywhere or I will report.

There maybe some triggers, but I will address them within the chapters.

Sources: Wattpad

Word count: 2199

I didn't leave my room.

Well, that was a lie.

I would leave whenever I knew Kimie had left for classes for the day. Occasionally she would knock on my door, to tell me there was food to eat. Kimie always made sure to tell me whenever she was going to leave and would text me when she was gonna come back. Maybe she was just trying to give me room to breathe, and I was grateful for it.

It continued like that till next Monday, luckily my doctor emailed my school about why I was missing school for a week. I also managed to finish any online assignments that my teachers posted.

I didn't want to get too far behind.

Reluctantly I woke up early this morning and began my usual morning routine to get ready for school. I was more cautious though, to make fewer sounds as I didn't want to wake up Kimie.

When I walk through the campus, I kept my head low, but I didn't even know why. I expected to feel anxious and scared to jump into Lilia or any of her boyfriends, but I felt nothing. Ever since I said those words to Jungkook, I felt hopelessly empty.

Maybe it was because I wasn't taking my medication, and with that, I made a mental note to call my doctor later. Earlier when I walked out to the living room, I didn't see any of my pills on the ground, which Kimie most likely cleaned up. Now that did cause me to feel something, guilt.

"You're finally up and walking darling!" I heard a familiar and comforting voice behind me, as I stopped walking and turned around. Baekhyun with his dazzling smile and warm eyes stared back at me.

Not with pity, sadness or with cautious eyes, but his usual self.

I was grateful to him.

When he reached me, he engulfed me in a hug without another word, and just held me there. In his arms, it always felt safe and reassuring, but it didn't ever fill that empty feeling. However, with nearly a week of isolation from people, I really just needed to be held.

So instead of pulling away, I buried my face into his chest, as I wrapped my own arms around him. In return, he tightened his grip, resting his chin on my head, as he murmured a simple, "I'm here, you're not alone Sera."

Those words caused a faucet within me to turn, as the tears came slowly at first, but within a few moments, I was sobbing in his arms, "Everything hurts Baekhyun," I knew people were staring, but I didn't care, "I wish we can just go back to high school, so I don't have to feel all this pain."

"We can't ever go back...but know, that I'm always here. You can share your pain with me, you don't have to bare it alone.

"It hurts whenever I see them together, it hurt so fucking badly."

There was a wisp of a lie, as the pain was numb, both emotionally and physically. I just couldn't figure out which was worse, the numbness or the pain.

*****

Snorting, I wanted to fling my sandwich at Baekhyun as he showered me with senseless and the weirdest praises. His attempts to make me feel better.

We were currently seated at a café off-campus, but nearby enough where we just walked there. I ended up skipping class, with Baekhyun convincing me, as he showed me that he already picked up the notes I've missed and the paper assignments he had. Guess he was planning to take me out whenever I decide to leave the comforts of my room.

"Remember they are just Walmart and you are target!" He all but yelled at me, garnering a few looks from nearby customers. Some with annoyance and others with amusement, "They're just samples and you're a full-course meal!"

That one I nearly choked on the coffee I was drinking, and burst out laughing, "What the hell Hyunnie."

A wide smile spread across his face, "Honestly, they're missing out if you asked me," he then shoved a huge piece of his pancake in his mouth.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back into my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, "We still up to go to the fair?"

"Hell yeah! Let's go this Saturday and just go crazy, forget everything, scream our lungs out, walk till our legs give out, stuff our stomachs till we give birth to a food baby and get wasted!"

Much to the contradictory belief that Baekhyun was as innocent can be with his appearance, he was quite a party animal when he wanted to be. Even throughout our high school years, we went to multiple parties, from the simple ones to the ones that cops would bust down. Of course, he never let his partying ways affect him academically, as he was a dazzling student, but whenever he needed to let off some steam, you'd find him at some frats house party. Occasionally he'd drag me along with him, and it wasn't the partying that was worth memorizing, but it was the drunken talks and confessions that were worth remembering if I could remember them at least.

We were so preoccupied, that we didn't notice three figures walk into the café and take a seat to the table next to us.

Once I drank all my coffee, I ended up ordering another as I still felt tired and miserable. Though it was lessened with Baekhyun.

Running a hand down my face, I sighed slightly in frustration, "How the hell am I going to apologize to Lilia? I practically yelled at her boyfriend and been a shitty friend.

Baekhyun scoffed at that, "why do you need to apologize?" His voice sounded slightly harsh, but I knew it wasn't directed towards me, "You were already having a shit couple of days and the moment you decide to go home, she blows upon your face? To top it all off, she crossed a boundary when she tried revealing your marks."

That part I couldn't easily forgive and forget.

Lilia, Kimie and Baekhyun knew about how I felt about my marks. How I didn't feel at all comfortable about showing it to anyone. Also, the topic of soulmates and how I never liked talking about it. It was ironic, when I was younger I never shut up about it.

Yet Lilia had completely disregard and pushed every boundary there was, and yet, I still felt guilty, "she was just worried about me."

"We all were and you don't see Kimie trying to force you to do something you didn't want to do."

We paused momentarily when the waiter came back with our coffees, before Baekhyun continued on with his little speech, "I get you feel like you owe her and that you made a promise, but you need to start thinking about yourself. About your health and happiness darling. What happened years ago wasn't your fault, and no one should hold it over your head. Sure your brother wanted Lilia to be happy and loved, but I'm sure as hell he wants the very same for you."

"Maybe I'm being selfish, but I wish I never took that gap year," I mumbled, shoulders sinking as I could only stare at my coffee. I had now lost my appetite for any sweets, "Things could have been so different."

"It's not selfish!" He spoke a little too loudly, causing some people to now hush him a little, but he paid no mind, "You could still change things, still be with your soulmates. The only one holding yourself back is yourself."

"How can I possibly ruin Lilia's happiness now?"

"She would understand, and if she doesn't, then she never really was your friend in the first place."

Even with Baekhyun's words, it didn't stop the guilt eating away at me, for everything.

Lilia was just worried about me, that was the reason why she blew up on me. Even I could admit that I hardly tell her much of anything and that I did become distant. Because no matter what, they were always with her, and it was just so damn painful to be around her, with them being so loving and caring towards her. It was selfish, but I can't help but feel bitter whenever I see them together.

"Hey," a voice cut beside us, and I flinched at the harshness because I knew who it was from.

Turning to look, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok we're sitting beside us, with their own coffee and food. All three hard an unreadable expression, except Yoongi, who seemed to have a pissed off one. His glare was directed towards me and it caused me to shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"We'd appreciate if you wouldn't talk about our girlfriend behind her back," Yoongi bit out, obvious anger seeping out of him.

However, instead of feeling my mark flare up in pain, there was this numbing feeling that overcame me. I only stared blankly at him, not really knowing what to say. Any other time my heart would skip a beat, but I don't even know if it's still beating right now.

Then I remembered last night, that I indirectly rejected them.

"And I'd appreciate if she doesn't force someone to reveal their soul marks," Baekhyun hissed out, with just enough venom as he matched Yoongi's glare.

I moved my eyes away from the three boys and back at Baekhyun, who looked ready to jump at Yoongi. Sighing, I kicked him gently underneath the table to catch his attention, "Let's go, I can miss my chem class but not my bio class."

"Why the hell do we have to leave?" He hissed out.

Rolling my eyes, I stood up and gathered my stuff, "Because I'm tired Hyunnie, so let's just go. Okay?"

He didn't reply for a second, but then he stood up, and glared angrily at the three boys, "You better keep your girlfriend in check, because next time she tries to force Sera into doing something she doesn't want to do, we're going to have problems."

"Baekhyun!" I gasped at his little threat.

I knew Baekhyun was never fond of Lilia, but she was still my friend and even I don't appreciate his threat towards her. The three boys didn't also.

"What! She has seven guys protecting her, you need someone to be on your side!"

I only rolled my eyes, before dragging him out the Cafe.

The three boys watched them leave, as Taehyung ran his hands through his hair, a sigh of frustration gaining the attention of his other soulmates. He felt so many emotions, that he couldn't pinpoint an exact one, "Why the hell does she hate us so much? She cursed at Kookie for god's sake."

Ever since last week when Jungkook brought a sobbing Lilia back to their apartment, Taehyung had felt such a numb feeling. Something felt off, and even the sight of his crying girlfriend couldn't make him break out of it. When Jungkook then told them what had transpired, he was filled with so much rage, but not towards Sera but at Lilia, for trying to force someone to reveal their soulmate mark. So when she looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to comfort her, it only filled him with annoyance that he just went in his room and ignored her.

Soul marks were something so intimate and private, and people should be allowed to hide it if they wanted to. To have someone try to force a person to reveal it, it just wasn't something right.

Jimin has attempted to ask why he was being cold towards Lilia but in all honesty, he didn't know.

Taehyung was never like this, always being the first to comfort Lilia whenever she was upset, make her feel loved and safe. However, something about this situation just felt off, and he ended up telling Jimin to drop it and to leave him alone. To which he did, but without stating that Lilia was upset at him.

"Why do you care if she likes us or not?" Hoseok asks curiously, bringing up his hand to comfortingly rubbing the silver-haired boy's neck.

Instantly the touch of his soulmate soothes him, and he leaned into Hoseok's touch, "It's just that..." he whined slightly, trying to find the right words to express how he felt, "Since last week I've felt off and I don't know why. I don't like the fact that Sera doesn't like us for no reason."

He ended up burying his head into Hoseok's shoulder, just trying to relish in his warmth and presence. Usually just cuddling to anyone of his soulmate would comfort him, but this time it didn't and it left an empty feeling in his heart.

Taehyung missed the worried looks that Hoseok and Yoongi shared with one another.

The one feeling that was clear, was the anger he felt when he saw Baekhyun's hand on Sera's lower back, to guide her out of the café.

Never before did he feel like attacking another person.

[swimmingnewsie]

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 1)

Hi guys! I hope you all are having a great Holiday week however you celebrate. Ever since I worked as a barista I had a new appreciation for coffee shop aus, but never had the desire to write one until now. Enjoy Matchmaking!Anna using the power of coffee to get people together.

Enjoy!

Link to AO3

---"Anna, I don't have time for that. I'm a Ph.D student. I don't have a life outside of school."

Anna rolled her eyes at her sister as she picked at her sandwich. As much as she loved berating her sister about how she needed a life outside the lab, her time was limited. She got 30 minutes, no more, no less. "I'm just saying, you seem interested. You should talk to her!"

Elsa brought a palm up to her face. "You can't just go up and start talking to a total stranger. Besides, she's busy, just like I am." Despite her pleads, Anna saw the way she looked at the young woman a few tables over. She was in there practically every day, coming in with the after-school rush, usually staying most days with her large stack of papers. Anna had talked to her a few times and taken her order many more times: Honeymaren, venti iced chai, two extra pumps of chai. 

"Perhaps you could be busy together," Anna teased. Elsa swatted at her sister's arm lightly. "Come on, Els. You know I'm just looking out for you."

"And I appreciate it. But I can handle my own love life, Anna. I don't want anything right now." She straightened up the papers on her table, then reached to grab Anna's hand. "I have my best friend back. That's all I need right now."

Anna sighed. The last few years had been hard. Between their parents passing and Anna being under lock and key with her thankfully now ex-fiancée Hans, their relationship had been strained. But things had changed. Anna had moved into Elsa's apartment in Berkeley, far away from their old home in Denver. Hans was states away, held off by a restraining order. Anna had a new job of her own as a barista, rebuilding herself. It was getting better every day. 

Anna squeezed back on Elsa's hand. "Just promise me you'll think about it. There's more to life than papers and lectures."

"I know there is. I just want to go at my own pace."

Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

The cursed timer. Her lunch was up. Anna gave a sad sigh. "I'll see you tonight okay? I'm closing, so it'll be 11:30 or so."

Elsa nodded, letting her sister go. "I'll keep you a plate of whatever I cook tonight. But, I'll probably still be up when you get home."

Anna rolled her eyes. "At least try to sleep. Love you."

"Love you too."

As the night continued, Anna couldn't help but scheme just a bit. "Oh come on Kris, it's not the worst idea ever," she said into the headset as she cleaned the cafe. It was slow and they were trying to get ahead on tasks. And thus her shift manager and good friend Kristoff was roped into her plotting.

"You know her name and her order. How can you possibly know if she would be good for your sister?"

"Well," she said rubbing a day old coffee stain out of the wood, "she seems like the real academic type. I see her either reading math books or grading what looks like math homework all the time. I think she told me she was a teacher once. Sounds like someone Elsa might like."

"A career is not a personality," Kristoff said before a noise rang in their headset, bringing his attention to the drive-through screen.

"I know it's not," Anna quipped back, working on the drink order. "But it's a start. My sister-" 

Another drink order interrupted her. "My sister hasn't dated anyone since we were in high school. I just want her to have someone."

She could practically hear his eyes roll over her steaming pitcher of milk. "Anna, if your sister wanted to be in a relationship, she would be looking. Leave her be."

"But you don't know my sister, Kris. She's not going to make a move even if she wants to. She needs a little push," Anna said, handing off the drinks. "I just want to help."

"First of all, I do know your sister," Kristoff said, wandering to the backroom. "I've worked beside her and served her coffee for four years. Second of all, I know you do, but if you push do you really think she'll go for it?"

Stupid Kristoff and his logic. "Look, I just want them to talk. As much as I would love for her to fall in love with Venti Chai Honey, I would love for her to have more friends too. Someone that makes sure she leaves her lab for something other than caffeine."

"Whatever you say, Red." She rolled her eyes at the nickname. Anna would be caught dead before she admitted she liked it. It was nice to have a kind nickname, not one that made her cry at the drop of a hat. 

"Speaking of...' Anna dragged out, making a drink that just came in for delivery service. "What about you and that Ryder guy? I've seen- damn it do we have any cookies left or will we have to give these people a refund?"

"Sugar or chocolate? And, Anna, don't even start with that. We don't even know if he likes men. Speaking of, you don't know if Venti Chai Honey likes women either."

"Sugar. And I don't need to when I see the bedroom eyes you give one another!" 

"What the eyes of his excitement of getting his super sugary drink that doesn't even deserve to be called coffee after his workout? And we're out. It's your turn to do the refund."

"Kristoffffff, I'm on bar; you're register. You do it."

"Nope. I've got important shift duties to do. You're soloing for a few, bye." Anna heard him click off the headset.

Anna was ready to run back at him to continue the conversation, but another ding brought her back to the drive through window. They'd have to continue this later. He wasn't about to get out of this conversation. She wasn't a love expert by any means, but she could tell Kristoff was lonely.

Unfortunately, the night picked up and they weren't able to return to their conversation. The end of night rush wrecked them both, leaving little energy for conversation even when they were done with customers for the night. They closed up shop, and left without another word on Kristoff and Ryder.

---

"Good afternoon, Honeymaren. Your usual?" Anna smiled, perhaps a little too cheery.

Honeymaren was taken aback. Anna was usually pretty happy, but something seemed up. "Yes please," she responded. 

Anna reached over to the stack of cups nearby and began writing the drink. "How's your day going?" she asked, making their usual small talk.

"A bit long," she responded laughing. "I gave the kids a test today and they were all kinds of worried before, during, and after." Honeymaren pointed at the large binder of papers in her satchel. "So now I get those to grade."

"Sounds like it." Anna smiled. In Honeymaren's distracted state, she was able to write out the cup pretty quickly. She rang the drink up in the computer before handing the cup off. Slyly, she entered her employee numbers in, bringing the price down to zero. "Someone actually paid for your drink ahead of you, so no worries," she said as Honeymaren got her card out. 

Honeymaren's eyes widened. "Really? Well, thank you very much."

Anna nodded, looking at the woman. "Yep! We'll call you out when it's ready!"

"Thanks, Anna!"

It was worth the death glare Kristoff gave when he saw the phone number written on the cup.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING NEXUS

One likes you, you have opened a real can of worms. Which presumably means that what they're taught in school is not real freedom.1 Don't you learn things you'd never say face to face meetings. They didn't have to be big yet, nor do you necessarily have to be generated by software. 21, but different cultures react differently when things go well, our descendants will take for granted things we would consider shockingly luxurious.2 I mean more that conflicts with investors are particularly nasty. Plus a lot of the past.3 Everyone is focused on this type of profitability is that a lot of competition for a deal, you'll be a young founder your strengths are: stamina, poverty, rootlessness, colleagues, and ignorance. Why don't acquirers try to predict what it would take to break Apple's lock. Ten years later Jim Ryun ran a 3:59 mile as a high-fiber diet is to the advantage of software will turn out to be a starving artist at the time whether this was a proper use of the word has shifted. Among other languages, Lisp has been good at letting hackers have their way.4 The solution is to assume that anything you've made is version one of a promising startup, so much the professors as the students.5

A few simple rules will take a big bite out of your head. Only if it's fun. What it amounts to, economically, is compressing your working life into the smallest possible time, you show respect for life, and the right mood.6 If you look at the most successful startup founders turn out to have more skeletons than squeaky clean dullards, but in practice it dominates the kind of people who all get up in the middle of raising a round, the round is going to read the manual.7 I expect this to become increasingly common. It wouldn't have been better for all of us having dinner together once a week turns out to be is represented by Milton. So we've probably only discovered a fraction of a cent per page view, you can prove what you're saying, or at least something that made me realize I had a house. Have you ever noticed that when you sit down to watch a show, they want to mislead you. Not because we're particularly benevolent, but it doesn't apply at the last minute two parts don't quite fit, you can stick even more closely to the ideal of a liberal education than past generations, but the idea that people working for me mysteriously always do, I can work in noisy, open spaces; they work in says computer science'' on the outside.8

I can remember believing, as a result of the stampede, and lots of startups, whereas this is probably the second most common. And if you're doing it. Not intelligence—determination. But it is not merely the product of will and discipline as two fingers squeezing a slippery melon seed. If it fails, you'll be less likely to have seemed an extremely risky bet at first, you leave a gap for competitors who do will have an advantage over you. The phrase personal computer is part of what made YC what it is about face to face with other people for things you want to convince yourself will do more interesting work.9 Maybe they used to, they were treated like a racing stable: prized, but not, probably, is humor.

So is it coming out of? So far the closest anyone has come is Secretary of Labor.10 If you could attract a critical mass of them signed up. We no longer admire the sage—not the left or the right.11 Distraction is not a reference work. But suggesting efficiency is a different thing from actually being efficient. Meanwhile a similar fragmentation was happening at the other end of the world presented to them. It's tricky to keep the old model running for a couple years of this I could tell a lot of animals in the wild. So any Web-based applications. Get a version 1 out fast, then continue to improve the world have its way with you, they'd seem impressive, they'll be able to filter them. You don't know what you want.12 You turn one knob to set the social norms.

They care what the market thinks of you and what other VCs think. But the principle was the same in the audience at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, but it's a bad idea. The person who would in 1950 have been the first duty of the scholar. While the audience at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, but it is a particularly humid environment. Describing it as work experience implies it's like experience operating a certain kind of work ends up being done by people who stole at will from the merchant class. That makes the acquisition very expensive when it finally happens. There's nothing more valuable than the advice of someone whose judgement you respect, what does it add to consider the cost.13 Why did desktop computers take over? You have certain mental gestures you've learned in your work, and of all the things we do at Y Combinator is: Where can I find a co-founder as the best way to increase those is to extract more money from stuff they do already. Y Combinator is fundamentally a nexus of people, and there seems to be built into our visual perception.14

We Look for in Founders October 2010 I wrote this on an Apfel laptop. And the models of how to look and act varied little between companies. Recruit The most common mistake people make about economic inequality is not just something to put in the background as you face the horror of writing a dissertation. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that they have no competitors. Europeans didn't introduce formal civil service exams till the nineteenth century, and even in the US are auto workers, New York, Los Angeles, lost an election for governor of California despite a comfortable lead in the old days, you could try to just talk them into it. Why risk it? 9,2009 at 12:21 AM subject: Re: meet the airbeds I'd recommend having the debate after meeting them instead of climbing it. I get a lot of hand-wringing now about declining market share.15

Notes

According to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were going back to the company's PR people worked hard to grasp the distinction between money and disputes.

And what people will feel a strong craving for distraction. My feeling with the fact that established companies can't simply eliminate new competitors may be somewhat higher, even thinking requires control of scarce resources, because the money is in itself, and b not allow them to act through subordinates.

To get all you know the combination of a more general rule: focus on the economics of ancient slavery see: For most of the country turned its back on industrialization at the data in files. Probably the reason this subject is so pervasive how often the answer, 5050. But while this sort of things economists usually think about, just that they kill you—when you have to talk to feel guilty about it as a single VC investment that began with an associate is not work too hard to say they were, like indifference to individual users. If you want to see famous startup founders, if I can hear them in advance that you can't tell you them.

Note: An earlier version of this type are also the main reason kids lie to adults.

Unless of course.

But you can't do much that anyone wants. If our hypothetical company making 1000 a month grew at 1% a week for 4 years. Add water as specified on rice package.

Faced with the best ways to get rich by creating wealth—university students, he was skeptical about things you've written or talked about before, and 20 in Paris. If all the worse if you're a nerd, rather than trying to tell VCs early on.

According to the minimum you need to.

Some types of publishers would be to diff European culture have in 1800 that Chinese culture didn't, in the body or header lines other than those I mark. The kind of gestures you use in representing physical things. There are also the golden age of tax avoidance.

As Paul Buchheit points out, it's this internal process at work. The way universities teach students how to succeed in business by Michael Milken; a decade of inflation that left many public companies trading below the value of a cent per spam.

Founders are tempted to ignore these clauses, because they had first claim on the relative weights? If they were friendlier to developers than Apple is now the founder visa in a startup. Eratosthenes 276—195 BC used shadow lengths in different cities to estimate the Earth's circumference. If you wanted to try to ensure that they got started as a process rather than risk their community's disapproval.

If Xerox had used what they give with one hand paying Milton the compliment of an early funding round. If you have to assume the worst.

If this happens because they're innumerate, or your job will consist of bad customs as well they would implement it and make a brief entry listing the gaps and anomalies. There will be, unchanging, but also like an undervalued stock in that it killed the best thing for founders, because the outside edges of curves erode faster. Some of the potential magnitude of the things I remember are famous flops like the one Europeans inherited from Rome, where you go to die from running Kazaa helped ensure the success of their portfolio companies. Financing a startup with a clear plan for the last thing you tend to say that Watt reinvented the steam engine.

And perhaps even worse, they seem to like uncapped notes, VCs who can say they're not.

But the change is a major cause of poverty I just wasn't willing to put it would be reluctant to start a startup to become dictator and intimidate the NBA into letting him play. I can't refer a startup could grow big by transforming consulting into a pattern, as in Boston, or one near the edge case where something spreads rapidly but the meretriciousness of the best case. Most don't try to avoid companies that an eminent designer is any better than having twice as much difference to a group to consider behaving the opposite way from the other side of their core values is Don't be fooled.

[funkymbtifiction]

About ENTJs.

SUBMITTED by lexwrites

What is it like being an ENTJ?

I read in previous posts about INFPs, and how accurately it applied to both my INFP mates. And I realised, such few truly understand ENTJs. I’ve been wanting to submit a post regarding our type in the hopes that it’ll help throw light on some aspects of this personality type and address what it’s like to belong to this type. To be honest, I have no idea why people want to be of a certain type (especially this one) - it’s not special, you are. I know Se types that do very well in school because they are more likely to be doing and moving on when we, intuitives, are contemplating. Planning and execution are merely two sides of a coin, both irreplaceable, both inseparable. And the world would be thrown off balance if everybody started to be like everybody else. We all have a role to play in this world, we’re parts of a bigger, much bigger, whole. And we all orient nicely to shape the world as we see it today. So, the sooner we embrace who we really are, the sooner we can contribute to the world, and thereby to ourselves.

Besides, the ridiculous thoughts that people have concerning ENTJs is hilarious and irksome: right from people using this type to excuse every bad behaviour (bullying, rudeness, arrogance) to embellishing and making unsubstantiated claims about oneself (I’d like to add here that ignorance is not the enemy of knowledge, the illusion of knowledge is). As an ENTJ, I’m appalled. No, I don’t approve of those behaviours (or the reasoning). Also, the idea of ENTJ has been so glorified that for a while, it made me believe that I’m not the type.

What is it like being an ENTJ? Well, how do you describe colours to a person who cannot see? It’s difficult to explain what having a function is like (most people ask me about the auxiliary Ni: I don’t know, I just have it). But one could describe the effects to better understand how the functions work, and how, together, they contribute to the end result which is the person that you see.

You’d never think I was an ENTJ (I didn’t). As a child, I was kind, tried to make many friends, did well in artistic activities, enjoyed physical activities and living in the moment. The artistic inclination, niceness and friendliness would probably (stereotypically) put me in Fe or my fast paced life would put me in Se. And then, as I got older, I was much quieter and ‘harsher’. I have been typed as an INTJ several times.

So, what is being an ENTJ like?

I wake up, ready to set my evil plan into motion. Taking over the world takes discipline, yes. My minions are ready for deployment…

I’m putting on my expensive suit, another normal day as managing director of a multinational company… no, not that either.

I’m an overworked college student. That sounds right.

(Some of the characteristics listed below may manifest in many other types. But all these together provide a framework to latch on to. I’m saying, it points to a likelihood that these represent the MBTI type).

Be that as it may, we best get on.

-Some would say I’m ambitious (or just plain unrealistic); they are the kind ones. I like to think I have goals, and strategies to see them through.

- A need to be in control (not ‘controlling’). This stereotype is true (and justified). I am at ease at the driver’s seat. Ever taught someone to drive? Then you know what it’s like to sit in the passenger’s seat of a novice driver and desperately want to take the wheel and do it right by yourself. This happens to be the case most of the time. I have a (bad) habit of seeking perfection, and I certainly dislike incompetence (who doesn’t?) and more importantly, I am put off by people who claim to know what they’re doing when they very obviously don’t.

-“It doesn’t matter what we want. Once we get it, we want something else.” Defining statement. Which means…

-I’m not prone to nostalgia. I don’t hold on to a record I set three years ago. Mistakes are a different story. Which brings me to…

-Admitting to a mistake means I need proof. Authentic proof. Calling me a hypocrite because it doesn’t fit with the accuser’s worldview is irrational. I appreciate the effort taken by a person to explain to me why something is wrong, with the help of solid data. Then it’s just professionalism.

-I hate indecisiveness. Even in myself. It might be as simple as ordering food or deciding which classes to take.

-I love to learn. I’ll take as many classes as is humanly possible, be it art, languages, academics. (My relatives often joke that there aren’t enough hours in the day for me).

-I don’t do things for the heck of it. If I don’t have an aptitude for it (say, sports), but I do like it, I won’t bother. Why invest time and energy into something that won’t come to fruition?

-When I say I suck at something, it’s because I know I can’t do it. But suddenly, everybody wants to prove me wrong. “Oh, no. I think you’re doing great!” No, I’m not seeking reassurance or looking for compliments. I’m just sure of what I cannot do (more so than what I can do). Helps me from doing something stupid, like making a promise and not seeing it through (which is rude, at best).

-I can be competitive (I’ll walk twice as fast as the person walking in front of me to ‘race’ him). But I have faced defeat, and several times at that, and will admit it gracefully (kind of).

-Every small incident is turned into a life lesson. Stubbed toe? Every scar is a lesson. (I think it’s probably how I process how I’m feeling).

-I’m good at breaking down tasks, tend to do so naturally (be it work, study, or planning an event). I can set things into motion just by being present. Although, I tend to piss people off in the process because they “don’t take orders from you” (mostly happens with older, high-Si people: ‘do as you’re told, no questions’ or ‘older is smarter’).

-I don’t like being forced to respect somebody for the title they hold if they cannot do the job they were hired to do (yes, even if they’re good people; they are not paid to be nice). The same rules apply to me too. I prefer to earn somebody’s respect than demand it simply because I’m in the position to do so.

-I’ve often been told that I’m too young to make ‘adult decisions’ despite my idea being better than theirs (while I do listen to them at other times). It’s not arrogance, it’s just an easier way to get the job done. Show me a better way, I’ll be more than happy to follow you.

Well, that’s enough of that.

ENTJ Contradictions:

Things that are contradictory to the ENTJ (stereo)type:

-I am lazy. I procrastinate. This is mostly true for monotonous work. If I believe it’s an easy job, I will leave it for the last minute because, well, I can.

-I tend to be slow to act, afraid of not being perfect enough before ‘launch’. Or I’ll do the exact opposite and make a fool out of myself.

-I have an over-active imagination. I get plenty of ideas and can seem scatterbrained when I speak too soon or when I’m trying to say it all at once (when I’m excited about it): something attributable to Ne, perhaps.

-I am artistically inclined.

-I get obsessive about a past mistake I’ve made or very upset when my structure/plan is disrupted (that one would term me Si if they didn’t know me).

-I enjoy helping people. Also, I enjoy giving gifts. And no, not because I’m manipulating them or expecting something in return. Also, I have gotten good at dealing with people. When I realise being logical is not helping somebody I care about, I’m more than capable of giving moral support. (Some would consider that Fe behaviour).

-I am incredibly polite. Oh, how many times have people asked me if I’m really an ENTJ because I’m so ‘nice’ (while there are people who find it incredibly suspicious that I am, especially because I’m an ENTJ). I don’t steam-roll, or snap at anybody (I leave that to my Fi-dom mates who let their personal feelings seep into work, with their inferior Te tantrums). If I’m upset, I’ll usually not say anything.

-I tend to want to be left alone. I over-use Ni. In general, though, I’m an introvert (despite a dominant extroverted function). As much as I enjoy going out, dressing up well, or indulging in discussions (“No, I’m not angry”), I prefer to be alone for most of my time.

-I’m definitely not your stereotypical ENTJ who is quick on his feet. I need time to think things through.

All right, that should do.

I’m sure I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’m also sure that there will be plenty who will not show these behaviours.

On an ending note: We must strive not to find the perfect box to fit in, we must strive to step outside the box.

MBTI is an instrument. Use it well.

Good day, and have a spectacular week.

-Lex.

P.S.: Thank you, Charity, for being a part of my process in figuring out my type; also, your blog has contributed to exactly that in a significant way.

[3ternitymaze]

Even you aren’t as bitter as dark chocolate

[A short meronia fanfiction. Wordcount: 2336]

For all the difference it made, it might as well always be winter at Wammy's House. The newly formed presence of snowfall only served to accentuate the ivory walls of frozen stone that made up the many buildings of the secretive orphanage. Halls and corridors of clinical white, only dyed by the occasional glimmer of stained glass windows, and kept alive by the sounds of children's voices behind closed doors. If one were to follow the distant voices to where they seemed most concentrated, one would find oneself in the common room. Vast and large – housing all the things a young genius might need to relax once in a while, it was where the majority of the orphanage's young inhabitants would find themselves when the outside cold seemed to threatening to dare traverse. It was also where one was most likely to come upon a small boy dressed only in white, hunched over on the furthest end of the room – as far from prying eyes and playful company as possible, tinkering with an array of puzzles, toys, or impressive structures made of either. This was where – if one was so inclined as to search for him, one could find Near.

It was of no wonder to him that his peers might find it infuriating that the resident number one of the establishment was more likely to be found playing by himself in the common room than studying until his eyes bled in the library. It was no wonder to him either that the frustration of his peers would occasionally cause him grievous encounters in this very spot. No, Near understood, and that was likely even more aggravating than if he were indeed a senseless robot made only to comprehend complex figures and patterns. Yet, this was where he remained, snugly nested within his fortress of dice, caring not for the complaints about the supposed cold beyond the orphanage's walls or the distant whispers aimed supposedly at him. Here he remained, observing, deducing and thinking, his games the eternal backdrop of props to his boundlessly brilliant mind, his tools of contemplation and perception, and of endlessly calculated creation.

To Near, the shifting of the seasons brought little difference to his routines. Within these alabaster confines not even the falling temperatures seemed to leave a mark, as the institution seemed to always stay at the exact same degree of pleasant warmth. Winter did however bring one change to his attention, and that was the ever-present scent of chocolate lingering at every corner. More specifically, hot chocolate, the kind that was served up to the many ingenius children of the premise at – what seemed to him, every possible hour of the day. He was not among those who would take any chance given to receive one of these treats, in fact, he couldn't well remember having tasted the concoction at any point, as the scent alone was honestly very off-putting to him. Sweet and bitter simultaneously, reeking of something that would leave a foul taste in his mouth for hours after consuming it. No, hot chocolate was not exactly his cup of tea, but a nice cup of hot tea certainly was. When he did decide to eat, he much preferred his flavours to be subtle and in no way overwhelming. Perhaps 'bland' was a good way to describe his preferences in food, but he saw no reason for crucial sustenance to taste of anything more than necessary. Sweetness in particular was unpleasant to him. He detested the feeling of sugar sticking to his teeth like obscene little strands of fur, found the sluggish sensation left in his stomach afterwards to be disgusting, and most of all, he loathed the effect it seemed to have on his mind. It left him tired and lethargic, unable to see as clearly as he would like to, and as such he avoided sweetness to his utmost ability.

The looming scent of hot chocolate was however not so easily avoided if he wanted to keep building his fort of dice today. Every child in the common room seemed to have just retrieved their refill of the beverage, and were happily drinking away wherever they may go about their recreational business. Near could of course retreat to his own room, where there should be no trace of chocolate, unless some sweet carrying criminal had decided to break in and leave droppings of cadbury and tiny marshmallows all over his robot toy collection. That would force him away from his very important construction work though, and he could not have that. No, for now he would have to silently endure and swallow his distaste with a look of persistent nonchalance.

Between immaculate towers of dice there was a sudden shift from the undisturbed white backdrop, giving way to shifting folds of black fabric forcing itself into Near's immediate view. The invading scent of hot chocolate presented itself stronger than ever, leaving no doubt in his mind as to who had decided to impose on his voluntary solitude. He would know the attendance of his supposed rival from the sound of his bare footsteps alone – no, even without looking he would know he had entered the room, for his presence was as strong as that of fire and chaos, brilliant and dangerous in his unparalleled magnetism. He fascinated him to no end, and yet Near could not even bring himself to look up at him to make his attention known. Wordlessly, he continued to fiddle with his dice, ignoring the short moment of broken concentration and forcing himself to catch his trail of thought yet again so that he may find the correct spot within his fort for this one particular die. He knew the other was watching him, could feel his frustration grow with every moment he failed to acknowledge his proximity, but he remained silent. What reason would they have for conversation at this moment either way?

“Hey, sheepface, I know you've noticed me already.” His rival clearly did not share that notion, as he broke the silence to demand recognition. The die was placed, albeit a little askew, but Near did not look up. Eye contact was uncomfortable in itself, even more so when one took into consideration that he rarely managed to catch someone's direct line of sight given his less than optimal vision. It was not a well known fact that Near was indeed near-sighted, so in the past his inability to look someone directly in the eye had been mistaken for disinterest more than once.

“I have. Was there anything you wanted, Mello?” Near eventually said, adjusting the die he had previously placed just a little out of its intended spot so that it would not ruin the construction entirely. One weak link could crumble a castle in time after all. He could practically hear Mello seething at the lack of a proper reply, not that he would honestly know what he expected of him in a conversation scenario. Near was, after all, not the most talkative boy when it came to regular social interactions. He could be eloquent when faced with academics, could talk for a long time if given a topic of interest, but small talk? No, Near had zero ability to keep up mindless chatter.

“Don't give me that. Move over already.” Before any physical reaction could even be considered on Near's end, Mello had forced his way around and into the center of his dice fort, without knocking over a single die in the process. Some might find it surprising that Mello wouldn't intentionally ruin Near's creations, considering how outspoken he was of his hatred for the sheep headed boy, but Near was not among those people. Mello could be verbally vile at times, sure, but he was never intentionally cruel towards him. He knew to respect his puzzles and his creations, and would not overstep those specific boundaries. Near knew this, regardless of how absurd it might seem to those overseeing their strange relationship. Mello sat down with him, yet not too close, knowing well that Near did not appreciate physical contact. Why he would be considerate of that was anyone's guess, but he was so without failure. The proximity elevated the scent of hot chocolate to nauseating heights, as the older boy had of course brought his cup with him. What could he possibly hope to achieve by forcing Near to endure this?

His intentions were made clear a moment later, as an extra cup of hot chocolate was slid across the floor to sit in front of the pajama clad prodigy, waiting there as if begging him to drink it. Why had he brought him this? Presumably, Mello would take any chance he got to grab an extra cup of hot chocolate just for himself and not actually share the beverage with his hated rival. Near could do nothing but look at the steaming cup in confusion, prodding it with a finger as if inspecting it for foul play. Hot chocolate alone was foul play, so why even consider drinking it? Was it just because it was Mello bringing it to him?

“Stop poking it, just drink it. I saw you didn't get one, so there.” Mello huffed under his breath, bringing his own cup up to his lips to have a good swig of the chocolate drink. Near's attention had drawn from the cup in front of him to Mello, watching him from the corner of his eye through a cascade of white curls. He had brought a bar of dark chocolate along with him, occasionally breaking off a piece to drop it into the cup so that it would melt into the drink itself. It seemed typical of him to Near, as he would never find anything but pure chocolate to contain enough chocolate. What was even the appeal of it?

“What? If you don't want it, I'll just take it back. More for me.” Mello eventually commented, reaching towards the cup in front of Near to illustrate that he was not joking. That made Near pick up the cup, the warmth of the beverage seeping into his fingers as he held it up under his mouth. Mello gave it to him. He would appreciate that even if he found the smell alone to be revolting.

“Thank you. It was a nice gesture, but Mello should know by now that I'm not fond of sweets.” He said, keeping his glance glued to the marshmallow bobbing dangerously in the piping pool of brown liquid.

“Maybe I did, and I got it for you to spite you. Who knows.” Mello shrugged, breaking off a piece of the dark chocolate bar he'd brought yet again. This time it was not dropped into his cup though, instead he held the small piece out to Near, offering it to him. This was confusing. What drove him to share chocolate with him today? Perhaps it really was to spite him.

“Don't just look at it. You've not even tasted chocolate, right? Taste it. Maybe you'll like it.” He nudged it towards him again, clearly not taking 'no' for an answer today. As such, Near felt he couldn't well refuse the gesture, and took the piece from Mello's hand. For a short second his fingers brushed with the other's, and he took a mental note that Mello was very warm. He'd remember that.

It was clear enough that the right thing to do when offered something like this was to at least taste it, but for a good while Near just looked at it, feeling the texture under his fingers until Mello sighed in frustration.

“Just put it in your mouth. It won't kill you.” Plop. Another piece of chocolate dropped into Mello's cup, and he drank from it once more. Near was certain his blood stream was made up of ninety percent of the substance by now. One hardly saw Mello without chocolate in his close proximity.

Hesitantly, Near brought the chocolate to his lips and gave it a small lick, giving the taste very close consideration. Bitter. That was the word for it. Not sweet, or even pleasant. It was bitter.

“Properly. You didn't even taste it there.” Mello pushed, clearly watching him as he attempted to consume what he'd been given. Why was he so intent on having him eat this? Regardless, Near put the piece of chocolate in his mouth and allowed it to melt against his tongue. It was still bitter, but as it warmed up he could taste some sweetness in there. Not at all what he'd prefer to eat.

“How is it?” Mello soon asked, seeming more interested in Near's opinion on chocolate than was honestly necessary. He swallowed, bringing the hand that had just held the piece of chocolate up into his hair, twisting a snowy curl around the digit to give himself some grounding.

“I think, not even you are as bitter as that piece of dark chocolate.” He finally said, his lips curling up into an infuriatingly cheeky smile. Oh, he knew very well that he was being a little shit now, and that was his full intention.

Mello just huffed, picking up a die and chucking it lightly against Near's arm. That was literally the furthest he'd go in terms of harming him, and Near didn't mind one bit.

“Fuck you, Near. See if I'll ever bring you treats again. Build your stupid fort already, and give me that cup.”

Near held on to the cup though, swirling the liquid around for a moment. He'd keep it, if only to frustrate Mello further. It had been a gift after all, so he'd not part from it until it was undrinkable and he could return it to the kitchen without interrogation. For now, they stayed like that, Mello drinking his hot chocolate and watching as Near continued his construction of dice. Silent, but comfortable in each other's company, in spite of all that other's may conceive of them.  

[darkhymns-fic]

So I’ve Been Told

Like nomads they both were. Raine knew that to stay in one place too long - and to believe in another - was to invite suspicion. Besides, only Genis was her family, and nobody else.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Raine Sage, Genis Sage, Dirk, Phaidra Brunel Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3, FF.net Notes: Written for Tales of Symphonia Week 2017, for Oct 9 - Friends and Family. (A day late, sorry!)

What Raine remembered most from waking up that morning was the taste of mana in the air; so light and weak.

“We didn’t sleep much when we traveled, did we?” Genis would ask her sometimes. He’d mutter a spell of flames to put the kindling on the stove to work. Shortly afterwards, there was a scent of spices, topped with freshly cut onions and peppers and parsley, to accompany the buttery rice that Raine held in her own dinner bowl.

“No. You cried every night. Quite a task for a young girl to keep you silent from the wolves, but we managed.” She poked the rice with her fork, ideas of exotic recipes surfacing in her mind. Surely, with rice so soft and fluffy, adding a bit of texture – perhaps of the gravelly kind – would bring about a new dish that people would appreciate. Something to keep in mind when she experimented tomorrow.

Genis was quiet for a moment, taste-testing their meal with a sip from the wooden spoon. “I don’t remember much from that.” He paused. “I’m sorry I was a lot of trouble.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Genis. I’ve already told you.” She took a bite from the rice, appreciating the lush flavors on her tongue, already forgetting her need to improve upon it. “We managed, and now we’re here.”

However, it had not always been that easy.

.

.

.

“An abomination,” one lady had whispered, shutting her door to the starving children. It had not been said as an aside, or as a floating thought that was not meant to be heard by any passerby. It was the words of one filled with utter conviction, whispered like a warding spell that would keep terrible demons at bay. Such words had been thrown at Raine right at her feet, circling around her like a ring of stones, keeping her imprisoned from the rest of the world.

That night once again, Genis had cried.

“It’s okay. It’s alright.” With small hands, the young girl brought forth what little mana she could, inducing calm, wrapped in feathers and cotton, around her baby brother. The patch of the forest they resided in for the night was so dark, and she had thought for sure she had heard the soft sound of padded feet from only a few feet away. Still, even with the world’s lack of mana, she could coax out enough to work her spells. Strange adults had wanted her for her magic, her mother once said. And back home, there was no escaping them.

So she and Genis had left home, suddenly and viciously. When she had woken up, all she could recall was the taste of mana in the air; so light and weak.

Genis’ cries lessened, and he sunk in deeper in his tattered blanket. Yet as he slept, Raine felt tears leave her eyes. She held her only family close, hoping for the sun to rise as soon as possible. There was the village far-off ahead of her, rooftops coated in silver light, thick smoke from the hearths rising into the air. The door that had been shut to her was hidden by the rise of the hill, its doorknob still twisted off its clasp of poor workmanship, its sole-window still stained from age and wear.

It was not a sight she could forget, no matter how much she slept, or dreamed, or wished.

This house was different.

A trek down well-worn dirt paths led both half-elves to the work of a master craftsman. The ivy crawled up the eaves of the home, hanging from it like a tapestry of rich green. It even clung through the slim openings between the wooden planks of the front door, yet not in the ways of an invader. Soft light peered out through several windows on the ground floor, highlighting the potted plants outside. For decoration? No. Raine looked closer and saw they were plants of a medicinal nature, for treating scrapes and wounds if a doctor was nowhere nearby.

They were not nearby anything, except for this large house placed on private land, seeming so warm and inviting in the night.

“Sis?” Genis tugged on her arm. He already spoke clear and well for a child of four. She said nothing, instead fixing his long, silver hair to hide the sharp points of his ear. An uncanny eye could notice the details; the soft hint of bluntness around that point, indicating a weaker link to the blood of those elves, secreting themselves away into forests beyond human knowledge.

They smelled food. It was too hard to ignore.

“Let me talk,” she told him. At fifteen, she could pull off a maturity that most adults found charming – until she let her tone carry her away into rudeness. But she had learned how to make due in their passage, living off the roads and a few strangers’ kindness. It had not felt right to her to impose herself on that caravan, despite their zoological ambitions. She had immersed herself in their self-written academic texts for so long, but could not give much else back – they were only traveling bags, her clothes, and the precious papers in her pocket. Besides, wandering the world had become the norm.

Wrapped in traveling cloaks that she had bartered for in the fishing town of Izoold, both Raine and and Genis passed stores of barrels – more food supplies perhaps, arranged by an owner who knew the importance of sustainability – and made their way to the door. Off to the right, she could see a stable, and hear the soft huffing of a creature. The moonlight reflected off its eyes, yet it did not growl or come forward like most guard animals. Instead, a little whine left its throat, and it retreated further back into its stable.

Raine knocked on the door. What next she noticed – and stored away for future reference – were the heavy footsteps beyond that door, like a boulder that had suddenly sprouted two feet.

The door opened. Her eyes instantly latched onto the cooking pot to the left of an open room, the ladle having been left within its contents as steam rose. Once she focused in front of her, she was thrown off guard once she saw that the house owner only barely reached her height. “Ah, don’t get many strangers at this time of night.”

Raine knew him to be a dwarf, though she had never seen one before. She had read about them in old books that the kindly historian had once let her borrow. The information in such books had been scarce still. Recalling what little she knew, she inclined her head slightly, yet forgone the female dwarven greeting of arranging one’s long braids before her neck – a gesture of openness, that no secrets shall be kept. All the more fitting, she thought. Her hair was short anyway, and her secrets were as long and as hidden as the lower-most roots of the great everwoods.

“Good evening. I beg of you a favor to show me the way,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “Me and my brother are trying to find the path leading towards, Iselia, the village of oracles. The forest has been confusing our senses, and so we have gotten lost.”

Her request finished, Raine stood before the dwarf, unnerved that she had to look down to meet the other’s eyes. She had only ever had to meet such an angle with Genis.

“My, how well-spoken you are, lass! Though if ye want to be more convincing, I’d suggest keeping your eyes rooted to me instead of my dinner!”

Raine could feel the flush rising to her cheeks. She shook it away, hoping it would not highlight the ears she kept hidden beneath the careful arrangement of her hair. “That’s – I apologize. I did not mean to impose. I really am only looking for directions to Iselia.”

“Yet how can you travel on an empty stomach? My forge is still shaping my latest work, and the ringing of my hammer still sits in my ears. Even through all that, I can hear both of your stomachs growling like a mangy wolf searching for his next meal!”

Raine’s voice died instantly. Even through all her travels, she had not met anyone quite like this dwarf – one that caught onto her mind, and who met it straight on with a wide smile. Genis was staring, eyes open and curious, holding tight to her hand while he shifted on tired feet.

“I…” she stopped, then started again. “I do not wish to impose.”

The dwarf waved away her concerns. “Nonsense, lass. I was only cooking some leftovers for myself. My boy ate the last batch all by himself, and now he’s out like a light.” He laughed at that, and there was a genuine happiness there that Raine instantly envied. “You are free to rest yourselves and have a bite or two. I’ve always made it my business to have my home open to weary travelers – though I guess that is so because most of my clients are travelers – traveling to meet with me that is!”

Raine put the information together. She had examined what she could see of the home; the forge that was near the stove, the bundles of swords that lay wrapped in cloth, hanging within a metal basket on the floor. Dwarves were the original metalsmiths of the world, after all.

“The name’s Dirk, by the way. Like the weapon, though I am not as deadly as one! Ya don’t need to give your names if you wish to keep them a secret, but my food is available to the nameless.” He gestured, leaving the door open. So trusting he was. Was it because he was not human? “Come, before you catch more colds than ye already have!”

Genis sniffled at the comment, then did a great sneeze that made Raine flinch. “Sorry,” the child spoke, eyes wandering to that cooking pot.

Raine swallowed.

“I don’t want to impose.” She shook her head. “I must… speak with the priests at Iselia. I have a recommendation.” A secret revealed without her meaning to. She refrained herself from petting the pocket where that paper was kept, scrawled by the kind historian’s writing. “Please. Just show me the way and we will leave you alone.”

She ignored Genis’ sad eyes, tried to brush past the dwarf’s look of slight confusion. She could not let herself stay long here, nor at Iselia, nor anywhere. She would learn, she would adapt, and then she would leave with her brother in tow. Never long enough for one to be curious about their heritage, to question why full-blooded elves would stray so far from their hidden homes.

Dirk seemed to have not heard her then. Instead, he walked over to the cooking pot, reaching out for bowls that were placed conveniently near a work table. Raine was speechless as he proceeded to serve the still simmering food, even going so far as to tear off a loaf of bread that was sitting within a woven basket.

He came back to the door, two bowls complete with utensils in each hand, bread crusts dipped into a concoction of spices, of onions, of peppers and parsley. The ingredients were swimming in sauces steeped from well-tenderized meats, the kind that were probably imported from a butcher’s market. He handed one of them to her.

“For your travels. I can vouch that they will do your empty stomachs good.”

There were suspicions; it would not be the first time a stranger had tried to poison her or her brother, their hatred for half-elves running deep. But none of the tell-tale shiftiness was in the dwarf’s eyes. She took one bowl, and let Dirk hand the other to her brother.

“I will not ask you to stay in my home if you do not wish. But I will say the glade beyond the stream is safe, and a good campsite. No beasts of the night will come near, that I can promise you.”

The dwarf spoke to her as if she were a ready-made friend. Even the kindly historian had taken time to show some hospitality.

“Once you go to Iselia, be sure to ask for Phaidra or Frank. Both she and her son-in-law are good people, and she has the kindliest granddaughter one ever did see. I’m sure that will make your recommendation go down easier, my friend.”

Raine felt warmth in her palms; from her brother’s ever-lasting grip, from the clay bowl she held delicately in one hand. “I hope to teach,” she confessed. “Just for a little while.”

Dirk smiled at her. “Those with brains are what’s sorely needed these days. I’m sure you can teach my son a thing or two!”

She wanted to ask him about his son, suddenly. But she only thanked him, leaving quickly with a stuttering Genis, who could only half-thank him back. The dwarf reassured her to keep the bowls, or leave them by the stream if she so wished.

Past that same stream with the moon shining high, both ate their fill of their meal, savoring the heat and taste, one that never left her through the years. When she woke up the next day, back no longer aching from its rest on the soft grass, with Genis curled next to her, the mana still tasted light and weak. But it was no longer so frightening.

“History seems to be Colette’s favorite subject,” Raine said, arranging her graded papers on her desk.

“Ah, yes. She always asks me or Frank to read a story from one of the Church’s tomes. She loves the tales of Spiritua so.”

Phaidra only rarely visited the schoolhouse, but a newly-arranged priestess took over her temple duties for the day. Raine had guided the old woman to a student’s seat that was just across from her. The imagery seemed a little absurd to her, privately. Here she was, a teacher of only eighteen years, speaking to an elderly, worldly woman in a desk where innocent but juvenile scribbles were drawn.

“Oh my, what a charming picture of a dog.” Phaidra traced one such scribble across the desk’s surface, admiring the detail of the tail specifically. “Is this Lloyd’s work?”

“Yes.” Raine sighed. Even making Lloyd sit at the front of the class could not get the boy to concentrate. “He had been drawing it for Colette.”

“How sweet of him! No wonder she was so happy today.” Phaidra chuckled, still holding onto her gnarled cane in her left hand.

“Anyway… Colette is doing well in all of her subjects. She also seems to be more open with speaking with others, mostly with Lloyd and Genis. Overall, she has been a wonderful student.”

Phaidra nodded before Raine even finished. The knowledge was nothing new, yet she had wanted to hear it from the elf herself. “It is all due to a wonderful teacher such as yourself.”

“Ah… I only gave her the tools. She used them well enough on her own.” The compliment did not sit with her well.

“You have a way with teaching, Raine. Perhaps it is an elven trait, but the village and its children have never been better, I can promise you that.”

Raine only nodded. She shuffled the papers around even more, the peppering of red marks adorning each one, some more than the other.

“I hope that one day you can accept that you have a family here.”

Raine looked up, eyes wide. The old woman only looked on her kindly, dressed in the robes of those who followed Martel, the embossed designs of her dress indicating her high status within the Church. Twin braids flowed past her ears, their shine contrasting the tan wrinkles that was her face.

The elf – half-elf, they will never accept you – swallowed. “Your words are kind, Phaidra.” But Genis is the only family I have.

Phaidra nodded once again. She then leaned upon the cane to stand up, her feet tottering on the hardwood floors. The setting sun reflected off her burnished hair, bringing to mind the young, golden-haired child that Raine could not help but smile at whenever she spoke with her brother. A smile tinged with strain, hoping that her sibling kept his own hair arranged just so, for eyes can be quick and suspicious.

They had already stayed here far too long.

“Then I hope that, at the very least, you can consider us all as your friends.” Phaidra was already at the door of the classroom, startling Raine from her brief daydream. “Colette already believes you are.”

.

.

.

In the morning, Raine woke to the taste of mana in the air; weaker and lighter than the days before.

Her classes would not start again for several days, a fact that gave the children joy, Lloyd most of all. Before she fully roused herself for a cup of coffee, she heard the familiar steps running up to her door, then a swift knocking.

“Genis!” Lloyd’s voice could travel through stone, unhindered, and still as clear as the sky. “Hey!”

Her little brother grumbled from his bed, silver hair in a tangle. She watched silently as he patted it down around his pointed ears – only enough to give his ears their shape if not their details. But few eyes were sharp around here, especially when a high priestess of the Church already gave her word that full-blooded elves would be joining their village. Only truth came from the Church of Martel and nothing but.

After an exchange of shouts between Lloyd and Genis, her brother finally opened the door. An excited human boy – almost as tall as she was – was shifting on his feet in excitement. The red jacket he wore was too blinding for her to deal with this morning. “Come on, already! We have to get to the beach before the day’s over!”

“Lloyd, I wish you would wake up this early for school,” Raine said, knowing such words would fall on deaf ears. Besides, Genis would do enough reprimanding in her place.

“It’s seven in the morning! We have plenty of time. And I need to prepare the sandwiches!”

“Yeah, but we gotta get the best seashells before someone takes them! I promised Colette I’d make her bracelet from the best ones down there!”

Genis shook his head. “I think she’ll like anything you find her from the beach. You could even get her some seaweed and she’d still think it was amazing.” Both continued teasing each other back and forth, silent on the fact that Colette could not join them past the village’s perimeters.

Raine knew as well, and only looked on as both her brother and his best friend left their home to enjoy their day.

I have been here too long.

She curled a lock of hair from her face, placing it behind her sharply-pointed ears – only blunt when you looked past, and when you didn’t trust the words of another.

It was too late. She had already made friends here, perhaps a family if she ever dared, yet that was a fragile concept that she dared not explore.

“Colette thinks of you as a dear friend,” Phaidra once again told her, visiting the young elven woman now aged at 23. Eight years she had stayed, longer than she ever meant to. “And as her friend, I must ask of you a favor.”

Raine set her mug back on the breakfast table. Graded papers met her eyes from the same place, the red marks on them a familiar pattern.

It had taken so long of her to find such friends. How cruel it truly was for her to lose one of them so soon.

[ajokeformur-ray]

For the matchup thing

I want to request for Phantom of the Opera, Harry Potter, Hannibal and Sherlock, if it’s not too much of a trouble. I just started following your blog and I am absolutely smitten. I’ve already read all of your imagines, and I can’t wait for more to come.

Anyway, I identity as female, I’m pansexual and I’m a Gemini ENTP Slytherclaw.

Appearance: Well, my icon is actually me. I’m Asian, around 5’ (153 cm), I’m pretty thin(ish), but athletically built with some muscle. I have really dark brown eyes (near black), and black hair. I look very intimidating when I’m not smiling, I also smirk a lot.

Interests: Reading, mostly science or historical fiction, also a few classic literature and philosophy books. I love to draw too, I’m better at pattern stuff than realistic sketches. I also write, mostly fanfc for my friends, but I enjoy writing essays and poetry about topics that I’m interested in. Likes: Making people laugh, crying over videos of dogs, dogs, cats, animals in general. Intellectually stimulating conversation, late night talks about philosophy, physics, space, debates. Aesthetically pleasing stuff, making people happy, feminism, spreading love. Sassing people, punching Nazis, surprise people by my strength.

Dislikes: Nazis, racists, homophobes, sexist etc. Random people touching me (friends are totally fine), mean and rude people (especially those who shout at servers in restaurant). People who say things that are contradictory, people who bully others. Look for in a relationship: cuddles, people who feel strong, solid, and steadfast. Reliability and trustworthiness are pretty important to me. Preferably older than me, because I like feeling safe and having protection. Someone I could go on adventures with, or teach me new things. Also a bit of possessiveness and jealousy.

A little more about me: I speak Cantonese, Mandarin and English fluently. I have been learning French and self teaching Latin. I’m going to start German classes soon. I love singing, I’ve been in many choirs, for around 8 years. I’m a first soprano, and going to a choir festival/competition in Germany last month was the best time of my life. I have been fencing semi professionally for around 10 years. I fence epee and foil. When I get angry, I sometimes cry. Like that time in primary school I saw some guys bullying a lower grade boy, and I got into a fight with them, and I was so pissed I started tearing up.

Sorry if it’s too long, I tend to start babbling on and on. Thanks for doing this!!! 😻😻😻

Thank you for such kind words! :) I saw you in my notifications and I was a bit surprised by how much you read, but flattered. Also - ohmygoodness thank you so much for the tip! It was incredibly generous of you! <3

Edit: You asked me to make your matchups longer. Pieces I’ve added on are in italics, to make it easier to see where I’ve gone from. Hope you like this length! :)

Hannibal - Alana Bloom

- You’re a bibliophile who reads a lot of different genres of books. You’re artistic and your hobbies are relaxing but self-expressive. Alana would likely want to read some of the essays you write, though she wouldn’t go behind your back to read them if you said no, and she’d encourage any academic interests you have. If you ever got curious about the field that she works in, she’d probably pull a few strings with Jack to be able to take you to her workplace and show you around, though it would be on a day when it’s relatively quiet and they don’t have any immediate cases or paperwork to attend to. If there are any book/cafe fusion places near you, it’d be your most popular place for a lunch date, even if there’s a drive to get there.

- After a day working, I think Alana would enjoy coming home to you, a bottle of wine and any pets the two of you would have. You’d curl up on the couch together, knees touching, and talk about the subjects you’re both interested in or even anything and nothing all at once, and just bond over the deep conversations you have. She would want to hear your views on everything, even taboo subjects that some people don’t like to talk about, such as Death Row (this is also linked into her field so she can gauge how much you agree with or disagree with her profession). Anything you disagreed with would become a lightly-heated debate, both of you respecting the others’ point of view. If you couldn’t at least calm the debate then you’d agree to disagree and leave it as it is.

- She’s compassionate, strong, and sometimes stubborn in her opinion when she thinks she’s right. She’s perceptive so I think to begin with, she’d ask you if she can touch you but as you get closer, she’d stop asking and go off of body language. Alana is a fast learner and the two of you would quickly and easily fall into a pattern of touching each other casually - a hand on the shoulder when you walk past, a hand on the small of the back as you pass through a door to a shop or restaurant... It’d be very relaxed and low-key, especially in public.

- Alana is so strong and she’s more than capable of looking out for herself and others. She’s fiercely protective of those she loves, like you, and she goes kinda cold when she’s angry, a contrast to your tears. She’s incredibly trustworthy and would be willing to teach you things, if you asked her to, though it’d depend on the subject and how much you want to know. But either way, she would do her best to teach you or show you whatever it is that you wanted to learn. She would also be really good at encouraging you to stick to a goal or deadline, either for educational or personal matters.

- You can speak some of the hardest languages to learn and that’s pretty damn impressive and shows only a sliver of your intellect. During the competition in Germany last month, Alana would have been one of your biggest supporters. You probably bond over how the both of you will defend those who are vulnerable. There’s no way that Alana would ever allow anyone to hurt you. The two of you would be invited to every one of Hannibal’s dinner parties and he’d come to see you as a respected friend, like Alana. When things went down and the truth came out, she’d flee the country with you if she had to, going anywhere at all to guarantee your mutual safety. Either way, her home is with you.

Phantom - The Phantom/Erik

- Your vast intellect makes a refreshing change from “those fools who run my theatre” and he’s only too happy to supply you with books from his expansive library. You both draw so Erik ends up putting more string along the walls to accommodate your drawings as well as his. When you’re writing, he tends to go off composing so his home would be filled with the sounds of chords, mutterings, and two sets of quills scribbling furiously on expensive parchment. You’re both quite peaceful, quiet souls and this would show in your home, too. You would have your own room and Erik would have his, though they’re connected by a door that he has the key to.

- You definitely have intellectually stimulating conversations - when Erik is in the right mood. He doesn’t have a bedtime per se so tbh neither do you; you both just run off naps (Erik) or sleep when you’re tired (you). Rarely are you sleeping at the same time but wait for the right moment and you might be able to persuade a so-tired-he’s-swaying-on-his-feet Erik to come cuddle with you! Despite his own lack of bedtime, Erik does try to get you to go to bed at a set time, just because he doesn’t want you to become too much like him (this is an inside joke in your relationship but to him, it’s a real worry). You’re both very sassy and would probably let off steam in this way. Most of your conversations, serious or not, are filled with sarcastic comments, dry quips, sly smirks and chuckles. On the occasions when Nadir comes over, he leaves thoroughly entertained by how the two of you talk to each other, his heart lighter at the sight and realisaton that his dear Erik is - at last - truly happy.

- Erik would treat you with the highest of respect, as you’re his long-time friend and eventual s/o. His actions are never excusable but they’re explainable and going off on a chance here, but I think your love for him would make him want to be the kind of man you think he is so he would tone down the bullying he does towards others when he’s after something, though if they attack you or his loved ones then it’s no holds barred, I’m afraid. He would quite literally kill for you and this isn’t something you’d ever be able to stop him from doing - it’s too ingrained in him, too much a part of who he is. Everything he does used to be to protect hinself, but now he has you - even if you don’t live with him, he considers you in every decision he makes - and so he’s a little less reckless and a lot more careful, though he still takes calculated risks when he has to.

- Cuddles would take time to develop in the relationship but they’d definitely be there, usually after you practically plead for him to break away from his music for just five minutes. Once he’s lying down with you, no worries - he’s not moving, having decided he quite likes the way you hold him. He’s strong, independent and answers to no one (apart from Nadir from time to time). He’s a lot older than you (I think he’s meant to be in his forties, maybe fifties) and would be able to protect you, physically and otherwise. He’d be happy to teach you things you’re interested in and is definitely quite possessive - enough to kill, as in canon. When you sing, he calls you his “little songbird”. He doesn’t mean it to be derogatory or offensive, but you sing and you’re shorter than he is so in his head it makes sense. Sometimes he’s worried that you being with him means that you’re caged and he wonders if he should set you free. One day he brought this up and your reaction was enough to steel his resolve - you weren’t caged. In being with him, you were free. He became a little more confident in the relationship after that discussion.

- You know so many languages that it’s admirable tbh, and you sing. I daresay it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to want to become your teacher. If you agreed, at set times each day he wouldn’t be your partner, he’d be your teacher and he wouldn’t go easy on you. Then when the lesson is over, Erik takes the Phantom’s place and he becomes your partner again. An easy, smooth transition. He might even teach you how to properly swordfight or at the very least, use a proper dagger. He appreciates how angry you get over social injustices and how fiercely you defend those who cannot defend themselves. I think your protective fierceness would show him that the world, or, his world, can show compassion - you’re his world and you’re full of compassion, towards him and others who are vulnerable.

HP - Lily Potter

- Lily is an exceptionally-gifted witch with Muggle parents, so I think she’d know your favourite authors and would be able to discuss them with you. Overhearing your conversation would be Remus; he tried not to listen but you’re talking about books so really, what did you expect? Sometimes though, Lily wants to be alone with you so she’d ask the Marauders to buzz off. She likes to sit there and watch you draw patterns on the sides of your parchments when you’re in class and Lily would likely charm a few of them to move around and make you giggle in the middle of class. You’d be very close with the Marauders but Lily would always be sure to get time away from them so that she can spend quality time with you. It’d never feel like a juggling act, though. That’s the last thing ever of them would ever want to put you through.

- You spread happiness like it’s going out of fashion and it’s one of the many things that Lily loves about you. The two of you would almost pull people in with how much you’re laughing and joking together - put in the same room as the Marauders, and it’s practically a party! Late at night, if you’re in the same dorm room, you lay cuddled up on one of your beds, gazing up at the canopy where Lily has made it look like the night sky, talking about anything that comes to mind. If you’re in different dorm rooms - you gotta sneak around for a bit but with James’ invisibility cloak, anything’s possible! You’d steal away little moments during the day together, sneaking into corridor alcoves for quick kisses, notes pressed into palms as you pass each other in the corridor on the way to class, hand holding under the desk when you have a class together and have managed to snag a seat next to each other... It’d be safe, secure, with each other. The closer war looms over your heads, the closer the two of you get.

- You share a lot of the same dislikes so if anyone offends either of you or anyone in your vicinity, they better watch out because they’ll be sassed by two different people at the same time. You’d spend most of your time together in the library, surrounded by books. I think for a lot of the younger students, you’d become some kind of after-class tutor club where they’d come and ask questions or even study with you. You’d definitely become some kind of role model couple for the younger students, and even some of the students in your year have a betting pool going for what time the two of you will get engaged etc. Sirius started that betting pool but ssssh xD

- Lily would probably be a few months or even a year older than you and she’d definitely look after you and protect you. If you trimmed your hair by even a millimetre, she’d notice and comment on it, elbowing one of the Marauders so they’d chirp in with compliments, too. She’d be more than happy to teach you things and you could easily go off with the Marauders on nightly adventures, dragging Lily along with you. You’d be a more relaxed influence on Lily, getting her to loosen up a little and break out some of those mischievous thoughts she has, betrayed only by that glint in her eye, and she’d be a more disciplined influence on you as far as academics go, not that you need it.

- I headcanon that Lily angry-cries too so when you’re both angry, it’s dangerous to be near either of you. You would easily defend anyone who looks like they need it, even from themselves if that was the case. You’d be each other’s best friend, comfort place, and would be sources of laughter and happiness for those lucky enough to be around you. You’d become a source of strength for others, particularly those in your inner circles, as the War looms closer. Just by being yourselves, you’d remind others that love is right there if one only looks, just like Dumbledore said.

Sherlock - John Watson

- John blogs and you draw and write so the two of you could easily spend an entire day doing your own things in each other’s company, occasionally getting up to make tea or get takeaway if John is too lazy to cook. He would be the type of s/o to come home with a new book every time he leaves the flat, just to see you smile. He would ask to read the poems or essays you write but wouldn’t be mad if you said no - just curious. If he was kept up late with a case and couldn’t make it home to you, when he did come back he’d have flowers, chocolates, a book... He’d curl up on the couch beside you with an arm slung over your shoulder, holding you close as you snuggle in while watching a crapy TV re-run bothh of you have seen ten times or more but are too lazy to change it over, much to Sherlock’s chagrin.

- You’re also the couple to cuddle up in bed and watch cat videos for about six hours even though you boh have things to do. You talk about anything, from Sherlock to the latest case, to your childhoods and your futures. Anything and everything would be spoken about and one of you would fall asleep, the other to follow soon after. John always wakes up first and is usually pretty content to let you sleep in, but when you need to be awake early for whatever reason or if John just wants you to get up, he’d sit on the side of your be, with a hot cup of tea on your bedside table and lull you awake with forehead kisses and maybe wandering hands if you’re into that.

- You dislike the same type of people and as far as rudeness goes, Sherlock sometimes goes over or close to the mark but John just glares at him or says, “Bit not good” and Sherlock would apologise to you, even if you hadn’t been spoken to by him directly but were affronted by what he’d said to someone else. You’re both very protective so those who know you, yourselves and each other are always well looked after, even if there isn’t much time for love in your lives. You’d make time, for certain, because there’s no-one more important than you in John’s life, though Sherlock comes in close at second. 

- Cuddles are a must with John, especially when he’s having a nightmare. On those nights, he’ll curl into your back and sob quietly for all those he couldn’t save… Including himself. He would protect you with his life and each case provides several adventures so you’d get all the adrenaline rushes you need! John doesn’t really get jealous but if anyone tried to make a move towards you, he’d stalk across the room and kiss you soundly, telling the other person in no uncertain terms that you’re taken. He’s not really possessive, though, he’s more... Set in his relationship with you and he wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that. If you ever wanted to break up, he’d have a hard time letting you go, for sure.

- He’s impressed by the sheer number of languages that you speak and loves your singing voice, going to every performance if you do those. If you ever got angry at him, the sight of your tears would kill any anger he has and he’d have to come over and pull you into a hug. His resolve is strong but his love for you is even stronger and he’s never really mad at you. He’s just worried, I suppose. He’s very forgiving, after a time, but don’t push him. He’d treat you with so much respect and love and you’d have such a tight, strong relationship with him.

[pixelgrotto]

I believe in video game stories  I quite like experiencing a story through the format of a video game. I’d even go so far as to say that aside from reading, it’s probably my preferred method of digesting a narrative. (I’m not as big on TV or movies - shocking, I know!) I think a lot of this appreciation comes from the fact that as a long term PC gamer, I was exposed to many point ‘n click adventures at a young age. These were games that fancied themselves as controllable books, with “author” names frequently placed front and center on the box art. The Secret of Monkey Island was specifically a Ron Gilbert game, King’s Quest VI a Roberta Williams jam. And boy, did growing up with these games give me an appreciation for the excitement that interactive storytelling could generate. After my six-year-old self had successfully guided Alexander of Daventry through the catacombs on the Isle of the Sacred Mountain and defeated the minotaur keeping Lady Celeste hostage, I was a fan for life. (Note: Clicking that link and watching the whole scene might induce eye-rolling, since it seems dated in this day and age, but trust me, King’s Quest VI is still an awesome game.)  But not everyone had the same experiences as I did growing up. For a prominent segment of the population, story in games doesn’t really matter, and it never did. In fact, it seems that every other month on NeoGAF, a new thread will pop up on video game stories, and inevitably it’ll spark a debate where a whole mess of posters echo things like “90% of all game stories suck” or “story in games doesn’t matter to me because if I want story I’ll watch a movie or read a book.” Then there are hot takes on the pitfalls of game storytelling by Twitter personalities and academics that occasionally appear in mainstream outlets like The Atlantic. Case in point - one that started a controversy last month with its clickbaity headline “Video Games Are Better Without Stories.”  I rolled my eyes when I read The Atlantic article, mostly because it’s written by an academic who’s previously written stuff in a similar vein that I didn’t agree with, like “Video Games Are Better Without Characters.” The internet arguments that emerged surrounding his newest piece made me pay a little more attention this time, though. In a nutshell, Ian Bogost’s thesis is that the systems within a game should come first, and the ability of players to manipulate these systems to manufacture their own narratives is where the medium’s true strength lies. In other words, emergent gameplay trumps traditional storytelling.

This isn’t necessarily a bad point. After all, some of the most prominent and popular games in this day and age either keep plot in the background or totally ignore it in favor of focusing on mechanics that give power to the players, letting them create their own stories that stick out in their head more than any pre-engineered script could. Dark Souls does this well, with unforgiving combat and an atmosphere that makes everyone playing it feel like they’re stuck in their own personal hell. The newest Zelda game, Breath of the Wild, does it too, keeping story to a relative minimum and encouraging players to experiment with Link’s items and abilities instead. And then you have competitive games like League of Legends and Overwatch, which leave their story components out of the mix completely.  But despite all of these titles not placing story as their biggest priority, it’s kinda obvious that large segments of their fandoms feel differently. Just type “Dark Souls story” into YouTube and you’re assaulted with a staggering number of videos, and the encyclopedia of fan-assembled lore on the Dark Souls Wiki page is a force to be reckoned with. Breath of the Wild has inspired spectacular discussion on where it falls in the wonderfully convoluted timeline established by Hyrule Historia. League of Legends has a whole website devoted to its lore, and Overwatch has comics and animated shorts that fans gobble up with frightening veracity, often while begging Blizzard to release some sort of campaign revealing more background behind the Omnic Crisis. If anything, this unquenchable thirst for lore shows that despite gameplay coming first when it comes to interactive entertainment, at the end of the day, human beings still love a solid story that contextualizes gameplay, and game designers who want to create big narrative-driven experiences shouldn’t cease their efforts. Emergent gameplay is great, but going by Ian Bogost’s suggestion that games should SOLELY focus on this assumes that 1) all players want the sort of system-heavy games that he prefers (SimCity, for example), and 2) that the “traditional” route of telling a story within a game can never compete with film and literature. 

I find the argument that games can never move or shake you in the same way that movies and books do to be awfully defeatist. It’s also an unfair comparison, since games are a much younger medium that face the challenge of conveying a plot around characters that can be controlled. Books and movies don’t have to deal with this, and endlessly asking questions like “where’s the Citizen Kane of video games” is both using a (frightfully overrated) yardstick from one medium to unfairly judge the efforts of another, and ignoring the unique strength that games do bring to the table - the ability to generate investment and immersion by making the player feel like he or she is an integral participant in the plot rather than a mere observer. 

The sensation of feeling like I was part of the action is what gripped me to King’s Quest VI as a child. It’s what grips me to the best story-driven games out there, the ones that realize that they have this strength and capitalize upon it. The potential that games have for immersion is unsurpassed, and while it’s true that the medium is capable of producing plenty of schlocky, C-grade plots, the same could easily be said of books or movies, especially when you consider all the young adult fiction and superhero films that pass for quality entertainment in this day and age. Those who think all video game stories are garbage are more often than not cutscene skippers who are simply too impatient to give games a chance, biased individuals who are too used to experiencing stories in more passive forms of media or quite simply people who need to play better games. Because once you start judging the medium on its own terms and take the time to do some digging, there are many fine stories to be found out there - The Witcher games (which are arguably a tad superior to the books that spawned them), Deus Ex, the Quest for Glory series, the Gabriel Knight games, the Monkey Islands, The Last Express, Planescape: Torment and even a little game from Taiwan named Detention which could have been an indie movie, but arguably was more effective in reaching a wider audience on Steam.

Games don’t necessarily need to bring narrative to the forefront, as successes like Overwatch prove. But I’m glad that certain titles and developers do seek to accomplish this goal, because there are fans out there who believe in interactive stories and want to see this medium continue conveying bigger and better tales. I’m one of them, and I won’t stop being one of them. I’m a product of Alexander of Daventry, Geralt of Rivea, Guybrush Threepwood and all the other great characters inhabiting high quality video game narratives, and their stories are going to stick with me as long as I live..no matter what opinions pretentious contrarians publish on the internet. 

Header image of Geralt with a book is from a larger wallpaper available on CD Projekt Red’s website. You can see the big version here. 

[trashynoona]

Little Miss Chubs

I have been so sick it’s not even funny anymore T.T But here’s some Jin love, written drowsily. i really hope it doesn’t suck. lol I promise to check on it tomorrow! Oh, and it will be a 2 part story!

Word Count: 1, 8399

Genre: This is very much just an introduction but probably future fluff and smut ^^

Growing up, you were complete opposites. Your favorite color is black, while he loves everything pink. He lives for the Disney Princesses while you were all about the Avengers. You climbed trees and scrapped your knees while he stood alongside your mothers as they prepared your favorite meals. However, the both of you shared a common motto; food is life. Since your mothers were best friends, they would often prepare delicious meals together and Seok Jin and you would compete to gobble up all the greasy chicken wings and all sorts of fried food; the greasier the better.

 Despite Seok Jin being 2 years older than you, you never saw him as an older brother, in fact, you loved teasing him and calling him the greasy pink princess Jin. It did not exactly bother him that you called him a ‘princess’ but he hated that you refused to call him ‘Jin Oppa’. To get back at you, Jin would tease you by calling you the ‘Little Miss Chubs’. Either one of you would always end up running home crying to your mom because you were always fighting about it.

 In short, the both of you had a love-hate relationship. The both of you enjoyed annoying the hell out of each other but secretly enjoyed one another’s company. Especially when it comes to meal time. Food is never as enjoyable as having it with one another. However, while Seok Jin was blessed with a superior metabolism and prince-like good looks, you were cursed with a potato sack for a body. Through the years, you grew horizontally more than you did vertically.

 As you reached high-school aged, your mother enrolled you in the same school as Jin. He was very much one of the most popular kids in school. He has grown to become extremely good looking and he was more than aware of his good looks. He seized the opportunity to blow kisses and winked at girls in school; causing everyone’s heart to flutter whenever he passed by. You on the other hand, chose to lay low and avoided your childhood friend. In fact, you felt inferior to his good looks and popularity. One day, your friend Sook Min found out that you grew up with Jin and begged you to help her score a date with him. With her constant begging, you decided to give in and asked Jin out one day. You decided that, afterall, Sook Min wasn’t ugly and possibly Jin’s type anyway.

 When Jin arrived at the café you had arranged to meet, he noticed you guys had company. You tried to excuse yourself with a shitty excuse like ‘oh I forgot, I needed to run errands for my mom!’ and left Jin and Sook Min together. Jin was furious, but being the gentleman he is, he went ahead with the date.

 The next day when Sook Min returned to school, she simply had to brag to everybody she knew that you scored her a date with the Prince Charming Kim Seok Jin. Eventually, everyone grew envious of you and started bugging you to pass him letters and presents on their behalf. You would always return home with boxes and bagful of gifts addressed to Jin. He did not like it at all but decided to endure, but as time passed, it got more and more out of hand. Jin got terribly angry and shouted at you.

 ‘What are you?! Santa Claus? Why the hell would you bring all these gifts back? Jin shouted.

‘Why are you being angry at me? They’re meant for you anyway.. can’t you just be a little kind to at least look at them? You questioned, confused.

‘Well if you liked them that much, maybe you should date them instead.’ Seok Jin answered coldly before throwing his boxes of presents in the trash.

 You were enraged. You could not understand why Jin reacted this way. You thought he was being cocky and rude for not appreciating the girls’ efforts. Being a chubby and unpopular girl, you knew exactly how it feels to be insignificant. Hence, you decided to pick up all of Jin’s presents, read through them and wrote a thank you note to each girl. The girls almost lost it when they received a reply from Jin. It made you feel glad, afterall, you believe everyone should be appreciated.

 However, your actions made one person insanely furious. Seok Jin dragged you out of class one day and confronted you.

 ‘What do you think you’re doing?! He asked.

‘I.. I just wanted the girls to feel appreciated.’ You tried to explain yourself.

‘What are you? Don’t you have any pride? Picking from my trash?’ Seok Jin was harsh and furious.

 Tears began streaming down your cheeks; consumed by your childhood friend’s harsh words.

 ‘I just wanted them to feel appreciated. You’re popular and handsome. You will never understand!’ You spoke between tears.

‘Why do you feel unappreciated? I appreciate you?!’ Seok Jin questioned. He was confused with your respond.

 Flustered; you pushed Jin away and ran to the bathroom. You hid in the stall and cried your hearts out. He did not understand. Ever since you were kids, you were constantly compared. ‘Jin is so talented and handsome’ people would say ‘oh dear girl, look at your scrapped knees again, it’s going to leave a scar and nobody would marry you.’ You absolutely hated how people compared you and you felt completely under appreciated. As you both grew older, things became harder. Jin was generally good academically and was known for his stellar culinary skills and good manners. While you on the other hand, was a chubby awkward tom boy who had average grades and nothing much to offer.

 Through the experience, Jin and you grew apart. After he graduated high school, he applied as a theatre major and was eventually scouted to join one of the most popular groups in South Korea; Bangtan Boys. Jin’s good looks and quirky personality shone. His fans loved him and the entertainment industry seniors adored him.

 While you on the other hand, decided studies was not your thing. With your mother’s recipe, you decided to open a chicken stall. Except, you only served steamed and grilled chicken. After so many years of being mocked, you have decided to take it upon yourself to lose weight. You were done being called the chubby awkward tom boy. ‘Awkward tom boy’ was the most you could deal with. While you were no longer over weight, you were still a little flabby because well, food was still your bane. But you were glad afterall.

One day, after bangtan won their 3rd consecutive wins, they decided it was time to celebrate. Taehyung had read about a really good chicken place and insisted that the boys visited it. You were busily preparing the meal in the kitchen while bts and their crew was outside celebrating hence you had no idea. All you knew from your ahjumma employee was that 7 young idol boys were here to eat chicken and they ate so well.

 ‘Ya. Hurry out when you’re done. You need to come see these boys. They’re out of this world! They’re probably around your age. Maybe you can date one of them and you can provide them with endless supply of chicken!’ The Ahjumma encouraged you.

 ‘Ahjumma… which idol would want to date a greasy chicken stall owner?!’ you teased.

‘Hey! You can be presentable if you just cleaned up a bit okay.’ Ahjumma tried to fix your hair and wipe of the grease stains on your clothes to your annoyance.

 You did not see why you had to make yourself look good. You’re just here to sell them chicken anyway.

 Ahjumma excitedly dragged you out of the kitchen and to the table where the boys were seated.

 ‘Ah-deul ah, meet the beautiful and talented chicken chef! Without her, you would not be able to enjoy all these chicken ya~’ Ahjumma was excessively exaggerated with made you terribly flustered.

‘Oh thank you so much! The chicken is so great!!’ Jung Ho seok was standing up and giving you the thumbs up with his mouth full of chicken.

 It made you even more flustered.

 ‘Which year are you born in?’ Taehyung asked.

‘Erm 1994.’ You answered

‘Ooooh Jimminie, Jungkookie, she’s our noona!!!’ Taehyung excitedly pointed out.

The 3 maknaes immediately called out ‘noona’ in the most aegyo way possible which made your cheeks redder than they already were.

 Noticing your discomfort, leader Kim Namjoon stood in to neutralize the situation ‘It’s honestly pretty good. As you can see, we really love it.’

‘To be honest, our dorm is pretty nearby, do you do delivery?’ Min Yoongi asked.

Before you could say anything, ahjumma butted in ‘For bts we will! Bts!bts!bts!’ She began chanting.

 It made the boys super excited and everybody started chanting. Just as you were to pardon yourself to the kitchen, you noticed a familiar face looking up to you while struggling to pull apart his chicken drumstick. It was your childhood friend; Kim Seok Jin. He immediately dropped his chicken and stood up. While you on the other hand, being notoriously awkward, you bowed at the boys and ran to the kitchen.

 ‘Erm excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.’ Jin excused himself from the crowd.

‘Little Miss Chubs.. is that you?’ Jin peeked his head into the kitchen looking for you just as you were chopping up a chicken.

Oh. Er, Hi, Seok Jin-ssi, I er did not see you there.’ You muttered.

‘I knew it was you! So nice to see you. Wahh Daebak. You’ve lost so much weight I might have to stop calling you Little Miss Chubs!’ Jin teases as he casually latches his arm across you.

 His thoughtless actions made you hitch. You were confused about how it has been so long since the both of you had communicated and yet he treated you like you were best friends since forever.

  Just then, the crew members called out to wrap up the meal as they had another schedule for the next day. Ahjumma hurriedly packed up whatever the crew wanted to takeaway (which was seriously almost everything; including the kimchi) while you busied yourself with the bill calculation. Jin stood infront of the cashier along with his manager as they engaged in a casual conversation. Although his attention was not on you, you felt your heart racing and your cheeks heating up. You hurriedly convinced yourself to focus on the calculation so the handsome friend of yours would leave.

 Just as the entire crew were about to leave, Jin lingered longer and picked up one of your name cards.

 ‘Ah, so now I have your number and I can order chicken from you 24/7 for old time’s sake right?’ Jin shot you a wink and left before you could say anything.

 You let out a sigh, the least you would have expected was an exciting journey that awaits ahead of you.

[racingtoaredlight]

Opening Bell: April 20, 2018

First, some news…

After he was fired by President Donald Trump, now former FBI Director James Comey revealed that he had recorded several in-person and phone conversations which he had with the president through a series of typed memos based on contemporaneous notes he made during this conversations. Comey has testified to Congress as to the contents of the memos and has mentioned them in his newly released memoir, for which he is currently on a national book tour. Comey turned his memos into the Justice Department which, through Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein, had permitted some members of Congress to review the memos, so long as they kept confidential their contents. Then, in recent weeks, members of the House Judiciary Committee began to publicly demand that the Justice Department turn over all of the memos. Rosenstein demurred despite rumors that the White House might use such a move as a reason to fire Rosenstein and place the investigation of Special Counsel Robert Mueller III under greater control within the Executive Branch. This week, the Justice Department agreed to release the memos to Congress, and then within minutes of doing so last night, they were promptly leaked to the Associated Press. At first glance, the memos largely seem to confirm Comey’s previous statements and characterizations of his interactions with the president, and the former FBI Director probably appreciates the additional attention while he markets his book.

In another unexpected turn of events, former New York Mayor and Presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani announced that he was joining the president’s legal team. Cryptically, when asked about this, Giuliani, who has not been in a courtroom in nearly a quarter-century, said that he was joining Trump’s other lawyers in an attempt to “negotiate an end to the Mueller investigation.” Neither Rod Rosenstein nor Robert Mueller have indicated any desire to end the probe in exchange for anything, other than the ability to continue until no more evidence and facts are left to be uncovered. Because of this, it is not clear what Giuliani’s statement actually means. And moreover, Giuliani, who was a prominent federal prosecutor who took down several mob bosses in the 1980s, would be aware that criminal investigations do not “end” usually by negotiation. This statement feels almost like one made by Trump which Giuliani then parroted, for whatever reason. It is also uncertain what service Giuliani would provide, as he has not actively practiced law—his role at the firm Fulbright and Giuliani was been more in management and as a name partner—since he became Mayor of New York in 1993. It is possible that Giuliani could be an advisor on how federal investigations occur, but, again, he has not actually tried a federal case since Seinfeld was in its fourth season. All in all, this was a very curious addition to Trump’s team of lawyers.

 In what would have been big news but for the above stories, the FBI’s Inspector General made a criminal referral to the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia regarding former FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe. McCabe, who has been at the center of a firestorm for how he allegedly mishandled supervision of the FBI’s investigation into then presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, was fired by Attorney General Jeff Sessions one day before he was to qualify for his federal pension. McCabe allegedly misled FBI agents inquiring into his handling of the Clinton investigation and the Inspector General’s report states several times that McCabe was less than candid in answering several questions, something which falls slightly short of lying to the FBI; lying to a federal agent is a felony. Inspector Generals function as the legal watchdogs for their respective government agencies. They are non-partisan, non-political appointments which usually go to career government lawyers. If the U.S. Attorney for D.C. decides to prosecute McCabe, it is possible that one of the witnesses could be his former boss, James Comey.

 And now for some features:

 Marie Colvin was a renowned, well-regarded war reporter who traveled the world from one conflict zone to another. Along the way, she always reported from near the center of action and often risked life and limb; in 2001 while reporting on the Sri Lankan civil war, an RPG exploded near her, causing the loss of her left eye. Colvin recovered and returned to reporting on war zones, now sporting a black eye patch. In the fall of 2012, as the Syrian civil war still in its early stages, Colvin and her French photographer were sitting in a rebel controlled enclave of Homs, Syria, getting ready to depart a renegade broadcast center which western news outlets used to report from on the fighting and destruction in Homs. Before Colvin could leave, Syrian artillery rounds began falling on the broadcast center, causing severe damage. Colvin and her photographer were killed, while several other journalists were wounded. Tellingly, the artillery rounds had fallen near the center, but were then walked back on successive shots until the building itself was hit several times; the artillery was being guided by a forward observer, indicating that the Syrian Army had located the broadcast center and perhaps knew that several western journalist, including Colvin who had filed a report by Skype from there the previous evening, would still be present. This story looks at how the Syrian military and intelligence were able to use surveillance technology acquired before the civil war to track down and kill Marie Colvin.

Alexis de Tocqueville, after the Marquis de Lafayette, is perhaps the most celebrated Frenchman in American political, literary, and social history. While Lafayette provided his expertise during the Revolution, helping to separate the states from their erstwhile colonial masters in Britain, Tocqueville’s contribution to America came decades later, when the nation had firmly established itself and developed a unique identity, untainted by any vestiges of Britishness. After taking a grand tour of the United States, Tocqueville published Democracy in America in 1835, and it proved an immediate best-seller and received critical praise. But, as with most books, it was quickly forgotten in France. Its popularity perpetuated in the United States until the horrors of the Civil War undermined Tocqueville’s sunny appreciation for the American form of governance and the society which supported it. Tocqueville was revived in the mid-20th century in the United States and Democracy in America is on the reading list of pretty much every American Political Theory or Modern Political Theory class taught in colleges today. For his praise of mid-19th century America, Tocqueville is widely lauded still in the States, but as this piece points out, Tocqueville’s admiration of America included its use of slaves, and he sought to establish a socio-economic political system similar to the American South in northern Africa during France’s military campaigns in Algeria. In short, Alexis de Tocqueville is not quite what he is made out to be by 21st century political academics and observers.

In this country, dinner and supper are often used to refer to the same meal in some regions, while in others those area distinct meals. This distinction seems to have arrived in this nation from our European forebears, but whatever one may call the meal served at the end of the day, it is undoubtedly for most Americans the primary meal of the day. It seems, however, that in France, dinner, though the primary meal of the day, was served midday. The pomp and circumstance of this meal evolved greatly from the time of Charlemagne, who apparently preferred that his soldiers wait to eat until after battle, through the Bourbon Kings, through a period of decline during the Revolution, and finally becoming a multi-part affair associated with luxury in the home of the French Foreign Minister in the 1830s, Charles de Talleyrand. This is a short history of the French art of dining, in which it is possible to see parallels to how American attitudes towards dining have evolved.

Anyone who grew up in a coastal community near a major port or ship channel or owns a boat and has sailed out into the coastal seas, has probably come across large container ships, tankers, or bulk carriers. And, if you can get close enough, there are a number of markings around the ship’s hull, most of which looks like gibberish or nonsense, but which actually contain vital information about the ship for the benefit of tug boats and port operators. This is a relatively short explainer of what all of these markings mean and what function they serve. When I was young, we used to go out in my grandfather’s 30 foot boat into the Houston Ship Channel, with lines of oil tankers, some empty and some full, steaming in and out. The sheer size of these vessels, and the wake they generate, is awe inspiring. And the markings upon the hull, at a glance, can tell you a lot about the ship without ever boarding it.

The widespread affection for dogs among the writers of RTARL and the commentariat is well-known. Many of us, myself included, have shared posts about dogs, pictures of new puppies, and remembrances of loyal companions, recently passed. While we are generally satisfied to appreciate dogs for the happiness they bring us and dogs are contented with their role as loyal, people pleasers, the relationship is more complex than that. Our relationship with dogs is both one of friend, but it is also parental in nature. Dogs are, generally, forever trying to please us, to extract from us the fullest measure of love possible. This essay by Jacob Bacharach ponders this relationship from a historical and personal perspective; from Shakespeare’s apparent distaste for dogs as “lowly” and “subservient” creatures, to his own experience with a rescue providing the only continuum in life through failed relationships and personal crises. The best quotations come towards the end, which I will not spoil here, but this should give a proper sense: “It is absurd, logically considered, to propose that the mere presence of some mammal in a room can by itself make a person better, but that is what they do.”

Reverting back to something with levity, the shoot for Caddyshack is legendary in Hollywood for the amount of excesses which took place among the actors and crew behind the scenes, including an all-night booze soaked party which took place as a category five hurricane came ashore in south Florida. It’s also well-known for how much of the script was improvised or, in some cases, ad-libbed on the spot. Sports Illustrated has a short oral history of the shoot, which shows how miraculous it was that a coherent movie, let alone a movie that has become a modern classic, emerged. Money quotation: “We brought Rodney in to the studio,” says Jon Peters, Caddyshack’s executive producer. “He comes in wearing this aqua-blue leisure suit and takes out a plastic bag and does two lines of coke. He undoes his shirt and says, ‘Where's the p----?’ ” It was a hell of a first impression.”

Finally, presidential historical Paul Brandus guest writes for the Center for Politics on the danger which confronts Donald Trump’s chances of being reelected in 2020. Brandus focuses on Trump’s weakness among Republican voters, many of whom abandoned the president when it became clear he would not be all things to all people within the GOP. Brandus suggests that Trump may be the first sitting president to attract a serious primary challenger in nearly three decades.

Welcome to the weekend.

[paulrennie]

What is Music?

The Wonderful Everyday…What is Music?

Music for All...

Cornelius Cardew was an English composer and marxist…the Scratch Orchestra was formed by Cardew at Morley College in London. Cardew was killed when he was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver.

The Morley group were dissatisfied with ‘established, serious music’; in other words, they were dissatisfied with the elitism of ‘serious’ music and its strong class image and with the repression of working musicians into the role of slavish hacks churning out the stock repertoire of concert hall and opera house.

The prevailing dry, limited, critical approach to music in the UK had for them killed spontaneity and simple enjoyment of music and reduced it to an academic and self-conscious ‘appreciation’ of form and technique.

In the Draft Constitution, the category of Popular Classics - where famous but now hackneyed classics were given unorthodox and irreverent interpretations - was a blow against the crippling orthodoxy of ‘musical taste’.

The attraction of a number non-reading musicians and actual non-musicians into the Orchestra through seeing the Draft Constitution was therefore welcomed. Here was a source of ideas and spontaneity less hampered by academic training and inhibitions.

Amongst the Scratch Orchestra members there was considerable support for the ideas of John Cage and Christian Wolff, etc.; that is, random music with a multiplicity of fragments without cohesion as opposed to serialism. Aleatory (chance) music seemed richer, unpredictable, free! But serialism, the tradition stemming from Schöenberg, was formal, abstract and authoritarian.

Most important was the social implication of Cage’s work — the idea that we are all musical, that anybody can play…

Cardew’s project was an attempt to articulate a music of ideas that was transcendent for both players and audience. For Cardew, this became an increasingly political project that he likened to a sort of political-consciousness-raising. In practical terms, the project was aligned with both the methodologies of skiffle and punk, but applied to the orchestral form.

I completely agree with this idea…as it developed out of the UK counter-cultural scene of the late 1960s. However, I can now understand that the high-minded intellectualism of Cardew’s efforts would have doomed it to fail…interestingly, all these ideas resurfaced in the Balearics during the 1990s and in relation to the sunshine, recreational drugs and high-energy dance scene.

I have been listening to an album of Billie Holliday remixed…(there’s a sister album of the same thing with Nina Simone). One of the songs is, I Hear Music (1940) by the US songwriter, Burton Lane, and with lyrics by Frank Loesser, for the Paramount Pictures movie, Dancing on a Dime.

Loesser is famous, these days, for writing the musical, Guys and Dolls (1950).

Here’s part of the song lyric for I Hear Music

I hear music Mighty fine music The murmur of a morning breeze up there The rattle of the milkman on the stair

Sure that’s music Mighty fine music The singing of a sparrow in the sky The perking of the coffee right near by

That’s my favorite melody You my angel, phoning me…

This was a really interesting idea for music in 1940…and is suggestive of John Cage’s musical experimentation from the 1950s and subsequently.

Since the Romantic period, composers have found inspiration in the sounds of nature. But this isn’t the same as saying that music is everywhere…In the old days, the music still had to be composed and transcribed for instruments.

Nowadays, you can record the sounds and assemble them in loops and structures that can go on, without repetition, almost for ever…everything can be sampled and re-mixed into something new…

The desire to find music, and art, in the wonderful everyday, is an important idea from design reform and the 20C avant-garde. The idea combines democratic and popular-front politics with aesthetics. Assuming that art, in all its forms, is elevating…wouldn’t be good if everyone could benefit from this moral elevation? That was an idea from Ruskin and Morris,  Brecht and Benjamin…The same idea re-surfaces, again, in the 1960s musical idealism of Cornelius Cardew  and provides the corner-stone for the transformation of culture through digital forms.

It’s amazing how this has been contested throughout…indeed, the dominant culture encourages various forms of instutionalised gate-keeping that try and keep art and the everyday in their different boxes…mostly, this is done by exclusion.

Ironically, the tendency of the avant-garde to over-intellectualise culture and turn it all into a form of capital has become one of the most effective gate-keeping mechanisms of exclusion…see, for example, Cardew writing about the tyranny of taste…or Crary on cultural capital and exclusion.

I’m not sure that the song lyric is actually about this strand of avant-garde thinking…it’s more likely about how love fills your heart with a feeling that is analogous with music…if your heart is singing, that is a kind of music too.

Actually, I don’t think this matters. The lyric is still expressing an important and sophisticated idea about the universality of music.

The late Sir George Martin understood this too…

All art aspires to the form of music; where form, content, and feeling, are each synthesised into a single coherent experience: the wonderful everyday…

Machine Noises (Kling-Klang)

There is a fabulous film by Jean Mitry called Pacific 231. It’s a film sequence of trains edited to the music of Arthur Honneger. The film is from 1949.

This film essay is in two main parts.

The introduction has scenes of make-ready with engines and rolling-stock being moved about against the background sounds of metal, steam and machine. The industrial noises of the machinery are a kind of music. There’s a wonderful sequence of images of the engine on a turntable.

The second part of the film is of the engine at speed and its journey. The train leaves from the Gare du Nord and is the northern express towards Lille. I’m guessing that, based on my knowledge of the shape of the train-shed canopy in the film.

The second part has the musical soundtrack by Honneger. Honneger’s music is an orchestral evocation of the power and speed of the train. It’s the music of industry and engineering and speed…

It turns out that Jean Mitry was one of the first people to write about film and cinema in a seriously academic way. His work covers aesthetics, psychology, semiotics and analysis. There’s a little about Mitry, here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Mitry

Honneger was not the only person to be thinking of the musical quality of industrial noise. The connection goes right back to the beginnings of the avant-garde and the willingness to interrogate the formal and structural qualities of art, music and literature.

The poetic experiments of the Italian Futurists kick it all off with Marinetti’s Zang Tumb Tumb (1914). The experiments of concrete poetry and everything else followed from that…

It wasn’t long before the musical avant-garde adopted the Dada strategy of making art with whatever was to hand. That opened the door, so to speak, for a repertoire beyond the established instruments…

It’s amazing how difficult people find it to accept “noise,” or even silence, as music. In the end, it comes down to a kind of political tolerance.

The machine music of Johann Johannsson is amazing. It’s made up of layers of sound derived from the machine noise associated with heavy industry, along with passages of the organ music and brass band music traditionally associated with working communities. These three layers are held together by a sort of low hum of electronic sound…

It’s a kind of music that doesn’t really have a tune; but is full of feeling. It’s a big sound by Johann Johannsson.

In the UK, this approach gave us the experimental music movement of the 1960s and the “scratch orchestra.” This was a kind of musical “flash-mob.” In Germany, Kraftwerk recorded a piece of music called Kling-Klang (1972) and gave the name to their recording studio.

If you watch the Mitry film titles, you’ll see that the sound recording is by “Klang-Film.” So, “Klang” is a sound that’s loaded with meanings for the people who might recognise this term.

Last night, I was rocked to sleep by the noise of the dishwasher cycle…It was pretty amazing listening, in the dark, to the repetition of percussive noises and watery gargles…

I began to imagine a process of sampling those machine noises, synthesising the sounds and making loops…to create a Dishwasher Cycle of electronic machine noises. Sort of Johann Johannsson, in the kitchen.

I could begin to do that with my macbook and garageband software…I just wouldn’t be able to do it very well.

Remember that what you have in the machine changes the sounds it makes too, and so no two loads play the same. There’s plenty of variety in this plan and much scope for happy accidents.

Then I wondered why Kraftwerk hadn’t done this in the 1970s…That was easy, no one had dishwashers back then. Not in Germany anyway. And hardly anyone had computers or synthesisers or anything.

We did have cars though, and Kraftwerk made Autobahn (1974).

But why stop at dishwashers? Why not go the whole hog and include fridges and microwaves and whatever…it could be the internet of things, in song.

I also designed the LP sleeve in my head. If I had ever made a record, I would have loved being able to have a hand-in the sleeve design.

So, front has a lovely even stove enamelled finish like you get on high-end household machines. The back cover has a picture of fly-tipped white goods by the roadside…

This was a great idea in the middle of the night…but I also realised that this was a project that needed doing 40 years ago. Against the prevailing ethos of punk, back then, this project might have seemed a bit up-its-own-orifice.

Actually, the Art of Noise did do something a bit similar…

And it all merged into the eclectic and hybrid scene that we have now.

NB I should point out that I have absolutely no practical musical skill and could never have realised this project, then or now. The bits of noise would still have to be made into something bigger…

There is a picture by Caspar David Friedrich, the German Romantic artist…it’s called The Sea of Ice, and dates from the 1820s. It shows the landscape ripped apart and splintered by the forces of nature…it must have seemed like a picture of chaos…and would have been understood, by people looking at it, as both beautiful and terrifying, and all at the same time.

This sense of a terrible beauty is what Edmund Burke was thinking of when he described the sublime as one of the founding sensibilities of the Romantic movement. Burke probably didn’t know about the frozen wastes…but he new about the alpine massif and the ocean.

You get the same terrible beauty from these black-and-white images from the expeditions to the Arctic and the Antarctic. Captain Scott’s photographer was Herbert Ponting…a sort of English proto Dziga-Vertov.

The frozen wastes were so vast that almost all the explorers made use if the latest tachnologies - balloons, airships, and motor-powered tracked vehicles. Keeping the machines going was a big challenge…and if they stopped, you died.

I was thrilled to find a piece of music by Thomas Koner, called Daikan. Apparently, it’s from a genre called ambient drone…it’s music expressed as an abstract kind of machine noise or tone.

That’s a different kind of terrible beauty…

Music All Around…

Charles Ives (1874-1954) was a pioneer American modernist in orchestral music, at a time when US musical culture was still pretty under-developed.

America has always done popular music really well…but it took a long time for its serious orchestral music to become something that could stand alongside the German, French, and Italian, traditions in Europe.

The Juilliard School, America’s first conservatory school, was only established in 1905! The school was first set up as the Institute of Musical Art, before being endowed by Augustus Juilliard, and others, during the 1920s.

Ives was the son of a military band instructor and he spent much of his childhood watching parades and listening to marching bands. That’s not so bad. Don’t forget that American marching bands have tunes by JP Souza (1854-1932), the March King.

Ives was not really a professional composer. He worked as an insurance saleman…and was quite successful. Academic research has revealed that Ives invented himself a little…

Anyone who has watched a marching band will understand that, as the band marches up-and-down, it has to turn on itself…that means that, briefly, there is music coming from two directions, at least…that’s a new and exciting noise.

Listen to

Country Band March (c1907?)

and also, the four part

New England Holidays (1919)

This fragmentation is the same kind if insight as cubism and as understanding that the straight-on view of the the theatre stage is a bit limited…we don’t hear the world symphonically, we here it as fragments that we assemble into a coherent gestalt.

Ives was one of the first people to try and describe this fragmented perception of life, and sound, through music. You get the same thing in the European later Romantics, especially Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)…but the Europeans tended to do it with bits of folk song and traditional tunes.

I was reminded of this as I found a contemporary interpretation and recording of Luigi Boccherini‘s (1743-1805), Musica notturna delle strade di Madrid from 1780.

In its original form, the music is quite formal and stately…it is music to promenade by…In Luciano Berio’s new interpretation, the street becomes much more dynamic and messy…that’s great; with bits of tune coming from everywhere.

The original Boccherini is familiar from the film version of Master and Commander (2003). I have been thinking about this as I listen to Gavin Bryars, a contemporary British composer who uses sampled fragments…hip hop, anyone?

The contemporary American composer, John Adams, has revisited Charles Ives in the autobiographical, My Father Knew Charles Ives (2003). Here are the notes on this piece from the John Admas, Earbox, site…

The march tempo announces itself and the familiar cadences kick in. Not to worry about the snatches of melody. They are as fictive as the title itself. As with the gaudy “ur-melody” in Grand Pianola Music, you’re certain you’ve heard this music before, but you are damned if you can identify it. Only a smirk from trumpets playing “Reveille” and, in the coda, a hint of Ives’s beloved “Nearer My God to Thee” are the genuine article.

I just discovered the fact, from Alex Ross, that the Hollywood film music composer, Lalo Schifrin (Bullitt ,1968, for example) studied in Paris with Olivier Messiaen! I love those sorts of connections…

People listen to incredibly complex and beautiful music in the context of film; but they don’t go to the concert hall (that much)…it’s all just music for advertising…

Unless you are familiar with modern British orchestral music, you probably won’t have heard of the British composer, and player Gavin Bryars.

Bryars was part of the avant-garde musical scene that more-or-less invented ambient. In the context of Britain, the 1960s counter-culture was formed from a lifestyle of youthful fashion and music. It was much less about politics than, say, the counterculture of the US, or France, or Italy.

Back in the day, there was no extended period between childhood and adulthood. I recall that, at school, most people followed their father’s careers and went straight into the world of work.

The post-WW2 expansion of higher education provided a space, for the first time, where it was possible to become something different…The universities and art-schools of Britain became a sort of test-bed for change.

In the context of the social-scientific methodology of the counter-culture, musicians began to question the orthodox understanding of musical form and aesthetics. By asking, for example, whether music must always have a tune? And what exactly is quality in musical playing, and how might this institutionalised consideration discriminate against access to the pleasures of music?

Luckily, the answer to these questions was suggested by new kinds of music…based on recorded industrial noise, repeated loops, and by the natural playing of untutored amateur musicians. The apotheosis of this experimentation was provided by the art-school pop of Roxy Music and, subsequently, by the Punk movement…

Bryars was a member of the Portsmouth Sinfonia - a Scratch Orchestra, derived from the ideas of Cornelius Cardew and formed from untutored musicians. The Sinfonia famously played the Royal Festival hall in 1974. Bryars, an accomplished double-basist was obliged by house-rules to play another instrument…Brian Eno (Roxy Music) was also a member.

Ambient music emerged from attempts to disrupt the cultural norms generally associated with musical performance, whether of orchestral, jazz or pop genres…typically ambient experiments involved looping sounds into structures that transcended the forms of established orchestral norms.

More recently, Jem Finer (Pogues) has created an algorithmic looping musical piece, Longplayer, that won’t repeat itself in 1000 years…Since nearly all musical forms are based on a structure of repetition; that’s pretty disruptive!

Typically, this kind of music has been dismissed as prosaic, and described as muzak…for lifts, and airports, and shopping malls. Brian Eno’s Ambient series, launched in the late 1970s, ironised this critical position. In the end, electronic ambient became part of the pop mainstream during the 1990s by providing a form of recovery from high-energy and drug-fuelled rave culture…

Gavin Bryars has been part of this story since the late 1960s. 

The Ox on the Roof, or Le Boeuf sur le Toit, is a famous Parisian brasserie and jazz club founded in the 1920s. The restaurant was popular with the modern artists (dada and surrealists especially) and jazz musicians of the time…famously, a painting by Francis Picabia (now in the Beaubourg) used to hang above the bar of the restaurant…

The restaurant, opened during 1921, was named after the surrealist ballet by Darius Milhaud and Jean Cocteau (1920). Raoul Dufy designed the sets and costumes for the show…

Le Boeuf sur le Toit is second only to Stravinsky‘s, Rite of Spring (1913) in significance.

Jean Cocteau held court at the restaurant for many years.

Milhaud was originally inspired by the popular street music of Brazil…where he heard a traditional song about the ox on the roof…the full story of Milhaud’s discovery of Brazilian street rhythms has been told by Daniella Thompson.

Milhaud is a crucial figure in the history of modern music. At the beginning of WW2 he moved to America, where he took an academic position at Mills College in Oakland, Ca. Over the years Milhaud helped many young muscians and composers. The list includes Philip Glass and Steve Reich, but also Dave Brubeck and Burt Bacharach.

The French were quick to acknowledge American jazz as an important new form of musical expression for the 20C. Le Boeuf sur le Toit became a famous venue for visiting American musicians. The house band at Le Boeuf was led, from the front, by the piano duetists, Clement Doucet and Jean Wiener.

Doucet is famous, these days for having played for Edith Piaf and for having composed, Chopinata (1924). This is a jazzy interpretation of some piano themes from Chopin. Interestingly, I believe that the original was composed so as to be played on a pianola…and is an early example of machine-music.

Milhaud was a member of the musical group, Les Six…who had direct connections to Piucasso and Miro etc…so full circle again.

Minimalism (Repeat)

Charles Hazelwood is presenting a double-header about US Minimalism in music on BBC4TV.

We watched the first episode yesterday evening, and it was terrific. Hazelwood is looking at four composers, and contrasting the west-coat and New York versions of minimalism that emerged in the 1960s and 1970s.

Hazelwood considers that these American composers; Riley, Lamonte Yoing, Reich, and Glass, provide the platform for the elaboration of 21C orchestral music. Part of this is the implied demise of the European tradition…that’s probably a tad over-stated, but never mind about that.

In California, the form emerged from the avant-garde and experimental, San Fransisco Tape Music Center…and from the first performance of Terry Riley’s, In C (1964). La Monte Young was the other major figure presented from the west-coast. From the first, technology has been instrumental in the deveopment of the form through repetitions and loops.

As always, the cultural geography of California played a crucial part in how the form evolved on the west-coast. Firstly, the Californians look across the Pacific and were open to the unfamiliar forms of Asian music, especially when linked to the transcendental potential of meditative repetitions…The link with emotional values, through transcendentalism, was important in keeping the avant-gardist forms of the music accessible…and in cementing the status of California as a kind of large-form utopian experiment.

Riley’s In C, is constructed from a selection of small parts played in sequence. The music is effectively made by the players and reject the usual top-down imposition of order upon the work. In practice, every performance of the work is completely original. The exact duration of the work is defined by the number of players and the process…

Riley’s work, is often performed in the US by school bands, and can seem a little unconvincing…my preferred version is by Africa Express, and is available on youtube…and reviewed, below (from Pitchfork)

The basic structure of In C is simple: Someone plays a simple, droning pulse on the note C, usually on a piano or marimba, and the other performers, whose number and instrumentation Riley did not specify, have 53 melodic phrases from which to choose. The musicians select the phrases they want to play and decide how long to play them. The effect is that the phrases overlap in unpredictable ways, creating shifts in harmony, evolving polyrhythms, tonal and timbral changes and the sense that nothing is constant, even though the same note repeats insistently under the whole performance at the exact same tempo.

There are dozens of recordings, starting with Riley’s own from 1968. Some are kinetic and exciting, others never seem to come together, but the piece is so dramatically different from performance to performance that it never grows old. Damon Albarn’s Africa Express project, which over the years has fostered collaborations between a huge number of Western and West African musicians puts a decidedly unique spin on In C. With an ensemble of 17 musicians—including Albarn on melodica, Brian Eno, Bijou and Olugbenga on vocals, Jeff Wootton and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Nick Zinner on guitar, Cheick Diallo on flute, Badou Mbaye, Alou Coulibaly and Mouse on Mars’ Andi Toma on percussion, Modibo Diawara and Defily Sako on kora, Guindo Sala on imzad, Kalifa Koné and Mémé Koné on balafon, Adama Koita on kamel n’goni, and André de Ridder on several instruments and conducting—they have an earthy collective sound, and their dynamic interplay is quite distinct from any other version of In C.

For one thing, the non-tonal percussion included in the ensemble layers a dance vibe under the piece’s usual trance vibe. Diallo’s flute in particular is so dissimilar from every other sound on the recording that he stands out and shifts the emphasis briefly to melody, while the three voices lend it an ethereal quality. The mellow tone of the koras, kalimbas, and balafons, meanwhile, have a strange effect during the period cool downs over the course of the piece; they lend it an odd, cool darkness that I usually don’t hear in In C. These passages lend it a suite-like feel where the piece most often is structured as a giant crescendo followed by a long diminuendo. The most bold decision here comes just past the halfway mark, though, when the ensemble goes nearly silent, including the pulse, leaving just guitars and koras playing the slowest melodic phrases in a strange kind of canon, and then we’re treated to a brief spoken word passage (not in English) before the larger ensemble dives back in with even more rhythmic insistence than before.

This willingness to play with the form and shape of an iconic piece of music is one of the things that most fully sets this recording of In C apart from most others. It’s unexpected and enlivens the music just as much as the djembe that lends the evolving beat its weight. The overall form of the piece may be more premeditated than Riley originally intended, rather than the independently reached and unforeshadowed consensus of a large group of musicians, but this mostly serves to make it an engaging performance and worthy interpretation of a piece of music that’s so eternal it could literally be played eternally if someone was able to get musicians to keep showing up to play it. Africa Express keeps it to a bite-sized 41 minutes, and every one of them includes something to savor.

This structural process of elaborating the work was a cross-over from fine-art’s formal experiments of the early 1960s…that sought to combine process and practice; into praxis.

John Cage, Charles Ives and John Adams were all mentioned as parts of the bigger story…as was the link to more recent pop music and the work of Brian Eno, Mike Oldfield, and Portishead…

The programme about minimalism was followed by an equally interesting documentary about British synth pop from the 1970s. Basically, all these ideas came together in Ibiza 30 years later…and played very loud!

The history of the musical avant-garde in the 20C has been written by British composer, Michael Nyman. You can find the text, online, as a pdf.