#I have callouses now which will help with violin a LOT

[tellme-o-muse]

I always forget that growing is a painful process. It's not suddenly being at peace because you're doing something right, it's clawing your way out of old habits and everything stings as you grow into yourself. It's difficult, it is stressful, but in the long run it is so so so worth it

[iamdarkness]

Taboo

Alfonse x Summoner.NSFW 18+

This one goes to the people who wanted an Alfonse Summer atl. At least we got Freyr.

 Taboo: from Tongan tabu ‘set apart, forbidden’

 Summoner POV

As a person who comes from the “World of Steel” I am be very used to most levels of nakedness in people. I mean, when you do P. E. at school or when you go to the gym or running at the park, or the beach, and watch TV; we are all bombarded by all kinds of nakedness. We are used to looking at other people’s bodies as something normal.

   When I got to Askr I met heroes of all kinds and many of them are just like me in that they find levels of nakedness normal. Take Hawkeye for for example. He is quite a gentleman and in his culture it is quite normal to be half naked.

 Leading the heroes I got used to them and their bodies enough that I view most of them with a more clinical eye, like a doctor would. When they are wounded and I help treat them, I see their bodies just as a doctor would. The same goes when I see them in the beach or the spring. This make them much more comfortable around me. So much so that some of the heroes have tried to play tricks on me and see me crack.

  Like the time the most unlikely pair, consisting of Niles and Henry played a trick on older Ike. They took his clothes when he was in one of the baths, locked his room and hid his clothes in my office (which is attached to Alfonse’s). They told him not to worry “ The Summoner is asleep.” I was definitely not asleep and saw the guy in all of his muscular glory. Did I get flustered? Not really. I mean at first it was like “WTF”, but I was not ogling the guy! He was all freaked out, and I got worried. Besides, I have seen him almost naked before. What is a little more skin? Well it wasn’t little to be fair…it was actually quite a lot…

  I was quietly reading a report on my writing desk, all hunched over, when he came silently in and stood right in front of me. I waited for him to talk. I thought it was Alfonse at first, coming to get my report, so I did not even say anything. I am used to him just coming in and sit to wait for me to finish my work quietly. Then Ike stands just in front of the desk and I look up to see a mop of dark blue hair over his “Ragnell”. I look all the way up to see Ike looking over at the bookcase behind me. He was not yet aware I was awake.

   -Ike? What are you looking for?- I ask calmly looking back to the bookcase behind me to see what he was looking for. I hear a yelp and something heavy falling down. I look around and find him on the floor covering himself with his hands. His eyes were wide opened and he could not talk for a second. He just kept opening and closing his mouth and said “ I can explain.”in a strangled voice. Alfonse chooses that exact moment to come inside and finds me standing up to give Ike my coat so he can cover himself up. What does he see? I am undressing my self in front of Ike and Ike is naked on the floor.

 ...NICE…

   Yes we were able to clear that up. Alfonse even laughed about it and still does sometimes, but that was only the beginning.

   Some time later Dieck comes inside the study Alfonse and I use in the library. Now we all know Dieck always uses the bare minimum on clothes, but this time he is wearing only his pants and boots. As soon as he comes in, he starts taking his pants off (And of course he is not wearing underwear) and looks at Alfonse and say.

   -Oh Your Majesty is here too? Oh don’t worry; I don’t mind.- He now is butt naked and kicking his boots off. I turn to Alfonse with a ‘WTF’ face and I see him tomato red and very angry. He looks at me and…Why…is he angry at me too? What did I do?

   -Dieck… what the hell is going on?- I ask calmly because I feel Alfonse is going to blow a gasket and any loud noise will set it off.

   -I am here for the check up.- He says simply and his smile falters a little, looking sideways at Alfonse. I focus on his face like it is a normal conversation. Doctors and nurses can do this and so can I.

   -What check up?

   -The one you ordered to check our birthmarks and scars, just in case we are killed and there is no other way to identify our bodies.- I turn to Alfonse and I give him a questioning look, but he appears to not have heard anything except the “the one you ordered”. He is looking at us both angrily back and forth.

   -Umm…Well now that you mentioned it… It sounds like a good idea, but I have never given that order. Whoever told you that? -Still focused on the face.

   -One of the soldiers…so it is not true?- He asks now red in the face, which is very weird because this man has no sense of shame when it comes to showing off. Then he goes to cover himself with his hands, but too late Dieck, I already saw it all.

   -Well no, but it is a good idea, right Alfonse?- I say thoughtfully. He seemed to have regained his senses and is now still red, but his face is lowered and he just nods.

   -Oh…I should go then and find that (he whispers some curses under his breath)…I… -He takes his pants and puts them on. I start making a note about the idea to tell Anna.- I am sorry ______.

   - Don’t worry Dieck. No harm done. This has happened before and just so you know I liked the idea, but if we do make it happen, it would be a member of the healing team doing the check up.- He looks skeptically at Alfonse who is pinching the bridge of his nose and has his eyes closed. You know, that face he does when he is about to lose his patience? Well that one.

   -Oh! Thanks for letting me know.

   -I want to know if you can identify the soldier that told you this. Please see me tomorrow after breakfast,at the training ground.- Alfonse tells Dieck and there is a determined look on his face. Dieck looks back at him and with just the same look, agrees to it.

   At the end we did use that idea, but meanwhile I had four other heroes coming in to undress in my presence. One of them being Lady Camilla who agreed to dismember whoever was the culprit of the trick. The other was Libra who looked about to faint when he was informed he had been tricked by someone. King Claude, who laughed about it and congratulated whoever had bested him in his kind of game; and finally Sonia, who paraded around the room, even after I told her it was not necessary for her to undress. The culprit ended up being Xane ,and Marth was not lenient with him. Neither was I. I mean whoever plays a trick like that on Libra?! Yes! He is a guy!

 This keeps happening periodically, specially with new heroes. It is like some kind of hazing ritual.

   At this point I have seen at least one version of all the heroes naked for one reason or another and like I said before, they seemed to be very comfortable around me and my professionalism.

  Yet I, being myself can’t get used to showing much of my own body due to my insecurities. I mean I may exercise and maybe train but I keep myself still kind of covered up almost all the time. It is a uniform after all. I even have to wear that tiara they gave me. I look like royalty XD

  Askr itself has it’s own norms and they are far more conservative when it came to dress codes and overall behavior. I mean Alfonse sometimes sounds like I imagine my great grandpa sounded back in the day. And this is when I realized something. I have never seen Alfonse in any kind of undress and…It kind of bother me. Why? Because he was the only one person I was attracted to in all of Askr. I loved that man’s mind, heart, personality and skill…in everything he did.

 I knew I was in love with Alfonse at this point, but it had taken another Alfonse showing a little chest to understand that I was the the most sexually frustrated of all my life and that looking at his chest was doing things no one else had done in their entire nakedness. Hell not even porn or hentai had given me the high I got from imaging my Alfonse in that outfit. I mean…not that I used to watch porn or hentai. I know what they are, but the time I did watch, it was all meh. I even thought it was funny. I mean, who isn’t curious about that ? I suppose we have all gone at least once and taken a look at it? Right?…right?

   I remember plain as day I stood there stunned into silence, and probably mouth agape the whole time. I must have looked like an idiot or a pervert! My Alfonse was red as a tomato and trying so hard to avoid my gaze. At the end of the day, the only thing I got out of him was a little laugh and a small  “I am so glad, we do not share that costume here in Askr.”

 …..FUCK!

   I find my self starting at his UN-globed hands when he is drinking tea or eating. I try not to, but the white smooth surface of the back of his hands contrast with the rough calloused fingers, so used to gripping sword and shield. They can also play the sweetest of sounds on a violin and I find that so sexy. Those same long white fingers so tempting and beautiful in their strength and skillfulness. Sometimes I stop my self from wondering how they would feel and...<<What them fingers do Alfonse?!! No ! Stop!>>

  It is true I touch him often. Touch is my love language and even though I always make sure to give people that do mind, their personal space, I do know that Alfonse does not mind. Alfonse may not be a huger, but it does not mean he does not enjoy being touched by people he holds close to him or for them to be near him. Also yes, I have helped him with his wounds but, most of the time I am to damn worried to actually take time to enjoy the touch of his skin and to be hones I find that quite a violation of trust, so I do not indulge in it.

   Sometimes he has caught me starting at the brim of his scarf and under-armor for a glimpse of his neck and I feel so embarrassed by it, but the thought of kissing him there is so tempting to me and I long so much to see past that barrier. He always covers himself again when he sees it is revealing more that that fraction of his neck… And Lord above! Is he smiling?

   The curse of all of this is, that yes we have Summer here in Askr, but it is not as hot and you have to travel to the beach to be seriously hot. He has never gone to the beach with us, since I arrived here.  I am not counting the times we do go, because Anna comes up with some scheme to raise money for the order, because we all wear the uniform then. Whenever he goes to the hot spring; he does it by himself, when Sharena and I are doing something else. Even while going to the river he wears long sleeves, because …bugs. I have asked Sharena and she just answered that she had not noticed and why I was interested….Oh you know…scientific purposes Sharena…

  At first I feel so sad and rejected. Fine…I get it. You are not interested in me and do not welcome my intrusive looks…but…he gives me so many mixed signals! Why is he so close at meetings and I can feel his fingers touching mine. He has taken my hands in his many times. When another hero flirts with me he always appears out of nowhere with knitted brows and a disapproving stare. Prince Hrid came to say ‘Hi’ once and to talk to me, and next thing I know Alfonse drops everything to be next to me as well. Hrid even asked me if we were engaged ! I wish Hrid!

 Well I suppose that is what friends do right? Maybe he does not want me falling in love with a hero and leaving Askr while they need me here. But I talked to him already. I am not returning “home” and I am not leaving…because…How can I leave and not see him again? Not that I wanted to return “home” to begin with, and it seemed impossible to fall in love with someone else other than him.

   I have seen heroes flirting with him as well, and he seems unimpressed by any of them. I have heard other heroes telling the rejected ones, “He has eyes only for the Summoner.” …But what had they seen that I don’t? So I go and ask Sharena and she just laughs it up and says to give him time. He is shy and self conscious.

 …So he does like me, but is very shy and very busy and very self conscious and insecure? OK…I can work with that. Like a great elf king said once; “I am patient; I can wait.” But not that much cause I’m not an elf.

   Then Lif came and I thought “Hell! Even his grandpa show more skin than him!”

 Lif came like a shadow from the grave that will take your last breath. To be honest, he looked more like Death than Hel herself. Except… He was HOT. I felt bad for even thinking that, when the Goddess of Death was trying to end us all, and most specially Alfonse. And you see, that is when I got angry. How the heck was an ancestor of the Askr royalty helping that crazy witch, end his descendants?

   Lif attacked us and tried to, I suppose…kidnap me? He made a bee line to where I was standing and fell all the soldiers on his way. It was weird! I was about to bolt, because the training I had, would not stop the guy who just felled like twenty guys on his way, but something, not fear, took hold of me and I just…those eyes… It was like ten seconds in which I looked into his eyes and saw so many emotions in them, that I could not understand and then I could not move….ten seconds and he was already there in front of me, not attacking but there!

   Alfonse came before Lif had taken me or whatever he was going to do. He ended up with a bruised knee and ankle. I went to help him with some salves and bandages when we were done with the rest of the more serious injured people. He took off his shoe and rolled up the under armor. His ankle was not swollen and his knee was bruised but it was not swollen. I put some salve any way.  

  -What happened? I saw it from afar and felt I would not get there fast enough. Where was Dimitri?- He said a little angry, since King Dimitri was one of my supports alongside him and he was tasked today with being my guardian. I was still massaging his ankle not even thinking about it.

  -They were circling us from the back and Dimitri had to fall back to take care of it…Umm…I don’t know what happened. It was weird. He looked at me and he just…

   -I saw it too.- Said Sharena who came to stand behind Alfonse.- It was like he hit you with a spell.

   -It didn’t feel, like a magic attack. I was more like… I don’t know…- I felt weird about it, so I just made some stupid joke to lighten the mood- Why didn’t y’all tell me your grandpa was so hot? Heh , heh, heh heh! What? It’s not my fault! He kind of looks like you Alfonse.- Hey I was nervous and I do this when I get nervous!

   At first They gave me their “ Seriously?” stare, but Sharena catches on quick and starts laughing out loud. Alfonse? Well he scowls and close his eyes and then takes his foot away from my hands. What?? wait I didn’t get the chance to enjoy that! Damn! Next thing I know, he is taking his sock and starts putting in on. I see his smooth white skin peppered with… is that golden hair? Does it have a blue in it? and my throat closes dry. I follow his movements, as hypnotizing as a dance, rolling up that white sock that is taking away my hopes and dreams. Then the under armor goes down and boot on. It took him like ten seconds, that I totally did not count. Then his hands were covered as well.

 I look up at him with my hands still hovering in the same place as when he took away his leg and see him smiling sideways. I compose myself and…Wait…What? Is he doing this on purpose? Seriously? And the worst part is, that it should not bother me at all, but the truth is…I am very bothered by it. He has become a some sort of taboo to me and GOD how I love the guy! If it was someone else like Robin who never looses that coat of his and globes; I would not care! But I love him Lord. Why is he like this? I used to thank God I was not one of those feet fetishes people, and now I will be dreaming of his feet.  Thanks Alfonse!

 Joking. I respect feet fetish people. To each their own.

 The point is that I feel like those people in Victorian novels, where they get all hot and bothered by someone’s ankle showing more than normal! Oh but what an ankle that was tho’. Stop. Focus!

   I resolve to see him as clinically as any other hero and not stare at the shape of his ears and think of how I want to whisper how much I love him while kissing it…Grrr…I’m doing it again.

   Days later we see Lif again and Alfonse is cursed…We have nine days. Good thing Hel has not seen The Ring or it might have been only seven. Yeah I joke now, but back then I was about to commit murder and then kill myself…or something just as dramatic.

 We searched for days, a way to undo the curse and we found nothing. You’d think I would have taken a page from Dean Winchester's book and played the “last days on Earth” trope to get into his pants; but to be honest nothing like that even crossed my mind at the time! I was so desperate to keep him alive that nothing else matter to me. He could have paraded naked in front of me at the time I was at the library and I would not have noticed…Well, maybe I would have, but it didn’t happen so it doesn’t count

   Until the sixth night of the curse.

   There was a knock at the door to my chamber. Oh! Did I mentioned we have a shared study? Because we do. It is between our chambers and it can only be entered from our rooms. It was his idea and it was for safety reasons. The nights I have spent sitting by the chimney staring at his door…but never mind that. He knocked at my chamber door and when I opened it, he was about to leave. He was wearing sleeping pants, a long sleeve night shirt and socks, all in white.

   We had fallen asleep next to each other at the library before of course, especially during the days he was cursed. And yes we used to huddle together during our march through Nifl. It was effing cold OK. We also usually had our sleeping rolls next to each other during campaigns, because we fall asleep while talking or after a watch,but we had never slept together on a bed. Beds are…intimate to him I suppose.

This night however, he came in and he just goes on and sit on my bed. He said nothing. I sat next to him and reached over to give him a hug. He took this as his cue and hugged back and didn’t let go. He clung to me with such force I was starting to feel dizzy. I asked him to stay the night. He nodded and still said nothing. I blew out the candle I was using to read and we went to sleep while he hugged me tightly. It was no surprise to me, but it was not so much fear that I could see in him. It was so many emotions, that fear seemed to be the least of his problems; but of course he was afraid. We spend together the following nights of his curse. Funny thing is …all those nights I dreamed of his Grandpa, watching over from my balcony window.

  And did I had a glimpsed of something while sleeping together? No. He came in and blew the candle out and by the time I woke up he was already awake. Not like I would have gone and taken advantage of his sleeping form to explore or something. I just thought later that if I had woken up before him, then may be I would have seen his shirt riding up or his pants lowered a little or maybe his sock had fallen off or something. Oh well…They were still the best nights of my life, even if they didn’t feel like that at the time. I mean, I got to be held like I was the most precious and sacred treasure in the world by my beloved. I would care for nothing else.

 Then…Grandpa is actually Alfonse from the future…

 Lif, as he goes by now, told us everything that had happened in his Askr. Which is weird because I had been dreaming of something like that and I thought it was stress.

 We spent some days in that dead world and I got to see Lif a few times. He looked curious about me, but at the same time I noticed he was avoiding me. The way he looked at Sharena really broke my heart every time I caught him starting at her. In turn Sharena looked ready to adopt him, if only he would let her do it.

One of those night I was having a nightmare about me dying while I saw Anna drop dead as if by magic. I woke up to find Lif watching me from afar. I got up and went to talk to him before he ran away.

 We talk for a while. I do not want to intrude on painful memories, but he seems to know me so well it feels natural to talk to him, just like it is to Alfonse.

 -You two…you are not lovers yet?- He asks eyeing me sideways.

 -No. Where you…?

 -Yes. After the first attack. We spent some weeks fighting Hel together. Is he still playing hard to get then?-Oh and there it was.

 -Oh! So it is not my imagination! God I thought I was going insane! Oh that Bunny suit messed me up! I love that chest!…wait. Is that why you have your chest out? - He nods.- And the glow…I noticed Thrasir does not have that glow and I love glow in the dark…ermm… It is an awesome design I have to say. I like it. It is sexy.- I felt bad for the lack of tact but at the same time he needed to know I did not find him ugly or scary any more.

 -You were always odd like that Summoner.- He says that in his deep voice, and it conveys a lot of feelings.

 Did he let me touch his chest? No…and I didn’t really ask to be honest. My respects to Lif. He gave up everything for us. I owe him a lot.

 Well, now I knew for sure and I could confront him or let him keep doing it, or maybe just seduce him. It was strange. I always thought it only worked on men, but I guess it does work goes both ways! At least it help me to fall in love with his mind and heart first, not his body.

 Next day we were walking out of Lif’s castle when the floor gave in and Alfonse and I fell through it. Luckily it was not even high, but I am not as tall as Alfonse and with my luck, part of my coat and shirt got caught on a sharp part of a broken stone pillar, and I was left hanging about one feet off the ground by one shoulder. I tried wiggling off the coat but I could not do it.

 -Are you hurt _____?- Alfonse asks worriedly getting up from where he landed on the floor.

 -No! I think I just got scratched! But I can’t unhook my self.

 - Only you _____.- Says Alfonse smiling and getting dust out of his uniform.

 -Thanks Alfonse…Can you help me down?

 He looks around and up for a while and then stares at me for a few minutes. Probably thinking how to approach the problem, but seriously I think he could just reach up and unhook me. He is tall enough for that.

  He comes close to me and circle my waist with his left arm and places his left leg between my legs to find leverage on the pillar behind me. He reaches over my head with his right arm to unhook my coat. Being this close to him is so exiting. My heart begins to race and I start feeling kind of hot. I try not to think about it and avoid my gaze from his face, but I can’t help looking at him.

 There was not much light coming down from the hole above us, but I could see the side of his face and ear…yeah the same ear I wanted to…OK! Not now! He took this time to move his leg up to hold my weight up, and I was left straddling it. He kind of wiggled it to adjust and…Oh boy! It felt good, good.

<< Oh no! Don’t move it anymore…>> I was praying for him not to move that leg, because God in heaven, I was going to come right there and then.

 …And he moved it again but higher and harder…

 -Mmmn- Oh GOD! I did not just moan into his ear. I mean, I am not horny all the time, come on! It is just that, he is so close I can smell him. He smells so deliciously manly, and his leg is touching just the right places!!

 Meanwhile he is frozen in place. It seems like he is thinking about what to do or maybe just not thinking at all. I personally think he will be leaving me hanging there to be hones. I am so embarrassed, I lower my face to hide it, but we are so close, I end up hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

 He gasps and I can feel his arm tightening on my waist and I get even closer to him. I feel him moving his head a little as if to see my face and then…he moves the leg again as if testing it. This time slowly. I tried and fail to stifle another moan but it still comes out. He moves his hips upwards and keeps moving the leg. It creates just the right amount of friction needed. I feel my hips move on their own to meet him.

 -Alfonse…- My legs tighten around his and when I come close to his manhood I can feel his arousal as well.

 -_________- He whispers my name softly as my leg touches him. All this while he is still moving that blessed leg back and ford. I am panting at this point and he feels like he is in the same situation. All of this brought me to my knees. I came hard. I sat there shuddering in his arms and biting my hand because the stone caused every little noise to sound louder. I felt him kissing my hair.

 We heard some loud footsteps up above us and then…

 -Hey! You need help down there!- I hear Barst’s voice over my head. He does not sound or look like he heard anything.

 -We are fine…I just need …to get her down.- Alfonse’s voice sound a little strained but Barst takes it to mean he es working on helping me down. Just like that, he unhooks my coat and lowers me down gently, still not letting go.

 -I’m getting a ladder!- He’s gone and we can hear his footsteps getting farther away.

 Alfonse steps forward still with me in his arms ,until my back is against the pillar and then looks at me and kisses me hard.

  I am dizzy by the time he lets go. - He is coming back.- He says against my neck and bites into it. I am sure they could hear that whimper that left my mouth. And can you blame me? He just bit into my neck and at the same time moved his hips in a way that I could feel his manhood rub against me. Both his hands were lowered to my hips and he used them to have me closer to him. All this while, he gave this utterly sexy guttural sound that almost sounded like a growl… He lets go, takes a step back and turns around, a moment later a ladder is lowered.

 -You go. I will explore down here a moment.- He says in a firm voice not looking at me.

  I go up the ladder still a little shaky and flushed. I tel Barst to let him explore to see what he can find, but to leave the ladder for him to get up. Darn I wanted to go “exploring” with him. Just imagining what he is doing down there is doing things to me. Good thing everyone thought I was scared of what had happened. I only had a scratch to show.

 He came back much later.

 …Well that was a lot of “exploring”.

 He comes to the camp outside the castle and we are ready to leave just after lunch. At first he seems reluctant to be near me. I am freaking out because well, overthinking and anxiety mixed with insecurities is a bad mix. Finally after half a day of travel, we make camp and post the watch. He comes and sit by my side when I am eating. We don’t talk about it until we are left alone to go to rest.

 -I…I apologize Alfonse. It wasn’t my intention. I…it just happened.- I tell him when he doesn’t speak.

 - It wasn’t my intention either…you don’t have to apologize. I have been wanting to tell you. I…have feelings for you. I just did not want to say it in a situation like that and not at a time like this. I wanted it to be special. I am in love with you _____.

 -I love you too Alfonse. I have for a long time… I’m sorry I ruined it…but I could not help but enjoy having you so near.- He is scarlet red, but smiling.- Which by the way, is your fault.- He looks puzzled.- Sir you are playing dirty.

 -How so? - He asks.

 -You are playing hard to get with my heart.

 -Oh that game you started playing with mine?-He asks arching an eyebrow.

 -What? Me? When? You don’t even let me see your hands for God’s sake. I never saw you flirting with me.

 -I…hold your hands.- He says blushing. Well that was so Alfonse of him.-…erm…You used to never take off that coat or those pants. You were all mysterious and unreachable- Mysterious? Well, firs time someone said that about me.

 -You wanted me to take off my pants?- He turns red again -I was…insecure. I mean look at those gorgeous women out there and I get all jealous and insecure. I felt safe with my coat on. What was your excuse?

 -The same…I am jealous and insecure…Well, I was at first, but then I noticed something about you. - I give him a questioning look.- You could look at any hero in the nude and not get flustered by it. When I asked you why; you told me they where just natural human bodies to you. You sounded like they were nothing special; like you had analyzed bodies so much you did not find them beautiful or sacred any more. You said you studied them at school and everyone paraded half naked in musical shows and the like. Later you told me you did find them beautiful in an artistic or scientific kind of way but it did not make it better to me.

 How to make someone like you fall in love….with me? I listened to you and how you praised my intellect and skills, and I knew you were attracted to those qualities, but there are other men with intellect and skills at home too. I needed to find a way to be special to you.

  It was only when we met that other Alfonse dressed in a bunny costume that I understood. The way you looked at him made me so envious and jealous. What was so special about him? I saw you ogle his body like he was the most sinful of apparitions, and he looked just like me! I was frustrated. That same evening I saw you looking differently at me, and I could not help but feel elated about it.

 I spied you looking intently at my naked hands and when I put on my globes, that look of disappointment did not escape my eyes. It occurred to me that you had never seen me in any state of undress and it must have been strange to you. I understood how you felt now. I have been watching heroes for years. Beautiful women I have been watching on a daily basis and none of them feel spacial, even if they have beautiful bodies,or incredible skills. Yet the day I saw you wearing regular clothes I …well I…- He blushed, lowered his face and left the sentence hanging.

 I flirted with the idea of letting you see more of me, but then I would just become like any other hero, and I wanted more than that. I want so much more.- Now he looked at me, and there was so much love and affection in his eyes, I could have melted in the spot.

 I have to confess I enjoyed seeing you flustered when you could see a little of me. That made me feel special, but I did not want to be just a mystery to you either. I wanted your heart and soul,your love not only your lust. I needed to to know you loved me.

  I had a talk last night with Lif. He told me they were lovers …His summoner and him. He told me I was being a fool just wasting time. He said that if you were anything like his ______, then you loved me, jut like his summoner did him. _______, I want what they had…I want everything, but I am afraid. Between this situation and the war with Embla…You understand me, don’t you?

 - I understand you. I suppose the time is not right. I don’t want to look back on the day we finally are together and remember all these tragedies. You know Alfonse. You were right about me and my take on “nakedness”. I guess we are on the same page now about desire too. To us, Desire comes from love. That is what makes you and your body especial to me. I fell in love with your sharp mind and your heart first, but also thanks to your “efforts” I can understand and appreciate how special a lover’s body is. You made me understand, that what I feel for you is true love, not just infatuation or lust. Thank you. We can wait if that is your wish…if not…I will not say ‘no’ to that to be honest. I leave it to your discretion…But Alfonse, next time you go “exploring” , I want you to know, I can always lend you a hand. ;)

                                     ~*~

  I write this on the day of Devotion. Alfonse and I had another talk and at the end, we decided to wait. Alfonse’s position is a little difficult, and now even more so after his father’s death. His personality makes me forget he is royalty, but the weight of his crown is a lot. He has more responsibilities and images to uphold. I want to think we have time to enjoy each other’s company, hearts and mind before we rush things any way.

 Well, I have to go, my family (Yes they are my family now) is waiting for me. Sharena informed me there is a huge surprise for me. Well, Anna did owed me some favors and she designed the costumes for the Royal family.I can’t wait see Alfonse! I hear he is wearing sandals XD Wink, wink!

 PS: Wait! I just realized something! Lif was actually spying on us!?

[thesolferino]

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

[daddy-chiluc]

Sing You To Sleep | Chiluc Week Day 2

College AU/Only one bed/preforming arts

Chiluc Fluff | M/M

TW: Explicit Language

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

“This is absolutely not happening.” He whispered under his breath, nails biting into his palms as he marveled at the vast room before him. The view of the city was beautiful, the balcony promising endless nights of twinkling lights and gorgeous starry skies. A full sized bed in the centre of the room lured him forwards, gently laying down his violin case to succumb to the soft sheets of the bed.

He took in a deep breath, relaxing as the faintest of smiles shyly touched his lips. The warmth of the linens was enough to almost lull him to sleep. To his dismay, a knock rang through the small room just as his eyes began to close. Hesitantly, he sat up, walking to the door to find his professor and a classmate behind him. Childe.

“Mister Ragnvindr,” he nodded, turning to present the out of breath ginger than gave a cheeky grin, monster and guitar case in hand, “Due to the sudden addition to the performances this week and lack of available rooms, Ajax here will be sharing this room with you for the remainder of this week.” And there goes his brief moment of relaxation. Gone within seconds.

Of course he’d be the one to pair with him. There had been an odd amount of people who had signed up for the trip to the Mondstadt Theatre, well known judges and critics there to give them feedback and training before their big show by the end of the week. He just so happened to get the short end of the stick and be the only person with their own room. It was nice for the five minutes it lasted.

It was rather rude the way Professor Zhongli had pushed him into the hotel room — his eyebrows stuck in a permanent state of irritation with each twitch as he tried to keep a friendly smile. Childe had stumbled in, eyes wide and glued to the guitar case, stickers and writing covering the case. They looked like…children drawings? Perplexed, Diluc saw it fit to ignore the matter for now.

“Hey…uhm,” a subtle hint of pink dusted along the other’s cheeks, stretching to his ears, “You’re that violin player right? With the solo this week?”

“Yeah, what about it?” His voice was heavy and almost intimidating…if it wasn’t for his beauty.

“I just thought…well, I…you’re just really cool.” He stuttered, his voice soft as he scratched at his bird’s nest of hair. It was rather endearing the way he was so…so shy around him. Typically he’d see him causing some form of ruckus at the college, in the middle of class. Always having crazy ideas to try different notes here and there, different instruments in one piece and another singer in this piece. Yet, when it came to Diluc’s performances and practices, he’d be silent. Dead silent, eyes wide in a childish wonder and fascination that always confused Diluc. It confused him to a point he’d try to ignore it but no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be there, eyes sparkling in amazement in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you.” It was blunt, quick and straight to the point. He wasn’t in the mood to dwell on such pitiful small talk. It annoyed him, wasted his time…not that he had anything to do to begin with. To be honest, for some reason, the other had annoyed him. Annoyed him so much so he found himself rolling his eyes subconsciously.

“…There’s only one bed.” Horrified, Diluc’s head turned to look at the full sized bed that once promised peaceful nights, now mock him. It mocked him as the faint sounds of car horns blared in the background, drowned out by his anxiety that prickled and pinched at his skin, “I can sleep on the floor.” His kindness was a harsh stab to his gut. Of course he had to be this nice to him after he berates him in the deepest corners of his mind.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll just put a pillow in between us.” Him and his stupid puppy dog eyes guilt tripping him and making him feel bad. Fuck him for being cute. Diluc’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the sudden thought. Surely not. No. Absolutely not. There was no way he found Childe cute.

He found Childe cute.

Earlier that afternoon he had bought them food, insisting on buying the most expensive food he could find, and coming back with enough food to hold them over until dinner. He’d gone off to explore, giving Diluc the option to go with…and when he returned, he came in with bags in multiple sizes, an elated grin plastered on his face.

“This is for you!” He handed him a bag and inside it was a numerous amount of keychains — animals all in the color red and a little rose keychain inside, “I didn’t know what to get you.” There were a lot of red items, a dog, cat, pheonix, a slime, you name it, it was probably buried in the vast amounts of knick knack items. He remembered trying to give them back, desperately trying to get him to take them back…yet he insisted he keep them. So he had, attaching the phoenix keychain to his violin case.

When night came he was more than anxious. His heart would thump in his chest, his mind busy with far too many what ifs and possibilities for sleep to come easy. Surely he knew he detested him. Why else would he go off and spend his money on such intricacies? It didn’t make any sense. He was sure he disliked him. Of course, his…assumption was quickly disproven.

With fiery cheeks and wide scarlet eyes, he caught glimpse of Ajax — black sweats with droplets of water streaming against every dip and crevice of his upper body. He could hear a faint wince, the sound muffled by the towel he used to dry his hair. The pull and twitch of every muscle didn’t aid Diluc in stilling his heart and gathering his breath.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed, his voice light and airy as he headed to his shirt, discarded and almost forgotten on the floor, “Dropped it on my way over,” Slipping it on, it was rather baggy, the sleeves coming down to his elbows as he yawned.

“Right, I’ll…” he paused, cerulean blue eyes gazing down at him, “I’m gonna go down to the lobby to see if they sell tea…you can head to bed if you’d like.” He smiled softly, his kindhearted demeanor — far calmer than his normal chaotic self — was rather off putting. It made Diluc’s spine shiver with anxiety and his skin rise with goosebumps. He watched as he headed out the door and for a brief moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with his freedom.

Deciding to wear a faded, gray sweater and black shorts, he turned off most of the lights, leaving on the desk light for when Ajax had returned. Undoing his hair tie, he crawled beneath the sheets, letting his weight sink into the soft mattress. He wasn’t sure how long he was alone in the hotel room, but he heard the soft click of the door opening, the lights twinkling and distant sound of cars driving below not doing much to overpower the quiet noise to ease his worry.

He could hear every step he took — they were hesitant and quiet, almost scared to move in fear of waking him up. Truthfully, Ajax had never been more terrified. Part of him wanted to check and make sure he was asleep, but he knew if he had, he wouldn’t be able to look away. Diluc Ragnvindr was beautiful. Far beautiful than anyone he’s ever laid eyes on…so to even be allowed to sleep beside him doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel like he should. So his best bet?

His acoustic guitar. It would be loud, without a doubt, but he’d play it out on the balcony and keep the door shut. It wouldn’t do much but it would be enough. So, undoing the clasps of his case, his fingers running over the pictures Teucer, Anthon and Tonia drew for him, he gently picked up his acoustic from it’s case as he slipped outside.

Sitting outside, he let himself be soothed by the gentle breeze, the pads of his fingers coming to rest flat against the strings before he strummed, checking each string to tune them before mindlessly playing. It didn’t take much, it was almost second nature. He could stare off and simply play, his calloused hands having a mind of their own.

There were numerous questions that poked and prodded at Diluc’s mind, all of which he chose to ignore in favor of listening to him play. The sound was beautiful, he couldn’t help but get swept up within its current, letting it drag him into a sense of security he hadn’t felt in quiet sometime. Minus how rambunctious Ajax could be at times…he was rather relaxed.

Choosing to set that aside for now, he could smell the aroma of the tea, chamomile, as it’s scent filled the rather small space. Leaving the comforting, warm embrace of the bedsheets, he covered his hands in the sweater as he carried the scalding hot cup of tea out to him. The slide of the door was enough to grab his attention and he swore he could feel his heart almost jump out of his throat.

He was stunning. Too cute for him to handle in all honesty. His hair a fountain of red as his locks began to shine under the city lights. Part of him desperately wanted to run his fingers through his hair, braid it, brush even if he was just cradling his head, he’d be satisfied.

“Your tea will get cold.” His voice was quiet. Very quiet. Almost out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was because of how tired he was.

“I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No, it takes me awhile to sleep. You didn’t wake me up.” His kindness felt out of place. Sudden. Ajax wasn’t sure what to make of it, he was so used to Diluc giving him the cold shoulder, it was different having him treat him like this.

“Let me sing for you?” It was abrupt as he gulped, his jaw clenched as he searched those scarlet eyes. From where he sat he couldn’t see a single sign of hatred or resentment.

“Sing for me?” Ajax nodded, as he gently set the guitar against the wall.

“I could help you sleep tonight. Only if you’re okay with that though.” Diluc knew why he accepted his offer, he just wasn’t ready to accept it yet. Ajax wasn’t a bad person…he was just…Ajax. There wasn’t much else he could say. Maybe he just needed to hang around with him for a little while longer and get to know him better. This seemed like a nice start though. For now.

Crawling back into the warm linens of the sheet, his hair pooled around him as the soft pillows sunk under his head. The taller male slid in beside him, practically melting into the warmth of the bed as the comforter covered them both.

“Any requests?” He smiled, the small pull in his lips reminding Diluc that yes, he was in fact sharing a rather small bed with Ajax.

“I don’t care, so long as they aren’t children lullabies,” he grumbled, fingers twisting in the bed sheets as his eyes fluttered shut from time to time. Turning on his side more, Childe studied him, thinking briefly before lying on his back. It was just to help him sleep, he wouldn’t get onto him about form would he? All well, guess he’ll found out in the morning.

“Fly me to the moon sound good to you?” He whispered as he turned his head. His breath catching in his throat. He was relaxed, his cheek resting against his palm as he hummed. The faint blue lights seemed to make his skin glow even more.

“Yeah…,” he whispered as his shoulders sank forward. So that’s what he did, he sang for him. His face burning bright enough to light up the room as tiny snores soon filled the room. He didn’t mean for his eyelids to get so heavy. For him to fall asleep next to him, the promise of a pillow to separate them quickly forgotten as they bathed in each other’s warmth.

“In other words…,” he mumbled as his heavy arm came down to wrap around his waist, “In…other words….”, he voice became a hushed whisper, eyes falling shut as the end of the song rang in his head.

I love you.

*

Waking in a panic to find himself cuddled beneath Ajax, he shoved him off the bed, a loud thud ringing through the room.

“Ow! Fucking shit—!” Curses and a mix of Russian spewed from his mouth as he held his head.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Diluc’s panic didn’t ease as he groaned, laying flat against the floor.

“Just…just give me a moment,” he sighed, laying flat against the floor.

“C’mon and sit on the bed, I’ll go get ice for your head.”

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

[marshmallowprotection]

Grave with 16 (kissing his knuckles) for the prompt requests please? I'm begging u

16. Kissing their knuckles or hands

It always felt like he was in a world of his own.

Or at the very least he wanted to be in a world of his own design. He was always very methodical about the way that he allowed himself to get involved with others, and there was no doubt that everything that he allowed to happen while he was on the surface was done with the thought and prevention of further harm.

Grave could be a very complicated person to some people that did not know him the way that you did.

He wasn't just someone that was fraught with anger and tension. Yes, there was a lot of pain and suffering inside of his heart but that did not make up his entire identity.

He had been trying so hard to be more than anger that compassed him; while that not show to some people, you had seen his progress from the first day you had met him up until now.

When he first woke up the only thing that he could think about was how much it hurt. How much it hurt to hold on to those memories that Saeran didn't want. Grave was the one who felt the anger and the shame and the tension that came from all of those thoughts. If Saeran was unable to force himself to feel anger anymore, then Grave was going to be the one to do it. He was the one that had held that job.

It had been the entire purpose for his being as long as he could remember. To be angry and to destroy everything without fearing repercussion with how he was coded.

So, for him to wake up and realized that his anger and the way that it manifested was no longer useful or purposeful anymore was a hard thing to carry. It was hard for him to find a purpose. It was no easier for Ray but it felt harder for him because he was so angry and so many of his actions were built upon anger.

Ray was angry too but he was not made of anger.

Grave was.

All of Grave was born from the fear of not being strong enough and not being angry enough to prove that he had a right to exist. So learning how to be someone who wasn't like that was hard for him. He was trying every single day and even if nobody noticed, he was trying. It was for nobody else. He wanted to prove to himself that he could have a purpose. It was hard to imagine himself without having a purpose or a goal to strive towards.

That was why he took up something that he thought would be difficult. He had always had a strange fascination with music, and he was given a chance to explore that now. Through his violin, he was able to create the emotion that he was drowning in and a manifest them into reality. It was no longer a swirling storm inside of his head, it was something tangible.

The issue with this was the fact that he often overworked himself. He would keep going until his hands felt like they were on fire. It wasn't healthy for him and it wasn't helping anyone else in their system.

Ray would try not to touch any little thing if he switched with Grave, and Saeran would grit his teeth the entire time as the pain lingered. Su-Jin would be unable to hide his tears about it. Grave was burning them as he was trying to burn himself.

It helped him cope.

But, he was pushing himself too hard.

You told him that, plainly, and he didn't say a single word as you started to wrap and mend his fingers. There was nothing you could do about the callousness of his hands. But, you could give them structure and stability once again, so it would be easier to use them instead of biting his tongue. His hands could create such wonderful things! However, it came at a cost as he strained to find peace.

Lifting his hands to your face, you brushed your lips to the knuckles after tying off the last knot to the splint. "There we go, Grave, I wouldn't want you to damage these hands permanently... so, do try to keep it easy for a few days. You can create such beautiful things with them."

I could destroy eith these hands, too, he wanted to tell you.

Yet, you continued to smile at him, before looking back down at his hands. You kissed them once more for good measure. "Even if you aren't sure you see it quite yet, I think you're amazingly talented. I've never felt more at peace then when you play. If you don't mind my asking... what do you call that one I heard earlier?"

Something strange flickered in those eyes of his before he looked away from you. It was as if there was a bit of guilt or a bit of Shame and those eyes of his. He wasn't one to admit certain emotions or be sincere with other people unless he knew that nobody else was around. But it seems like there was another reason why he was holding back.

You had no idea why.

Still, he answered. "The Melody of the Blue Roses."

A love in which is... impossible for him.

[blankdblank]

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 32

“I can’t wait!” Viggo had said that plenty of times and among the guests at this premier he hurried to go claim their seats while you and the cast finished up the press in the front warm hall before heading in to join them. You had seen it, and now all was left was for your friends to finally get a taste of what you had slaved over and was so proud for the world to see. All having paused to inspect right outside the inner theater doors was the one on the poster with the Inspector scowling your way opposite the shadowed figure of your father as the Bard, up front slightly sideways en point you stood with ankles crossed and Richard behind you in caped tux and top hat. His gloved hands easing your Selkie coat over your shoulders eyes fixed on your mournfully distant staring self with palms full of silver coins. The glimmer only egging them on more to have the film start.

Up at a second screen you watched the lights go down for the same opening sequence awing you all over again just like the first time. Soft and slow your Russian lullaby began swelling through the camera being escorted through the lamppost lit cobbled town with violin growing stronger. Names and titles etched into buildings and street and building signs with posters of the shadowy villain wafting on the breeze fallen free from those pasted to walls and fences.

‘There you are, I see you there.’ Low and guttural the Bard growled out a letter scrawled to the police the yet to be seen Inspector is reading. ‘Lost and misused this town has grown weary from Beasts like you. Keep scratching and clawing at the meek and weary, then you will hear me. Keep about your days and savor the moments yet only for so long, once in my clutches your breath ends with my song.’

Another corner turned and following a wisp of silk cloth from within a mist and shadows of milling crowds your body appeared on one foot with violin in hand playing through an en point dance. Enchanting the crowd closer to you and the trio of male dancers taking turns in aiding your flips and lifts, including a split across two dancer’s shoulders while playing. That ended in a drop backwards caught by another dancer hunched forward to support you before his swivel away leaving you in a string of pirouettes stepping back for an exaggerated arch and smirk filled dance. In that once the crowd had grown fled up the steps into the theater with an eager race following your group to the sound of the Inspector growling about the missing citizens and bodies located that had something to do with the traveling troupe now in town. Mid spin a hand off of the violin and bow your skirt tore free rippling out a longer flowing dress for the opening number of the packed show including the freshly arrived Richard who stepped off the freshly arrived carriage who lingered against the back wall at the lack of chairs.

Haunting and alluring through the background the music swelled between the dazzling musical show numbers to glimpses of murders in black and white pictures tacked on a board in the police station and missing person flyers. Steadily while the story of how you were captured by the Ringmaster came with Richard lurking more even in the less crowded theater days scouring for this hiding of your coat. Assuming his own explanation for the murders succubus was misdiagnosed by the avid monster hunting inspector growing angrier by the day as more and more men shown to attack or prey on others were literally torn out of the screen by a large hand and arm.

Gasps came from your friends amazed by the intro sucking them in quick to the gruesome times this film was set in. Each flinching at each snatching and splatter of blood while the lingering plotting gazes only built up tension to what would inevitably come.

Rich did more and more to subtly manage you out of the line of the Inspector who was up to inciting panic and unrest in the already fragile town while sharing more about his own past and painful injury sidelining his dance aspirations. Including the dance scene you had shared about for a slow and trust building show he wasn’t broken like he had been told. Those few sentimental moments shared between the pair of you gave glimmers of hope in the city drenched with nearing frenzy to the rising death count. The music lifted to crescendo through a fight causing a fire in the pub causing just enough reason to send you on a different path avoiding it.

Though nothing prepared them for your attack scene in passing through an alley. From behind a handful of your hair spun you around through a heart clenching gasp to the crescendo of the panic. Breathless the crowd help their breath as the hand clenched around your throat slamming you carelessly into the wall behind you sending a trio of buttons flying and loosening the hair comb once managing your curls seeping out to freedom. Wide eyes full of tears clenched shut at the hard blow sending blood splattering across your cheek and now bared neck causing the Inspector to go flying.

Around your waist to the lull of the Bard’s song hands folded lowering your trembling self to your feet, “Breathe,” he growled out to a hand freeing his own spare clasp on his cloak used to secure the tear in your blouse over your neck with calloused fingers to brush the droplets away. Open eyes again saw clearly the face the camera had yet to see with nearly half of you in his shadow for just a moment in the camera panning back to view his turn away saying, “Go child, walk and leave this beast to me.” Inhaling shakily you turned wetting your lips to the Inspector’s knee top shout to stop ending at the hand gripping his hair and back of his neck dragging him away with great ease while your stroll gained confidence in the rise of your hands to fix your curls back into the comb. In the Bard’s walk away the faintest flicker of purple eyes and raven curls under the brim of his hat seen passing reflected stream from a lantern gave a nod to why he might have been trailing your traveling troupe.

Silence in the crowd seemed to set in at Richard’s frantic discovery of you while the Ringmaster screamed for his fleeing creatures to return. All your things were packed and with him and refusing to stay having heard his heart wrenching plea side by side you sped to catch the final train. Upon which the duet with you and him ‘Down Below, My Bedfellow’ began to play again tightening Richard’s hand in yours through the sea of muted misty eyed viewers at the night view of the lit city the train was speeding from to his hummed answer to your whisper of where you would go from here. “To the sea,” around your shoulders the formerly unnoticed coat that was stolen from you tears prior was smoothed over by his hands.

A quiver of your lips came with evident instant grateful tears in your eyes, hands lifted to clench the ends of that coat shimmering in its melt around your torso drawing it to a close in a sliding shot shifting to follow him. One of the cars containing a bathed and properly dressed Bard given away by the braided back curls and purple eyes reading a book following his path to your car. Past the main hall to your shared car he went finding a pitcher of water making him hastily close the door and tug at his cravat. Loosening that and his collar to his lustful gaze at the pitcher gills easing open on his neck left him groaning fighting his same urge he felt each time near liquids through the film he always refused or avoided. A couple outside the door had his hand easing his collar tighter and free hand tugging one of your scarves down to coat the pitcher that wafted to fold over it in his plop onto his bench seat. There he retied his cravat in time for you to be seen outside the car door you eased open to slip inside and shut behind you again. Across from him you sat with eyes locked on his to the swell of the song in the pitch black of a tunnel flickering to an image of a secluded shack by the sea on a small island your eyes scoured over blind to his adoring gaze fixed on you.

From inside a cottage the pile of bags were seen along with the pair of you walking to the shore through the window with the well dressed Bard following at a distance. Once barely at the water fear crept into your eyes looking between him and the sea until his silent tug on the cravat he let float away on the breeze to fold back his collar exposing the gills open at his feet covered in the lapping waves. Up you sprung with arms fixed around his neck spreading his smile in the moment of foreheads touching, his arms fixed around your back to a silent chuckle in his turn lifting your legs to his side walking you deeper into the water down to his chest where the sunrise caught the silhouette of a chaste kiss. Broken by the cut to bubbly navy blue background of the credits an animated seal and fish monster swimming through the seas and surfacing as they pleased to share that cottage and possibly raise a family was the makeshift epilogue to the couple’s future with glimmers of a second larger seal seen to mingle on the edges.

.

A shriek was a warning from Miranda and you were engulfed in a tight hug. “I love it I want to see it fifty times,” she stated making you giggle into her shoulder to the medley of compliments given by the others that in her release to hug Richard and your father they took their chance, wrapping you in proud hugs as well sharing their favored moments all the way to the after party. The lot of them keeping as much time as they could with you through that evening and the next two between your explorations and assigned interviews in this gorgeous city with your group. Almost always tangled in Richard’s arms or having hold of his hand treasuring this first time here together as a couple. Pictures were a must and already surely a box of disposable cameras had been filled from all the pictures taken that once filled had been mailed to England to yourselves to be developed there upon arrival, all which Chris had been collecting from Richard’s place there.

Tight hugs for your grandparents weren’t the norm but the formerly standoffish pair had been melting into their newer roles a bit closer to openly affectionate spontaneously, still needing some practice no doubt but enjoying the stolen hugs from you all the same. “You are an unrivaled masterpiece,” your grandmother said in her second parting hug.

While your grandfather said, “Go knock them dead, my Little Bubble.”

Both smiling teary eyed on their steps back to head to the airport to fly back to Russia on their private jet while you joined your friends in a van to head to the airport for the plane you were packing to head to England. At least in all this the Armitage brood was glad to have you back in time for New Years and the party Margaret was holding amongst their family members in town.

.

Once seated across from Karl, Bernard and Miranda on the plane with the window blind shut you stole a glance at your dad ready to break into his nap and softly said, “You don’t have to come to the New York premier too I’d you want a break.”

His head turned with spreading sleepy grin to rumble, “Me and my Pumpkin are in a film together you couldn’t pry me away from that premier. Gonna see it as many times as I can for free before it comes out on tape. Get all the details soaked in before the brood back home get to watch it and the tsunami of questions come.” Making you giggle and loop your hand around his arm letting him settle in through the take off to get some sleep to greet Rich’s family when you got to town post taxi ride.

On the aisle you sat letting the guys nap as Karl closest to you chatted with you until he inevitable droop of his head and you shifted to curl up against your father’s arm. The sound of a can being opened stirred you however even underneath Bernard’s scarf alerting you to the stewardess there with the snack trolley who smiled as your dad said, “Got your snacks already pumpkin,” accepting his selection after having passed Richard’s his.

Miranda asked, “Do you want stromboli when we land? I have the biggest craving for some good Italian food right now.”

Richard said, “I know a good place of you still want when we’ve landed. Priced well too.”

“I think I want pasta fagioli.”

Karl, “What is that?”

“It’s a soup. Pretty good and you get these breadsticks and dunk it in there and it’s so good and the salt and butter from the bread adds to it. I could use a few bowls of that.”

Bernard, “I haven’t had a good rattatouli in a while.”

Martin scoffed, “Lasagna. None of that crumbled cheese though, just meat sauce and noodles, I’ll take five pounds of that.”

Hugo, “Don’t tempt me I go broke on lasagna when I go out.”

Viggo however said, “I might just have five helpings of cake. Anything with chocolate really. Got to get my fix in before my boy flies out.”

“He didn’t come last time for school?”

“Oh no, his mom’s mom had a party. Wanted a special picture with him. Plus this way we can run through Sherwood and it’s not such a long flight for him he tends to get bored on a full day flight.”

Martin, “I think everyone but Gimli gets bored on full day flights.”

“I like to nap and no one interrupts your reading up at night.”

Hugo, “Dickens again?” He asked eyeing the book you’d tucked at your side. “Looks like a thinner copy.”

“Wives and Daughters actually. Working my way through Gaskell to get to North and South.”

Miranda, “Don’t think I’ve read those yet.”

“Ohh you really should. So much mutual pining and clashing egos and romances thwarted by social standing. Just lovely.”

Viggo on his way to the bathroom asked, “Richard like to cuddle up with you when you read those or do you hide them for when he sleeps?”

That made you giggle, “They’re making a mini series of North and South actually in the first few months, and you are speaking the Margaret herself.” Making him smirk, “And my teddy bear is my brooding rejected suitor slash rival turned fiancé. I think you’d like it.”

He said, “Let ya know when it’s on. It’s for tv right?”

You nodded, “BBC. Shouldn’t take too long, and if it succeeds then I can use that as a buffer if Fox drops the show they signed me to.”

Bernard, “Why would you sign on to a show they might drop?”

“Lee asked me. Puppy dog eyed me for weeks to audition and damnit if I wasn’t talented I got the damn thing.” Making the group chuckle, “It’s got a cute back story really it’s just sort of, niche, it most likely won’t be an across the board rager like Friends or Looney Tunes. Fox isn’t known for fully backing their odd projects though. But it’ll be fun while it lasts.”

Richard muttered after chewing his mouthful of pretzels, “You’ll be magnificent. We all have odd pieces for the screen. Helps to build your portfolio.”

Hugo, “Yes, that, listen to him. You keep the faith in your little engine of a show they’re putting shows in box sets now no telling even if they cut it off air you’ll have fans who will demand it.”

Craig said after finishing off his coffee, “Plus it’s time with your friend. Who we get to see on film since he’s been hiding for so long.”

That made you giggle again saying, “He’s not hiding, just busy. Got some work for funds from now till we start to film out in Canada. He underestimated the budget to keep two apartments afloat.”

That made your dad chortle, “Been there.”

Richard said, “Just glad I own my place or keeping the flat up in Canada would be a bit thin.”

“I could help,” you said looking his way making him shake his head.

“Nope, I’ve got the rent, but you can feed us and help to find deals on furniture.” Making you smirk at the fair deal.

Craig, “You still have that little place up in New York?”

“I got bumped up to a slightly bigger little place, but ya, one and a half bed.”

Viggo, “Half bed?” He asked on his way past you to his seat.

“Ya, it’s a small room not big enough for a bed frame so we just laid some mattresses out. I think it’s meant to be a walk in closet or something.”

Viggo chuckled at that, “Ah, that’s what Karl meant.”

Karl, “It’s adorable I said nothing but nice things.” He said turning to give Viggo a pointed stare only making the actor laugh again.

Bernard, “Are houses expensive there?”

“Not if you don’t mind living on the floor to not spend money on anything but paying it off. Brooklyn and Queens are cheaper, but Dad likes me in lower Manhattan in his friend’s building.”

Your father, “He keeps an eye on her. Though with these new roles he’s got a Brownstone we could look at. Needs some fixing and maybe you can rent the basement apartment to Lee, plus I wouldn’t be just down the hall I could have my own floor, with a big tv.”

That made you smile, “You said my tv was fine I suggested getting a new one.”

Your father, “One that I am not lugging up and down those damn stairs when you move it in and then move us out. Plus then I can spring for cable.”

Martin, “You don’t have cable?”

“I got some rabbit ears.” Making him and a few of the guys chuckle. “Get most of the same stuff for free. Bit blurry no telling what the host of Wheel of Fortune looks like with his face all smudged all the time but highly doubt I’d find him in person anyways.”

Craig, “I have rabbit ears at my place in California no judgment here.”

Viggo, “I just couldn’t imagine sports on that.”

Your father said, “It’s bad. I go down to watch in the office. Plus then she can watch what she likes while we hang out.”

Random conversations ebbed and flowed through the rest of the flight until at the baggage claim. Richard called ahead to his cousin who worked at the Italian place who shut off the back room and got the tables all prepped with a corner for your bags leaving just a crowd of people and cameras watching your grouping off to fit into taxis to head that way. Well fed the plan was clear to meet up the next day before the premier opening lunch as usual with the rest of the cast where they would brag endlessly on the film amping up expectations of the others to see it finally and then you split.

On foot you found your way to Richard’s to plop onto the couch and let your dad choose a show to watch before heading to the Family home for their gathering. Answering emails and voicemail messages you caught up post flight in that break cuddled to your dad’s side as long as you could relaxing until your hand ploped on your lap in a sigh.

Lowly your dad asked, “What’s that for?”

“I forgot to squeeze Red Dragon in before I left New York.”

Richard said, “We can go day after tomorrow. Chris said he wanted to watch it again. His lady kept jumping and they had to go when she tried to go hide in the bath halfway through.”

“And, he wants to go-,”

Richard chuckled out, “Without her.”

Earning nods from you and your dad, with the latter saying, “No problem, you guys can go and have a cuddle date with him. Prefer my Hannibal films on tape. Plus then I can shop. Someone is not avoiding their 23rd.” Making you cuddle more to his side for the rest of the time you had left.

.

Comments and praise did explode through the cast with those having to wait until the US premier on the verge of pouting at having to wait longer than the others. While Christopher and Ian both treasured they had the big day just another night away. From another stunning dress to the final emerald velvet long sleeved dress with lace filled cutouts down the ribs away from the microphones to the forefront with the more notable faces smiling to your beaming anxious self stealing glances of you in interviews on their way in. Again you and Richard both were sent to promote the film here at the crack of dawn with just the magazine shoot scheduled the following day as you ignored the phone buzzing on silent in your pocket from friends in England and your grandparents back in Russia sharing how the film had been exploding in France and Europe after you had left at its opening to theaters sure to be matched here.

Already it was pushing a profit of double what had cost to film it after passing the initial aspired to 17 million covering all those costs and it didn’t show signs of stopping yet. Beside the Director you smiled alongside the cast while Peter smirked rehearsing his plot again in his mind of what he was set to do when the news finally broke on King Kong. Leaving all that until hopefully when your film was out in England and the producers could just see what you could do and have more to go off of past your age and tiny speaking roles yet to date outside of being Gimli. They just had to wait and see and then they would understand why he had kept bringing up your name.

.

“I have no words,” Howard managed to stammer out with hands at his sides in the hall just outside he theater once the crowds had filed out to the cars to head to the after dinner. That score was perfection, and I wept at that final song. I am so proud of you. Don’t ever doubt what you created was less than a masterpiece. So proud, I am to have helped you get to that astonishing work of art.”

Christopher said, “And you did not let the role own you. You shone through it masterfully. It would have been so easy to cower back into the typical damsel in distress. It was electric, the hair on my arms is still on end from that snatch of your hair.”

“Genius, Darling girl, pure genius.” Ian smirked saying, “And Richard, that little grimace at the pitcher, very subtle and very poignant all the same. A masterful role from you as well.” His eyes shifted to you as you eyed Peter and Fran whispering on their way out of the theater where hey had lingered a few minutes and he asked, “Everything alright? I don’t believe I could handle another of our crew out of sorts. Peter has been acting strange already.”

“He has?” You asked looking to Ian again not seeing the couple smiling widely in their path over to your group. “Something is afoot,” he added in a whisper tapping the side of his nose in a sign to keep it amongst yourselves.

He didn’t know how right he was, as several hours prior at daybreak Peter had gotten the call he had been waiting for, a formal notice from Naomi’s team that she would be pulling out and Peter was the second to know. The first being the producers who were gathered up in a meeting to call him and instruct him as he already knew to audition again. “Perhaps we could call Kate Winslet’s people again see if we can shuffle some things around to fit her into our filming schedule. Peter-,” his huff said it all and eyes rolled not needing another ego in this arena of bulls requiring a simple solution.

“Or you could simply promote Jaqi Pear from stunt double to lead actress and give her Naomi’s previous package.”

“Listen, about the girl-,”

Peter cut him off, “No, months ago you refused to even let me audition her based on her being barely 22 well I have a few numbers for you. Beast of Bards cost roughly 16 million to film and in one night it earned that back, just in Eastern Europe and Asia. Now that it’s out in Paris and Europe as well it’s made double what it cost to make since then and it still hasn’t opened in England, Canada or the States.”

Mouths had dropped open and one managed to ask, “You’re sure in those numbers?”

“Yes, and they are still climbing. The Ring that has Naomi in the lead has barely scraped 15 million in profits. Numbers alone she deserved to get to audition months ago. The film will be out in England at midnight, you go and buy tickets and watch the film. Listen to the crowd and make your decision off her performance in that to see her in action as a lead. Then you have a meeting and go over it thoroughly and tell me your decision. She has the physical stamina for this role and the vocal training to give me a hell of a blood curdling scream I need.”

“And if we don’t go to see this film just to give this girl a chance? What then hmm?”

That had Peter seeing red and before he knew it Fran’s mouth dropped open at hearing him say, “Then you can find a new director to go with whatever lead actress you pick.” Hastily he snapped his phone shut and threw it at his couch covering his mouth letting the couple sit in stunned silence at his monumental foot stomp on the hill he was going to die on that you were perfect for this role. Though what he didn’t know was all the other producers but the one who questioned Peter were already curious to what you could do. And completely ignoring anything he might say they decided to go see the film the country was whispering about and itching to see out with the public to get the full impact of a lead film of yours just killing in sales already without hitting the western half of the globe yet.

They knew the film would be incredible deep down and how talented you are so there was no regret on forcing this issue even if facing a lawsuit in the millions at his dropping out like this. But it had to be done and the film could only increase in value for having you in it. Especially now, after seeing just what you could do in this physically and mentally taxing film you obliterated any chance anyone could ever forget it. Just one of those iconic roles and he had a hunch people would remember you from this over all the other roles you have had so far no matter their size, this one was special and he wanted King Kong to be a second chance of sorts. You loved working as Gimli everyone knew that and cherished each grueling moment while no one who saw the film could tell exactly where you played into it to have earned a spot at each premier under all that weight they coated on top of you daily. This was his second chance to bring to life another beloved tale with you at the helm front and center once again, though this time for none to be able to imagine it could be anyone else but you.

Peter shook his head on his way to fold around you in a hug making you giggle and hug him back, “Brilliant, I can’t think of anything else to say. I could read off every synonym of perfection and it wouldn’t come close.”

Fran, “Edge of my seat the whole time.”

Peter nodded, “Yes, thrilling and you were just, a magnet, couldn’t look away. Brilliant truly.”

Your eyes looked over his face and you asked, “You okay? You seemed a bit tense.”

Peter waved his hand in your step back, “Oh, nothing can’t be handled in the morning. Let’s go feed you, hmm?”

You nodded and joined the group to the waiting van for the after dinner where yet again you mingled with the press and friends alike while Peter counted down the hours to midnight when the tickets would be available for the producers to see it themselves. They would have to see this would explode, even here he had heard several guests to the premier saying they would come back to see it again with friends and relatives. Each additional extra bit shared and explained by the Director fueled that even more with promised extras to be added when the film hit the shelves on extras for the dvd.

Sleep was required and under the covers you tangled up in Richard’s arms falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart and echoes of your father’s deep breaths from across the house. Tomorrow would be interesting as you’d ride the train to London again to find the flat where the team would be waiting to photograph you and Richard for yet another interview. At least for your sake the questions mostly differed and wasn’t terribly repetitive with all these press stops that you had underestimated a bit.

Soon to be added by another as you were going to be appearing on a morning show in New York as the animals they had hoped to get on couldn’t be managed after all. A reluctant addition on both parts. As for when it was booked you would be less than cheerful at having to dart over after having landed to make the interview time for this bothersome appointment they refused to hear that possibly a slot the following day might be better as they had first mentioned instead of bumping it up a day for their own nonsense plans. Though you supposed an earlier flight could always bother the people at the airport to squeeze into an earlier flight time if possible, though this time of the year you doubted it could be managed. All the same these few days here would be a welcome break from all the travel and time to catch up with the Armitage brood and your friends here.

.

On the way back from the interview however a message from Lee had you looking up to Richard in the seat beside you on the bench on the train, “Lee changing his mind on his suit again?”

“No, Naomi dropped out. Hit the press yesterday in the States.”

“Ah,” he said looking you over, “Well maybe you’ll get a chance to audition. Ours is doing well they can’t ignore that forever.”

“Maybe. Hope so, if not it’ll be a bit strange having to get used to another person to double for them. At least with John and Naomi I had some time to get to know them. Looks like I’d have to meet this new one at the table read.”

“For now let’s at least focus on the time we have, New Years will have the family around and after we land in New York I only have a couple days before catching my flight back to Canada.”

“Yes, we will have to buy you some furniture at least. Dishes too, guess we could make a list of what we’d need to fill a place.”

Richard’s arm eased more around your middle to sneak a kiss on your cheek, “As long as you put yourself on the list. Can’t forget you.” Making you giggle softly in his next stolen peck and cuddle closer in the anticipation to head back out into the nippy breeze waiting for you outside the tunnels.

.

Time seemed to jump with the year and back in New York you sat atop a high stool smiling for the hosts of the morning show. Chatting about the film which inevitably delved into a mention of the next ‘big story’ of the day about a pie recipe that would blow people away they were set to bake in their cooking segment to follow. Once off camera your hands rose to rub your sore jaw from holding the smile painted on your face no matter what they said. At least they kept it pleasant and this was overall harmless a stop and after a fumble of hands to return the microphone you picked up your bags and joined Richard and your father for the ride back to your apartment.

You had another two days to get ready for the premier and cross of another magazine stop and catch up with your friends. Out on the stoop however Lee was waiting with a smile and a crashing hug for you, “I can’t wait! Tell me everything, not on the film but everything around it I want to be surprised on the film. I ordered pizzas and I just got some of that fizzy fruit drink you like and they still had some chocolate covered cherries at the store I bought them all. Will thought I was crazy for it but they keep, and, one last chocolate orange, saved it for you.” He said with a smile helping to take a bag from you after letting you all in the front entrance guiding you up to your place where he set down your bag and hurried to fetch the drinks leaving just a wait for the pizzas he would guide up here.

In the sitting room you spread out around the stacks of pizzas on the coffee table basking in the warmth as your heater flooded the long empty apartment with warm air. Nice and cozy you relaxed catching up and getting ready for your own evening in catching up on some more sleep and planning the day for you to get your hair lightened and length touched up once blow dried and straightened again.

.

Flooded with more famous faces your final premier went over fantastically with the numbers racing upwards as soon as the film was out in theaters. Numbers that had some more shows, one in particular asking to fit you in as well the following night. Interviews completed and premiers through you relaxed at least there was only another flight for you to face to get to work on the show Lee was flying out for that night to get his place freshened and stocked up for his stay. A call from Peter however coincided with one from your lawyer, who had flown in asking to talk to you regarding one of your contracts.  

“Hey,” you said greeting your lawyer who you let into your apartment for a stop blending with Peter’s, who called saying he was on his way a bit earlier. “Make it alright with the stairs? They should have de-iced earlier.”

“Oh yes, I am surprised I got here so fast, thank you for sharing on the parking garage, not too far of a walk and I can get my pens in order before Peter gets here.”

That had your brows up at your stop into the kitchen, where on the counter he settled his briefcase, Richard making tea asked, “You and Peter planned to come together?”

“Oh yes,” he said opening the case to get everything lined up, “Do you have a table?”

“Um, coffee table, in there,” you said pointing to the sitting room where he grinned carrying his case.

“Tea?” Richard asked.

“Yes please, bit of cream no sugar.”

Richard nodded and lifted the whistling kettle as your dad came from your bedroom after having switched off the race he was watching. Lowly asking as he neared you, “So there’s something wrong with the Kong contract? Thought that was settled months back.”

“Was, who knows.” It didn’t take long for another knock to sound and to the door you went to let Peter in, though once opened his huff from the chilly hall faded to a wide smile. “Hey Peter,” you said stepping back to let him in and take his coat to hang up once you closed the door sealing in the heat from escaping from the apartment. “Something’s wrong with the contracts?”

“Oh not exactly,” he said coming in to find Richard with tea in hand to offer him, “thank you, Richard. Very kind.”

Your dad asked, “Walk went well?”

“Yes, nice and ice free, but, first, you my dear, come have a seat near me.” You nodded following him into the sitting room you took up the love seat across from the one he was sharing with your lawyer who now had all his things arranged on the coffee table. “Now,” he said finishing his sip to set the mug down to pat his palms together above his lap. “This is me formally offering you the role of Ann Darrow.”

“What?” you asked in a frail squeak. “But, I didn’t even audition.” You said after a glance at your dad seated against the wall on a stool he brought in from the kitchen as Richard shifted a bit closer to your side at your hand shifting to his knee unconsciously for support.

“Well I wanted you to, I know by now you heard about Naomi dropping out as you have warned me, thank you for that again made things much easier in this transition. I got the call from the producers and they said they wanted me to get started on auditions again after bringing up the moot issue of possibly talking Kate Winslet into talking about shifting filming to fit her schedule. And when I had offered you the role to double for Naomi I had hoped to offer you the lead role, however the producers were reluctant to offer the role as you were so young. When they called me to inform me to find a new Ann I pressed your name again and told the producers to watch your film as proof that you were the right choice for the role. One of them tried to say he didn’t want to give you a chance and I told the lot of them if they didn’t they could find a new Director as well.”

That had your jaw drop in a crack of your voice, “Have you gone mad?!”

“I did,” he chuckled, “For a few minutes, even Fran had that same face, but I put my foot down and they saw the film and agree with me. And there’s numbers to back how profitable you could be compared to Naomi’s last film.”

“That’s not putting your foot down, that’s,”

“You are my only choice for Ann, you can handle the physicality the screams with all your vocal training and you helped to build the damn city after all giving us references on Vaudeville era shows and culture. You put that work in and you deserve the role a hell of a lot more than anyone else they could muster up.”

“They could have ruined you.”

“Yes,” he replied and said, “All from their idiocy at not giving you the chance in the first place. And with that weight I guaranteed they gave you the same weighty contract they gave to Naomi. Down to numbers, where your lawyer and I have been talking and wrangled down a square deal. $5.5 million paycheck, with $75 k up front, plus 2% box office gross, and an offered .02% of dvd sales.” The numbers muffled in your ears at the sudden urge of your body feeling to wish to pass out while your heart began to race.

“You-,” you squeaked out and shifted wetting your lips to Richard’s hand smoothing across your back having felt your heart rate spike.

“I know it sounds like a lot, you were stunned with a 400k payday on your last film but this one we’re going to be spending over a hundred million, paydays are in the millions and the guys got more than fair shakes and you needed someone at bat for you to get the same. Jack, Adrian and even Colin all pushed for box office and dvd sales cuts to we made certain to get you the biggest percentage. They got 1.5% box office gross and .01% of dvd sales, while you got double dvd sales and .5% higher on box office gross because I’ll be damned if Ann Darrow doesn’t get the biggest chunk on a King Kong film.”

“I,” you said smoothing your fingers across your lips.

Your lawyer said, “I was certain to get you the same 2% box office gross as for Beast of Bards just like I did for Richard. You more than deserve it, saw the film myself.” He said at the tears beginning to pool into your eyes.

Peter wet his lips to say, “This film is going to be very big, another Lord of the Rings smash we hope, and the leads in the trilogy got handsome paychecks. I need you on this, you’re the only one I know who can help me with this. Will you accept?”

“How could I not?” you squeaked out at a tear rolling down your cheek that you hastily wiped away causing him to lean forward taking hold of your free hand.

“You don’t find many actors like you these days. You’d do it for free if you could I know it. You would have been Gimli for free. You don’t want the fame you want the adventure and stories to be born. So, let me go to bat for you, because we need you. Andy will cry if we don’t get you.”

That had you laugh and wipe your other cheek then sniffle through a nod. Up onto your feet you stood and gave him a hug in squeezing between him and the lawyer to get to initialing and signing the papers. Peter stayed for lunch while your lawyer was off eager to put in the papers and pass on the news to your grandparents. In his absence Peter said, “I do like your place.” That had you giggle again on the way to the kitchen with the group for a refill on tea.

“Used to be in a smaller one. Dad’s talked to the landlord though about one of his brownstones possibly for us all and maybe Lee if he’s up for it. Have a tiny yard in the back.”

“Right down the block from another firehouse. Nice and safe.” Making Peter grin, “Plus, five floors, all ours, nice upgrade.”

Peter asked your dad, “Sounds nice, are you planning on staying here full time then?”

“No,” he said then glanced at you, “Pumpkin’s up to Canada next and I’m heading back to Texas for a while give the lovebirds some time alone. And I could use a break on flying. Get my hands back in the dirt and help with the sheep. Sheering season before long.”

“I have to learn to juggle,” you said making Peter smirk at you, “I know one of the Queens knows how to juggle. Don’t remember which one, Dolly will know.”

Pt 33

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​​, @deepestfirefun​, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim​, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf​

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

[huahsu]

A RAT YEAR

previous years: THE MOON REPRESENTS MY HEART :: 2019 A SONG THAT DEGRADES EACH TIME YOU PLAY IT :: 2018 A CHURCH AND JOHN LENNON’S “IMAGINE” :: 2017  SIKH DEVOTIONAL MUSIC :: 2016 SPOOKY BLACK :: 2015

Not just other people, the sight of other people on the subway or bus, walking carefree down the street, lost in their music, emitting auras, and I’m wondering what that music is. Not just music, I miss the stories, the way we gather around a sound as though it’s a flame, the way other sounds, triggering other other sounds, can shatter and send us. Not a sound, but a volume I miss is when you’re at a club or a show, and you’re trying to tell someone something, and you’re conscious of not wanting to shout directly in their ear, since you know a polite whisper will get drowned out by the music, and so you (or, in this case, I) resort to a loud mutter, or you emphasize the most important words and hope they can fill in the rest, or you tiptoe your sentence through the noise, guiding whatever you’re saying in between the quiet spaces of the music. Not music, but a sound I thought about a lot this year was a young Black man killed by the cops, his name was Elijah McClain, and he used to play the violin to comfort stray cats. Not playing the violin, rather sawing open this world to reveal one somewhere else that I’d like to believe exists.  IF ONLY THIS HAD EXISTED WHEN I WAS LEARNING CELLO AS A TEENAGER Clarice Jensen, The experience of repetition as death PER USUAL: MY FAVORITE HARP RECORDINGS OF 2020 (HORSEHAIR CATEGORY) Rhodri Davies, Telyn Rawn

FAVORITE HARP (PEDAL) Dezron Douglas and Brandee Younger, Force Majeure MOST LISTENED-TO ALBUMS THAT FELT INSTANTLY FAMILIAR AND WELCOMING Duval Timothy, Help Jeff Parker, Suite for Max Brown MOST LISTENED-TO ALBUM THAT CONFUSED AND DELIGHTED ME ANEW EACH TIME, IT SOUNDS LIKE NOTHING ELSE Still House Plants, Fast Edit ROOKIE OF THE YEAR KeiyaA, Forever, Ya Girl FREE JAZZMATAZZ Boldy James and Sterling Toles, Manger on McNichols

FREQUENTLY SUBLIME...MOTORBIKES, RICKSHAWS, CHAOS THROUGH WEAK CLOCK RADIO SPEAKERS 3Phaz, Three Phase EARTH HEALED HERSELF Gaia Tones, #002 Chains/Shackles BUT ESPECIALLY TRACK 4  ⣎⡇ꉺლ༽இ•̛)ྀ◞ ༎ຶ ༽ৣৢ؞ৢ؞ؖ ꉺლ, ooo　̟̞̝̜̙̘̗̖҉̵̴̨̧̢̡̼̻̺̹̳̲̱̰̯̮̭̬̫̪̩̦̥̤̣̠҈͈͇͉͍͎͓͔͕͖͙͚͜͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢ͅ 　oʅ͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡͡​(​　؞ৢ؞ؙؖ⁽⁾˜ัิีึื์๎้็๋๊⦁0　̟̞̝̜̙̘̗̖҉̵̴̨̧̢̡̼̻̺̹̳̲̱̰̯̮̭̬̫̪̩̦̥̤̣̠҈͈͇͉͍͎͓͔͕͖͙͚͜͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢͢ͅ 　ఠీੂ೧ູ࿃ूੂ I MISS THE NIGHTLIFE Julion De’Angelo and Viola Klein, We

ASK THE AGES Mary Halvorson’s Code Girl, Artlessly Falling

JOURNEY TO THE ONE Ambrose Akinmusire, on the tender spot of every calloused moment JOURNEY TO THE ONE, IN A RAINFOREST Matthew Halsall, Salute to the Sun BEST LIVE MUSIC Pharoah Sanders at Zebulon BEST OLD MUSIC Foul Play, Origins I OFTEN PUT THIS ON AND FORGET WHAT IT IS AND CYCLE THROUGH MY WINDOWS EXCITEDLY IN ORDER TO REMEMBER Alabaster DePlume, To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals, Vol. 1 WONDROUS...WE FLOATED OUT OF THERE...IS THIS HOW PEOPLE FEEL ABOUT ‘HAMILTON?’  American Utopia at the Hudson Theater ONLY POSITIVE VIBES Dougie Stu, Familiar Future Jeen Bassa, Cassava Pone R E S P E C T orion sun, “mama’s baby” I WOULD HAVE PLAYED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS BACK AT THE ENORMOUS ROOM drea the vibe dealer, priestess of vibrations SIM SIMMA (SLOW VERSION) Ruth Orhiunu, “Loving Goes Down” AT LES (VERSION) ọmọ igi, “Coco” and Prone2 THIS WAS THIS YEAR??? RMR, “Rascal” FLY AWAY Morray, “Quicksand” “I GOT POWER NOW I GOTTA SAY SOMETHING” Lil Baby, “The Bigger Picture”

LOVE IS ESSENTIAL Ian Isiah, “Loose Truth” STARING AT THE SUN Sharada Shashidhar, Rahu 2 BRIDGES MUSIC AND ARTS APPRECIATION POST THOUGH MY TASTES ARE ADMITTEDLY HELLA BASIC COMPARED TO THE SHOP’S GENERAL ETHOS AND VIBE NYZ, OLD TRX [87-93] Conrad Pack, Stations of Control I CAN’T BELIEVE I FUCKING FELL FOR "CHOPPED AND SCREWED WILCO” Chopstars x Barry Jenkins, Yankee Purple Foxtrot OR “JAZZY CLUB MUSIC”...BUT I DID SW., Night PROBABLY THE BEST THING I BOUGHT THIS YEAR Angel Bat Dawid, “Transition East” 7-inch bundled with Emma Warren’s wondrous Make Some Space and Piotr Orlov’s killer manifesto ANNUAL “THING I DISCOVERED THROUGH BEING FRIENDS WITH/FOLLOWING ORLOV” Ase Manual, Black Liquid Electronics HEADHUNTERS Jadakiss f/ Pusha T, “Huntin Season” ”I WAS LEFT BACK LIKE EVRA” Tion Wayne x Dutchavelli x Stormzy, “I Don’t Know” 56 BARS Lil Eazzyy, “Onna Come Up” ALFA ROMEO / FUEGO / I’M ON MY WAY, YO / WACO / ALFREDO / SCOTT BAIO / MAYO / MAINO Roc Marciano, “Downtown 81″ I WILL ALWAYS LIKE THE VULNERABLEST SONG ON YOUR PROJECT ZahSosaa, “Emotions” THIS BEAT GOES TO ELEVEN Heem Sosa, “Expose You” SAME, BUT WEST COAST YeloHill, “Tales From the Hood” BEST NEW DRONES FUJI​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​|​TA, iki

BEST OLD WOBBLES Skream, Unreleased Classics 2002-2003 JOURNEY TO SATCHIDANANDA Deradoorian, Find the Sun VERVE’S “SLIDE AWAY” VIDEO Raymond Richards, The Lost Art of Wandering THE OPENING SECONDS OF “HOLY ARE YOU” Corey Fuller, Sanctuary SHOPPING CARTS CRASHING FOREVER HPRIZM, Loops Are a Form of Meditation I MEAN IT’S CALLED Chris Crack, White People Love Algorithms  $ilkmoney, Attack of the Future Shocked, Flesh Covered, Meatbags of the 85 A NICE LOOSIE Ryuji Ono, “Should Be There” SOME THINGS YOU LISTEN TO A LOT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THE BEAT AND VERSES WORK, AND WHETHER IT IS INTENTIONAL Choose Up Cheese x ShittyBoyz, “Shitty Cheese” I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I BOUGHT THIS BUT THE GENRE TAG IS “POPOL VUH” Ñaka Ñaka, “Thorny Place” ANNUAL MOOD HUT INSTANT CLASSIC CZ Wang, Neo Image, “Just Off Wave/Open Mic Beat” IS THIS BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL?? 岩本清顕 Kiyoaki Iwamoto, “Love Will Tear Us Apart” ONE OF THE BEST SONGS OF ALL TIME IS Lim Giong, “A Pure Person”

WHICH SADLY COULD NOT BE INCLUDED ON this Pure Person collection of covers by Taiwanese artists (as well as LG’s own spiritual sequel to the original) that is an incredible vibe FREE GUZHENG  Mindy Meng Wang 王萌, An Improvisation Through Time and Space 穿越时光的即兴 I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT THIS SOUNDTRACK OR FILM BUT IT IS FANTASTIC Carman Moore, Personal Problems OST THE BEST GENRE OF MUSIC IS SADE patten x sade 54D3 SECOND BEST: LATE 80s/EARLY 90s UK STREET SOUL  Soul Connection, Street Soul BRONZE: SEAN PAUL ASSAULTED BY JUNGLISMS Gallery S, “I’m Still in Love Restructure”

SPEAKING OF BLARES Standing on the Corner, “Angel” ONLY GOT TO SEE STANDING ON THE CORNER TWICE THIS YEAR 2/7/20 :: Black Music Future :: NYU 2/21/20 :: Artists on Artists :: Studio Museum  BUT THIS SUFFICES Standing on the Corner, “Zolo Go” SONG OF EVERY YEAR

[p0rtal-pr0mpts]

The same old song and dance

GLaDOS decides to test out her new Android body, however, when transferring her memories over, she accidentally replays one of Carolyn’s memories. Wheatley tries helping GLaDOS the only was he can. SHIPS:  (Past) Cavelyn (Can be seen as platonic or romantic) WheatDOS

GENETIC LIFE AND DISK OPERATING SYSTEM CENTRAL AI TRANSFERAL IN PROGRESS, PLEASE HOLD.

 SEARCHING FOR GENETIC MATCH…

 MATCH FOUND, PLEASE HOLD.

 TRANSFERRING MEMORY FILES, PLEASE HOLD…

 Pain. Death. Screaming. Betrayal. Guilt. Loss. Joy. Peace. Every memory she’d ever had flashed through her mind at a blinding pace. However, it didn’t stop there. It clawed and dug until it found something, buried under lines of coding.

 The sweet taste of liqueur lingered on her tongue, most of it already making its way into her system. She didn’t need the alcohol for her to feel like she was lighter than air. She was drunk from the calm, warm atmosphere that surrounded her. She rested close to his heart, her head resting on his shoulder as they swayed silently. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, clouding her mind with the smell of pine and oak. She could feel his heartbeat thumping rhythmically through his chest, feel his calloused hands placed gently around her waist, feel him, in all he was, pressed close to her. A slow song crackled through the radio, the quiet violins filling the room with a sombre sound. She had no qualms with following his directions, letting him take charge as they moved around the room. Caroline looked up, her eyes meeting with the warm brown eyes of the one she admired so much.

“Mr Johnson…” She started. He lifted a finger to her lips, his eyes reflecting the same adoration she felt.

“You don’t have to say it Caroline, I know this feeling too well.” He answered, his voice soft in a tone that he only saved for her. He pulled her closer to him, her heart began to race as she tilted her head up, so close to pressing her lips to his-

 GENETIC LIFE AND DISK OPERATING SYSTEM CENTRAL AI TRANSFERAL COMPLETE, ACTIVATION IN PROGRESS.

 WOULD YOU LIKE TO MODIFY THE APPEARENCE OF THE APERTURE SCIENCE TEMPORARY TRANSFERRAL ANDROID UNIT?

 Y/N

 SAVING CHANGES…

 WELCOME TO YOUR NEW, TEMPORARY BODY.

GLaDOS opened her optic. Or rather, her optics, since she had two of them now. Her systems came to life, wires and cables sparking to life as she examined her current situation. She was smaller now, thousands of memories and experiences compacted neatly into a compact disk. Of course, she could immediately feel the things she’d had to leave behind. Not everything could be carried across to an android of this size, so she’d still had to leave a lot in her Chassis to re-connect with later. She could no longer feel the panels rippling underneath her feet, or the living thrum of the test chambers she’d so delicately designed. Her processor had slowed by .567 milliseconds, which was an agonising pace for her, and she was no longer all powerful, stationed up high for the world to see. She was small, slow, and the memory file she’d been forced to witness mere seconds ago was playing on a loop in her mind. An endless cycle of pain. It annoyed her that she’d overlooked the possibility of this happening, she knew that she’d have to transfer over a large majority of her memory files, but she should have been more careful with what she chose, considering how one of her memories had slipped through. It didn’t matter though, the thoughts and the feelings she’d experienced were not her own. She was not Carolyn, a mild-mannered assistant. She was GLaDOS, a powerful, unstoppable machine. Strangely, it didn’t make her feel much better. She reasoned that it was because of her current body. Small, feminine, human-like, and just a little too similar to the human she’d once been.

“Oh wow! You look different! Well, obviously you look different, but I didn’t think you’d look like this. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just mean… Well, I thought you’d be taller.” A familiar excited voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked around to see Wheatley standing close to her with a bright but nervous smile. She craned her head up slightly to reach his eyes, realising in annoyance that she was slightly shorter than the tall core.

“I’ve barely been in this body for a minute and you’re already grating on my nerves.” GLaDOS complained, stretching her artificial muscles slightly. While it wasn’t really necessary, she’d programmed these android bodies to function as closely to humans as possible, including pain sensors, a night sleep cycle, and more emotional capacity. She was severely regretting that last one right now however, as the smell of cologne still lingered in her sensors. She shuddered the sensation away, dusting off the lab coat she’d chosen to add to her form. Wheatley stepped back slightly as if sensing her movements.

“Well, you have to admit it’s a bit of a shock, seeing you go from a giant bloody thing to a tiny little body.” He said lightly, using his arms to demonstrate the shrinking of her size. She glared at him with distaste.

“You know, I still have access to Android Hell, it’s not too late for me to send you there.” She threatened. He waved his arm dismissively.

“Oh we both know you’re all talk.” He smiled, lacking any sense of fear. GLaDOS was increasingly annoyed that her threats no longer worked on the Idiot Sphere, that he’d become so used to her constant taunting that he’d mostly grown immune. There were a few things that she could still rely on, for example, insulting his intelligence, but she didn’t really bother to any more unless it was a special circumstance. After all, she didn’t want him to become immune to those taunts too.

She took a step forward, intending to explore the central chamber now that she had a different vantage point. However, her plans were immediately put on hold as her body decided to catch up with gravity. She felt her legs give out from under her and she landed on the floor with a dull pain. Right. One of the functions of this body was to learn and adapt as a human would. Since it was new, she hadn’t calibrated any of the muscles which caused her fall. She could easily adapt and learn- calculating it told her it’d only take a few minutes to be fully in control of her limbs- however, it was still embarrassing, especially since it was in front of Wheatley.

“That looked like it hurt. Don’t worry love, it happened all the time to me when I first got my new body.” He said sympathetically.

“Actually, it still happens occasionally. Mad, how many things I seem to bump into!” He continued, rubbing the back of his neck. He outstretched his other arm to GLaDOS, which she looked at with distaste.

“I don’t need your help.” She spat in annoyance. Wheatley continued smiling cheerfully, painfully unaware of the venom in her voice.

“No, but it’d be easier if you accepted it anyway.” He countered smoothly. She continued glaring at the exposed hand, reluctantly grabbing it and allowing Wheatley to pull her up.

As soon as she was in a standing position, Wheatley switched from holding her hand to slinging an arm around her shoulder, keeping her steady. While she loathed to be so close to him, she realised this would be for the better, at least until her new body was fully calibrated.

“You know what I did when I was getting used to everything?” Wheatley asked lightly. GLaDOS sighed, already regretting her next sentence.

“Did you patiently wait for your calibrations to be complete?” She said sarcastically.

“No, what’s the point in that? No, I decided to break my body in through my own methods. Specifically, by dancing. What do you say? You may fall quite a bit at the beginning, but by the time you’re done you’ll be a pro like me.” He suggested. GLaDOS tensed as the words poured from his mouth and she fought to keep a straight face, even as the haunting sounds of violins permeated her memories.

“I don’t like dancing.” She crossed her arms firmly. Wheatley looked at her with a raised eyebrow in disbelief.

“You’re joking, right? That’s sarcasm. It’s got to be, considering how I see you dancing all the time! Swinging around in your Chassis to music like nobody’s watching!” He remarked, gesturing to her empty Chassis that still remained hanging from the ceiling. She… Didn’t have a response for that, considering how that was true. She loved dancing, which, given her new memory, was probably a lingering section of Carolyn.

“It’d be more efficient to wait in one place.” She tried.

“That can’t be right, I mean, wouldn’t you adapt faster if you were moving around more? Your calibrations would work twice as hard to catch up to your limbs and they’d programme your movements quicker too!” He said with a grin, moving his feet slightly to prove his point. She narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. It was incredibly rare that he was right twice in one day. Desperately, she clung onto the one remaining rebuttal she had.

“There’s no music to dance to, and I neglected to transfer that programme to this body.” She reasoned smugly. Wheatley however, was not deterred.

“Oh! That’s an easy one! I can play music for us!” He closed his eyes before GLaDOS could protest, the blue light underneath his shirt glowing a soft blue.

After a moment an upbeat tune began to play, accompanied by the sounds of trumpets and saxophones. It sounded nothing like the song from her memory, and a part of her was relieved. Wheatley snapped his eyes open, the bright colour fading away.

“Alright, there we go! Are you ready?” He asked with a bright smile. GLaDOS looked away with a small frown, trying to think of anything that could deter him.

“I don’t want to fall again.” She finally settled on.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.” He said reassuringly. She risked a glance at his face. His smile was smaller now, softer around the edges and filled with understanding. She knew if she said no he’d accept it, but something held her back. Her increase in emotions must’ve interfered with her decision making skills, because she found herself outstretching a hand for Wheatley to take. A silent confirmation.

Immediately, he beamed and pulled her towards him. What ensued was a chaos of limbs tangling with each-other, fumbles and mistakes as Wheatley immediately kicked into an energetic pace. GLaDOS found herself struggling to keep up with his erratic movements, twirling and moving much faster than the pace of the actual song. Wheatley didn’t seem to care that his movements made no sense, or that his ‘dancing’ was more of a chaotic flailing with no structure or grace. There was nothing normal about the dance, the footwork matching nothing GLaDOS had ever seen. It was as if we was creating his own absurd dance, one that could only be enjoyed by overly energetic children. As they went on, GLaDOS found herself with more stability in her movements, more direction and focus, her precision and speed increasing. Instead of slowing her movements to appropriately match the song, she found herself following Wheatley’s steps. Dancing with no purpose, no direction, and no meaning. Memories of a late night dance crumbled away, replaced by the warm laughter of two androids dancing through the halls that they called home.

[aritany]

hello! i really love your wip sound carries and am looking to read it in the future! also can i ask something? what is the "physical toll of music" that you sometimes mention? how does it look like? is it exclusive to opera/classical musicians or is it universal (as in a rock band may experience them too)? my wip revolves around band life but im not actually a musician so im in need of help to better portray it. thank you before!

hi! thank you! this is a really cool question. 

for musicians, practice involves a lot of repetition. that’s good! it’s required to repeat the same passage or song many times over in order to perfect it. however, repetition (especially incorrect repetition) can lead to muscle strain and injuries like tendinitis. to quote this article, ‘hours of practicing an instrument in sustained asymmetrical postures, often under high stress environments, can lead to wearing down of the body and tissues overtime’.

this is a personal anecdote: in high school, i played piano. i was preparing for the Royal Conservatory of Music level 10 exam, which was really involved and required between 1-2 hours of practice a day minimum. (i wasn’t always good at that.) i was working on a mozart sonata that required a bigger stretch of my fingers than was comfortable, and because i didn’t work up to it properly, something went a little funky and now, even 5 years later, my finger joints all crackle when i make a fist. (???)

the injuries related to music are usually instrument-specific: i’ve picked up the violin or the guitar after a little bit of time off and played until the tips of my fingers blistered because i’d lost callouses. for vocalists, both classical/opera and contemporary/other styles, it’s possible to get laryngitis from over-exertion. brass players can mess up their embouchure. that’s just off the top of my head! i’m less familiar with other instruments, but i know there’s a plethora of things that can go wrong.

this definitely applies to all musicians, too, not just classical musicians. in terms of rock musicians, another aspect of music life to consider is touring. band life involves not only practicing, but travel (which can mess with your body in a lot of ways), heavy lifting (amps?? do Not mess around), and really crazy sleep schedules.

this is getting long but i haven’t even talked about stress yet! stress contributes to everything i’ve mentioned above (and creates it’s own issues!), and it’s a huge factor of performance life. performers are put under absurd amounts of pressure nearly constantly, and it requires (as i’ve described it in the book) a sort of ‘reckless devotion’, and hours and hours and hours. i could write a whole separate post about the mental toll of music, but i’ll leave that for now. 

here are some links for further reading: 

7 Common Musician Injuries and How to Treat Them 

Common Injuries in Musicians

Musicians and Injuries

if you have any other questions about anything music related (or about anything!) feel free to ask - i’m happy to answer to the best of my ability! 

[audreycritter]

Written for @lurkinglurkerwholurks​ as a prompt response for @cerusee​ ‘s GoFundMe drive.

Rated M for Violence  Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson Father-Son Bonding, GenFic

Dick offers himself in exchange for some hostages and it does not go as planned.

“Bruce?”

The violin-string tautness of the word stilled Bruce’s world around him. He pressed the phone more tightly to his ear while the mug he clutched stung his palm with heat.

“Dick? What’s—”

He stopped when angry voices poured over the line. There was a clean, metallic snap that Bruce would have known anywhere, a sound that echoed behind him in some of his darkest nightmares. The click of a gun clip being pulled, a bullet sliding into the chamber.

“Hey,” Dick said thinly. “I, uh...well. Are you free this afternoon? I’m with some guys that want some ransom money, if you can spare it. Come alone, no police, you know the drill.”

“Are you on speaker phone?” Bruce found himself standing with no memory of pushing the chair back. The gun was a threat, he reminded himself, a litany beneath the terror swarming throughout every nerve. He had to think. A weapon was a display of power and they’d put off using it in hopes of getting what they really wanted.

“No, I, I’m fine,” Dick said.

Clever boy, Bruce thought with a flicker of pride.

“How many hostages and how much do they want?”

“Four, no, I mean five million. Yeah, okay, okay, don’t get pushy it was a simple mistake. Having a 9mm pressed to your skull makes it a little hard to think.”

“Where, Dick?”

“First Public National Bank, 37 Alexander Place in Bludhaven. B. Please. Just you. Please don’t bring anybody else.”

That gave Bruce pause. In his head, he was already coming in from the roof with batarangs to knock guns out of slippery, panicky fingers. He knew what Dick was asking even if nobody else on the other end did.

“Dick, that’s…”

“Please, Dad. Just bring the money. I don’t want trouble.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Dick?”

“B?”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Dick didn’t especially like reassurances from Bruce these days— Bruce didn’t often find himself in the position to offer them, anyway. Dick was capable and certain and quick and rarely needed help anymore. Still, Bruce didn’t think that was the reason the line went dead halfway through the sentence.

Dick also never called him Dad.

He gave Alfred a brief update while he packed the suit into its specialized case, tucked it in the trunk of one of his regular cars just as a precaution, and then drove with a lead foot the entire way to Bludhaven.

“You know who I am?” Dick asked, his gun raised and aimed. Five guns trained on the robbers were plenty so he slowly lowered his weapon in a show of goodwill.

The hostage the man was holding by the neck shivered, her teeth chattering from fear.

“A cop,” one robber said to the other, with a patronizing tone like it was a bad joke. His blank mask didn’t move.

The chatter of police radios and the shuffle of heavy boots on the marble floor were louder than they should have been. The few other hostages were crying.

“I’m Dick Grayson,” Dick said, taking another slow step forward. The hostage whimpered when the muzzle of the gun dug into her temple.

They were curious now, he could tell, looking at each other and then back at him.

“Bruce Wayne’s ward,” Dick said.

The entire room plunged into silence.

Four years ago he would have hated having to utter that fragment, sick of how it defined him and how people assumed they knew so much about him just from that— this scrap that barely could scratch the surface of what it meant and who Dick really was. Now, it slipped off his tongue with ease.

It’s more than a bargaining chip, he reminded himself. Bruce would tell you to use any advantage.

“Ward, huh,” one of them said. He was thinking about it, Dick could read it in the way his hand relaxed on his weapon. “What are you doing as a Blud cop? Seems to me like he might not be that interested in paying up for you if you’ve had to resort to this.”

“This is my way of giving back,” Dick said cautiously. He gave the hostage, who was now staring with open desperation at him, a friendly smile. “I like to help people. Bruce does, too. So why don’t we do this.”

“Grayson,” Amy hissed from behind him. He ignored her. She knew him well enough to know what he was doing and he wasn’t going to let her talk him out of it. This was the smart play.

“You give up the hostages. Take me. You can hold that piece to my head the whole time it takes him to drive here, if that makes you feel better. How much do you want?”

“Three million,” one of them snapped.

“That seems a little low,” Dick said, putting his gun on the floor. He slid it back to Amy with his foot and she swore at him. “How about four?”

“Yeah?” The one with the hostage in a chokehold nodded. “Yeah. Okay. But why offer us more?”

“You don’t think I’m worth at least four? Look at me,” Dick said. “I’m gorgeous.”

They both laughed— short barks of tense laughter, and the gun dropped from the hostage’s temple to wave him forward.

“Alright. Come on, you’re with me. We’re going to go hole up in that fancy office. Nobody move or breathe or Mr. Hotshot here gets one in the head for your trouble.”

The cold metal kissed the skin of his temple and held on, like a frigid leech. Dick gave a small wave to Amy.

“Single file,” the man said.

“Hey, hey,” Dick protested, keeping his voice easy. “Just me, okay? Let them go.”

It was hard now, to stay focused and keep the panic from cutting off his air. He was acutely aware in the moment of just how quickly things could go badly, more vividly than his calculated assessment from moments before when he’d considered his risk an obvious choice.

“I didn’t say that,” the man said. “You said that.”

Dick drew a breath in and let it out slow. He pulled himself to a small point and let his mind compress there. He was doing the right thing. Using Bruce, using himself, was the right thing to do.

“Okay, fair. You’re right. How about one, though? One for one? I’ll tell Bruce you asked for five.”

“One for you, kid, because you’ve got balls,” the other robber spoke. He flicked his semi-automatic rifle along the line of hostages. “Who we sending out? Your choice.”

Dick could hear the sadistic grin behind the mask. He fought the impulse to close his eyes and made himself instead think. He was the single pinpoint of purpose he’d drawn his mind into. What would Bruce do?

Teary, begging eyes locked onto him in sync.

“Who…” he had to clear his dry throat. “Who has kids?”

“Me,” one woman said, while a man said, “I do.”

“Ages,” Dick asked.

“Whoa, I did not authorize an interro—”

“Three,” the man said quickly, interrupting the robber.

“Nine and eleven,” the woman said, voice cracking.

“Him,” Dick said, ignoring the sick twist in his gut at the woman’s sob. It was a risk even hoping this data wouldn’t be used against them somehow.

“Go,” the robber said, with a jerk of his head toward the door. The man didn’t wait to be told twice— he took off running toward the police cars outside. He cleared the threshold with no sadistic shot fired after him.

Dick’s sweating palms stung when his fingernails pulled themselves back out of the calloused skin. He tried not to seem overly relieved.

One. He’d saved one so far.

One was better than none.

In single file, Dick and the rest were led into the loan office that fronted the vault. With a sense of dread, he realized the ceilings here were plaster— not the flimsy drop ceiling or towering glass roof of other sections.

One door out.

Hard ceiling.

A third robber in the corner, peeling himself out of the shadows with another high powered rifle.

“He took the bait,” he said.

“Like a fucking guppy,” the man with the gun to Dick’s temple replied. The leech bit deeper into his skin. “Now we make the call and wait for the Bat.”

“You’re sure he’ll come?” the second from the bank foyer asked.

“He always does for Wayne or anyone Wayne cares about. I’m telling you, he’s got the Bat in his damn pocket.”

Dick closed his eyes despite himself. He was an idiot. A predictable, heroic idiot. He’d waltzed right into this and now someone was holding a cell phone up for him to type in a string of digits.

Oh no.

He made the call.

It took five minutes of arguing with the Bludhaven chief of police, a briefcase clutched in one white-knuckled hand, for Bruce to even get them to consider sending him in.

Dick’s partner, Amy Rohrbach, sided with Bruce and did a lot to help convince her Chief. Bruce kept his grip on the handle of the case while they forced him into a bulky Kevlar vest and put a wire on him and then he was walking into the quiet, empty foyer with a dozen guns at his back.

He tried not to think about that.

Dick. He was here for Dick.

It had taken every ounce of willpower to keep from disregarding Dick’s warning and coming in with the cape wrapped around him, the mask on his face— but Dick would have had a good reason for insisting.

“Hello?” he called, forcing himself to sound casual and not angry.

“Keep coming, Richie. Back here.”

The voice came from the loan office. The thick, tempered glass had been designed to give privacy to those inside. Now, it did exactly it’s intended job— the shapes within were distorted, flickering fuzzy edges sliding along the wall.

Slow and careful steps brought him to the threshold. He had one arm raised in surrender. He stopped just short of the door.

“How are we going to do this?” he asked. “What’s your exit plan?”

There was low arguing from inside and then the door swung open.

“You are,” the man said, a gun in Bruce’s face.

Beneath the Kevlar, under his button-up that was not the Batsuit, his heart stuttered. His face betrayed nothing, he was sure.

“We’re going to walk you and your pretty little boy out to our van,” the man said, calmly. “And if anyone so much as twitches, we’re going to kill one of you. We’ll decide which when we get there. Capiche?”

“Dick,” Bruce called into the room. With a breath, he stepped toward the gun. Then, his breath left him.

“Hey, B,” Dick rasped, from his seat on the floor. He had both arms behind his head and in the cable ties they’d used, one wrist was at a crooked angle and angry red. His lip was swollen and dried blood flecked one corner of his mouth and was smeared brown-burgundy beneath his nose. An eye was swelling shut.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Bruce growled, taking another step. The gun caught him in the chest, and he pushed against it anyway.

“He’s not the best at following instructions, but I’m guessing you knew that, Dad,” the gunman said.

“I’m okay, B,” Dick said.

“That the cash?” another gunman asked. “At least we get paid.”

“It’s not too late,” a third said.

“Let them go,” Bruce said, taking in the hostages lined up along the wall. They looked terrified but physically unharmed. He could at least keep them that way. He looked at the gunman. “Let them go. And my boy. My estate’s attorney is authorized to meet ransom demands for twice this. Keep just me and you can triple your take.”

The gunman closest to him whistled. “Like father, Iike son. You know, he made the same offer?”

Dick forced a sheepish grin around a broken tooth. It didn’t reach his eyes— they met Bruce’s and there was something there genuinely frightened. What exactly was going on?

“Back door,” the gunman closer to Dick said. He hauled him up. “We’re going right now, two by two just like Noah’s fucking animals. Me and you, Handsome, my buddy and your dad, and Little John’s gonna take the case of cash.”

A hand tightened on Bruce’s arm and he had to shake the instinct to flip the man over.

The other hostages.

They were leaving them behind.

“It’s your lucky day,” the last gunman said to them, pulling the door closed. He raised his voice. “Count to sixty and you’re free. A second sooner and you get a bullet in the back.”

They waited in the hall by the rear exit and it was a full minute later by the wall clock that the hostages spilled out of the room and staggered for the door. They disappeared out of the foyer with shouts and hold fire cries, and in the same second the rear exit door was shoved open and Bruce and Dick hauled through toward the van.

Four hostages. Four lives.

Four people had made it out.

The cops standing guard at the back held their fire when they saw the gunmen with Bruce and Dick at gunpoint. Nobody moved while they climbed into the back of the gray van. One man started the engine after setting the case of cash down and then they started driving.

No one stopped them.

Bruce sat on the floor across from Dick, who had let his head thud backward against the van wall. His hands were still behind him.

“I’m moving to sit with him,” Bruce announced.

“Nah, I think you’re—”

“For Christsake, we’re unarmed in a moving van. I’m going to sit with my kid and check him out. He said he was fine on the phone.”

Bruce moved without waiting for permission. They didn’t stop him. He pressed his shoulder up against Dick’s and leaned his head down.

“How are you doing, chum?”

Dick’s voice was choked even when he laughed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said. “They wanted you to send your friend.”

“Hey!” the gunman with Dick kicked him in the leg. Dick curled toward Bruce, who scowled but didn’t dare let himself do more.

So, it had been a trap. For Batman.

And then it clicked.

They were still waiting for Batman to come to get him. Bruce could have laughed, but it would have been a dry and ugly sound, entirely without humor.

“M’sorry,” Dick said, his forehead on Bruce’s shoulder. “I fucked up.”

“No, Dickie,” Bruce said, watching their captors like a hawk while they watched him in return. “You saved four people, chum.”

“Five,” Dick said faintly. “They let one go for me.”

Bruce was worried about Dick’s head and how hard they’d hit him. He glared at the gunman closest.

“Cut off the cable ties. You broke his wrist. He’s not going to do much and you could leave it permanently damaged. When— not if, when— you are caught, I will make sure the court remembers that detail.”

“Fine.”

Bruce could practically hear the man rolling his eyes. A pocket knife was withdrawn and Dick winced when the ties were cut. He slumped against Bruce as soon as his arms were free to pull in front of him, one arm cradled against his chest. The kid seeking comfort was a role he was expected to play and for once Bruce was grateful for the excuse it gave them both. He wrapped his arm around Dick’s shoulders.

The vest was useless here or Bruce would have insisted they let them swap it from his body to Dick’s. They’d go for point blank headshot at this range, and Bruce had to close his eyes to keep from seeing the vivid red blood all over his dress slacks.

“You okay?” Dick mumbled against him.

“Fine,” Bruce said, working on evening out his breathing again before it was noticeable to more than Dick.

“How far, Boss?” The gunman driver pressed on the gas. From the motion of the van, Bruce guesses they’d climbed onto the interstate. They had to know the police would be following them, but he didn’t know how much the police would push without a clear visual.

“Take us all the way into Gotham,” the gunman closest to Bruce said. He reached out with his gun and nudged at the vest; the other gunman in the back stretched his arm out and with a flick of the pocket knife sliced the police wire clean in two.

Bruce hadn’t expected the poorly hidden wire to last as long as it had.

“The Fort Kane tunnel,” the gunman said to the driver. “You remember which access door? You let us out fast, and keep going. You’re on your own after that and your cut is forfeit if you lead anyone back to us.”

“Got it,” the driver said.

Bruce took advantage of their expectations to press a kiss to Dick’s forehead.

“We’ll be alright,” he said, because he was supposed to, because he was going to make sure of it. “How are you doing?”

“Mhmm,” Dick said, dazedly. “Just dandy.”

He should have worn the suit. He should have come in and taken the bullet to the chest and dealt with the broken ribs later.

Dick must hate him. They wouldn’t even be in this situation if Bruce weren’t such an easy and lucrative target. His name, it seemed, had brought nothing but trouble for years— no wonder Dick had spent most of his late teens trying to distance himself.

If anything, Bruce wasn’t going to let him suffer more for their connection. Just let them try again to touch his partner, his best friend, his boy.

Damn the exposure or questions it would raise.

They wanted Batman?

They’d get Batman.

The pounding in his head matched every step from the tunnel access door all the way through the maze of passages and up to a service elevator that led to a terraced roof.

Penguin.

Oswald himself sat at a table with a milky white drink, his umbrella cane resting on the edge of his chair. He was cracking crab legs and dipping them in steaming butter and he did not look happy.

“Where,” he said, the second they stumbled into the twilight, “is the Bat.”

Dick’s arm throbbed in a way that made him feel like puking.

“He didn’t show, Boss. Maybe he can’t fly as far as Blud. We brought more bait though.”

“Bait,” Oswald hissed, glaring at them with that dead eye stare. He reminded Dick sometimes not of his chosen moniker, but of its prey— a fish, cold and lifeless out of water. “You brought Bruce Wayne here. How stupid, exactly, are you?”

“And five mil,” one of the gunman offered, sounding uncertain for the first time. “Wayne said his attorney could bring another fifteen.”

“Oh, so twenty million should be plenty to convince the Batman to simply...slit his own throat. I could have saved myself so much time if—”

Later, Dick would realize that the moment Oswald reached for his cane to stand up was the moment someone on a far off roof perceived the motion as a threat, but with his aching, muddled head there was no obvious correlation.

Oswald reached, mid-sentence, for the cane and there were twin pops in the air. The hand on Dick’s arm— the gunman— jerked and Dick whipped his head toward Bruce.

He was just in time to see Bruce full-body flinch, an unusual break in his iron self-control, while the face of the gunman on that side exploded into a pink cloud that settled wetly on their skin.

The two bodies hit the roof with a gurgling emptiness, twitching and then still. A loudspeaker boomed into the falling night air.

“This is the Gotham PD. Everyone put your hands up.”

Dick and Bruce raised their hands with everyone else and Dick bit back the bile that rose in his throat.

Seconds later, the roof was swarmed by the SWAT officers that must have just settled into position. Dick looked at Bruce, whose mouth was set in a grim line; it softened when Dick caught his eye.

“Guess we don’t need our friend after all,” Dick tried to joke.

“He should have shown up hours ago,” Bruce said firmly.

“Hey,” Dick said, as they were given permission to lower their arms. An EMT was peppering him with questions and he ignored it for another second. “We both made it. And the civilians. Thank you for coming when I called.”

“Of course,” Bruce said, his brow furrowing like Dick had just complimented him on breathing.

“No allergies,” Dick mumbled to the EMT’s insistent question. Was there a reason the woman’s voice was cutting in and out? Or that he felt so heavy all of a sudden?

Then a firm arm was around him, holding him up, and Bruce was answering her questions.

“M’Bruce.” Dick slurred to her with a smile. “He knows...e’erythin.”

The last thing he was aware of before passing out was the distinct sensation of someone wiping off his face with a cloth that felt a lot like shirtsleeve.

Dick woke suddenly, aware that something in the room had changed and not sure what. He blinked into the dim morning light that sifted through the cracked curtains. He had vague memories of being checked out at the hospital, of his arm being set, of being driven home by Alfred with Bruce next to him on the bench seat.

The memories solidified into more definite details but he couldn’t quite remember falling asleep— maybe it had been on a couch or while walking up the stairs.

A faint wheeze grabbed his attention, and oh— maybe this was what had woken him.

Bruce was in the chair beside the bed, bent over with his head in his hands. The raspy inhalations matched tremor running up and down Bruce’s tense shoulders under his thin tee.

“B?” Dick murmured. His own voice was hoarse.

There was a terse head shake and then silence while Bruce struggled for normal breaths. Dick sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and Bruce held up a single hand to stop him.

With a forced exhale, Bruce sat up and back in the chair and stared blankly ahead.

“Bruce?” Dick ventured. He slipped out of the bed and crouched in front of Bruce. His arm was in a cast and it protested at the movement.

That distant gaze drifted down to his face, still far away and unfocused.

“Hm?” Bruce said.

“B,” Dick said again.

Bruce rubbed at his knee, at spots that weren’t there on his pajama pants. He scrubbed hard at his cheek and then his eyes settled on Dick again. He frowned.

“Dick. Why are you out of bed?”

“You were having some kind of flashback, I think,” Dick said softly. “You alright?”

Bruce swallowed. “Hn. I’m fine. Bed, chum.”

Because he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere else otherwise, and because his head still hurt, Dick complied. Bruce got up and disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged a minute later with flecks of water on his shirt and his skin bright with flush of cold water. He reclaimed the seat by Dick’s bed and offered a glass of water.

Dick took it and drained half, then set it down.

The gunshots. Right by their ears. Dick wondered how many scraps of nightmare Bruce had suffered over the past several hours, and if he’d even slept at all.

“I’m sorry, B,” Dick began. “I was just trying to use my advantage. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess.”

Bruce gave a slight shrug. He was studying his clasped hands.

“I…” Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m sorry...my name…has brought you so much trouble. Use it as often as you need, Dick, it’s yours to use— but don’t...you’re not disposable, Dick.”

“You know the job has risks,” Dick said gently. This was dangerous territory on an emotionally fraught morning. “I accepted those. Both in and out of…the mask.”

“I know that,” Bruce snapped. “Don’t you think I know you’ve decided and I know I can’t stop you?”

There was choking quiet.

“Can we talk about this—” Dick began, as a truce.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I’m...I’m not ready to lose another...another…”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Son. I’m not ready to lose another son, Dick. Maybe you had the right idea out of high school, the distance you wanted to keep, and I’d never ask you to—”

“No,” Dick said harshly. “No. I was a stupid kid. This, this is worth it to me. It’s more than just a tool. I love being your former ward as much as I love being the first...well, you know. I’m sorry I used it like that yesterday and put you in danger, too. It was yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Bruce gave a dry huff of a laugh.

“Technically,” he said.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” Dick asked.

Bruce shook his head. Dick flicked the covers back.

“C’mon, grab a few hours. It’ll help keep me put.”

There was a deep yawn from Bruce while he obliged and slipped beneath the covers and wrapped Dick in his arms.

“You did good, Dick. Five people saved and you kept your head even in a trap.”

“Thank you for listening to me,” Dick said. “I don’t think...I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I’d been the reason someone took you down”

“Dick, if you were there to get out, nobody could stop me.”

“There’s the Bruce I know and love,” Dick teased, a lump in his throat. “See? That’s exactly why I’m glad I’m Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s Former Ward. Danger or not, it’s worth it.”

“Next time you want to use my name as a bargaining chip, wrap yourself in bubble wrap and Kevlar first,” Bruce said petulantly. “There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.”

Dick laughed and tucked his head against Bruce’s chest. “I’ll make a note, Dad. Get some sleep.”

“Mmm. You, too,” Bruce said. “You sleep so I know exactly where you are, brat.”

“I think that’s fair for one more day,” Dick agreed. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

[arbitrarypoetry]

Ignored

           The day I first met him, he was sitting on top of a display of radishes at the grocery store. The bright florescent lights shone off his dark brown hair, and he tapped his feet, looking around as if surveying a kingdom instead of just the produce section. Nobody else paid him any mind. I was about eight.

           I stopped in front of him. He was wearing shiny leather shoes, which seemed a bit old-fashioned for a boy his age. “Hello,” I said uncertainly.

           “Hello,” he responded. He kept tapping his feet, and he drummed his fingers on his knees. I wondered if he was listening to music in his head, the way I often did. I wanted to be a musician; to feel the notes under my fingers, let them flow out in the air, to create music so beautiful that when I stood up and played, everyone would stop what they were doing just to listen. To me, that sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.

           I tilted my head, examining the pile of radishes. “Those don’t look very comfortable,” I observed.

           “They aren’t.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

           I frowned, considering this a moment.  “Well, why are you sitting there, then?”

           He shrugged, still tapping his fingers. “It’s more comfortable than the pineapples.”

           “Oh,” I said. I couldn’t think of a more suitable reply.

           A long moment passed in which neither of us spoke. The boy went back to looking around the store as if I wasn’t there, humming something under his breath, then broke off and abruptly addressed me. “Did you know you’re the first person to notice me here today?”

           “Really?” I was interested, but only mildly surprised; people didn’t tend to notice me much either, even when I tried to get their attention. I’d decided that adults were simply unobservant people. “Not even ones who wanted to buy radishes?”

           “They just take the ones I’m not sitting on.” He shifted a little to the side, somehow managing not to dislodge any of the reddish root vegetables as he did so. He gestured to the pile in invitation. “Want to come up?”

           I hesitated, looking behind me for my mom. She hadn’t noticed when I’d left her side, and had already drifted past the dairy section. “I’d better not,” I said, not without some regret. “I should catch up with my mom.”  I didn’t want her to forget I was there and leave the store without me. That had happened once. The employees were all too busy to listen to my predicament, and I soon gave up trying to get their attention; I waited in the seafood section, watching the lobsters in their tank. I had to wait a long time before Mom came back for me.

           “All right,” the boy said. “I’ll see you around.”

           I smiled at that. “See you around,” I said back, and then, remembering the schoolyard etiquette I so rarely got a chance to use, asked him “What’s your name?”

           “I’m not sure I have one,” he said. “I’ve been looking for one that feels right, but I haven’t found it yet.” His gaze lit on a stack of vegetables by my left shoulder, and a funny grin spread across his face. “You can call me Rutabaga, if you like.”

           I giggled. “Goodbye, Rutabaga!” I gave him a quick wave before turning to go find my mom. He waved back. It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d forgotten to tell him my name; but when I went back to the radishes while Mom was at the checkout, he was gone.

I saw him a lot after that, though we didn’t always talk. He was always in a different place. Walking down the street with a goldfish bowl balanced on his head. Sitting on a rooftop, arms clasped around his knees. Dancing at the bus stop in a thunderstorm. Sometimes weeks would pass between each sighting, sometimes only days. It was odd, but I always seemed to see him whenever I was feeling the loneliest. As I got older, instead of me finding him, he started coming more and more to me.

           It was the first truly warm day of spring, and I sat in the grass at the park, playing my violin. I was sixteen. I had been playing for six years then, and I loved it, even if my old dream of everybody stopping to listen hadn’t yet come true. I was sure that was just because I hadn’t improved enough yet; someday I would be good enough to perform, and then people would hear me, really hear me. And even if that day didn’t come, the music itself was its own reward. I believed that. Still, as I moved my calloused fingers and drew out the final notes of my song, I couldn’t help but wish that there had been someone there to listen.

           The voice came from behind me. “That was good. You should put out a hat for money.”

           Jumping a little, I turned around. There he sat, cross-legged, older than he was in the grocery store yet somehow looking just the same as ever. I smiled. It had been over a week since I last saw him, and I’d missed him. “Nobody really pays attention,” I said, lowering my violin to rest on my lap. “And I’m just practicing anyway.” He’d rolled up the sleeves of his collared white shirt, but other than that, his outfit was just the same as it had always been; leather shoes, brown corduroy pants, suspenders. That was one thing that didn’t change, at least. “Are you still going by Wind-chime?” I asked him.

           “No, that one doesn’t fit anymore.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands. Every time I saw him, he was trying out a new name—Seagull, Shoelace, Listerine, Twig. I couldn’t tell if he put any thought into them at all or if he just made them up on the spot whenever I asked. “I think I’m going to go nameless for a while,” he said. “Maybe the right one will come to me.”

           “All right,” I said. We settled into comfortable silence. I fiddled around with my violin, teasing out bits of different tunes, while he tilted his head way back, looking at the clouds. A group of laughing people walked by, stepping right over him and his outstretched legs as if he wasn’t there. One of them tossed a soda can behind them, narrowly missing my friend’s head. Normally I wouldn’t pay any attention; that sort of thing happened a lot when we were together, and I’d never really thought of it as strange. That day, though, it reminded me of something I’d been thinking about recently.

“Hey,” I said, lowering my violin. After a moment of indecision, wondering how to best put this, I decided to just ask him point-blank. “Why can I see you?”

He looked up. His eyes had no real color to them. “What do you mean?”

“I was just wondering,” I said. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve imagined you.” My fingers began shaping themselves on the neck of the violin, silent suggestions of music. “I’m sure I haven’t. But nobody else ever notices you; they all act like you don’t exist.” I thought for a moment. “Am I mad?”

           He considered this, twisting his mouth to one side. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe a little. Either that or you’re more sane than other people. I couldn’t tell you which.”

           “But why?” I asked. The sun was warm on my shoulders, and it reflected off the metal clips on his suspenders. “Why don’t they see you? It doesn’t make sense.”

           He shrugged. “If people treat you for long enough like you don’t exist, sooner or later it comes true.” He spotted a ladybug on his trousers and brought one hand forward to let it crawl over his fingers. “I don’t really mind. I’m used to it now.”

           I frowned. “But you do exist,” I said. This was strangely important to me all of a sudden. “You do! You’re just as real as I am. People just don’t pay enough attention.”

           He smiled at me. His face was just as bright as ever, but there was something cloudy in his colorless eyes. “You’re absolutely right,” he said softly.

           We didn’t say anything else after that. I went back to playing the violin, and at some point when I looked back up, he was gone.

           I kept playing. A cloud had dimmed the sun, and a slight breeze rose goosebumps on my arms, but I stood up, letting the music be as loud and full and real as I could make it. I stood in the middle of the path. I got in people’s way. I played the music I always imagined I would, music that demanded to be listened to, called for people to turn around and see.

They all just kept on walking like I wasn’t there at all.

[byjove-cannibalcove]

I would like to see a sort of phantom-of-the-opera themed fic, where Will works for the opera, not as one of the singers, but in the orchestra pit.

(long stream-of-thought summary of the story below)

Will is a very good player, and the orchestra MOSTLY likes one another, so everything is technically very stable where he stands, better yet that he has no aspirations to first-chair (which is more like being class president than anything, everyone in your section looks to you for queues and to match energy, it isn't actually a rockshow type thing) so technically he is quietly doing his thing. Very talented and stable, but not a magically amazing perfect player. He has earned his place and he doesn't show off.

But there is a newer guy, put into the pit because he’s the nephew of the new theatre owner. He is not amazing. He’s not the WORST either, but he tries to show off when he should be harmonizing, he plays too loud, and his bow transitions aren't as smooth as they could be. It is really only noticeable to the other violin players, the audience isn’t going to pick up on it, so they just grin and bear it.

Not always, but often, there is something like a ball in the front after a show. The rich patrons get to meet the singers, or the orchestra, whatever, and attendance is more or less mandatory. In the latest of these, Will meets Hannibal, who is very new to the area, had always made it a poitn to donate to theatres, but has only come to a few showings so far. Will cant quite fathom why, of EVERYONE at this party, Hannibal would zero-in on the man that most clearly does not want to be there, but fine. 

There is a bit where they shake hands and Hannibal turns Will’s hand over and says ‘i see you are one of the strings’. (technically that's lefthanded, lets say Will was caught off guard and was holding a drink)

Will is surprised, says yes, he’s one of the violins. 

Hannibal seems... pained... Asks if he is new and when Will says he has been here for a few years, Hannibal relaxes.

Will points out that he can tell Hannibal is a chef from the callouses on HIS fingers, and Hannibal is clearly pleased, though he of course corrects him. 

They talk a bit, Hannibal is casually asking about the theatre itself, who works there, the management, the actors, the orchestra. It's a nice conversation, honestly, Hannibal has actual questions and seems to know what he’s asking about, it’s not just mindless ‘i wish I could play an instrument but its too hard, i have a life, unlike you hahah’ type of chatter.

Will to point out the newest member of the strings, jokingly telling him that Hannibal now knows more about the theatre than the owners kid, “too bad YOU don’t play”

Hannibal plays a little, but not violin unfortunately.

The conversation is very mild, and the next weekend he sees Hannibal again, socializing a bit more, but a smile does pass between them at least, Will leaves early i bet after that exact ‘you must have no life outside of violin haha’ joke happens (which is technically true).

It is a complete surprise when, a week or two later, the (many) people who sleep at the theater come downstairs to the body of the new violinist, strung up from the rafters like a marionette, they might not have noticed if not for the pool of blood.

The police naturally are of no help, because this is the 1800s, it basically comes down to asking all the violinists if they had a grudge, getting overly aggressive with a few ,then deciding it was probably more to do with his wealthy father.

The very superstitious people are now acting like anything odd in the theatre must be the ghost of the violinist, and SOME of them think a ghost killed him. Its a lot of nonsense, but they are all artists and theater people so OF COURSE it goes to their heads, they start coming up with more and more dramatic stories, until nearly everyone superstitious (aka nearly everyone) is now in a PANIC over it. Will snaps at a few people over it, but honestly everyone is snapping at everyone so it is hardly noticed.

They are preparing for a new show and one of the dancers trips. It happens occasionally but they all FLIP and start saying she was shoved. A few of the actors are in hysterics over this, one of the singers passes out. They call for the theatre doctor (that was a thing, lots of people there and lots of injuries) (would this be chilton?) he comes, but also comes Hannibal! Will is strangely thrown off by this, he hadn’t really expected to meet him outside of those parties, or possibly ever again. Chilton probably starts condescendingly telling the female performers to all calm down, talks about hysteria, mass panic (which is true) but he's really shitty about it. Hannibal tends to the singer and calms her down, is really sweet and gentle in a way that will clearly have her falling for him. He might say something like ‘even if nothing but their fear is attacking them, yelling at them won't steady their hearts’

Will naturally does not fall for him (not even a little bit, even if he is totally charmed and okay maybe he fell a LITTLE) but he is invited for dinner at Hannibal's somehow and rides in a carriage with him and possibly even helps make dinner, i dont know. Hannibal maybe hasnt hired a maid yet and said his house is lonely.

They probably do NOT kiss, because 1800s, but that atmosphere is THICK

More accidents are happening at the opera because of panic and the fucking owner tells the audience they are haunted (either sincerely, in a ‘forgive us if it isn’t perfect tonight’ or a ‘isnt this exciting?’ way. Probably the first since his sons dead). This panics the backstage people MORE, the dancers tumble, the singers miss notes, its a MESS, Will cant help but laugh at it. (secretly, in the audience, Hannibal is amused too, he had not expected this performance to go well after all, and it was more a comedy story anyways)

Hey guess who is one of the set designers? Hobb! Hey did you know his daughter was the singer that passed out earlier? 

Do you wonder if Hobbs would kill a few of the other singers to move her up the hierarchy a little bit, disguising it as either a ghost or the original killer? I am 100% sure he would do that, actually, but that's just me.

(Abigail is  “little angel of music that could” but actually she isn’t nearly good enough to be top-billing, but TOO BAD Hobbs is going to kill his way up the ranking anyways. Lots of the workers are going to quit, but nope, he’s just-a-killin’ left and right, she’s going to be a STAR)

Will is subtly investigating these murders because it ISN’T A GOD DAMNED GHOST and possibly even getting Hannibal (who he is definitely in love with but won't let himself touch because Laws) to help him out on occasion. Will notices the pattern of Abigail always moving up, but technically it could be any one of a couple lower-ranking girls, he only notices Abigail really because it happens TWICE and her dad works there and doesn't seem worried for her.

He tells Hannibal, since he isn’t sure what to do with this since its basically just a feeling and the police probably won't listen (lets say he has a reputation as a weirdo or something, or some past scandal he doesn't want anyone looking into (gay? crimes? asylums? witch? Who knows, all, neither, Will wouldn't do well in the 1800s, he doesn't even do well in 2010)) so it basically comes down to confronting him directly and scaring him off. He takes hannibal with him.

It does not go well.

Betcha Mr Hobbs tries to kill Will

Betcha Will fights him off

Betcha Hobbs runs STRAIGHT for his daughter onstage

GUARANTEE he slits her throat,  because she is doomed to have this happen in every universe

Will does not shoot (why would he have a gun at his violin job) but probably beats him half to death, while Hannibal holds Abigail's throat closed

They both end up covered in blood ON STAGE (this is a rehearsal, which is why Will isn’t in the pit right now) and everyone sees it. 

Somehow everyone STILL ends up deciding that the phantom in the opera house had possessed Hobbs, somehow, because no right-minded man would ever try to kill his daughter.

Probably you cant survive a throat slitting in 1800s, but she does anyways, because Hannibal.

Hobbs is arrested, but largely for the sake of asylums and exorcisms or something, he’s alive and will probably see his daughter fairly often when she visits him, but she cant sing anymore so she might be demoted to set work (not HIS job but like... heavy hard work girls wouldnt usually do, because the other innocent set guy doesnt want her ending up on the street. she takes to the job well and will always have a croaky voice)

Probably Will goes home with Hannibal Abigail is stable, presumably because they are ‘both’ stressed and in need of comfort. They bath, seperately, but they end up in front of the fire less put-together than usual, comfortable clothes, and Will cant help peaking at Hannibal, trying to be subtle. Maybe Hannibal is like ‘maybe its not the best time to show you, but i bought you a gift’

Its a new and VERY fine violin, to replace his aging one, and WIll plays music for Hannibal, glad to find his shaking fingers steady on the strings, like they always do. 

Id like it if somehow they could dance, but i guess its not really workable. They definitely kiss, but Will pulls away from it and they go to bed separately.

Soon enough things wind down enough for Will to learn about murders happening OUTSIDE the theater, in other parts of town, and he will actually end up finally talking to Hannibal about his feelings. Hannibal is unrepentant, which Will takes to be because Hannibal is foreign. They kiss, and after several more dinners and things at the theatre calming down, these two FINALLY have sex, that whole deal, being 100% for-sure illegally in love.

 and just as suddenly, Will figure out that Hannibal is the RIpper

Will probably goes to visit Hobbs, to ask why Hobbs thought killing was worthwhile, but its so COMPLETELY not why Hannibal kills that it actually puts Hannibal into perspective for him

Will probably tries to tell the police that Hannibal is a killer. They dont believe him. Will outright tells Hannibal that he had tried to turn him in but it didnt work. Things are tense, but Will eats the meat and then they PROBABLY end up having rough+tender ‘i know you are a murderer’ vs ‘im a murderer who loves you, and to the police that love is the worse crime’ sex, because im trash

Let's then have a VERY public arrest of Will for (pick your fav, past or vague gay actions, general witchiness, insanity, being born in to a cult under a different name, i dont care, pick your poison) , which they caught after someone at the station recognizing him from SOMEWHERE but it took a few days for them to be sure from where. He’s arrested and of course put into the same asylum as Hobbs. They probably never even cross paths, but it doesnt matter, Will knows that they are in the same place for wildly different reasons, but in the end its all the same to the powers-that-be

Have Hannibal somehow save Will, possibly by already working at, coming to visiting, applying to work at that asylum himself, or maybe taking him out on ‘a walk’ and actually bringing him to a waiting carriage and running away.

Either way EVENTUALLY Hannibal manages to spring him, they run away together, both their own type of criminal, and it more or less ends on Will, very unhappily, deciding that if his life is a crime ANYWAYS, if his love for someone can have him sent to the same punishment, he might as well eat people, because fuck it. 

Uhh, but more angsty and poetic, he IS an artist after all.

[cycloalkne]

All the body parts above thw waist. :-)

“thw waist”, so specific tyty

Head: How do you like to wear your hair? What hairstyles do you find attractive? Have you ever wanted to do something drastic to your face/hair? What’s your favorite part of your face?

I usually wear my hair down, although lately it’s been up since it’s so hot where I am (I used to hate how I looked with my hair up but I’ve learned to deal with it). I always love messy hair :-/ Not super long, but also not a buzz cut (hard to describe). I’ve sometimes thought about doing something drastic to my hair, but my idea of drastic is pretty subdued. Not really sure what I like about my face– I guess my eyes, if I had to choose. 

Ears: What’s your favorite music genre? Do you have any piercings? Favorite non musical sound?

Music varies, right now it’s 50′s and 60′s stuff, all that cheesy love stuff :   ). No piercings, although my mom keeps bothering me about getting my ears pierced (no one really sees my ears, though…). My favorite non-musical sound is either hearing the stove cracking with oil (like frying something) or the sound of water (ocean waves, rain, whatever really). The sound the Switch makes when you click the parts in place is pretty nice, too :-) 

Eyes: What’s your favorite color? Time of day, aesthetically? Animal you find the prettiest? What do you find attractive in a person?

I like maroon, gray, and dark blue (and any of those colors with white). My favorite time of the day is probably the morning, maybe 6AM? It’s always very quiet and I like having that time to myself to play music and catch up on the news. My favorite aesthetic (??) is either the studyblr aesthetic or something classy (like collared shirts and such– I don’t know). I think samoyed dogs are really pretty. In regards to attractiveness:  in terms of looks, cute hair and a somewhat nice fashion sense. In terms of personality, how they deal with differences and how much they’re willing to deal with me. 

Nose: What’s your favorite smell? Least favorite? What scent do you find comforting? Is there an outdoorsy smell that appeals to you? (beaches, pine trees, sand, ect.) Boop? Y/N

I really like the smell of some of the dishes my mom cooks, as well as the smell of the piano at home (weird, I know– but it reminds me of when we first got it). I don’t like the smell of garbage that’s been in a room for too long or the smell of vomit (but then again, who does?). The smell of fresh sheets is very comforting! As for outdoorsy smells, I suppose the beach– I just like the fresh air by the ocean in general. (Boop!)

Mouth: Do you have a favorite taste? Least? Do you like kisses? How do you feel about teeth? Do wear lipstick? What’s your favorite shade?

I like sweet stuff, but a little spice is always appreciated sometimes. Not really a fan of bitter things, though. I love kisses, and I sometimes think I don’t get enough of them. As for teeth, I’m eternally jealous of everyone whose teeth are straight (I’m very insecure about mine– if I talk to someone I don’t know very well I’ll often cover my mouth when I talk/smile/laugh around them). I don’t really wear lipstick but I do have a tinted lip balm that’s similar (the shade is called Rose) and I like it. 

Neck: Where are you most sensitive? How deep is your voice? Do you like your voice? Can you sing?

The first question doesn’t warrant a response– very few people know, so I’m keeping it that way :–). My voice isn’t super deep, but maybe a little more than people would think. I guess it’s okay, but when I hear it in a recording I honestly want to die :^). I like to think I can sing, but I never let anyone hear me enough to get a second opinion.

Shoulders: Do you consider yourself to be easily stressed out?

Yeah. Speaking of shoulders and stress, I often hunch my shoulders without really noticing– it’s not until I relax them that I realize that they were so tense in the first place.

Arms: Are you strong, physically? Do you think you give good hugs?

I know people that are stronger than me, so I’m going with no. I usually give good hugs, but if I don’t know the person very well then it might be kind of bad.

Wrists: Do you wear a lot of jewelry? What kind? Is there a certain type of jewelry that you just can’t stop getting?

I wear.. absolutely no jewelry, it’s kind of sad. The only things on my wrist is the seldom hairtie. I wish I had a watch sometimes, but that’s something I’m not sure I can afford. It would be nice, though :-)

Hands: Are you artsy? Do you play any sort of instrument? Do you draw? Do you write? Do you have soft hands? Do your hands ever idle or do you always have to be doing something with them?

I like to think I’m artsy, but then I see everyone else :’) I play the violin and the piano (but more so the latter)! My hands are soft now– they used to be more calloused when I played golf more. I don’t always have to be using my hands– I’d say they’re idle a fair amount.

Fingers: Do you paint your nails? Are they painted now? What color?

I don’t really paint my fingernails because they always get messed up when I do and I don’t like long nails. My toenails are painted, though! Kind of a dark-ish red/pink, hard to say. 

Chest: Where do you feel safest? What comforts you the most? How do you usually calm down?

I feel safe in my home, which is also what comforts me a lot. I find that drinking cold water and lying down (if possible) helps me calm down. Staying cool in general calms me down a lot.

Stomach: What’s your favorite thing to eat? What gives you butterflies? Have you ever been on a roller coaster? Do you have any food allergies?

I love to eat most Asian food and (regrettably) the occasional burger. I get butterflies when I’m about to find out my grade on a test/in a class or when I’m talking to someone I find intimidating. I’ve been on a few roller coaster, and depending on which one, I have mixed feelings about them. No food allergies that I can think of :–)

(Thanks for asking, and thanks for making it to the end! This was a nice use of my time.)

[racingtoaredlight]

Random Thoughts on Performance Psychology

My father has an encyclopedic knowledge of music that I haven’t experienced in numerous professors with doctorates teaching at graduate levels in college.  It’s truly remarkable the sheer breadth of understanding he has...not just of music history, but the science of recording, the way sound waves behave...basically almost everything that happens in music.  From the nanosecond the soundwaves leave an amplifier or instrument, my father knows just about everything there is to know about what’s going on...and knows the history of how it all came to be.

His knowledge and experience has been a godsend for me.  I’m not as intelligent as he is, nor do I have his voracious appetite for understanding how to put the logistical aspects of creating music into place...and having him around to learn from has been the most significant contributor to my own love of music.

But there are grains of salt.

He’s not a good musician.  He’s played a variety of instruments with little success, though he does have a great voice.  For all his knowledge and experience, it’s missing a critical ingredient...actually doing it.

***

For all the laughs Fire Joe Morgan brought us...for ushering in a statistic revolution to provide some level of objectivity to the game...Joe Morgan did have a salient point, in all those pieces the FJM guys ripped apart.  He played the game.  That doesn’t make him unimpeachable in terms of analysis, but it gives him a layer of expertise that can’t be gleaned from a spreadsheet.

The biggest lynchpin in this argument is the idea of “clutch,” or whether statistical variance can explain performance during critical points.  And the idea that clutch is something that doesn’t exist is completely asinine from a psychological perspective, a perspective that Joe Morgan understood more than Ken Tremendous.

“Clutch” is just a different term for a lack of stage fright, or anxiety.  I’d love to see a psychological peer-tested review of athletes considered clutch, because I’d be willing to bet that there’s a greater than 50% correlation to “clutch performance” and psychopathy.

Psychopathy isn’t inherently bad, despite what you might think based on things like Law and Order or serial killer movies, shit like that.  Simply put, psychopathy is an inherent lack of emotional response...something you could equally see benefit a hitman and ruthless vulture capitalist, but also a firefighter or ER triage surgeon.

A lack of emotional response to a situation brings things more in line with statistical variance in large sample sizes.  Someone on a psychopathic spectrum would likely be less impacted by the crowd, by thoughts of how important this moment is, wouldn’t be thinking of impacts on legacy, team success, potential for a big pay day...their minds would more likely be blank or thinking technical things, rather than concerning themselves with ancillary stimuli.

***

For a non-psychopath, the easiest way to become more calloused to the onslaught of emotional stimuli is experience.  Lots and lots of experience.

My personal favorite memory of this was when I was at North Texas.  Technically, I had a lot of shit going on in a big way, but there was always something missing.  During a performance for one of the guitar ensembles (5 guitars, keys, bass, drums), my teacher took a video of my performance...camera on me the whole time.

Our next lesson, he fast forwarded through the video to the probably dozen or so mistakes I made.  Every one of those mistakes was punctuated by a obviously self-angry gesture and mouthing the word “FUCK!”  That night, I probably played a total of 1,500 notes.  I made...lets call it 15 mistakes.  Incredibly minor mistakes in the middle of passages where nobody would’ve noticed.

Nobody would have noticed, except I visibly reacted each time.

***

That’s one example of clutch being a real phenomenon.  Psychology...it’s hard to express this...trumps every other aspect of actual performance, when all things are relatively equal.  It can tilt the scales even when they’re not.

And as someone who’s not a psychopath, it’s a learned skill to just say “fuck it, I don’t really care.”  When my teacher showed me that video, my questions were...how could I not care?  I worked on this for ten hours.  My parts have to be perfect for the other guys.  My performance here can determine next year’s ensemble and teacher assignments.

To put this in some psychological perspective, play this below for 1 minute (you won’t make it 5 seconds, but that doesn’t matter)...

I missed roughly 1 note per minute, something truly barely even noticeable...and yet because of my psychological reaction internally, I externally made sure that everyone in the audience knew I was fucking up all over the place.  Musically speaking, I was not clutch.  I was a weird angry dude.  Which isn’t too different from now, but I digress.

***

I’m sure we can all think of examples similar to this through our lives...

Maybe the valedictorian who gets caught cheating because of pressure to be perfect.  Their statistical being would be more than good enough to get full rides to any Ivy League, but they needed to push farther and fucked themselves over.

Ooo!  Schwimmer’s character in Band of Brothers is another good example.  Whether it’s imposter syndrome or knowing deep down he’s not up to the challenge, it’s psychologically impacted his decision making (assuming the character study from the book is fairly true-ish).

It can be a drive for personal wealth/fame/ego that undermines performance...maybe someone hogs the ball trying to juice their numbers, impacting the rest of the team’s abilities to compete (or make things extremely predictable for opponents during those important minutes in a sport like basketball where they can double-team).  Or maybe, in the case of the greatest bassist of all time Jaco Pastorius, they charge on stage to kick other bassists off and then showboat the audience away.

When things are all relatively equal, psychology is that intangible ingredient that means the difference.  Obviously psychology isn’t going to put you in the Berlin Philharmonic if you just picked up violin, all because you’ve convinced yourself that.  But it might convince you to keep practicing when your fingers hurt, or you think it’s boring...and that shit compounds.

***

I don’t really remember too much about their stance on clutch, or if FJM did a statistical analysis of it or anything, but I’m a huge believer in the importance of performance psychology from my own experience.

It definitely helps having played bass for 3 years before picking guitar up again, and helped trading intentionally-difficult jazz fusion stuff for blues and rock, but truthfully I make more mistakes playing less difficult stuff now than I ever did in my 20′s.  I don’t have anywhere near the technical skills I used to...nowhere close.

But, when I picked up guitar again, I made the conscious decision to play like Eddie Van Halen...not the style, genre or tone, but in the sense he was a kamikaze.  He didn’t give a shit if he fucked up or played sloppy...it was the bigger picture that mattered.  That kamikaze psychology...I am going to fly as redlined as possible and if it ends up in a fiery explosion, so be it...was something that would’ve been incredibly useful in my musical prime when I still had a chance to actually play.

And it makes for a better band experience when those fiery explosions happen.  Instead of getting ripshit pissed, I just don’t really care anymore.  Plus, statistically speaking, I’ll fuckin’ get em on the next go around.  Shit, maybe there is psychologically something to the analytics after all.

***

Anyways, just some random thoughts.

[arc-rchk-blog]

FICTION: Stars

By Sabine Lee

“If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I’ll bet they’d live a lot differently.” -Calvin and Hobbes

It had been years since she last saw the stars.

Reminiscing wasn’t something she did often. She didn’t have time for that, in the hustle of everyday life. Not in this city, where neon lights twinkle in place of constellations.

Light pollution drenched the night sky in a fog of artificial lighting. Yellow, blue, green, red, orange, pink - all neon, of course, glowing bright, craving, yearning for the attention of the crowds below.

All the stars had been banished, their artificial foes reigning. From then on, the neon would only continue to expand, advance further, until even the slightest glimmer of the stars, their scorching bodies, were vanquished, snuffed out, a graceful essence beyond the eye’s reach.

The tail of Ursa major… What star was that again? The north star?

Stars, she needed stars right now.

She needed air.

“Excuse me, I need to get going.”

“What?” Her colleague hollered. “But the night’s just beginning! C’mon, stay for a few more drinks, it won’t be too much!”

“It’s an urgent matter.” She responded, waving her phone.

“But the karaoke!”

“It can wait for next time. I’m sorry, have a nice night.”

The door shut silently behind her, and she made her way down the corridor which reeked of spirits, clambering upstairs to the exit. The biting chill of the streets embraced her as she strode over to her motorcycle and drove towards the peak that gazed upon Hong Kong, the sprawling city where hope was beginning to dwindle.

She parked, then got onto the elevator, making her way towards the pagoda. The cool, crisp air, the many people that were there, and the illuminated streets just reminded her how lively the city was. Dead in spirit, barely persisting. The sheer audacity they had, to keep on crawling forward.

The familiar feeling of fingers, slender, somewhat calloused at the tips, skimming over ivory keys or treading across violin strings. Instruments, that inferno of music the world burned in as she played, the symphonies, the concertos, the diminuendos and crescendos, pianos and fortes, accidentals and key signatures…

All the music, her first love, a path now deserted, the dust collecting on the surfaces of her instruments. Her dreams were merely filaments that were shredded apart. The digits on her left hand curled inwards, wishing to balance upon strings once more. It itched. She scratched idly at her palm.

As she looked at the stars from beneath the jade green roof of the pagoda, held up by sturdy red columns, she remembers vividly.

Oh so vividly…

She blinks, a fire flashes before her eyes. She blinks again, smells the smoke drifting into her nostrils. She closes her eyes, relinquishes a part of herself to fatigue.

She tastes acrid smoke and remembers crystal clear teardrops rolling down skin, weeping as manuscripts were flung into the flames, as fellow mourners tossed paper effigies into fire, watching as they were engulfed, reduced to ashes.

When she was on the stage, in a sky blue dress, eyes brimming with bereavement, she balanced on the tightrope of stoicism. Her emotions were compressed into the pieces she performed. She spilt the contents of her heart into the babbling brook of the music she played at the apex of her recital.

Her very, very last recital.

Her violin screeched and screeched, screeched in pain, as she neared the end of the piece, a deranged 20th century piece. With one final downward stroke of the bow, she finished the piece with the thought of her mother amongst all the audience members, applauding, smiling, proud of her daughter, proud of her.

It meant nothing. It didn’t amount to much. Just her final recital until she left the music world, because of homework and school, she tricked herself into believing. Yet the sight of rosin drifting off violin strings brought back flickering memories of ashes ascending towards the heavens above, and reminded her of exactly why she had decided to depart from the stage.

Her stream of tears went unnoticed as she bowed deeply.

Then every direction was obscured by the mists of grief, thunderstorms, heavy sheets of rain. She couldn’t move. Her instruments, her lovely instruments, the sole reminder she had of her mother… Stranded, deserted, and left alone, her spirit emblazoned in their polished surfaces.

Things had to end, so new things could come into being. Isn’t that what they say?

And then came the psychiatrists.

They managed to get right down to the rotten core of the problem. Depression, they said. Severe. The diagnosis was, surprisingly, spot on. The state she dwindled down to left her without a sense of direction, without motivation…

Without hope.

And once hope had fled her, once she let go of the bow and lifted her fingers from ivory piano keys one last time, she began to fall.

And she had fallen for far too long.

As she looked at the harbor below, she thought about the stars, high above. She thought about Ursa Major, the north star. As a wry smile laced her lips, she pondered about the past few years of her life. It had taken her quite a while, but she eventually found her footing. She’d found hope elsewhere, in the form of the stars cast high above her.

It was during the holidays that she and a few pals travelled to New Zealand. At night, with the breeze caressing her exposed arms and legs, she looked up from a boat docked far away, nestling deep in the stunning beauty of Milford Sound, resting amongst the mountains, sleeping beneath the stars.

And there it was, beyond her reach, but there, Ursa Major. As she gazed upon those silver specks in the sky, she swung her feet back and forth. She remembered the time her mother would play classical music at a hushed volume from her phone, while they went stargazing in one of the country parks, a toasty fire flickering away as they had a small barbeque.

“You know, Jennifer,” Her mother began. “When I was younger, I always looked to the stars for guidance before a recital. There’s always something tranquil in the night sky, I just can’t put my finger on it… But it’s always helped me calm down.”

It was so funny, an odd sensation tingling in her fingers while returning to her first love. Jamming the key into the lock, twisting, and turning it before barging into the room with an ornate piano and white violin case.

Both were coated with dust, but she didn’t mind.

Once she pushed that door open, over a decade’s worth of music flooded back into her mind, and the familiarity of her violin huddled between clavicle and jaw as she hummed a few tentative notes alongside strokes of the bow. The feeling of ivory keys beneath her virtuoso fingers made small tears well up in her eyes.

Reunited, at last, after years of crippling depression. The notes and music swirled around her as she played, fury igniting her weary bones, those years of suppressed music flowing out through her fingertips. Sunlight streamed through white lace curtains, illuminating the instruments and her serene face, but the spell she cast upon herself wasn’t lifted.

That was a month ago, and here she was, looking down at the artificial stars that glistened high above the populace of Hong Kong, twinkling and pulsating, despite their subdued glows rendering them incapable of being the equals to the stars high above, their natural counterparts. She yearned for the scorching passion radiating from the stars.

But this city, with too many burdens and an influx of crushed dreams needed hope to at least be within reach. Perhaps the artificial lights did it, in place of the stars.

Rekindled hope.

And with a sigh pushing past her lips, she thought about the blossoming meadows of yellow umbrellas carried by the incoming generation.

She simply hoped they caught glimpses of the stars beyond the skyscrapers.