#like that was entirely too much festivities for a national holiday like in my book you can have fireworks if you absolutely have to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themildestofwriters · 3 months

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I have nearly, oh so nearly finished the first part of the first book of my The Sith, Zero rebuild, which goes under the dubious title of "The Saga of Zero: Fall Into Darkness."

Not sure "Fall Into Darkness," works as a subtitle, but I wanted something that references the fact that this is a book about someone being pulled into a place of, well... darkness. Louise quite literally lands herself in slavery, and it is not a happy book.

Regardless, first part is mostly done. It's like... mostly drafted, and the most I need to do is write the religious hymns, prayers, liturgy, and blessings for the religious service proceeding the Summoning ritual. Then, I gotta rewrite the prologue (probably), which'll now start following Omiras (or whatever I name him) as he receives the alert about the anomalous event, rather than starting from the perspective of the anomalous event. I feel it'll give me a good way of getting his character properly established. It'll be easier to set up the slavery angle, too, rather than just dropping that fact in at the end, while also giving me the option to do some exposition about how slavery works in the Empire (among other stuff, especially the core changes I'm making to the Star Wars universe). Then it's just a massive editing spree over the entire document to get everything up to snuff.

Part two is trickier, because I've got half of it done, it's just that I am struggling big time for the full reveal about the slave element. Louise hasn't got any idea what's going on because of the language barrier. Outside of that, she has a week to learn the language before she gets put to work, and the chapter where she gets put to work is the moment she realises what's going on. The problem is that I don't know how to write that, and it's just a pain, lol. But once I get through that, it should be relatively smooth sailing from there, through the chapter or two compilation of important moments of Louise's time as a slave, ranging from her interpersonal relationships with the other slaves, her rebellious streak, and the punishments she receives for these rebellions. Part two then ends with the arrival of the Sith, Louise's supernatural acquisition of language, and a dinner where she *finally* gets the full picture of what's going on.

I haven't written much for part three, but I do have a very good idea of how things go. It starts with a New Year's chapter where she and the other slaves get to have some time off and celebrate together, before getting right into things next chapter. Pirates come for Louise, people die, the Force Awakens, and Louise is set to start training at the Sith Academy. Final chapter, like the prologue, will be from someone else's perspective, Kirche, a classmate (and bully) watching her perform the Summoning ritual, watching how it goes wrong, and watching vanish, the chapter ending with the after Summoning dinner, a rendition of House of the Rising Sun in Old French, and some introspection.

Doable, but difficult. Writing religious liturgy is hard, especially for a Norse Pagan inspired religion influenced by Catholicism. The transition in part two, when she learns that she's a slave, is just difficult. I'm not sure if she should figure it out herself, of if it's believable that she'd refuse to acknowledge the possibility. She is just fourteen and from a privileged background, after all. As someone who writes linearly, I can't write much else until I finish that part.

Once the book is done... book two is going to be interesting. First off is the question of how, exactly, I'm supposed to write three years in one book, and I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to write this in a way that isn't just a massive mess.

Three years, six trials, two trials per year, plus the Imperial holidays, festivals, national events, national news, as well as Academy training, events, and student-run parties. Oh, and Louise's own religious practices. Somehow I've got to fit all that in, on top of interpersonal interactions, in a single book.

Of course, I could split it. Two books. Three books. I even have a good climax for the first part (her third or fourth trial) which takes her to the Tomb of Ludo Kressh, where things take a turn for the psychological horror. The issue is, I'm not sure how I'd wind up balancing things. A lot of things Louise would wind up doing would happen in her first year, so part one would be bloated with all these events, and part two would be left floundering with little except training, trials, and a party. It is doable, though. If I just balance things right, it could work.

Maybe Louise enters a sort of depression state in part one once she realises the reality of being a slave-caste acolyte? She doesn't engage with the wider Imperial culture, because she doesn't have the energy, because she is angry and resentful toward the Empire, because too much time is spent training and catching up. Maybe she even lapses in her religious practices. Then, after her time in Kressh's tomb, part two starts, and she comes out more willing to engage with the Empire and rekindle her religious practices. She attends events, goes to parties, tries to live in spite of the world around her. Hmm... whatever the case, I'll be a lot more loosey-goosey with the OG's plot structure.

If I do end up splitting it in two, I'll need to figure out epilogues and prologues for both. The first prologue would be Kory, an acolyte in her coterie. Basically builds up her as a character, the perspective of an Imperial-born slave, while also giving the reader a perspective on Louise from the beginning of her training as a Sith. All prologues are just my way of giving the reader a look at Louise from an outside perspective, while also expanding upon a character and the world in a way that couldn't be explored in any other way. Omiras's slave operation, Kory's life as a slave, details Louise would miss.

Epilogues on the other hand, are looks into the world Louise was taken from and deal with the aftermath of her vanishing. First epilogue is an outsiders perspective on Louise's summoning, her vanishing, and the immediate aftermath. Second epilogue would be another character, unrelated to (but also related to) Louise, and looking at the world from another perspective, looking at the aftermath of Louise's summoning from a distance, and delving into a sort of meta plot that's developing back home. This'll follow Tiffania, a jacked not-Scotswoman living in the wild forests of flying not-Britain running an orphanage with her famed theif of a sister, except it turns out Tiffania is actually the long lost half-elven niece of the not-UK Royal Family during actually-Cromwell's anti-monarchist reign, and also she's one fourth a messiah.

Second prologue (for part two) would probably be... Quorian Dorjis, who is a Jedi imprisoned on Korriban, who Louise befriends. I'll have to move his quest line up to book two (somehow), but it'd be a really interesting perspective to look at, being able to see how a Jedi (drugged as he may be) looking at Louise. It'll also be a great way of introducing the Jedi perspective, which I've made wholly foreign to how I present the Sith perspective. They're not mirrors of each other, but alien in how they view the Force.

Second epilogue... I think it'd have to be Louise's mum arriving on a manticore to throttle the Headmaster for losing her daughter. Or I might make it the first epilogue of part one of book two. Either or, Louise's mum's perspective is a must have because not only does Louise have a complicated relationship with her parents, but her mum is a complicated woman, too. It'll definitely be the hardest of the alt. POVs.

Book three (of four, if I split the second book) will be the shortest, and also introduce the idea of doing much of the following books as shorter works that are done in five to ten or so chapters, rather than the fifteen to twenty of the previous ones. It's a simple thing, adapting one of the Flashpoints from SWTOR, the Black Talon. It'll open with Khem Val's perspective as a POV, and end with... hmm... I'm not sure. It's far enough away that it won't matter if I don't figure it out, but it is still important *to* figure out. I could either look back at a previous POV, but I also feel it's too soon to do so.

As it stands, new characters I could look at are... Tabitha, a classmate of Louise who Louise had a crush on, but is also a black ops agent working for a foreign kingdom (which is ruled by her evil uncle); Henrietta, Princess of Louise's home nation and Louise's first and oldest friend; Pope McDongcopter (fandom nickname), who is the Pope and also a dick (and also one fourth a messiah) who plans on invading actual modern day Earth with muskets and magic; Louise's sisters, who are Louise's sisters, one who acts like a bitch to hide the fact that she cares deeply, another who is just... you know, terminally ill; King Joseph, who is Tabitha's uncle, evil, and also one fourth a messiah, and is the power behind actual-Cromwell on not-Britain; and... yeah. That's about it so far. Those are the important players on Louise's homeworld.

Regardless of who caps it off, I think book three (four) is where I start posting the fic online. Weekly or bi-weekly, with a week break between books. It's not the last book, but it is where I'll probably be like "Okay, I have enough content to justify finally publishing this reboot!"

Book four is going to be the Dromund Kaas plot from SWTOR, but with heavy focus on Louise finally being able to just live life as a proper civilian in the Empire. I want to just explore Imperial life, and how it works, and Louise'll be a great method to do so. I mean, sure, Sith politics remains a pressing issue, but I feel like it's the first time she can just *breath*.

Prologue is probably Darth Skotia or Zyira (Louise's room-mate from the Academy). Both have great perspectives to look into, though only one is plot relevant. Epilogue... refer to previous epilogue discussion (i.e. I don't fucking know).

Then, after that, it'll pretty much be an episodic series of books. I mean, that's the general plot structure of SWTOR, each planet having its own plot, so why not make each planet its own book? Short five to ten chapters worth. Can't be bothered mentioning who is prologue and epilogue, but yeah. That's basically the plan for the Saga of Zero.

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adamfoolcry · 3 years

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of coffees and holidays (d.sc)

pairings: Ballerina!Sicheng x CafeOwner!FemReader

rating: 13+

warnings: swearing

genre: angst and fluff

synopsis: Your and Sicheng's love story in five coffees with varying degrees of sweetness spanning five Christmases.

word count: 3k+

a/n: for @127-mile, I hope I did justice for your prompt. Hope you enjoy reading it. Happy Holidays! 🎅 Thank you to @neoculturechristmas for organizing such fun event. It can be read in chronological order if y'all wanted to. I promise it's a happy ending. Not proofread so please excuse the mistakes, I am so dumb. Please reach out to me if you would like to do so. - xo aria

Christmas 2019 - Espresso

Outside as flakes of snow fell from the sky, like a light shower of glitter from the heavens, the elusive holiday spirit seemingly present in the air; you watched a young couple huddled together to share warmth, fingers intertwined, cheeks glowing red partnered with coy smiles on their faces, and a family of three in admiration of their son as he showed off his Christmas gift. The streetlights emitting an orange glow providing an aura of softness, making everything come together to form a picturesque scene.

Heartwarming as these scenes were, they failed to evoke any emotion out of you; if anything you feel excluded from it entirely. To you the world behind the cafe's glass windows is just a film you're screening in the cinemas, and you were nothing but a mere spectator. You continue to stare listlessly at the throngs of people passing by until they all mesh into a blur of colors your eyes couldn't catch fast enough. That's better.

Inside the cafe although decorated with trinkets for the holidays there was an air of sadness permeating every corner and seated itself onto the furnishings. Lately it seems like sadness is following you around everywhere - like a shadow - and instead of trailing behind you it looms over you shrouding your every thought until it completely consumes you.

No one stepped foot inside the cafe and with no one to entertain your mind drifts to him. Sicheng.

How many days has it been? Since you last saw him. You've lost count, a lie you tell yourself to make the dull ache in your chest bearable.

It's a torture how you could recall that day - the day you lost him - so vividly as if you are forced to relive it every time the silence eats away at your resolve; to tuck the moment into the deep recesses of your mind, where it can't hurt you. When every little thing reminds you of him, his favorite spot at the cafe, black turtlenecks and that undeleted grainy picture of his sitting in your gallery.

You could never forget the look on his face, resignation etched into every crevice of his features, a forlorn smile on his lips.

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you.

The slam of the door is the nail that hits the coffin. Sicheng is gone. He has already walked out of your life. That was the last you saw of him for he never visited the cafe again.

A month passed by when Sicheng called you. Your heart leaped as his name flashed on your screen and your thumb shakily pressed the answer button; afterwards lifting it near your ear.

There was no greeting as he uttered in his low voice that you have missed so much, "My flight to Russia is this Saturday."

Your heart sank.

"I want you to see me off, ______."

Don't go please stay with me but there are certain thoughts that weren't meant to be put into words so instead, "I'll be there." You reassured him.

But you never showed up at the airport that Saturday. Instead, you were at the cafe staring at the screen of your phone blinking on and off as a wave of notifications with his name flooded your phone. Why make things harder? As if him leaving wasn't hard enough. You pressed the power button long enough to shut down your phone.

The following days passed away into months that's a haze in your mind. You can't recall anything worth remembering. You quickly filled up your schedule with mundane tasks just to have something to do filling every gap of your vacant time.

At night you fell straight to bed, your body collapsing from the physical strain you have subjected it with. Establishing a packed routine without idle time so you don't have time to linger on the dull ache in your chest - always there like a festering wound. This works until you find your list of chores unexpectedly accomplished earlier than you planned, the cafe shrouded in still quietness.

Alone with nothing else to do the dull ache amplified to a crippling one and it bites you right back in your face, forcing you to acknowledge the hollow feeling that seems to reside in your chest permanently. Your eyes would be heavier, your vision blurry, trying to blink away the tears but ultimately failing as it trails down your cheeks; you clutch at your chest because it hurts and you regret that the last you'll see of Sicheng is that face of hurt he wore.

Christmas 2016 - Vanilla Latte

You placed the cup of vanilla latte sitting on a saucer on the table daintily, pushing the saucer across the wooden table towards the customer, avoiding to make any noise. The customer seemed so engrossed with the novel he is reading - nose almost touching the pages - that you don't want to disturb him.

The said customer is a regular, there was not a month that he hasn't visited the cafe. Showing up five minutes after you flip the signage to open, with no fail not even a minute late.

Wearing all black from head to toe, a tall lithe figure, and an androgynous facial structure, your guess is that he works as a model. Even now without trying he is captivating; he makes the cafe look like a set for a magazine spread just by lounging in the matching cherry wood table and chair, and you can't help but stand there and shamelessly stare at him. god really has his favorites.

His work must require him to travel to different countries and have photoshoots in scenic spots, oh how you wish you could also jetset to other countries. Packed schedule for the day that he doesn't have time to think about what he is going to do next. That is a luxury you don't have especially in the ber months for there is a decline in customers and with no one to entertain, your mind goes on an overdrive pondering on uncharted waters of how you have nothing else going for you but run this cafe.

Aside from his penchant to wear all black, read a novel while drinking his choice of beverage - choice of beverage you ask? - you see the other peculiar thing about this man is that he doesn't have a 'regular drink'. Most if not all people who go to a cafe know what they are going to order before they have set foot inside. This man doesn't, his eyes would flit on the menu, scanning from left to right and back again. It is almost ritual like, this would go on for a good minute or two as you drum your fingers on the counter waiting for his order.

The snow is falling outside covering the otherwise grey pavement white, decorations for the festivities hung around the four corners of your quaint cafe. Yet here he is, nursing a cup of coffee instead of being somewhere else. Doesn't he have a family? to celebrate Christmas with?

"Can I help you?" The man said, turning his face slightly in your direction not quite yet abandoning the book in his hand.

"Ohh uhmm-" you were jolted out of your trance, startled you took a sidestep only to collide with the chair where a large unzipped duffel bag was placed. The contents of the bag spilled over.

"Shit! I am sorry." You quickly knelt to the ground to pick up the scattered items on the floor, the man joined you. Charger, earphones, epsom salt, bandage, and tiger balm ointment as you picked up the items you also increasingly grew baffled. What a weird assortment of things. You reached for the item that somehow managed to get under the table and as your fingers came in contact with the rough material of the cloth you learned that your assumption of his job was wrong. A man's canvas ballet shoes.

I thought he was a model.

"What?" The man questioned. You wince to yourself you just didn't say that out loud. You emerge from under the table to find that the man was looking at you too intently for your liking. His eyes sought out yours waiting for an explanation and as if you owe him one you started explaining yourself.

"Well, you are tall and extremely handsome so .." Cringing as the words flew out of your mouth. The man chuckled at your confession, a tell tale sign of a smile on the corner of his lips.

"I am flattered really but as you can deduct by now I actually do ballet." He rose to his feet and offered you his hand to help you stand up.

Unlike other days where he will leave the cafe after an hour or two, this time he stayed and unlike other days where you find yourself alone in the cafe; you find yourself enjoying the company of this mysterious man.

Where you quickly learned that all your presumptions about him have little truth in it. You learned that his name is Sicheng, and he is a principal dancer for the Korean National Ballet company not a model although with his looks he might as well be one. Yes, he travels but mostly for tours and performances. He practices an average of eight hours a day.

Your fascination for his life spurred the conversation as if you were friends catching up with each other. With the book set aside and the contents of the cup long empty you two didn't notice how much time had passed. He bid you goodbye with a promise to visit you again tomorrow. As you watch his retreating figure getting smaller, the snow piling on top of each other over the glass windows of the cafe there was a smile on your lips - the warmth of a newfound friendship is akin to a good cup of coffee - making you warm from the inside out.

Christmas 2017 - Cappuccino

"Surprise me," Sicheng said leaning on his hip at the counter, arms crossed on his chest, when you asked him what he would like to drink. Standing there he looked like the culmination of your dreams.

Maybe it's the iridescent lights from the numerous christmas lights that flickered on his face making him look more exquisite or the grin he gave you after. You did surprise him but not in the way he was expecting and to be honest you are also shocked by your sudden brazenness as you lean in to kiss his plush lips. The kiss didn't last long, a little more than a peck but long enough for you to regret it.

"I .. I am sorry," you stammered burying your heating up face in your hands, embarrassed. You didn't even see Sicheng's reaction, was he appalled? You peeked through your fingers to find out, when Sicheng started laughing, tipping his head back a little, eyes crinkled in mirth, his right hand covering the half of his handsome face.

You want nothing more than to shrivel up in one corner. He started tugging at your wrists, pulling your hands away from your burning face.

"Mind giving me more of that surprise?" The corner of his lips curved upwards, nose slightly crinkled, and you wished to etch his face to memory.

Christmas 2018 - Americano

He was late, you glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, it is now 11 P.M. and soon Christmas will be over.

The americano you have prepared already cold, his untouched while yours halfway finished. It's fine though because you know that this will be the first of the many Christmases you have to spend without Sicheng. You must get used to spending it alone again.

Musing to yourself your mind quickly took a trip down the memory lane of his last visit to the cafe before he got on tour with the company for one of the holiday stage productions.

--------

You have only heard the thud of the door as it closed on its hinges. You are currently cleaning the countertop back bowed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you meticulously scrubbed at the stubborn grease that won’t budge, lifting your head to do the customary greeting, when something or rather someone barreled straight to where you are, engulfing you in a tight hug that shoved you headfirst into that someone’s chest your nose burrowed deeply into the black cloth.

Recognizing the intoxicating scent of light musk and citrus, relief flooded you as you hugged Sicheng back. You don't know how long the two of you stayed in that position basking yourself with his warmth just a little longer.

He's real, he's here a safe and solid presence by your side. You can count by one hand the things that have endured with you throughout the years, other than the cafe which you have run since your mother got sick, dropping out of college to keep it going. And one of those is Sicheng you've found in him stability and comfort your past partners can't give you.

Sicheng pulled away putting some distance between the two of you, his arms naturally falling at his sides. He was wearing one of his brightest smiles, the apple of his cheeks high and pronounced on his face.

"_______, I've been offered the position of principal dancer at Bolshoi Ballet in Russia," He can't help but smile again clearly enthusiastic with the prospect of joining one of the most prestigious ballet companies.

It took you a moment to answer settling with an unconvincing, "Wow." You don't know how to react with his news, but you feel dread in the pit of your stomach. You don't like the idea of him leaving. You try not to let it show in your face.

"I know. I was also surprised." As if sensing the change in your demeanor he asked concerned, "Is something wrong, ______?"

"Nothing let me whip you a drink I found from the net," you brushed him off with a wave of your hand.

----------

"Hey _______, I am sorry there was some minor traffic that held us back," Sicheng announced his entrance that broke your reverie. Setting his duffel bag on the floor to sit on the opposite chair facing you.

His hair tousled, cheeks rosy and nose red but despite his healthy complexion you can also see the pronounced bags under his eyes with a tinge of violet. He looks tired and in dire need of rest. Yet he headed straight to the cafe instead of his apartment.

"Sicheng I've wanted to tell you something," perching your arms on the table to fiddle with the ear of the cup.

"Yeah?" Sicheng asked, staring right at you.

"I think," you cast your eyes down on the table, and with a small voice continued, "we should break up."

"You think?"

"I mean we should"

"Why?"

"I ... it's just that it will be easier for you." Your hands started gesticulating in the air.

"Don't give me that bull shit. You are not the judge of that," Sicheng replied in a cold manner.

"It's just you have this life before me and you'll also have a life after me." Your voice cracked, and you gathered your strength to look at him. "I am grateful that you have been a part of my life. You are crazy talented and right now the world opens up in front you and you deserve better. I can't give you that I ..-," clutching at your chest, "I am just me."

"It's nice to know that you think of me as some temporary phase in your life and here I am fool enough to think that maybe you'll want to come with me to Russia," a cruel laugh slipped from his lips, "christ, I can't even choose what coffee I'll be having and finally for once in my life I've never been so sure of anything," voice trailing, "but us.

"So I'll still ask because I know I will regret it, if I don't. Do you want to come with me?" Sicheng pierced you with his eyes, wearing his heart out on a sleeve. Leaving himself unguarded and hoping you'll come through.

But you have never been brave. "I'll stay and you go."

"I see," he said in a bittersweet tone before he turned his back at you.

Christmas 2020 - White Chocolate Mocha

"I told you Renjun you don't have to do your shift at Christmas." You look up to reprimand Renjun, and instead are met with familiar feline eyes that seem to see right through you. There stood Sicheng looking like an intricate piece of art displayed in the museums. It is more painful to look at him than anybody warned it would be. It hurts how familiar you are with him still dressed in black - turtleneck and slacks, his trusty duffel bag hanging on one shoulder, he's still the same but now you are nothing more than a past fling to him.

"Hey," Sicheng walked towards the counter greeting you.

"Hey," you shake your head from the trance that took over you, "Oh I'll make you something."

"I'll have a white chocolate mocha." Slightly surprised by his request it took you a second to start preparing it.

"When did you come back?" You inquired as you moved about to prepare his drink.

"Yesterday night"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have fetched me?" He asked nonchalantly.

You momentarily stiffen evading to answer the question you throw another at him, "How are you? Is Russia treating you well?"

"Can we cut the crap out? As much as I love dancing, I don't like dancing around in circles. I've come back for one reason only."

"Will you come with me to London?"

Looking at Sicheng standing there - after how much you have hurt him - you thought you will never see him again and you have long accepted that punishment. You are not brave and you will never be but

"Yes, I'd love to go with you."

what you have with him is worth it.

a/n: Read more of my works for NCT here:masterlist

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Cinderella AU time again at last, baby!! Let’s do this!

Florence’s “Christmas Witch” is inspired by Italy’s Le Befana, who like Santa Claus/Father Christmas and his many variations serves as a holiday gift-giver to young children. Given that in this universe, Florence is more favorable toward magic than its rival nation Royaume, I figured them having a similar tradition was appropriate.

The background depicted in this picture is based on this window from a guest apartment in the Chateau de Chambord in France, though of course this is the outside of such a window, rather than the inside. Damn it, do I hate backgrounds with a burning passion. XD;;

In my headcanon, Orion suffers from anxiety. Anxiety disorders aren’t uncommon among children who were raised in orphanages, and a common visual cue for anxiety is clasping one’s hands in front of them, which Orion does constantly in the game Hogwarts Mystery. Plus two types of therapy prescribed for dealing with anxiety are meditation and regular physical activity (like Quidditch! :D). For safety, though, I also want to put in a trigger warning for this part -- be advised that there will be some discussion of PTSD and war-related trauma, around the middle of this.

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

The morning after Royaume’s Winter Festival, Skye was surprised to find Orion in Florence’s palace library. Admittedly he was balancing on one foot with one leg crossed over the other on the step near the top of a tall ladder while reading, which was very typical of Orion -- but the book was a very thick volume on the weaving of various fabrics, and he was devouring it with intense interest while vaguely humming a tune under his breath that Skye didn’t recognize.

“Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...”

Skye cleared her throat to try to get the Prince’s attention. “Hey...Orion?”

Orion, however, was too focused on what he was reading. It took Skye striding over, stating his name twice more, and finally giving the ladder a light smack to get his attention.

“Orion! Mind coming back down to Earth for a minute?” she said, her voice oddly tense. “I need to talk to you.”

Orion stopped humming and looked up from the book at last, his expression rather pleasant.

“Skye...you’ve returned from the front.”

Skye frowned. “Yeah...Dad’s nearly recovered from his injuries. Penny Haywood wanted to thank you for the herbs you picked up.”

Orion inclined his head slightly. “I’m glad to hear your father’s condition has improved.”

Skye nodded, looking faintly guilty.

“...Orion...I’m sorry about what I said the other day,” she said uncomfortably. “I was just so worried about Dad and his troops, and you being all wrapped up in this girl who works for the enemy...it just...it rattled me, I guess.”

“Florence and Royaume should not be enemies for all time,” said Orion patiently. “If there is to be peace, the mistakes both sides have made in the midst of the War will have to be forgiven.”

“I know,” muttered Skye. “And...well, I know how you feel about the War -- about war and fighting in general. It just feels like what you’re doing is so slow, and people are hurting, and...”

She hung her head.

“I know it’s no excuse, for what I said, but...I am really sorry.”

Orion’s black eyes softened. “It’s already forgiven and forgotten, my friend.”

Skye looked very relieved. Her face burst into a smile.

“...Thanks, Orion. I gotta admit, I...kind of want to meet this ‘Lady Cromwell’ now, after everything you told McNully and me about her. She sounds a bit too good to be true, but...well, I never really thought I’d ever hear of a Royaumanian defending magic...especially one of their courtiers.”

Closing the book in his hands with a quiet snap, Orion lowered the leg he had bent beside the one he was balancing on.

“Fortunately I think you’ll have the chance to do so very soon,” he said with a smile. “Last night was an unquestionable success.”

He leapt down the rungs of the ladder with alternating feet, all the way back down to the floor with a light thump.

“I went to the Winter Festival and met the Prince of Royaume himself.”

Skye gave a start. “You what?”

Orion was beaming from ear to ear. “It was all thanks to Carewyn, appropriately enough. She was the one who arranged it so that he could sneak out of the palace disguised as a peasant and attend the Winter Festival, even with the King and Queen keeping him so strictly contained. Prince Henri himself even said as much, that it was all Carewyn’s doing. Imagine...because of her, the two princes of rival nations were able to meet on completely neutral ground as equals. And now that we’ve been introduced and I have a better fix on Prince Henri’s character, I have a great opportunity to open negotiations in full.”

Skye looked rather impressed, even as her face twitched with discomfort.

“That’s...smashing, Orion,” she granted halfheartedly.

Orion raised his eyebrows curiously. “I would say so...but your aura doesn’t seem to agree with your words.”

With a deepening, guilty frown, Skye reached into the hanging pocket attached to her faded blue skirt and took out a sealed letter, which she handed to Orion.

“The King asked me to bring this back for you,” she said lowly, as Orion opened it and began to read. “He’s requested you and McNully to join him at the front.”

Orion’s face had lost all of its pleasantry, leaving it very stony and unreadable, as his black eyes scanned the letter once, twice, three times.

“McNully’s gone to get the coach ready,” said Skye lowly. “He said that he’d meet us just inside the castle gate.”

The ride from the Florentine royal palace to the battlefield at the northern-most border of Royaume and Florence was a stressful one. Once anyone exited the capitol’s walls, the War was immediately much more visible, since most of the War was fought on Florentine soil. Plus many of those magicians who specialized in casting spells were encouraged to settle closer to the wealthier hubs of the country, so that they could cast temporary illusions to obscure certain buildings whenever the opposing army got too close. That was how people such as Florence’s court magician, Severus Snape, had attained such a respectable status.

Orion spent the entire coach ride sitting with his legs crossed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, and his eyes closed so he could meditate. Despite his eyes being closed, however, when they arrived at their destination, he could hear the shrieks of wheels on old wagons, the whinnying of unsettled horses, and suppressed moans of pain, and he could smell the burnt wood, gunpowder, and indescribable smell that could only be labeled as “death.” Even just the sounds and smells brought all the memories flooding back -- his and his mother’s house set ablaze...the rearing horses with Royaume blue and red on their saddles...the deafening explosions and the gray ash that rained from the sky...his mother’s light-less eyes and his own labored breathing and clutching, shaking hands...

Orion had never been blind to how run-down much of his country was, but its problems only became more apparent the closer one got to the border, and especially to the war front. Every building was brand-new and cheaply built, for they no doubt had been built and rebuilt several times over and their occupants didn’t have the funds to build it back as well as before. And then once one approached the army camp itself, there were just about no buildings or fortresses at all, since it was so hard to keep them from being demolished. Instead all the Florentines really had were tents that wouldn’t stand up to most any elements. In the freezing cold of winter, many had been crowded under groves of trees, in a vain attempt to try to protect them from the snow that had buried their neighbors, and there were large bonfires set up everywhere where the soldiers gathered, just to warm their bundled hands and feet. One small fire featured a cooking pot and some sort of foul-smelling soup -- it took Orion a moment to realize the smell was burning leather.

It was tragic to think of how many men back in the Florentine capitol like Lord Malfoy had become very rich because of the increased danger of shipping goods through war zones, while the men who actually had to stay in that war zone had to cook their own boots and eat them for sustenance.

Orion did not open his eyes even when the carriage came to a stop. It was proving harder to find his center of balance when the smell of gunpowder outside made the memory of terrified screams and crackling wood pound against his eardrums.

Inhale. Exhale. Let go. Find your center. Balance.

He felt someone lightly touch the top of his clasped hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Skye.

“...We’re here,” she mumbled. Clearly she knew she was stating the obvious, but didn’t know what else to say.

Orion looked from her to McNully sitting next to her, his eyes very dark even though his face was rather unreadable. McNully looked very grim as he slowly opened the door to the coach. As soon as he did so, someone outside announced very loudly,

“Presenting his Highness, Crown Prince Cosimo Amari VII, heir to the throne of Florence!”

With a swallow, Orion slid his legs down to the floor and, unclasping his hands at last, he hoisted himself up as best he could, took hold of the door frame, and climbed out of the coach. He held his head up high and didn’t shrink, but his eyes were rippling turbulently like oil under candlelight as they surveyed the barren landscape.

Men by the dozens were being carried away on stretchers toward a large off-white medical tent -- even more were being carried away from it or, worse, not even coming close to it at all, for it was already too late. They were too badly injured for Penny Haywood’s potions to save -- for as powerful as magic could be, life and death were inevitable things. The gray-haired flower witch who’d given Orion the charm around his neck had told him so, the Prince recalled, as his hand absently came up to trail over the circular pendant. He’d asked her if she could stop someone from dying, and the sweet grandmotherly woman had looked upon him with an incredibly sad, pitying look.

“Death isn’t something anyone can stop, I’m afraid. One can put it off, certainly...I’ve been able to give people some extra time with my potions, but only by putting in a lot of my own time and energy. And even after putting in that time and energy, there are still plenty of people who I couldn’t work fast enough to help. That’s one of magic’s Chief Principles -- potions take time, but their effects last longer.”

The Prince of Florence tried to bring the cooling, calming sensation that had accompanied the charm around his neck when the woman had first given it to him back to his mind, as the smell of death that hovered over the camp made his heart chill and his stomach churn.

Orion could sense Skye climbing out to stand beside him, and not long after, McNully had lowered himself into the wheeled chair the footman detached from the boot of the coach. By the time McNully and Skye had joined him on the ground, a royal entourage had approached them, introduced by the captain who’d announced Orion’s arrival --

“Presenting his Majesty, Cosimo Amari V, Master and Commander of the Florentine Army, Lord of the Southeastern Sea, King of Florence!”

An older man about Orion’s height with a short mane of graying dark hair and just as strong of a jaw strode forward. Although he greatly resembled Orion visually, however, their physical attitudes couldn’t be any more different: as relaxed and modest as Orion was, the King of Florence appeared traditional and proud. They did, however, both appear quite detached, in their own way -- Orion because he didn’t want to be on the battlefield at all, and the King because he seemed to not be entirely sure how to address his adult son. But frankly, considering that Orion had been snatched out of poverty and made Crown Prince just to replace his older half-brother, Cosimo VI, after he was assassinated by the Royaumanians earlier that year, that wasn’t completely surprising.

“Cosimo,” the King greeted him formally. “Good that you’re here.”

Orion didn’t respond, his face close to impossible to read as he clasped his hands in front of him again.

The King’s emerald green eyes scanned his son’s face briefly before he brought up a hand to take hold of his shoulder and lead him further into camp.

“Come -- we have much to discuss...”

Skye and McNully followed Orion and his father to the largest and brightest white of the tents, pushing the flap with the official Florentine gold-and-green-flower emblem aside to walk inside and gather around a large table. There was a large map laid out on it with many dark green and blood red miniatures and model canons scattered across the surface. Skye’s father, General Ethan Parkin, was also present -- he had to sit in a chair rather than stand like almost everyone else due to him missing a leg and being forced to lean on a crutch, but he sat up very straight with boastful levels of pride. Once he, his generals, and the Prince were all gathered around the table, the King immediately set about discussing McNully’s newest military strategy, which would involve splitting the army in half so as to covertly attack Royaume’s forces from two directions, so as to not only better pinpoint where their canons were currently positioned and avoid them, but also to prevent them from retreating.

It soon became apparent to everyone in the King’s tent, however, that Orion was not in the mood to discuss any of this. He stayed quiet for the majority of the meeting, clasping his hands in front of him, and his eyes remained on the far edge of the map on the table, far away from the battlefield. In his mind, he tried to find his center, even though the sounds of the anxiously whinnying horses outside brought back the memory of the ones that had nearly stampeded him so many years ago, when his part of town was set ablaze.

Find your center. Find balance. Find peace.

Carewyn’s soft, content face as she sang under the willow tree beside the Royaumanian palace moat rippled over his mind, and he felt his heart rate slow.

“Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...”

Orion tried to stay there on that lake bank in his mind as the King discussed how essential it’d be to prevent any Royaumanians from getting in or out of their camp during their siege -- for, as General Parkin pointed out, if any help arrived, then it would prevent the Florentine Army from wiping out their enemy and ending the War. McNully himself looked rather unsettled by the thought of “wiping out” the enemy and was quick to say he’d only intended for the Royaumanians to be fenced in, like in a game of chess, but the King of Florence clearly didn’t think it was enough.

“This newest batch of drafted soldiers are our last resort. Unless we wish to expand the draft to take all those over the age of 18, regardless of health or status, to take their place, we must bring this War to an end, once and for all. And to do that, our enemy must be decisively crushed.”

He looked up at Orion.

“That is why, son, I’ll need you to take command of the left flank of the army.”

“What?” said Skye and McNully, both taken aback and horrified.

“Your Majesty,” McNully said very quickly and firmly, “I-I fully intended that General Parkin would -- ”

“Believe me, lad, I’d normally be chomping at the bit to do it myself,” said General Parkin with a rather sour expression. “But considering that I can’t even properly stand yet, his Majesty decided it might be a good idea for me to...sit this one out.”

“Prince Cosimo will need to know our army as well as I do,” said the King firmly. “Even when we bring this War to an end, he’ll need to be able to lead them in battle, in order to protect our kingdom. And from what I understand, Cosimo, you’ve been gathering intelligence in Royaume itself for a month now without arousing any suspicion...I believe your flair for stealth would be perfectly suited to the task at hand.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree,” said Orion in a very quiet voice.

The King halted. Orion had looked up at his father out the side of his black eye when he’d first addressed him, and although his expression had been very restrained, his eyes had gone very dark. His hands clasped a bit tighter as he faced the rest of the King’s military officers.

“This meeting is adjourned. Please excuse me.”

He turned on his heel and made as if to leave. The King, however, roughly grabbed his shoulder.

“It most certainly is not,” he said, his green eyes full of both disbelief and urgency. “Cosimo, this is not up for debate -- I require you here, to lead the men.”

Orion didn’t turn around. “...You require my aid, to lead our men in this battle?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” said Orion levelly. “Then should I choose not to cooperate, you will not be able to act on this strategy at all.”

All of the King’s officers looked appalled as Orion left the tent. The King’s eyes grew very wide, flickering with desperation as well as some righteous anger, as he chased after him, stepping in front of Orion to prevent him from leaving.

“Cosimo, this is our chance to end the War once and for all! To bring peace to Florence, to right all of the wrongs the Royaumanians have done...”

“Can one right any wrongs by committing more wrongs of their own?” murmured Orion.

“War is not that black and white, my son,” said the King sharply. The surrounding soldiers were starting to take notice. “Sometimes the ends must justify the means -- it’s something all young kings must learn, and I would prefer you learn it before I’m gone, rather than after making a big mistake.”

Skye and McNully had rushed out to join Orion.

“All people make mistakes,” Orion said softly. He tried to leave for a third time, but the King refused to let him pass.

“But you are the Crown Prince of Florence!” said the King. He was clearly getting frustrated now. “Therefore your mistakes are much more consequential -- when you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

His father’s rising volume wasn’t helping Orion’s mood. His anxiety had already been spiking in the tent, but it was only getting harder for him to focus on his breathing with the King continuing to press the issue and the unpleasant, sickening smells and sounds of the battlefield surrounding him.

“Think of your friends, Cosimo,” said the King in a strained voice, “your home, your subjects...”

His friends... Skye’s and McNully’s faces rippled over Orion’s mind, before being joined by KC’s, Badeea’s, the Weasleys’, and Andre’s at the Festival...Carewyn’s...Carewyn rushing up to him at the palace gate -- sighing tiredly and handing him her uncomfortable white heels -- dancing in spirals around him, her red lips turned up in a smile and her ginger hair flying free --

Another battalion was coming through, with stretchers and horses loaded up with wounded soldiers -- the smell of death was suffocating --

“Think of your mother, Cosimo,” said the King. “Could you bear it if any other little boys lost their mothers, the way you did?”

“Don’t talk about -- !” gasped Skye, looking righteously furious, but McNully quickly grabbed her arm to urge her to be quiet.

Skye’s objection wouldn’t have helped, though. The mention of Orion’s mother, combined with the smell of fire and the sound of horses, brought the images flooding back -- his mother’s light-less eyes -- his own gasping for breath --

Orion closed his eyes, trying to find his center, even as his clasped hands started to sweat.

Return to Carewyn -- return to the lake shore, to her voice --

Carewyn’s brother was on the battlefield, fighting for Royaume -- if Orion charged into battle, could he not end up bringing about her brother’s death? Could he bear seeing Carewyn’s heart broken, upon learning that the only family she had who truly understood and loved her was dead? Could he bear the thought of all that blood being on his hands...the blood of his soldiers and Andre’s -- the blood of Carewyn’s brother -- ?

“This is your responsibility, Cosimo,” said the King, as he seized Orion’s shoulder and squeezed it. “You must lead our men into battle -- ”

SMACK.

To everyone’s complete and utter shock, Orion had actually ripped out of the King’s grip, backhanding his hand away with force.

The King flinched back, looking stricken. Orion stared at his father, his black eyes very wide and devoid of both consciousness and its usual composure. There was no rage or violence in his posture, but his face was very white and his hand -- still hovering in mid-air -- was trembling slightly.

“Forgive me,” he said at once, his voice very soft and unusually fragile. “Just...please, don’t touch me.”

He strode past his father, right over to the coach he’d arrived in. Instead of climbing inside, however, he immediately yanked one of the black horses free from its restraints and climbed up onto its back.

“Cosimo!” the King cried, but it was no use. Orion had already sharply flicked the reins and rode off into the distance with speed.

Orion didn’t stop riding until he’d once again reached the palace gate of Royaume. He ended up tossing off his well-tailored olive green doublet on the way, so as to leave his more peasant-like white undershirt behind. His hair also came loose of its ponytail in transit and Orion didn’t care in the least to try to restrain it again. His heart was pounding so fast and his blood was so spiked that all he could focus on was finding peace -- and in that moment, peace was a person. He just needed to hear Carewyn’s voice...needed to see her face...

Orion tied his horse up not far from the palace and hopped the castle wall. He knew Carewyn wouldn’t be expecting him -- before the Winter Festival, they’d said they’d meet up on the 9th, which was coincidentally after Florence’s Christmas Witch festivities. Even so, and even though Orion knew Carewyn would worry about him getting in trouble, he couldn’t think of the risk to himself. His heart was just too clenched with anxiety for him to place his focus on anything other than reaching her -- even though once he reached the castle, the tension that squeezed every nerve in his body in a vice grip only increased with the knowledge that he had no way to figure out where in the castle she’d be or how to get her attention. As fate would have it, however, as Orion paced through the gardens, clasping his own sweating hands, a familiar tune rippled over the air.

“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...

The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...”

The song itself was one even Orion knew -- it was a rather well-known love song in both Florence and Royaume, and one of his mother’s favorite songs when she was alive. But more importantly, the voice singing it was the wonderfully emotional, deep-as-the-sea tone he’d so needed to hear. Orion’s heart gave something like a spasm of relief as he swept around the perimeter of the palace, staying low behind the hedges, until he spotted an open window in a nearby tower where the voice was coming from. When Orion reached the tower in question, he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing against the wall back-first, closing his eyes, so he could just focus on her voice and let it wash over him.

He was suddenly so short on time. The King was so desperate to end the War that he was now open to slaughtering the enemy, if it served that goal. And as confident as the King was that the plan McNully had suggested would put an end to the Royaumanian army for good, Orion himself doubted it would or even could. The cycle of vengeance could only continue ad infinitum until either everything was destroyed or one royal decided to be the better person and stop the fighting. But how could Orion hope to pursue the diplomacy he’d wanted, once the King had done something so ruthless? How could he hope to appeal to Prince Henri or his parents, after such a severe, fresh wound? And Carewyn...how could he face her again, if her beloved brother died because of his own father’s orders?

He needed time. He needed peace. He needed...

“...is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”

Breathe. Find your center. Inhale. Exhale.

Orion barely knew what made him do it, but he knew he had to get Carewyn’s attention somehow. So he squeezed his hands, opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and started to sing the words in return.

“The sweetest sounds I’ll ever hear are still inside my head...”

Carewyn had been cleaning one of the guest suites when she suddenly heard her own song echoed back to her from outside the window. She straightened up abruptly.

Who...who is...?

The voice was male and oddly wispy -- the singer was certainly not trained or very comfortable singing, but he still sounded so earnest...almost desperate.

“The kindest words I’ll ever know are waiting to be said...

The most entrancing sight of all is yet for me to see,

And the dearest love in all the world is waiting somewhere for me --

Is waiting somewhere...somewhere for me...”

Carewyn leaned her broom up against the wall and looked out the window. When she looked down, she caught sight of a familiar mane of dark hair and slightly-too-clean white shirt.

“Orion?”

She recoiled from the window at once, her hands flying to her messy ginger ponytail as she looked over her burnt orange and beige servant’s dress. She was in no state for him to see her like this --

She looked into the mirror hanging up on the closest wall and swallowed.

Carewyn knew she was being foolish -- Orion was going to find out sooner or later that she was nothing but a servant...but...

She’d liked being a lady, for him. She’d liked being someone he could respect. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him with the truth of who she was, really, it was more...her being ashamed of herself. She hadn’t had a choice of whether or not Andre or KC or even the Weasleys knew that she was the child of Charles Cromwell’s disowned youngest daughter and a dead-beat merchant with no dowry or prospects. But Orion hadn’t known her. She’d been able to be who she wished she could be, if just for a moment, when they first met...and in every moment after, she found herself that bit more reluctant to put that mask away.

Carewyn wanted to be a brave, noble, graceful, sophisticated lady for Orion. She wanted to be someone he could admire, instead of the insignificant, pathetic, lying fake who’d sold her and her brother’s souls and futures away forever, just to try to save his life. A girl who, truthfully, was no better than her terrible family -- who had brought every bit of unhappiness she’d ever experienced on herself...

Orion started the song again down below, in an attempt to get Carewyn’s attention -- Carewyn, up above, quickly fashioned her hair into a pretty braid in front of the mirror and sang under him as an echo, as if wanting to reassure him that she could hear him.

“The sweetest sounds (the sweetest sounds)

I’ll ever hear (I’ll ever hear)

Are still inside my head --

The kindest words (the kindest words)

I’ll ever know (I’ll ever know)

Are waiting to be said --

The most (the most) entrancing (entrancing) sight of all (sight of all)

Is yet for me to see,

And the dearest love in all the world...

Is waiting somewhere for me... (Waiting somewhere...)

Is waiting somewhere...

Somewhere for...me...”

Once she was finished with her braid, Carewyn quickly dusted herself off and dashed over to the window.

“Orion!” she whispered only as loudly as she dared.

Orion opened his eyes, turning around and looking up at Carewyn with a very soft smile adorning his lips.

“Beautiful as ever, my lady,” he complimented her, inclining his shoulders in a short bow. His hands were still clasped in front of him. “Like the sweet Nightingale that sang for the Emperor.”

Carewyn took several quick glances around, visibly worried. “Orion, what are you doing here?”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Standing, at present. Though I was singing just a moment ago -- or at least trying to. My voice cannot compete with yours, I’m afraid.”

Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the smile off her face, even despite the concern she felt. Her smile, however small, was like a warm, soothing hand on Orion’s heart.

“You’re lucky that no one else heard you!” Carewyn hissed down with as much reproach as she could manage.

Orion smiled wryly. “Most assuredly. I’m certain that Madam Ali and the Weasley brothers would hardly enjoy my ‘accompaniment’ as well as they do yours.”

The sweat on his hands had gone cold, making Orion actually shiver a bit as he found his body temperature and heart rate finally starting to calm. His smile flickered slightly on his face, creating a much more pensive and murky expression.

“...Will you take a ride with me, Carewyn?” said Orion, very abruptly.

Carewyn blinked. “What?”

Orion squeezed his own hands together, but tried to keep his voice level and his shoulders straight.

“I realize we’ve made no plans today, and that you are enamored of the work you do at court...but you so enjoy riding your horse, and we’ve not yet taken a ride together, out into the country. There are such beautiful valleys east of here -- perfect for stargazing, I should think, once the sun sets.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away, back into the guest suite she was cleaning. The windows weren’t washed yet, and she still had to bring the dirty sheets down to the laundry so she could have them clean in time for tomorrow morning...

Sensing Carewyn’s discomfort, Orion said in an oddly insistent voice, “I’ll wait for you, should you say yes. Whatever you must do, I’ll wait until you are finished.”

Carewyn’s gaze snapped back down to Orion in surprise.

She’d never heard him sound like that before. As mysterious and unreadable as his face was, she could still sense that something was off. Perhaps it was how his black eyes searched her face -- or perhaps it was the tenseness in his clasped hands.

Carewyn knew she was in no state to go riding with Orion in her dusty servant’s uniform, especially when she still had work to do...but truly, she didn’t have to wash the windows today, after having already done them yesterday...and she could always fetch the sheets early the next morning before coming up to the guest suite to change them out.

If something is wrong, I can’t leave Orion to deal with it alone, she thought to herself.

Even if she was only a fake and a liar, Carewyn wanted to be there for him. He deserved to have someone there for him...even if it was just her.

And so with a swallow, she looked back down at Orion with a very solemn, but gentle look.

“...I’ll need to change into something warmer and fetch my horse...but I’ll be down in thirty minutes. Can you meet me outside the gate?”

Orion’s heart flooded with relief that he couldn’t completely keep off of his face.

“I’ll be waiting, my lady.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #my art #my writing #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #skye parkin #murphy mcnully #katriona cassiopeia #andre egwu #badeea ali #charlie weasley #bill weasley #ethan parkin #this part got so long I had to split it in half!!#and also draw a new drawing for it #god I hate backgrounds #but yeah anyway the part following this one should be out tomorrow hopefully since the sketches are already done #my poor bb orion ;~;#and also my poor bb carewyn too to a lesser extent #this'll be better explained in later parts but orion is the bastard son of the king and his lover a peasant woman #as you might notice orion was named after his father -- just like the king's first son and orion's elder half-brother the first prince was #that signifies that orion's mother thought of orion as an heir to the throne even though he was still a bastard #(I'm sure all the kids who knew orion growing up must've been perfectly respectful about this one kid being named like a prince >> )#damn this thing is turning into a jukebox musical over here XD;#I'm sorry I just couldn't resist 'the sweetest sounds' just gives me such joy

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bookshopkat · 3 years

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Asian Fantasy Novels for the Lunar New Year

Photo by Thyla Jane

Happy Year of the Ox! The Lunar New Year, or Spring Festival, is a major celebration in many Asian countries. Marking the first new moon of the lunar calendar, this celebration lasts for days and is a time for family and friends, lantern festivals, dragon and lion dances, gifts of money, fireworks, and feasts. There’s something enchanting about the Lunar New Year, with its bright lanterns lining every street and its sparkling starbursts lighting the night sky. At its heart is tradition, cultural beliefs, and a mixture of mythology and magic. Simple charms are used to bring good luck and drive away evil. The supernatural has a firm place amid the celebrations, from shoe-stealing ghosts in South Korea to Vietnamese kitchen gods to the lion-like monster Nian in China. As such, this holiday presents a marvelous opportunity to both celebrate various Asian cultures and conjure a sense of wonder. So, to celebrate the Lunar New Year, here are four fantasy novels rooted in Asian culture and lore.

Jade City by Fonda Lee

On the island of Kekon, jade grants those with the ability to wield it special powers, but promises pain and death for anyone lacking the right genetics who tries to use it. As a result, jade smuggling is a profitable business and those families with the capacity to use the mineral, called Jade Bones, make up the highest class of society. But now ordinary citizens are somehow gaining the ability to use jade, and it is throwing the society of Kekon into turmoil. As suspicion fuels inter-clan warfare among the noble class, the future of the island nation hangs in the balance. In the midst of this chaos stands three siblings. Kaul Lan, the new, young, peace-loving leader of his family, finds himself faced with the uncomfortable necessity of bloodshed as he tries to steer his clan through these uncertain times. Lan’s brother, the hot-tempered and passionate Kaul Hilo, is like a warrior straight out of old tales: honorable, protective, and hungry for battle and glory. Their sister, Shae, is an independent modern woman who chose to cast aside her jade along with her traditional roles in favor of freedom and marriage to an outsider. Added to this cast of characters is Wen, Hilo’s forbidden lover, who is burdened by the combination of coming from a disgraced family and being a rare Stone Eye, a supposedly cursed person completely immune to jade. All four have their differences and disagreements, and the tension between them mirrors the growing strain in their homeland at large. It will take them all, however, to find out who is responsible for the dangerous drug allowing non-Jade Bones to wield the sacred stone before it is too late.

This is a novel that bridges high fantasy and urban fantasy, weaving a tale of heroism, betrayal, and intrigue against the backdrop of a thoroughly modernized enchanted society. Lee’s narrative is intricate and interesting, her world building is exceptional, and her magical system is comprehensive and intelligent. Running throughout the entire tale are elements of Chinese myth and culture, with folklore concerning gods and monsters playing a vital part. Complex, well-written, and engaging, Jade City is grand and unique fantasy adventure.

Tears of the Wind by Phung Lam

This collection of short stories is a touching as it is magical. Taking place on the fictional Island of Wishes, each tale explores human nature and the deepest desires people harbor in dark corners of their minds. From a lonely heart seeking solace to a soul hungry with ambition, this anthology explores the not only the power of wishes, but the question: what would people do if the one thing they truly wanted most could be theirs? It’s basically impossible to find an English version of this book, and I had to rely on the Smart Book translation application for the ebook format. That led to some odd phrasing in portions of the text, but the collection was nonetheless enjoyable. That is because Lam writes not only with imagination but also with a keen understanding of humanity.

The narratives are dreamlike, the content somewhat akin to magical realism and the tone ultimately surrealistic. Ranging from heartrending to horrifying, Lam weaves stories about the darkest parts of ourselves, when we harbor wishes we dare not name, as well as about the unforeseen and often terrible consequences of getting exactly what we think we want. The author explores the nature of love, the power of longing, and the baser side of our very nature. It’s an engaging collection that seems, and its core, to turn upon one basic thought: be careful what you wish for.

The Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo

Set in late-nineteenth-century Malaya, on the island of Borneo, this novel sparkles with folk beliefs and superstitions. Li Lan is a spirited girl and only child from a family wrapped in what can only be called genteel poverty. Her life is certainly not perfect—her mother is dead, her father, although loving, has allowed his grief to lead to opium addiction, and her marriage prospects are extremely limited—but things aren’t so very bad. Apart from occasional longings for beautiful new clothing such as she sees other wealthier girls sporting, Li Lan would be reasonably content if it weren’t for one thing: her father has asked her if she would like become a ghost bride. He says it almost as a joke, but the moment he speaks the words, the wheels of fate start to turn. The rare tradition of ghost brides is meant to mollify the spirits of wealthy young men who died without marrying, and it presents both tempting and terrifying prospects. While accepting would mean financial help for her aging father as well as a place for Li Lan herself in one of Malacca city’s most affluent households, it would also mean giving up any dreams of love, passion, or children of her own.

Li Lan, of course, refuses, especially when she starts to develop feelings for another decided living man. But the choice may not be as easy as the thinks. She finds herself haunted by Lim Tiang Ching, her spectral suitor, and he is determined to have her. Tiang Ching, the young woman soon learns, was selfish and cruel when he was alive, and death hasn’t improved him. Desperate, Li Lan seeks the help of a local wise woman, and unwittingly finds herself embroiled in a supernatural struggle where ghosts are all too real and her only hope hangs on a mysterious young man who may be more than he seems, and who is most definitely keeping secrets. On top of that, she begins to realize that the Lim family is harboring some dark secrets of their own, and one of them may be deadly.

Choo’s narrative is imaginative as well as brimming with cultural folklore and traditions. A blend of mystery and fantasy, it is engaging from start to finish. Many of the characters are interesting and a little quirky, although a couple feel less well developed and there were a few moments when I felt the protagonist was a bit too flighty for my tastes. Nonetheless, this is a fun, entertaining fantasy book, perfect for an evening of light reading with a cup of tea or coffee at your side.

When You Trap a Tiger by Tae Keller

This is a truly wonderful novel blending together magical realism, mythology, family drama, and a deeply touching coming of age tale. It’s a beautifully written and imaginative narrative where opposites don’t so much collide as they do interweave in a complex dance. Dreams tangle with reality, childhood blurs with adolescence, Korean tradition intersects with modern America, folklore mingles with daily life, and stories become solid enough to touch. Through it all runs a profound understanding of emotion and the human spirit.

Lily has always loved visiting her Korean grandmother, catching stars to learn what stories they hold and listening to traditional tales from their ancestral homeland. This, however, is different. Now Lily, along with her mother and her sister, are moving in with the old woman because Lily’s grandmother is sick, and isn’t getting any better. A new city, a new school, and new fears about her beloved relative would all be difficult enough, but Lily has another problem: upon arriving, she sees a tiger straight out of one of her grandmother’s tales. This is both a metaphor for many things: words unsaid, terminal illness, fear, and long-ago mistakes. It is, however, also an introduction of the magical real. Upon informing her grandmother about the big cat, Lily begins unraveling the old woman’s greatest tale yet, and takes the first step in a personal journey to discover family secrets and leave her childhood behind. As marvelous as it is heartfelt, When You Trap a Tiger addresses conflicts between generations and cultures, as well as the reconciliation of the past, through the lens myths and storytelling. At its core, this is a novel about the power of both love and stories, as well as about one girl finding herself.

Perhaps one of these books will make an excellent companion over the next several days as celebrations of the Lunar New Year progress. Blending Asian folklore with a sense of the fantastic, these works may prove to be the perfect way for those not immersed in these festivities to still capture a bit of the season’s spirit. Readers hungry for an interesting narrative that is a little out of the ordinary will likely find any one of these to be a feast for the imagination, as well as a wonderful way to start of the Year of the Ox. Happy Reading!

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Feels Like This (Part 3)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So thank you so much first and foremost for the love you guys have shown this fic. I have been so excited to write this and have been waiting ages to share it all with you. This is the kind of fluff and cuteness I personally need in my life right now, and I know a lot of you probably feel the same. Strap in for my usual dose of CS feels, and yes, for those of you asking, this is the moment CS will meet. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Emma asked, looking at Henry and knowing that he was ready to head into camp. They’d been over this numerous times, and at this point they were already out of the house and in front of the hall where campers congregated every morning. Still, Emma couldn’t help trying to soak up the moment with her kid just a little bit longer, and if that meant running through their list once more, so be it. “You have your lunch?”

“They give us lunch there, Mom.”

“Oh right,” she said, still shocked at how much was provided seeing as this program was free through the University. The children of all faculty and students were allowed to come, and it completely eradicated a need for her to find alternative childcare. Back in the States they had nothing like this built in anywhere. Getting Henry to camp previously either took a funding miracle, an insane amount of luck, or extra shifts at a second job. Usually he stayed with Mrs. H and Emma tried desperately to make it up to their neighbor. But now community sponsored help was becoming a given way of life, and every kid in Montenarro, no matter their background, seemed to have at least one path to a bright and happy summer.

“You’ve got your bag? How about water?”

“Yes and yes. We ran through this already, remember? I told you everything I had while you made breakfast.”

Emma smiled, knowing he was right, as crazy as it sounded. It was wild to her that on a weekday she would have the time, the patience, and the extra bit of cash to afford the spread they ate together today. They had eggs, fruit, bacon, oatmeal and there were fresh pastries if they wanted. It was like their special holiday brunch, which happened on Christmas or on one of their birthdays, but they’d had this or something similar every day for nearly two weeks. It might seem over the top, but between the later starting hours here in Montenarro, her reduced work schedule with a generous stipend, and the fairer prices at the markets, Emma finally felt like she could give her son what he deserved. For years they’d chowed down on discount cereal, and now, in an attempt to enjoy themselves and resemble their new neighbors, they were taking a slower, and far and away more luxurious approach.

“I remember, kid. So I’ll be back here at four, and if I’m a little late -,”

“I just hang out a while longer, I know,” Henry said, looking to the doorway. A grin appeared at his face as he spotted one of his new friends. The other young boy waved in their direction and Henry waved back, causing Emma’s heart to melt. Her son not only had friends here, he was thriving. He was so happy, and seeing him this way made her happy too. “You don’t have to rush, Mom. I know your work ends early now, but maybe you could do something just for yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d rather stay later?” Emma asked, and Henry looked embarrassed for a moment before nodding.

“Not too much later, but Michael and Talia stay until five, and we’ve got this cool game going that we made up yesterday. It’s kind of hard to explain. But I can come home at four still. It’s okay, I’ll just -,”

“No, no, Henry, I am thrilled that you’re having a good time. I’ll be here at five.”

“Cool! Thanks, Mom!” Henry exclaimed, giving her a quick hug before heading for the door. “See you at five!”

She watched him get in safely, and the director of the camp who she’d met last week wished her a fond hello as she checked in Henry. Her greeting was pleasant and polite, and Emma knew if she had time the woman would talk her ear off about what it was like to be from America or the upcoming summer festivals. As it was though, Emma had to get going. She wasn’t late for work or anything, but she was eager to get there. Her work at the JR foundation was shaping up to be amazing. She was learning a lot, but she already felt like one of the team. Everyone who was there appreciated her, not just for working and helping out, but for her ideas. They were so responsive to suggestions, and always willing to try out any new concepts Emma had only really read about in books.

Their director, Marco, wasn’t like a normal boss. He didn’t hover or micromanage or come across as inaccessible. In fact, despite all the other calls on his time, Marco was with them all helping the kids and participating in their activities as much as he could. That leadership was so amazing in a space like this, and from everything Emma had experienced, the precedent he set was entirely reflective of the culture at large. Every person at the institute was determined to do right by these kids, and the children, despite the sad circumstances surrounding most of their lives, were doing so well and seemed so happy despite it all.

It was only a few city blocks from Henry’s camp to the center, but Emma let herself linger in the walk. She moved more slowly, matching the pace of the people around her, who never seemed to rush, and instead just enjoyed each day as it came. People were always smiling and laughing, and even the fighting was good natured. The streets were bustling but not full. They were cleaned regularly, maintaining the gorgeous cobblestone walks and the beautiful vintage architecture. It was warm here – a quintessential coastal retreat in the Mediterranean that she’d only ever imagined in her dreams or seen on travel TV. Everything considered, it was the opposite of New York, and despite having lived in the city she and Henry called home for more than ten years, Emma had to admit she didn’t miss it… at least not as much as she thought she would.

Don’t get too attached, Emma. This is temporary. Enjoy it while you can, but your real life is nothing like this.

The voice in her head was negative, but had a point, and Emma had no choice but to heed the advice. She would enjoy every bit of this she could, but she couldn’t get too comfortable, otherwise she’d miss this when they left. Even thinking of the heartbreak that may come if Henry continued to love it here so much left her reeling, but Emma carried on, pushing down that worry as she made her way past the institute’s front gates. It was important that she be in the right headspace when walking through these doors. The kids deserved her at 100%, and that was what she planned to be for them. Shaking off the worry from moments ago she moved inside, and as soon as she arrived, she was greeted by the sound of children running and laughing.

Some people might look at this place right now, apparently filled to the brim with kids who were wired and excitable now that it was officially summer and the school term was over, and think that this was chaos, but Emma knew better by now. Every child here ranging in age from six months to sixteen was attended to and accounted for. They had a large brood of kids, with sixty-seven at last count, and this was the biggest home under the JR foundation, though there were half a dozen more around the small country. Many children who were here would eventually be adopted, or would merge into part of a nationally funded fostering program, known for being one of the best systems in the world. In their last two years of school, older children went to special homes or foster placements designed just for them, to give them the attention and time they needed (instead of leaving them to the wayside for the sake of younger, needier children), and to prepare them for life outside of the system. Emma would eventually shadow a center that worked with those young adults, but for now, she was enjoying the hustle and bustle of the general group.

“Look, Char, it’s Emma!” one young boy named Thomas proclaimed to his little sister Charlotte from across the room, and in seconds every child had turned and was excitedly greeting her. Some of them came right up to hug her or give her a high five, but at the very least they all nodded in her direction and chirped out a fond hello.

“Good morning everyone,” Emma said, noticing the bags along the doorway and how the older kids were dressed in a uniform of navy colored shorts and florescent green shirts. “Did I miss something?” Emma asked aloud, not really to anyone in particular, but an answer came from one of the institute’s most trusted sources.

“Flora is taking the older children to the seaside today for a science lesson.”

The woman who filled Emma in was named Elsa, and despite the humidity in the air and the exuberance of the children all around them, she was totally put together and looked completely unstressed. Her hair was tied back in her usual braid, and her turquoise colored summer dress flowed in a way that looked poised for a summer catalogue. Elsa was effortless in an enviable way, but she was so kind and eager to be of help that Emma couldn’t begin to muster jealousy. In a short time Emma had begun to consider Elsa a friend, but though the two of them were roughly the same age, Emma was still a student and Elsa was a fully-fledged child psychologist who lived at the institute full time. She, and her sister Anna, who also worked at the institute, but as an activity’s coordinator, were two peas in a pod, but they’d done everything they could to include Emma and help her get her bearings in this new world.

“Lessons? In the summer?” Emma asked, not surprised that the institute was providing supplementary schooling year-round. She’d seen as much since starting here, but she was more taken aback at how excited these kids looked. Every child aged ten and older was gathered down here, no doubt waiting to fill the two institute vans out back. Still, how fun could a science lesson be?

“We use the term lessons lightly. For the rest of the morning the children will explore the tide pools at the national endowment’s shoreline about an hour north. There are some very unique ecosystems there, and so there is a whole lot to learn. But Flora will have them break for lunch and Anna takes over in the afternoon.”

“What’s she got in store for them?” Emma asked and Elsa shook her head.

“Well I can’t exactly say, as I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Her smile grew at how silly that sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to check for Anna, but gave a little more when she saw that the coast was clear. “Let’s just say it’s going to be a jam-packed day that will go out with a blaze of glory.”

The emphasis Elsa used on the word ‘blaze’ made Emma think that there would likely be a beachside bonfire included, but before she could get confirmation, things started moving quickly. The older kids were summoned to the shuttles to go out for their day, and Emma meanwhile saw the clock and realized it was time for her to report to Marco’s office to get her assignment for the day. Moving through the playroom and the sunroom, which had the younger children and the babies respectively, she finally found her way and after knocking she walked into the brightly lit hub of all things here at the institute.

“Ah, good morning, Emma,” Marco said with a big smile, waving her in and gesturing that she should take a seat beside one of the other workers at the institute, Marie. Marie was Marco’s second in command, and though she never used the phase herself, the children had taken to calling her Nana. She had a maternal way about her, and every child seemed to love her as they might a favorite grandmother. “You’re here just in time. I’ve been talking with Marie and we think that today would be a perfect opportunity to try one of your intervention measures.”

“Really?” Emma asked, surprised, but excited at the thought. This would be the third that they had tried, and the last two had gone off without a hitch. “Which one?”

“The ‘Music Makes Me…’ one seems like a good choice. We have a few children who, to now, have been less responsive to our normal socializing measures. Their either shy or hurting, and we’re hoping to help them open up. Elsa’s our counselor on shift today and she’s eager to help oversee this. You’ll take the lead, but she’ll be there for any help you might need. We realize it’s a long-term project,” Marco said, looking down at a piece of paper to check his facts. “You wrote here three times a week for eight weeks. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Ideally. Positive identity work can start yielding results as soon as three weeks, but the Princeton Psychology Review did a study this winter that showed children’s habit forming reaches its peak effectiveness after the eight-week mark.”

“And this is one of the projects you modeled off of your own parenting experience, correct?” Marco asked as Emma nodded. Her throat grew tight at the genuine emotion behind this tactic, but this was a place with people she trusted not to judge her. As such, she shared what sparked the idea.

“When Henry first started school, he was one of the only kids that wasn’t in a two-parent household. Even the other single parents had some sort of family behind them, like grandparents, aunts and uncles, or other kids. I’m not exactly sure how long he struggled with being different in that way, he’s an independent kid and he kept his pain over that closed in, probably to spare me from being worried. But when his teachers gave me their assessment and told me what they thought was happening, I set something not dissimilar to this up. We tried painting and crafting to express his emotions, but the music seemed to help so much more.”

“It’s really remarkable, the way you’ve melded your experience with your son and your own past in with all of this cutting-edge research. It’s one of the many reasons we’re so thrilled you’re with us this year,” Marie said cheerfully and Emma warmed at the comment. Telling the story of her son’s pain at not having a father, however vague she had kept it, was hard, especially because Emma lay awake many nights wondering if he was missing something fundamental by not having a father. She wondered if it may hurt him in the long run. But she was reassured by the fact that she always did her best for Henry, and that her experience could help not just her son, but the children here who had no present parents at all.

“Given that it’s rather late notice, do you think you can manage? We’ve got a window right now for a few hours. Elsa’s already selected the children who may need the intervention most. She kept it in the 5-8 age range as you suggested.”

Emma immediately assured them that she could pull this together, as the concept was not hard. Basically what this practice/exercise included was playing music that was grounded in emotion. Some that were happy, some more subdued, some fast, and some slow, and encouraging kids to do what they wanted when they heard that. For Henry he’d always loved to run around and dance at the fast-paced songs. Then the slower ones were always more interesting. Sometimes he picked up a favorite toy, drew a picture on the supplies she left out, or created his own little imaginary game. All the while, however, Emma’s job was to engage, support, and ask questions.

The questions always started mildly. What’s your favorite color today? (she’d learned early not to box her son into ultimate favorites). If you could have any snack in the world what would you choose? What animal makes the funniest sound? Then the questions would evolve. Her son, like many kids, was a vivid dreamer and Emma often asked about those night time visions. Sometimes they meant nothing but sometimes they told her a lot. She wanted to include that with these kids, but also include more focused questions to them about how they felt here at the institute, what they felt like when they told people from the outside about living here, and what they dreamed of for the future. She’d always ended each session with Henry in two parts. The first was to ask Henry what his biggest wish was for someone else, and the second was to ask his biggest wish for himself. Kids at his age were filled with wishes and wants, but Emma knew from personal experience, that that may already be flickering away in kids without parents. She’d been seven years old when her hope truly started to fade away, and she believed if she’d had these kind of positive affirmations and people who were working to see her happy and well situated, her relationship with the world and herself would have been much easier.

In the end, Marco, Marie, and Elsa decided that there were five best candidates for today’s intervention. Stella and Timothy were a biological brother and sister who had been at the institute for about a year. They were eight and six, and both of them were doing pretty well despite their parents losing custody of them from continued problems with substance abuse. They were likely moving into a fostering situation by the end of the summer, but they had been here a bit longer than normal because they were bonded together and making that accommodation took patience and the right placement. According to Elsa, Stella’s teachers a few times had mentioned her shyness, especially when people brought up her home life. Malek was a seven-year-old boy from a similar situation, though his father was in the process of getting clean for his son. The institute was always cautious for replacement with parents who struggled, but if his father could demonstrate stability and stay clean a full year, the legal system would grant him custody again. Malek, understandably, had mixed feelings about going back, and Emma wanted to try and help him with those through this process. Carlos, meanwhile, was a rambunctious six-year-old who had been given up at birth. He was shaped by his status as an orphan, and had a few close adoption calls that ultimately fell through. Luckily, though, a new family with sincere interest and the means to take care of him was stepping up, and they had exactly eight weeks before the system would process their filing for adoption, a perfect amount of time to help Carlos with some of these image issues before he settled into his new home.

The final child in Emma’s care today, however, was Cecilia, or as the other children called her, ‘CeeCee.’ Cecelia was a newcomer to the institute, and at just barely five years old, she was the youngest in Emma’s group today. She was quiet and withdrawn, but given her background that was all to be expected. At such a young age Cecelia had already been through so much. When she was two her parents had tragically passed in a car accident, and she’d moved in with her grandmother. Her grandmother was loving and did everything she could for her, but she was in poor health, and was now in need of care herself. Emma wasn’t here on the day that Cecelia came to the foundation, but Elsa had mentioned it with tears in her eyes a few days prior.

“I’ve seen so much heartbreak in this job, but watching that little girl realize she was being left behind… It was awful. She cried so quietly and for so long. It took us weeks to get her to say anything at all.”

Even now Cecelia was always quiet. She’d blended in a bit more with the other children, but she wasn’t particularly bonded to any of them. She had grown to be more trusting of the adults, but not in a really promising way. With Emma she’d always been sweet and well-tempered, but Emma hoped that this process might help her, and might get her to a place where she could be better socialized and cared for. The next few hours proved to be even more promising than Emma dared to hope. All five children not only had fun, but made good steps towards progress. They all confided a little bit in Emma and Elsa, and they all responded well to the method. When Emma asked them if they’d like to do this again in a few days, all five of them were thrilled, and little Cecelia, who was normally so shy, was the biggest shock of all. Over the course of the few hours she’d opened up so much to Emma, and by the end of the session she was holding Emma’s hand tightly, intent on going with her through her day. Emma was so happy to see this little girl doing so much better, and she had to admit she was invested in this child, perhaps more than any other she’d met so far at the institute.

“Do you think it’s all right?” Emma asked, motioning downwards, but not saying everything aloud. The last thing she wanted was for Cecelia to not feel wanted when she’d made such tremendous progress, but she was worried about what might happen if she grew too attached.

“This happens sometimes. Kids have a sense for safe spaces. She was already responding really well to you before,” Elsa said, crouching down and waving at Cecelia, sharing a soft compliment for the toy rabbit she was carrying with her today, which made the little girl smile and chirp out a gentle ‘Thank You.’ Even that little show of gratitude and the genuine smile was an improvement, and Emma felt a burst of pride seeing this young girl come out of her shell. “We’ll keep an eye on it, but I think it’s best to see where it goes. She’s showing no signs of dependency, and hopefully you’ll be the perfect gateway for her to let the rest of us in.”

Emma hoped that Elsa was right, and as everyone in the center gathered for lunch, Cecelia stayed close by. Emma did her best to stay attentive to all of the kids who choose to eat with her today, but she also wanted to lead this lost little girl towards others who may be her friends. She was making good progress with another five-year-old named Ava, who was eager to be friendlier with Cecelia, when Marie approached, appearing frazzled and a little shaken.

“Is everything all right?” Emma asked, careful to keep her words calm and her tone even so as not to scare the kids. Her instincts were that something bad must be happening, but Marie shook her head, quickly dispelling her of that notion.

“Everything is wonderful, dear. We just have an unexpected visitor – actually I guess visitor is the wrong word. He’ll be staying on here for a while to work with us all. It’s a bit unexpected, but I dare say it’ll prove a delight in the end, for us and for the children.”

“Who is it that’s coming?” Emma asked, and Marie looked poised to blurt something out, but then caught herself and weighed her words carefully.

“One of the members of the family who run the foundation.”

Emma now began to understand the sudden rise in stress. Whatever JR stood for, and whichever family it was that could afford to spend so much on these resources, they must be both terribly rich and powerful. Being so new here, Emma didn’t know any background about the endowment, but she hoped that whoever was coming would be a help and not a hindrance. Surely they’d come here and see how much good work was being accomplished. She hated to think they’d be coming to make cuts or roll back funding.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emma asked and Marie shook her head.

“Oh no dear. You’re doing a wonderful job. This isn’t an assessment of any kind. I believe it’s a genuine act of charity. You see he’s been in the military, and now he’s come home. His family’s no doubt pushing him towards some kind of occupation, and he’s chosen this as his pursuit.”

Emma wanted to ask more, about if this mystery man had any experience with kids or why, even if he was so very rich, Marie displayed school-girlish enthusiasm at his coming, but the older woman moved on to handle something else. Instead Emma waved Elsa over and asked her if she knew the man who was coming.

“Of course I do, everyone knows him,” Elsa said, thoroughly adamant that this stranger was of some notoriety. Then her features softened and she took on a thoughtful expression. “Well I suppose we know of him. We’ve never met, you see. But it’s impossible not to know him.”

Emma nodded, but she was still somewhat surprised. To this point she hadn’t gathered a sense that the family who ran the endowment was exceedingly involved in the day to day of the center. But then again, Elsa had been here far longer than her, and so she probably needed to keep track of the important players who were their most generous donors. Emma could have remained hung up on the strangeness of it all, but instead her mind wandered to the few details she did know. He was a military man, newly home, and he was coming here to make a difference. She thought about that and what that meant, and she found that she already liked him, or at least his attitude. Serving in the armed forces meant a life of service – to come home from that and still want to help others was admirable, and she hoped it would provide a good role model for the children, no matter what his actual child life background might be.

From the window in the great hall where all of the children and staff took their meals, they could all see down the back drive where a second entrance to the center was located. At that moment three black SUVs began their ascent, and the children’s attention immediately perked up as they ran to the windows. Emma felt the growing anticipation at the new arrival, and she wondered why there would need to be three SUVs. It reminded her of the protective details that sometimes came in the city, when big time politicians made their way to city hall where she worked for some sort of meeting or photo op. But what would be the reason for such a display today? Why would anyone need one of those when coming to a children’s center? It was hard to grasp, but then she questioned her instinct. The men who exited from the vehicles weren’t in high profile suits. They were more casually dressed, just like any workers here at the center. She wasn’t able to see all of them, but soon enough there were voices in the hall. Marco and Marie greeted the newcomer, and Emma only caught a snippet of the conversation.

“We’re thrilled to have you here, Sir.”

“Killian, please.”

“Killian. Right, sorry. That may take getting used to.”

“Not a problem. We have time.”

Emma was caught up in the sound of the new voice. It was distant, but even from here she felt an impact at the gravel in the tone and the lilt of the accent. It washed over her, sparking a sizzling sensation that was foreign to her, and after weeks in this country she’d always found the accent pleasing, but never responded like this. She found herself wanting to know what this man looked like, to see what kind of appearance could go with a voice that enticing, but she was getting ahead of herself. What did it matter what he looked like? He was going to be a coworker, right? This was hardly the time or place to be interested in someone. Still her stomach swooped with the tell-tale flutter of butterflies and she shifted in her seat. The action, along with the new voice in the hall, sparked something in Cecelia to change from comfortable to tense. The young girl grabbed at Emma’s shirt, latching on for a sense of perceived safety. Emma’s heart reached out to this poor, sweet girl, and she took her hand gently, trying to assure her as swiftly as she could.

“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I don’t like strangers,” Cecelia said and Emma tried not to get misty eyed at the sense of uncertainty this little girl held so tight.

“I was a stranger once, wasn’t I?” Emma asked and Cecelia considered that before nodding.

“But you’re nice to me. You read us stories and play us music. You’re my most favorite friend.”

“And you are my friend too, honey. So let’s wait and see what kind of person he is before we decide if we like him, okay? You never know – he could be your favorite too.”

Cecelia looked skeptical but ultimately agreed, and Emma was glad to have that sorted. She had been so focused on curtailing Cecelia’s worry that she forgot where they were. Now she noticed everyone else was standing, children and staff alike, so she helped Cecelia down from her seat and stood up herself. The sounds of people walking in played out around her, but Emma took a moment to make sure her young charge was settled before looking back up. She patted Cecelia’s hair and brushed her full brown curls from her face, with care. Only then did she look up. But when she did, she never could have expected what would happen.

As her eyes took in the stranger, their gazes met, and she was struck by a sense of recognition and realization that she’d never felt before. Something clicked for her in that moment, in the first few seconds of their seeing each other, and her awareness grew stronger and stronger. So much bubbled up to the surface, emotions and feelings and desire and interest. It was like something was opened within her, and she felt drawn into this man and unable to resist. This stranger had blue eyes, intense but warm all at once, piercing in a way that they seemed like she knew them and they knew her. Instinctively she looked to the rest of him - Killian he said his name was - but it didn’t help her sense of disorientation. His face was remarkable, strong and sure. His hair was dark, and his figure was no doubt honed for the expectations of his years of military service. She felt herself taking him all in, and then caught herself and thought about what a scene she was making. This wasn’t appropriate. Oggling this man just because he was hot – okay more than hot, he was… god was it lame to say perfect – oh Christ she was doing it again. She needed to stop, but when she looked up at him, she caught him doing the same thing to her. It was incredible to feel his interest, and for a moment it was like the world stopped spinning so the two of them could find each other.

Find each other? Jesus, Emma, get a grip. The thought ran through her head as Marco began to address them all.

“Everyone, this is our newest friend here at the institute, Killian.”

“You’re big,” a boy named Seamus called out, unceremoniously and for a beat Marco and Marie looked concerned, but Killian only laughed.

“You should see my brother.”

“Is he coming too?” Marie asked, looking like she might actually be done in by the news.

“No, ma’am,” Killian said with a small smile and Marie let out a sigh of relief. What was that about?

“Why do you stand so straight?” another boy asked and Killian explained.

“I was in the royal navy.” This was met by a chorus of oohs and aahs, from the girls and boys alike.

“Are you a good person?” someone asked, and only after a moment did Emma realize it was Cecelia. She was shocked at the display of bravery from her little companion, but then that was compounded by Killian’s movement towards them. He split his looks between Cecelia and her, but when he approached he crouched down so as to be eye level with the little girl.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Cecelia.”

“Cecelia. That’s a beautiful name,” he said honestly and Cecelia swayed side to side a bit with the compliment. “Now as for your question, I certainly try to be good.”

“But you’re a stranger,” Cecelia said, looking at him with a furrowed brow, as if this was some kind of simple math he should understand.

“For now I am. But not forever, I hope.”

“My Emma was a stranger too. She’s a good person. Are you like my Emma?”

Now Killian rose to full height and he addressed Emma as much as he did Cecelia. “I do like her.” Emma’s heart skipped and then she watched his face shift in embarrassment as he realized what he said. “I mean I hope I’m like her, lass. But only time will tell.”

“Miss Emma, does time talk?” Cecelia asked and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing as her eyes caught Killian’s again.

“No, honey. It’s an expression. It means that with a little bit of time you will know if he’s a good person. You just have to be patient.”

The look Killian gave her in that moment was packed with so much. Gratitude, interest, and something more. There was a charge between them that she just couldn’t deny, and she could tell he felt it too. But before he could say anymore, Marco called everyone’s attention again.

“Anyone have any ideas as to how we should welcome Killian?” he asked and a chorus of answers came flooding in.

“I know! I know! We should show him our giving tree.”

“No! We should show him our playground!”

“I want to show him my pirate ship!”

“We should feed him the turnovers Cook makes. She hides them in a secret spot but I know where they are!”

“Well that all sounds brilliant, especially the turnovers. Why don’t we do all of it?” Killian asked, before looking to Marco who nodded readily. The kids looked excited, and were eager to go, but before things got too crazy, Killian looked back at Emma and grinned.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma.”

And with that, and with so much swag and sexiness it made her a little dizzy, this mysterious new man set off, throwing himself into the deep end with these kids, and showing them all that he could hold as own, just as surely as he could hold her attention.

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know, I know, you’re probably mad I kept their meeting so short and waited until the very end, but next chapter I am planning to include this first meeting from Killian’s POV. This story, as much as any of my stories can, has a bit of a slower build, because there are a lot of elements I really want to include, but I promise there’s plenty of fluff in store and a lot of cuteness that yet to come. Thank you all so much for reading, and I really hope you’ll leave a comment or a review. I’d love to see what you all think and what you’d like to see going forward in this new fic. Anyway, I will do my best to update soon (probably next weekend), but in the meantime I hope you’re all well, safe, and happy in this uncertain time!

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draechaeli · 4 years

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Weather, Mountains, and Distance in China as Applied to the Módào Zǔshī Universe

I am a Foreign Teacher living in China and have been doing so for the last eight school years. For five and a half years I lived in Shandong Province, the same province as LanlingJin and I was a three and a half hour drive north of LanlingJin; a two to three-hour drive east and a bit south of LaolingQin; and a five to six-hour drive east and a bit north of QingheNie. For the last two and a half years I have lived in Jiangsu Province (barely) just two and a bit hours southwest of LanlingJin. But Jiangsu is the province of GusuLan and I am six hours north and a bit west of them; and not that anyone cares about MolingSu, but I’m four hours north and bit west of them. I have also travelled to every province, region, and territory that China says is China and most of those in January and February during Spring Festival Holiday. So from this experience I am going to discuss Chinese weather and a few other things that relate to the MDZS universe.

This ended up being way longer than I thought it was going to be. It was written to be read straight through. But as I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that cares and it goes through my thought process on the topic I have labelled each section so you can scroll down until you see the subheading you are interested in.

My Introduction to MDZS

My friend, told me about MDZS and the Untamed like 1 November 2019. I was at first skeptical as I have seen lots of Chinese shows playing in bars, at restaurants, or on long bus trips (the latter being where I’ve sort of had to see entire episodes and films) and generally Chinese TV shows are low on plot and have the same set character archetypes (not the point of this post so feel free to disagree, but I’m not here to argue). So honestly I was skeptical, but November is National Novel Writing Month, so even if I wanted to I hadn’t had the time. I also knew that I was going to be seeing said friend in Cambodia during Spring Festival Holiday and we would watch it then. Prior to going to Cambodia, I travelled with my Chinese friend Dean for eight days, but then he had to return home to spend Spring Festival with his family and I continued in my travelling.

I told Dean about how my friend was going to make me watch the Untamed and how it was based on a book and how it despite restrictions is still pretty gay. Dean didn’t believe me, but a couple days at home with nothing to do and plenty of wifi, and he had watched the Untamed before I could even meet up with my other friend!

Cloud Recesses in the Untamed - Mountains and Canal Cities

So that first scene where you see Cloud Recesses, I was like: oh I know those mountains! And my friend said that most of the places were really in China and sent me this map. As I continued watching well I was mostly caught up in the story but the snow kept bothering me, but there was never snow that stayed on the ground in the Untamed so I forgot it quickly. At a later rewatch I thought the Cloud Recesses mountains looked a lot like the mountains at ZhangJiaJie (the floating mountains that were the model for Avatar) in Hunan further west of where GusuLan is situated. According to the Untamed Wikipedia page the filming was done in Hengdian World Studios and Guizhou (also pretty far west). I am however a fan of climbing mountains and have climbed a lot of mountains in China, so I could be remembering mountains wrong.

Where the questions came up was fanfiction. And I have never stopped reading a fic because they talked about a lot more snow then I had ever seen in the particular area of China. And Cloud Recesses having towering mountains as they depict from afar in both the live action and the donghua. When I’m watching the mountain is a back drop, but often fics make the mountains or snow part of the plot and it’s too late because I already think of Gusu being Suzhou a very famous canal city south of me and we get like once a year two cm of snow that lasts maybe two hours. And the translator’s note at the end of Refinement Part 1 says that Cloud Recesses got its name from a phrase of Jia Dao’s poem, not the height of the mountains.

In general, I know that a lot of English fic writers just didn’t know the weather in China or perhaps hadn’t seen the map that showed you where everything in China was situated. And were using context clues like the disciples of YunmengJiang laying topless on floorboards in the summer heat in the extras from the book or the snow seen in both the Untamed and MDZS the donghua. And I had brushed it off as artistic license the height of the mountain of Cloud Recesses bugged me and made me do research for my own personal piece of mind.

I will admit I have not been to Suzhou, I skipped it when I was being a tourist in Jiangsu Province as the internet said it was a big tourist spot and could be very crowded, so I chose to go to a different canal town. Then I moved to Xuzhou in Jiangsu. And in Chinese the biggest thing is said first so I would have to say in Chinese when asked where I was moving to or later where I lived: Jiangsu, Xuzhou. The other thing I didn’t know despite having studied Chinese in college, that I learned from Dean when I complained about this problem is that all Yu (Yu, Yue, Yun, Yuan) and Xu (Xu, Xue, Xun, Xuan) no matter the tone are pronounced with a umlaut on the u so: Yü, Yüe, Yün, Yüan, Xü, Xüe, Xün, and Xüan. So, despite the fact that I pronouncing (disregarding tone for the following examples, and written by use of correlating English words and names) Xuzhou as Shoe-joe every Chinese person thought I said Suzhou (which I would say as Sue-joe). So, I heard a lot of: “Suzhou?! It’s so beautiful! And with all the water!” never anything about mountains.

Now, Guilin, Guangxi is a city that is absolutely gorgeous and has a lot of mountains, there is one called the Solitary Beauty Peak (152m), which is literally a vaguely rectangular mountain, with very sheer faces (and steep stairs carved in to get to the top), in the middle of a very flat expanse (behind the yellow building in the picture - January 2014).

Which means that similar mountains could be in Suzhou. And Gusu was named after Gusu Mountain so I did an exhaustive search with multiple map apps, google, and baidu to find the mountains in Suzhou and their heights. In the end the mountains in Suzhou are not very tall.

Practical Experience with Snowfall in China

My first year in China my city got snow in December, maybe about 10 cms, but it was cold enough that it didn’t melt; and so we had snow for pretty much the whole winter with a sprinkling of a couple more cms added here and there. That year, I went to the Great Wall in the winter and signed up to go to Mutianyu a section of the wall pretty far from Beijing (north of all places in MDZS), but we couldn’t get to it due to snow, so we went to another section, Juyongguan, which wasn’t snowed out and it didn’t have too much snow on it maybe just a couple cms of snow built up in corners of steps and the like. That was the last time we really got snow that stayed. A few years later we got maybe a few cms but not a lot of snow. When I went to Sichuan (in 2014; where MeishanYu is) I remember leaving the Chengdu airport in a car and looking out the window to see snow dusted palm trees, something I had thought I really wouldn’t have ever seen, but that was probably the most snow that I had seen for that trip. The 12th edition of the China Lonely Planet book does state that the canals of Suzhou are very beautiful covered in snow in December. But based on how I’ve seen less snow further north than Suzhou makes me wonder how consistent it is.

Temperatures on Mountain Tops in China

I went to Ürümqi, Xinjiang the very tail end of June in 2019. July is the hottest time in Xinjiang and the temperature while I was there was generally about 30-45°C. One day I went to Tian Chi a lake in the Heavens Mountain (Tianshan) range, the lake is below the Peak of God (Bogeda Feng) that according to my Lonely Planet is a 5445m peak. Which now that I’m looking at the book, I know I hadn’t before going to Ürümqi, because the book says to bring warm clothing and I hadn’t. I took a tour bus up to the lake (I think that is the most common option. And around the lake it didn’t feel as hot as it was down in Ürümqi and when I went to take the cable car most of the way up Bogeda Feng, I remember seeing winter jackets for rent. At that moment I thought it was strange and pointless in the warmest time for the area despite that it was definitely getting chilly enough that I put on the light jacket (that prior to that point was mainly for sun protection) on. When I got out of the cable car near the top it was definitely cold. Many of the other hikers were in winter jackets and as you climbed up to the peak your breath definitely misted like it was winter! But that is the only time that has happened to me climbing mountains in China. I climbed Huangshan a mountain in Anhui, west and a bit south of Gusu. It has an elevation of 1873m and I climbed it in May, and there was no discernible temperature difference between the top and the bottom of the mountain.

The Yangtze River – divider of whether your home is heated or not

The Yangtze River is what China uses as a divider of north and south China. In the present day this is seen as whether or not your home gets central heating in the winter. When I lived in Shandong province (north of the Yangtze), the central heating was turned on 1 November and turned off the 1 March (I think, I’m remembering that correctly). Each province decides how cold it is and for how long and has different rules for central heating. No matter what you don’t have control over the temperature of the central heating, and everyone has to survive with an AC/Heating mounted wall unit, and/or portable heaters.

Jiangsu is a province that the Yangtze cuts through, which means you might get central heating. I moved to Xuzhou, which is spitting distance to Shandong province, in May (I got transferred to cover a sick teacher). So I was put up in the teacher’s housing on the college campus, and it did have central heating, the flat also had screened in windows above the doors that didn’t have glass and therefore would be open year-round. When I said I wanted to stay in the city and teach for the next year I got an off-campus flat in a community maybe 1.5 kms down the road—no central heating. Fall 2019 my community was offered central heating, we would have had to pay to get it installed, and it would only be installed if enough people said yes because it would be done for the whole community at that point. If we got the central heating it would have only been turned on December-February, and as the Spring Festival break at the school was an entire month it wasn’t worth it. And that time I went to Sichuan (everyone says south, but I think it has a bit of the Yangtze in it) all the restaurants were open fronted with no solid doors at all. Though the AC/Heating mounted wall unit in my hotel room (a small hotel outside of the city proper with a squat toilet in the bathroom (I’ve only seen squat toilets in two Chinese hotels)) was the best heater ever. My hotel room was so much warmer than any flat I’ve had in China, because even if it was a cheap hotel the AC/Heating mounted wall units needed to work well in Sichuan because it was the only source of heat.

MDZS Cities on the Yangtze and Old Names for the River

So west to east the cities that are close/on the Yangtze are: Meishan - north, Kuizhou - north bank, Yiling - north bank, Baling - south bank, Yunmeng - north, Moling south (the Yangtze goes through Nanjing so maybe it has bank space), and Gusu - south (possibly in the delta).

According to the Yangtze Wikipedia Page, which I have kept open in a tab in Firefox for reference since I started writing fic—People in Ancient China didn’t realise that the river was a single river and therefore each section of the river, had its own name and was thought to be its own river (the following is mostly just copied from Wikipedia).

For Meishan, Kuizhou, and Yiling, the river through Sichuan and Chongqing Municipality was known as the Chuan Jiang (川江; Chuān Jiāng) or "Sichuan River." The Wikipedia page specifically states that Yichang modern day Yiling as the last/most eastern city to call the Yangtze thus.

In Hubei, this would be Yunmeng and Yiling, but Yiling followed the pattern of the places further west. And I’m going to assume Baling despite being in Hunan; the river is also called the Jing Jiang (荆江; Jīngjiāng) or the "Jing River" after Jingzhou.

In Anhui (which has no sects), the river takes on the local name Wan Jiang after the shorthand name for Anhui, wǎn (皖).

For Gusu and Moling, it was the Yangzi Jiang (揚子江; 扬子江; Yángzǐjiāng) or the "Yangzi River," from which the English name Yangtze is derived, is the local name for the Lower Yangtze in the region of Yangzhou. The name likely comes from an ancient ferry crossing called Yangzi or Yangzijin (揚子 / 揚子津; Yángzǐ / Yángzǐjīn). Europeans who arrived in the Yangtze River Delta region applied this local name to the whole river.

The dividing site between upstream and midstream is considered to be at Yichang (Yiling) and that between midstream and downstream at Hukou (Jiujiang).

Winter Weather in Terms of Whether or Not Long Underwear Should be Worn in Various MDZS Cities

Another way to think of it is in terms of long underwear. I wore long underwear in my city in Shandong province, the pants, and a long undershirt. Typically, three layers on top when indoors, maybe with a fourth sweater when the room I was in wasn’t heated and thick socks over regular ones. In Xuzhou I wore maybe the long underwear bottoms but not the top because my classroom actually has a heater in it, but I usually wore a sweater. When I visited Xi’an, Shaanxi (YueyangChang and 2hrs west of QishanWen), Nanjing, Jiangsu (MolingSu), and when I went to Chengdu, Sichuan (1.5 hours north of Meishan) I wore long underwear (though it was particularly cold that year in Chengdu). When I went to Hangzhou, Zhejiang (south of TingshanHe; Tingshan is hard to pinpoint), Changsha, Hunan (2 hours south of BalingOuyang), and Wuhan, Hubei (3 hrs north of BalingOuyang and 1.25 hours south of YunmengJiang) I had long underwear with me but didn’t necessarily wear it. I do remember in Wuhan this tree that had little pink blooms on it at the end of January. I didn’t have long underwear with me when I went to Chongqing, I could have sworn I actually went to Kuizhou Ancient City (or another Ancient City/Street) but I can’t find pictures from it. The city I visited before Chongqing, I visited an ancient city so I could be mixing these up. But I remember it being Chongqing and getting a foot massage in an open-air shop in an ancient street and being covered in blankets because it was pretty chilly.

Comparative Temperatures based on their North Parallels

I live in Maine in the US, so a place with lots of snow. When I first came to China my family and I were looking at the map and thought that Maine and my city in Shandong looked to be in a line so the weather would be similar—it wasn’t, but it is a good theory; and something I spent a lot of time thinking might be sound as Maine and Shandong province aren’t on the same parallels so I thought there was still a chance that it would correlate elsewhere. The two most northern sects QingheNie at 37°04’ and LaolingQin 37°26’, according to Wikipedia, which continues to tell me that other notable places on the 37th parallel. The 37th parallel separates out Utah, Colorado, and Kansas on the north side from Arizona, New Mexico, and Oklahoma on the South. It also passes through the Mediterranean Sea; the Aegean Sea; the Caspian Sea; the Sea of Japan; the Yellow Sea; just south of Antequera, Spain; the island of Sicily, Italy; the island of Honshū, Japan; Gilgit-Baltistan, Pakistan/India; and through Algeria, Tunisia, Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, and South Korea.

I just moved to Zhengzhou, Henan (34°45′50″N), when I asked about the weather I was told it was comparable to Washington DC (38°54′17″N). I keep getting told that Zhengzhou is the centre of China and it is kind of the centre of where all the sects are: north 1.5 hours from YingchuanWang and 5.5 hours from YunmengJiang; south 3.5 hours from QingheNie; and east 6 hours from YueyangChan.

Conclusion for Winter Weather in Gusu and Summary of Chinese Summers

So, based on my experiences, any of the mountains in Suzhou just wouldn’t have a discernible temperature difference from the top of the mountain and the bottom of the mountain. And despite “Snow-covered views of the pretty canal towns of Suzhou in winter” I would assume that it doesn’t actually get that much snow.

So enough about how cold and snowy China is, summer-wise it is generally too, too hot. For the level of cold in the winter, I would have assumed there would be milder summers but where I have lived and visited that has not been the case. When I asked the teacher I was replacing in Shandong about the weather of the city I was told that it went from ‘freezing your pants off to fucking hot’ and it was true one day you’d be wearing a jacket and maybe for a week you’d be in jeans and a tee and then you’d be sweating while wearing the least amount of clothing possible. I’ve definitely seen 30°C days in May.

Rundown of the Climate, Average Temperatures, Rainfall, and Humidity for all MDZS Cities

So you don’t have to here is what Wikipedia says about the climate of the cities of the different areas so you don’t have to look it up yourselves (pretty much copy and pasted):

Baling – (is present day Yueyang different characters and city from the YueyangChang Sect seat). The average high for the year is 21°C/69.7°F and the low 14.9°C/58.8°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 2.7°C/36.7°F and an average high of 8.1°C/46.6°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 26.6°C/79.9°F and an average high of 32.2°C/90°F. Average humidity ranges from 73% in December to 79% in June (with a yearly average of 77%). The most average rainfall is in June, the rain heavy months being April-July, compared to the remaining months March and August also have a lot of rain.

Gusu - has a four-season humid subtropical climate with hot, humid summers and cool, cloudy, damp winters with occasional snowfall (Köppen climate classification Cfa). North-westerly winds blowing from Siberia during winter can cause temperatures to fall below freezing at night, while southerly or south-westerly winds during the summer can push temperatures above 35 °C (95 °F). The average high for the year is 19.9°C/67.8°F and the low 12.5°C/54.5°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 0.5°C/32.9°F and an average high of 7.7°C/45.9°F. July is the hottest month (by 0.1°C over August) with an average low of 24.8°C/76.6°F and an average high of 31.6°C/88.9°F. Average humidity ranges from 65% in November to 77% in July (with a yearly average of 71%). The most average rainfall is in September, the rain heavy months being June-September, April (102.3 mm) and May (114.5) are petty rainy too, May is still 14mm less rain then July (the lowest of the high rain months).

Kuizhou - has a humid subtropical climate (Köppen Cfa), bordering on a monsoonal humid subtropical climate (Köppen Cwa) and for most of the year experiences very high relative humidity, with all months above 75%. Known as one of the "Three Furnaces" of the Yangtze river, its summers are long and among the hottest and most humid in China, with highs of 33 to 34 °C (91 to 93 °F) in July and August in the urban area.Winters are short and somewhat mild, but damp and overcast. The city's location in the Sichuan Basin causes it to have one of the lowest annual sunshine totals nationally. With over 100 days of fog per year, is known as the "Fog City" The average high for the year is 22.1°C/71.8°F and the low 15.8°C/60.4°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 6.2°C/43.2°F and an average high of 10.3°C/50.5°F. August is the hottest month (by 0.2°C over July) with an average low of 24.7°C/76.5°F and an average high of 33.2°C/91.8°F. The most average rainfall is in June, the rain heavy months being June and July, but May and August are petty rainy too.

Lanling - has a monsoon-influenced climate with generous summer precipitation, cold, dry winters, and hot, humid summers. Under the Köppen climate classification, it is in the transition from the humid subtropical zone (Cwa) to the humid continental zone (Dwa), though favouring the former. More than half of the annual precipitation of 833 mm (32.8 in) falls in July and August alone, and the frost-free period is above 200 days. The average high for the year is 19.1°C/66.3°F and the low 9.5°C/49.1°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -4.3°C/24.3°F and an average high of 4.4°C/39.9°F. July is the hottest month (by 0.7°C over August) with an average low of 23°C/73.4°F and an average high of 30.7°C/87.3°F

Laoling - The average high for the year is 19.3°C/66.7°F and the low 9.4°C/48.9°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -5.6°C/21.9°F and an average high of 3.4°C/38.1°F. June is the hottest month with an average low of 20.2°C/68.4°F and an average high of 32.1°C/89.8°F. Average humidity ranges from 52% in March to 78% in August (with a yearly average of 63%). The most average rainfall is in July, the rain heavy months being July and August by quite a margin. July has on average 90 mm more rain then June (the month with the third highest rainfall).

Meishan - The average high for the year is 21.3°C/70.3°F and the low 14.3°C/57.7°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 4.1°C/39.4°F and an average high of 10.1°C/50.2°F. July is the hottest month (though the record high temperature was in August) with an average low of 22.9°C/73.2°F and an average high of 30.7°C/86.5°F. Average humidity ranges from 74% in May to 84% in January, August, October, and December (with a yearly average of 81%). The most average rainfall is in August, the rain heavy months being July and August, June (144 mm) and September (130.4) are petty rainy too, June is still 87mm less rainy then July (the lowest of the high rain months) and September gets 42.5mm more rain than the 5th rainiest month—May.

Moling - has a humid subtropical climate (Köppen Cfa) and is influenced by the East Asian monsoon. The four seasons are distinct, with damp conditions seen throughout the year, very hot and muggy summers, cold, damp winters, and in between, spring and autumn are of reasonable length. Known as one of the "Three Furnaces" along the Yangtze River for the perennially high temperatures in the summertime. However, the time from mid-June to the end of July is the plum blossom blooming season in which the meiyu (rainy season of East Asia; literally "plum rain") occurs, during which the city experiences a period of mild rain as well as dampness. Typhoons are uncommon but possible in the late stages of summer and early part of autumn. The annual mean temperature is around 15.91 °C (60.6 °F), with the monthly 24-hour average temperature ranging from 2.7 °C (36.9 °F) in January to 28.1 °C (82.6 °F) in July. Extremes since 1951 have ranged from −14.0 °C (7 °F) on 6 January 1955 to 40.7 °C (105 °F) on 22 August 1959. The average high for the year is 20.6°C/69.1°F and the low 12.1°C/53.8°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -0.7°C/30.7°F and an average high of 7.2°C/45°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 24.9°C/76.8°F and an average high of 32.2°C/90°F. On average precipitation falls 115 days out of the year, and the average annual rainfall is 1,090 mm (43 in). The most average rainfall is in July, the rain heavy months being June through August. August (143.5mm) is the least rainy of the three and still gets on average 52.8 mm more rain then May the 4th rainiest month. July has the most days of rain (12.3), but both March (only 80.4mm) and August have the second most days of rain (11.8).With monthly percent possible sunshine ranging from 37 percent in March to 52 percent in August, the city receives 1,926 hours of bright sunshine annually. Average humidity ranges from 71% in April and May to 80% in July and August (with a yearly average of 75%).

Qinghe - has a continental, monsoon-influenced semi-arid climate (Köppen BSk), characterised by hot, humid summers due to the East Asian monsoon, and generally cold, windy, very dry winters that reflect the influence of the vast Siberian anticyclone. Spring can bear witness to sandstorms blowing in from the Mongolian steppe, accompanied by rapidly warming, but generally dry, conditions. Autumn is similar to spring in temperature and lack of rainfall. The annual rainfall, more than half of which falls in July and August alone, is highly variable and not reliable. The average high for the year is 19.6°C/67.2°F and the low 8.8°C/47.9°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -6.1°C/21°F and an average high of 3.9°C/39°F. June is the hottest month with an average low of 20.2°C/68.4°F and an average high of 32.1°C/89.8°F

Qishan - The average high for the year is 18.5°C/65.3°F and the low 9°C/48.1°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -3.5°C/25.7°F and an average high of 5.1°C/41.2°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 21.1°C/70°F and an average high of 30.9°C/87.6°F. The record high temperature from (1971-2000) in January was 20.7°C/69.3°F which is the lowest of the record highs. The highest was in August at 41.6°C/106.9°F. The most average rainfall is in August but had the most days of rain in September (the rain heavy months being June-September).

Tingshan - The average high for the year is 20.5°C/68.9 °F and the low 13.1°C/55.6°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 0.9°C/33.6°F and an average high of 7.5°C/45.5°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 25.3°C/77.5°F and an average high of 32.6°C/90.7°F. Average humidity ranges from 75% in April and May to 82% in September (with a yearly average of 78%). The most average rainfall is in June, the rain heavy months being June-August, March (121.2 mm), May (113.4mm), and September ( 109mm) are petty rainy too, March still has 34.2 mm less rain then August (the lowest of the high rain months). March also has the most days of rain (15.2), followed by June (14.8), then April and July (13.7).

Yiling - has a four-season, monsoon-influenced, humid subtropical climate (Köppen Cwa), with cool, damp and generally overcast winters, and hot, humid summers. The monthly 24-hour average temperature ranges from 5.0 °C (41.0 °F) in January to 27.7 °C (81.9 °F) in July, while the annual mean is 17.08 °C (62.7 °F). The average high for the year is 21.6°C/70.9°F and the low 13.7°C/56.6°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 2.2°C/36°F and an average high of 8.8°C/47.8°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 24.3°C/75.7.°F and an average high of 32.3°C/90.1°F. Close to 70% of the annual precipitation of 1,160 mm (46 in) occurs from May to September. The most average rainfall is in July, the rain heavy months being June-August; May (124.4mm), and September (115.3mm) are petty rainy too, May still has17.8 mm less rain then June (the lowest of the high rain months). July has the most days of rain (15.1), followed by June (14.1), then May (13.5).With monthly percent possible sunshine ranging from 24% in January to 49% in August, the city receives 1,568 hours of bright sunshine annually, and summer is the sunniest season. Average humidity ranges from 73% in February, March, April and December to 80% in July (with a yearly average of 75%).

Yingchuan - has a monsoon-influenced humid subtropical climate (Köppen Cwa), with four distinct seasons. Winters are cool and dry, summers hot and humid, spring begins early and is warm, and autumn is mild and provides a reasonable transition. Rain mainly falls from May to September, as more than 70% of the annual precipitation occurs then. The city has an annual mean temperature of at 14.5 °C (58.1 °F), and its highest average monthly temperature is 27.1 °C (80.8 °F) in July and the lowest is 0.7 °C (33.3 °F) in January. Just over 700 millimetres (28 in) of precipitation falls each year, and there is on average 217 frost-free days and 2280 hours of sunshine per year. The average high for the year is 20.2°C/68.4°F and the low 9.7°C/49.5°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -3.6°C/25.5°F and an average high of 6.1°C/43°F. July is the hottest month (by 0.2°C over June) with an average low of 23.1°C/73.6°F and an average high of 32°C/89.6°F. The most average rainfall is in July, the rain heavy months being July and August; June (83.5mm) is petty rainy too, but June still has 38.2mm less rain then August (the lowest of the high rain months). July has the most days of rain (11.7), followed by August (10.6), then June (8.4).

Yueyang - has a temperate climate that is influenced by the East Asian monsoon, classified under the Köppen climate classification as situated on the borderline between a semi-arid climate (BSk) and humid subtropical climate (Cwa). The Wei River valley is characterised by hot, humid summers, cold, dry winters, and dry springs and autumns. Most of the annual precipitation is delivered from July (on average has the most rain) to late October with September having the most days of rain. Snow occasionally falls in winter but rarely settles for long. Dust storms often occur during March and April as the city rapidly warms up. Summer months also experience frequent but short thunderstorms. The average high for the year is 19.5°C/67.1°F and the low 9.7°C/49.5°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of -3.3°C/26.1°F and an average high of 5.1°C/41.2°F. July is the hottest month with an average low of 22.3°C/72.1°F and an average high of 32.4°C/90.3°F. Average humidity ranges from 61% in June to 77% in September (with a yearly average of 68%)

Yunmeng - The average high for the year is 21.1°C/70°F and the low 12.8°C/55.1°F. January being the coldest month with an average low of 0.2°C/32.4°F and an average high of 3.9°C/39°F. July is the hottest month (by 0.2°C over August) with an average low of 25.2°C/77.4°F and an average high of 32.2°C/90°F. Average humidity ranges from 75% in December to 83% in July (with a yearly average of 79%)

Dafan Mountain and Phoenix Mountian

That being said, I was trying to find Dafan Mountain on a map for a fanfic I was writing. I have a Chinese copy of MDZS and I was originally having trouble finding the characters used for Dafan Mountain. When I did, Baidu was not at all helpful every webpage was for MDZS and/or CQL. So I asked Dean who replied that he didn’t know, as the places in the book are all made up, at which time I sent him a copy of the map that my other friend had shown me with the actual names of the present day cities for the five main sects. And I did a search for “where is Dafan mountain” which worked for things like: “where is Moling”, for the Dafan search the results were things like which chapter/episode is Dafan or ‘where was Wen Ning before Dafan?’ My confusion came from the fact that the town below Dafan is called Buddha’s Feet—and I have been there. In Chongqing there is a district called Dazu (大足), Buddha’s Feet which had Buddhist cave paintings so there are also mountains. Edit: I went back and looked for pictures, it’s not actually very mountain-y and is named for some giant footprints.

It took longer to find, because as I had learned there is just too many ways that you could write Buddha’s Feet in Chinese and have it interpreted as Buddha’s Feet. In the book it is called 佛脚镇 (Fójiǎo Zhèn) or Buddha’s Foot town, which isn’t a real place in China according to Baidu. So for my own fic purposes I decided that it was going to be in Chongqing. And then later, when I was actually putting together a map on Google I double checked for places like Dafan and found one. 大梵山 Dafan Shan (same characters and everything) is a 207m mountain in South Korea called Keun Beom San (?) 큰범산.

Phoenix Mountain was another one that I had a hard time looking for in the book as there are multiple ways to say Phoenix in Chinese and it is generally a compound word including Feng (风) which usually means wind and the name of the mountain in Chinese is 百风山 (Bǎifèng shān) and could also be translated as the Hundred Wind Mountain. And all though it sounds like a very good mountain name ‘phoenix’ or ‘wind’-wise there is no such mountain that I could find.

My Own Map Making Explained

Before I made my own map I looked for other maps online, ones that talked about the smaller sects. For the purposes of my fic I needed to know where the YueyangChang clan was situated, and where Xue Yang would be, or coming from, or going to. I found this map online. It is a very good map but it uses the present day name instead of the book names so I got super confused. For example that map has a Liyang, Leling, and Yueling, none of which I could find on the MDZS wiki as being connected to a sect.

What I ended up doing is writing the names of the cities into Pleco, a Chinese-English dictionary app, so if I type in yueyang the first three are: Yuèyáng (岳阳) a prefecture-level city in Hunan; yuèyáng (越洋) a verb meaning cross the ocean; and yuè yáng (栎阳) a place in Shaanxi Province. I took the place names and searched for them in my Chinese copy of the book and hit on 栎阳. Then I put it in Baidu, Baidu Maps, and Apple Maps to see where it would turn up—it turned up in Xi’an. Well, Liyang from that second map is also 栎阳. And when I look at the map apps with pinyin the section of Xi’an in question is also labelled as Liyang.

Leling was harder—or easier I guess it depends on how you look at it. I ended up looking it up straight from the second map Pleco suggested 乐陵 the county level city in Dezhou, which I found in the book 乐陵秦—LaolingQin. This I don’t understand at all 乐 is lè or yuè and yet we call them LaolingQin. So there you have it. Edit: while writing the weather section (which I did after this though it comes first in the post) I A. realised I’d been writing Yaoling instead of Laoling and B. that the Laoling County-level City Wikipedia page said that Laoling often gets mispronounced as Leling because the character 乐 is only ever elsewhere lè or yuè.

Tingshan was the last one that gave me problems. It is written 亭山 and there are actually a couple mountains called Tingshan, with the same characters one near Qufu in Shandong province, and two in Zhejiang province one north of Hangzhou and the other sort of south of Hangzhou, in Shaoxing (the one that comes up the most often in Baidu searches). Then I found a Chinese site discussing the ancient city of Tingshan City which is “In today's Zhejiang Deqing County East 24 Li (1 Li = 0.5 km)” so I put Deqing county on my map and then realised that the same site says that Tingshan is also 200 paces southwest of the county and then mentions a Wuxing ji (吴兴记) but I could find a Wuxing District (吴兴区) of Huzhou City the same city as Deqing county. Wuxing was north east of Deqing and that was when I realised that the two possible dots of Tingshan on my map were close to the dot of Yueling on the second map I had found. And I found a Yueling (越岭) in Huzhou and it was southwest of Wuxing (not sure about 200 paces or not), so I differed to the wisdom of that second map.

I have made my own map with the labels of all places I could find on a map. I labelled them with the sect names or if they had no sect associated with them just the city name. Sadly Baixue Temple, Phoenix Mountain, Dust Creek Mountain, Mo Village, and Dafan Mountain/Buddha’s Feet (though my map does include Dazu in Chongqing, as a point of interest) could not be found and added to the map. And of course we have no clue where Sect leader Yao came from and I kind of wish we could send him back off into the nothing, but he is there to add strife I suppose.

River Travel- Lotus Pier wasn’t the closest Sect to Yiling

I got to a part in my own fic where I needed them to take a bout between Yiling and Yunmeng and realised that while Yiling is on the Yangtze, Yunmeng is not and instead is on a tributary of the Yangtze. I did a cursory search for ancient river boat speeds and found an archaeological paper that tested seven ancient boats one of which was a Singapore Sampan it wasn’t very fast. So I just decided to write it off as cultivating boats get people there faster.

Even though I had already wrote the boat scene of my fic when I was looking at my map I noticed Google’s measuring tool. So for fun, I used the Google Maps measuring tool to measure river distance between Yiling and Yunmeng after I put all the city markers on. Yiling is on the Yangtze and Yunmeng has a couple Yangtze tributaries that run through it that meet up in the Wuhan area. The Yangtze dips south after Yiling and then goes back up to Wuhan. Yiling to Yunmeng is 444 km by river if you leave the Yangtze by Jingzhou and travel through Chang Lake (I cheated and connected to Hanshui River with what looks like a manmade river, maybe, it is very straight and appears to cut through the lake) then it is a lot of small rivers to get to Yunmeng. I thought maybe even though the Yangtze goes further south and Wuhan is further east than Yunmeng since it is a bigger river it might still be shorter. However, 397 km east of Yiling following the Yangtze in Baling! I remember in CQL Sect Leader Yao suggests Lotus Pier after the second siege of the Burial Mounds (I might be remembering wrong), but well he appears friendly with Ouyang, and they are a smaller sect.

Conclusion

So, while the sects live in actual places, today they are generally just districts in larger cities, because the urbanisation of China has resulted in many villages becoming districts of bigger cities. And while some of the places in the book are made up (Yunping City being another one that I cannot find anywhere) they are reasonably named that they are not far outside of the realm of possibility. Also China is a large country that discourages people from moving around, as you always have to return to the place of your birth (or your parents’ birth) to get paperwork and the like for visas, etc. Therefore, I believe perhaps inside China the knowledge of where these places are or the height of their mountains or their amount of snow is not something that is thought about by people as much as I think of these things.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #china #weather #maps #mountains #yangtze river #mo dao zu shi #cloud recesses #geography

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saikagerights · 4 years

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A New Possession- Entry #8

Hello once again Saiino nation!

I am back with a new entry. Since my recent health dilemmas and work schedule, I have decided that daily entries might be a bit too far of a stretch. Summer is fast approaching, and there is so much I want to do besides work on this. That doesn't mean I'm taking a break, however. I'm just going to be laying off a bit on myself.

That being said, I hope you all enjoyed my connecting one shot, because here we see the fallout from that narrative. This dilemma will not last too long, but I wanted something to bridge between The Last Movie and the Sakura Hiden, which occur at least 3 months from eachother. I also had put some pressure on myself by switching gears to Ino's perspective and then immediately jumping back into poor, heartbroken Sai.

My boyfriend is at work as I post this, so there may be potential edits to this entry. I was so psyched about this entry that I didn't want to wait for him, lol.

Anyway, enjoy this well overdue entry, (aka the Christmas fallout)

Also available on AO3

January 5

I’m an idiot

Here I went and destroyed a friendship over my ignorance and carelessness. In an attempt to gratify Ino, I tried to perform a friendly gesture on Christmas Eve, but instead I made her unable to stand my presence. She suddenly left with no explanation, so I still don’t fully understand what I did to cause her departure. All I know is that she has now started to avoid me. I guess my “weirdness” has finally scared someone away. I am not even sure how I am supposed to apologize to her when she is not even allowing me an opportunity. I wouldn’t know what to say, regardless.

I’m not fully sure what to make of it, but I feel like there is some hidden meaning that I’m just not seeing. I’ve read extensively on women, concluding that they are complex beings that no man has ever been able to understand and Ino is definitely no exception. She seemed to have been fine the entire night with her usual straightforwardness. There had even been a few moments when something she had said caught me off guard. But it was as if it all changed when we entered my apartment that she started acting strange. Under careful observation, she appeared to fidget a lot more even after I had told her to sit still, her face shining red. There must’ve been a war going on inside her mind that I did not truly notice until she abruptly stood up.

No, I was too absorbed in my work to notice. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself at that moment. Being able to share with others is my main joy as an artist. Shin’s praise had been the driving force for what would later on become the only thing I consider a passion. And now that passion is being turned into a cycle of torture that I can only describe as:

Yearning…

Since the Christmas debacle, I have only wanted to create in her image. I believe this to be because I had been interrupted in my first musings of her. I have become unsatisfied. Unfinished sketches litter my floor, all of her.

Faceless...

With every attempt, I lose myself at her eyes before giving up completely and starting a new one. Temptations of going to see her just for her eyes have all but overtaken me and it’s maddening.

I’ve felt more lost than ever. Distracted by my guilt, I had missed a good chunk of Konoha’s New Years celebrations. During Lee’s annual New Year’s gathering, I felt detached. Hovering in place unaware of my surroundings as everyone else participated in the festivities, every now and then throwing glances at Ino. She had been unusually reserved that night, holding the same drink in her hand.

Ino was almost always inebriated during holiday gatherings such as these, louder and more unapologetically honest than usual. I guess she had been in her own world then and it made me feel even worse.

It’s been five days since that party, and all that time has been spent in constant regret and stuck drawing the same faceless woman.

The woman I can’t face myself.

The winter holiday is ending, so that means it will be back to work soon and my time will once again be nearly expended. Holidays for shinobi were never common, but now come more frequently since peace has been enacted between the nations. With less time on my hands means less time spent worrying over my current bonds, but also takes time away for me to prepare a proper apology.

I recently confided in Sakura, who shared my sentiments over Ino’s behavior and assuring me that it was “weird, even for her.” She had allegedly been unsuccessful in her attempts to “pry” information out of Ino, which naturally caused Sakura to also worry. They had been long term friends after all. Despite this, Sakura assured me that she would get to the bottom of it, but I would personally prefer to contact Ino myself as difficult as that might be. There has to be a way to make her see eye to eye with me so we can properly communicate.

Perhaps I just need to speak her language. And I might just have a book that can help me.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am leading into a conclusion soon, so look out for that.

I am so happy to finally be able to have a successful writing project. I've been attempting to write like this for nearly 5 years now, and I can finally say that I am consistently writing to the best of my ability. I hope you guys are not discouraged by my slight distance from what I set out to accomplish with this fic, but with normal life slowly but surely returning to my area, I realize that it might be a little too much for me to do in my spare time.

Regardless, I want to thank you for supporting this story so far. Besides for my personal enjoyment of writing, I prioritize the comprehension and feelings of my readers. So once again, thanks a bunch and as always criticism and comments are welcome!

Until next time (whenever that may be)

-Saikage

#Sai Journal #sai yamanaka #saiino #sifanfic

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jellypipemedia · 4 years

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Art Industry and Equality

The Artist Industry, an industry that lets self-expression come out in a number of mediums.

As an Artist myself, i can tell you how wonderful it has been to have a creative outlet like my multimedia. To express my ideas and watch the momentum of my work turn into something special. As many other Artists, it’s hard to find that validation and legitimacy in the industry that defines you as a professional and makes your career into more than a ‘hobby’. Some find that struggle more intense than others.

The idea that ‘All Artists have to struggle’ is a common ideology but beyond that- do all artists struggle in the same ways? Of course not. This could be combated with a number of different perspectives based off of different talent levels and different environments but commonly, artists are not given the same opportunities based off of more than just their talent. Different aspects come into play.

The Artist Industry has been known for their inclusive atmosphere and supportive community, but is it set apart from any other industry when it comes to addressing equality issues?

Misogyny/Trans-Misogyny , unequal opportunities based on gender, lack of recognition and the power struggle of legitimacy have all played their part in work industries all over- and the artist industry doesn’t escape that narrative.

A common theme that i find more than any other is women, queer, non-binary, and Fem artists struggle to find their power behind their art because they are usually dismissed, deemed illegitimate, or seen as ‘just a hobby’, or they could ‘make it a real job someday’. Their work isn’t given the credit it deserves or the recognition of legitimate work. Opportunities are missed quite often as work lays in favor of social stigmas and safe investments in uncomplicated people seem to flourish regularly.

Stewing over my thoughts on this, I reached out to my social media circle looking for more perspective on the situation. I was able to connect with a couple of people, ask them their thoughts on how these aspects of the industry have affected them on a professional level and their influence on the industry . I want to keep the dialogue going about this and would love to hear more about the perspective of women, queer, fem, non-binary artists on the industry that claims to be so inclusive.

With that being said, I had a great opportunity to talk with the Founder of ‘Siren Nation’. *

Diving into ‘Siren Nation’ media, I came across their ‘LinkedIn’ page. Their Mission Statement spoke to me and left me wanting to dig just a bit deeper into the foundation of their cause.

“Siren Nation is a unique arts organization that showcases and creates performance and exhibition opportunities for women throughout the year. We are the only women’s collective that produces an annual festival showcasing the original work of women working in music, film, performance and visual art.

Siren Nation’s mission is to inspire and empower women of all ages to create their own art and to highlight the many achievements of women in the arts.”

When I was connected with Natalia Kay O’brien, I didn’t know much about Siren Nation or where our conversation would lead too. I had an idea of where i wanted to take this project, not having much more than a foundation and urgency to keep learning more about the perspectives of women identifying, queer and non-binary.

So, I asked if she’d be willing to help me out by telling her story and giving us an insight on her perspective of the industry.

Natalia:

I'd be super happy to help! There's an amazingly rich queer music scene in Portland and the Pacific Northwest. That is a big part of the reason I moved out here!

From 1999-2010 i produced a lot of events that centered queer folx -some from out of town, some in town.

Jay:

Awesome! I appreciate that a lot about Portland and the PNW. I've grown up in Portland most of my life.

Natalia:

Lucky you!

Jay:

What are some of the events that you produced?

Natalia:

I started out doing house concerts for a spoken word artist out of NYC, then booking shows for/with traveling queer female artists i got connected with over time. I ended up doing the booking for mississippi pizza for a couple of years and got some more experience there producing shows--generally national folk acts--and booking artists. That helped me begin to get more familiar with the local music scene and get introduced to some amazing artists like Laura Gibson, long before they broke out.

My experience and frustration, with the local music scene's dearth of female and queer presence and opportunities to get the kind of exposure that festivals offer, inspired me to found Siren Nation, an organization dedicated to promoting and empowering women artists.

As a queer woman I made sure that there was a strong queer presence during my tenure. We were supposed to have ‘Gossip’ headline the first festival and 3 weeks beforehand they broke their contract!

The seven years I spent with Siren Nation exposed me to new queer artists. Unfortunately, at that time, there was no such thing (in terms of identity) as nonbinary, and we didn't put enough effort into be trans inclusive. We produced, and they still do, 2 tribute nights, one for dolly parton, one for billie holiday, that have been happening annually for something going on 15 years! and then the annual festival, in november, which i produced from 2007-2010.

Jay:

That's absolutely awesome that you contributed so much to the queer/fem community. I know how intensely hard it can be to demand that recognition and be seen as legitimate in the eyes of the world. It's no small thing. Can you give me an example of a time where you’ve experienced misogyny/trans-misogyny that directly affected your work as an artist?

Natalia:

I was tired of not seeing enough women and women-fronted acts on local festival lineups when there were SO MANY amazing female bands. My work as an artist (visual) has been almost entirely a private endeavor. however i do think there is a correlation between the fact that i considered my drawing 'doodling' and i'm a woman. I made art for years before I took on the identity and claimed it. I still squirm a little.

Jay:

I can totally understand that. I deeply feel like the accomplishments of women are often made out to be 'A nice hobby' or 'could be a job someday.'

Natalia:

Yes, exactly.

I can tell you as a booking agent for queer female artists in an industry that is heavily male, did not make for the most hospitable environment to work in. Getting club bookers to book an artist whose press kit screams 'radical feminist lesbian" let alone that she was doing spoken word which was just emerging...well, ultimately all they cared about was whether we could fill a room. There were some venues that didn't want to deal with us, in more conservative parts of the country, i.e. midwest and southeast.

I think trans-misogyny was unfortunately a little baked into Siren Nation in the sense that trans women have remained almost invisible within that space. Not enough queers involved with siren nation after I left!

So I tackled showcasing as many media as possible--music, film, visual arts and later fashion and comedy.”

Jay:

That's a powerful tool in today's world too. Being someone who is involved in a variety of media ( myself as well) is a powerful weapon to today's world of perspective. We have a lot more influence than people credit us for. Have you been affected by any people that are positive influencers in the queer community/have given inspiration to you personally?

Natalia:

The artists inspire me!! That's part of why I produced events because I truly believe in the artists and want to help them connect with a larger audience and want people to get exposed! Bands like Team Dresch, who really blazed trails for queer women punks, all around the country at a time when there was virtually no queer presence in media. Beth Ditto and Gossip, for being fearlessly brash, unashamedly fat, and a force! Women who were unafraid to be loud when it wasn't the norm yet--Sleater Kinney, Bikini Kill too!--inspired me and they were tackling issues that I cared about as a feminist in ways that I didn't see straight women doing.

I will never ever forget seeing Bikini Kill and Kathleen Hannah telling all the 'boys to go to the back'. It blew my mind having stopped moshing b/c it wasn't safe and she demanded and created that space

Jay:

I can definitely vouch for queer punk artists being a heavy influence in the queer community and causing pressure on 'social norms'! It's very empowering and the women in the scene are not a force to be reckoned with. It's still astonishing how such a positive and empowering movement got met with so much resistance.

Natalia:

Kinda like what I wanted to do with Siren Nation. Yeah, some people can't handle a strong woman especially if she is in any way not gender/hetero conforming.

Jay:

I'm sure Siren Nation impacted a lot of people to be the ferocious and powerful people they knew they were.

Natalia:

I hope so!! I know it was a space where, for example, at the tribute shows, artists got to meet and mingle backstage, and spontaneous collaborations would happen.

Jay:

That's the best part of festivals in general. Bring artists from all over and to create that opportunity for networking and creativity.

Natalia:

Right!??!

Practically every female artist who has broken out nationally performed at Siren Nation at some point and offering free workshops was an important way for us to empower and encourage women to create and make their own art.

Jay:

That's awesome! Does Siren Nation still have a website that I can reference too?

Natalia:

Yup! Sirennation.org

As an audience, I found festivals an amazing opportunity to get exposed to new artists.

Most of the language there that is about the organization, like mission statements and values, is mine.

Jay:

So why have you decided not to produce events for Siren Nation more recently? or does the organization take care of itself nowadays?

Natalia:

I left in 2010 because i was pursuing a masters degree, basically decided to pour all the hours and energy i had put into siren nation into a degree that would get me a salary for doing that kind of work. My co-founder December Carson has stayed at the helm and kept it going all these years. There are some longtime volunteers who help at events.

My dream that someday it could be a salaried job I finally realized was not going to be feasible

Jay:

That's a positive transition out of the organization tho! Did you get your master's degree?

Natalia:

Yes! It helped to know that it would carry on after I left, because it was my baby and I was very attached! It has thrived over the years due to the dedication of the board members who make it happen. New blood comes in, and then they add fashion and comedy. It's been neat to see how it has evolved over the years and yes, I got my Masters, in Public Administration.

Jay:

That's so so so good to hear Thank you so much for talking with me today- you have really been insightful and this is truly very inspirational to hear as a queer woman in the multimedia industry!

With ending our conversation, I felt like I made a breakthrough on what direction I wanted to take this project and found the encouragement to keep pushing through the media and highlight these amazing women, non-binary, and queer people.

We lack recognition for being who we are while we make it in this industry. We struggle and fight back - gaining ground and getting traction.

I’m excited to see where this project takes me and I'm glad to have you all on this journey. Stay alert for more to come!

#Art Industry #art #journalism #punk #punkscene #inequality #queer #trans #woman #women

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bookrecollection · 4 years

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Do I have a Diverse Bookshelf? PT 1: Geography

I recently decided to part with over 10 bags of books because I finally admitted how I needed space, wasn’t going to read something I bought X years ago, or really didn’t need a book I read once and would never pick up again even if I loved it A LOT that one time.

As such, while admiring my newly organized shelves, I began to wonder about the diversity of what I decided to keep.

Whether we like to admit it or not, what we decide to display in our bookshelves is much like an online social profile. It lets people know who we are, what we value, what we know, and what we might be interested in.

Outside of the shallow reasons, it’s important to be a curious reader who isn’t afraid to traverse all the different types of books out there. When you do, you get exposed to different cultures, ideas, perspectives, lifestyles, historical periods, contemporary subjects, etc. You also learn about different forms of expression and creativity across mediums, genres, languages via translation or the native tongue. You expand your awareness of well EVERYTHING. And it’s just fun!

So to help me out, I’ll be referring to the categories in this blogpost. I thought I’d tackle each to see how my newly slimmed-down book collection does by listing 5 books that apply to each.

First up is ...

GEOGRAPHY

According to our reference, reading books about different geographic locations is a must. It helps you become more aware about the world and the many communities (i.e. urban, rural, ethnic) and class systems (racial, minority, income-based) that existed and/or still exist.

Here are 5 titles that jumped out to me about that:

Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli I first read this title in elementary school when I didn’t necessarily understand that Maniac is white while the Beales are black. I did understand that he was an orphan who ran away from a dysfunctional household to find care in a community that needs to cross some world differences to understand each other. I’m also pretty sure I understood there were disparities in wealth and lifestyle. I’ve since reread it several times as an adult; it’s lovely!

Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Soup: A Sweet and Sour Memoir of Eating in China by Fuchsia Dunlop I randomly picked this book up in a travel section at a local bookstore because I wanted to read more travel writing. I still think about it! Dunlop writes about 1990s China when foreign students are just allowed to study there. She really breaks down how much we culturally define and confine ourselves to our gastronomic identities. It’s fun and eye-opening. It’s made me a braver traveler at the dinner table.

A Personal Matter by Oe Kenzaburo This is when I learned the post WW2 literature of Japan is BLEAK. I also vividly remember finishing this book and thinking: If an American wrote this, it would have had one more chapter describing the protagonist’s self-determination to accept his duty and live well. I haven’t read it since that first time, but I remember this as a dark, unsettling and intensive study of a man who must determine whether he wants the responsibility of fatherhood at all.

Love, Anger, Madness: A Haitian Triptych by Marie Vieux-Chauvet Gifted to me by a relative who knows I’m an adventurous reader, this was another BLEAK collection of novellas. At one point, I had to stop reading because I was so horrified by the abuse meted out by characters upon each other. The reason it remains on my bookshelf is because the stories really made me consider how it’s important to read and acknowledge the trauma imposed upon generations by a violent dictatorship. Overall, I think what the author was trying to show is that the trauma runs too deep. What triumph can truly heal that?

Campfire Stories: Tales From America’s National Parks Edited by Ilyssa and Dave Kyu I rarely love an entire anthology, and here is one of them! The editors traveled across six national parks to collect short stories, personal anecdotes, poems, songs and etc. It’s a wonderful collage of the history, cultures and people who first visited and those who did and continue to define these destinations. It’s made me want to see visit more parks.

So let’s end on that uplifting note!

Next up? Holidays and Festivals.

#books #diversity #reading #booklovers

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capsized-heart · 5 years

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(I Promise You) If You Need Me, I’ll Be There: Chapter 1

(fic masterlist!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Chapter Summary: Three years after the attack on New York, you find yourself in Sokovia....

A/N: first chapter comin’ at ya! My girl Wanda making her grand entrance, enjoy!

Novi Grad, Sokovia. 2015.

Some time after the attack on New York, you find yourself in the snow-capped mountains of Novi Grad. The Chitauri invasion had left you traumatized, plagued with nightmares, anxiety, and overwhelming guilt. Textbook symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

So, you had packed up your entire life and moved to Sokovia. Not that you had much in New York anyway, aside from that waitressing job, and you figured your studies in linguistics were much more applicable in eastern Europe. Your symptoms still persist, but getting out of ground zero had significantly helped contribute to your well-being.

Sokovia is a breath of fresh air, a new beginning. The lush greenery and quaint, modest cityscape is a welcome change from the cutthroat climate of New York. The summers are pleasant and balmy, the winters lifted straight out of a fairytale with seasonal markets, festivals, and silver as far as the eye can see.

Prior to leaving, your few friends back in America had expressed nervousness on your behalf of moving to a country infamous of strife and war. You had reassured them with a polite smile, their ignorance all the more reason you wanted to get the hell out. Nation-state and group identity are so trivial when it can all come crashing down at the mercy of the cosmos. Sokovia is perhaps corrupt, but by whose standards?

You pick up work as a freelance translator, spending your hours in local cafes poring over documents and essays. Sokovian Cyrillic is considerably difficult for an inflected language, drawing influences from Serbian and Croatian dialects. There are few interpreters in the field who can do work as quickly and accurately as you and the pay is comfortable enough to cover your new apartment at the edge of the city.

You feel good, productive. Most of all, your work keeps one-on-one interactions to a minimum.

Three years since the attack. Three years of cycling between careful analysis and skimming the surfaces of your power, trying to find an equilibrium. The Chitauri blast had left a gemstone in the skin of your chest, a shard of blue fire in the center of your sternum. You’re thankful that you’re easily able to hide it with the right clothing.

From what you’ve observed, the gem looks to be fragmented, as if broken off from a larger piece. It acts like a chakra of sorts, your energy center for your gravitokinesis abilities.

At first, you had been extremely hesitant to even attempt to tap into that part of yourself with the attack still so fresh in your mind, the taste of smoke and smoldering metal still burning at the back of your throat. Only after you had moved to Sokovia had you begun to ease open your chakra. Even now, drawing up that power from your center is like revisiting that day.

Nightly, you see the distorted bodies of the civilians who had been within your gravitational blast radius. The main cause of your nightmares. You resent yourself for losing control, for taking innocent lives with you. You were no different from the Chitauri.

You had come to the conclusion that these nameless individuals would be your catalyst to hone your abilities as best you can, for their sake and for the sake that an accident like that will never happen again. In the meantime, you have to keep your distance. For the safety of others.

In your nightmares, you also see the burning silhouette of the soldier. His presence haunts you the most, the helplessness, the desperation closing your throat like your voiceless screams. Each time you watch the plane of his turned back, pleading he’ll see you. Each time you wake up gasping for breath.

Thanks to the oversaturated media coverage of the Avengers, you had been able to put a name to a face just days after the attack. Steve Rogers, natural leader and America’s golden boy. The man who had failed to save you.

You had done your homework on Captain Rogers. Selected for Project Rebirth by Dr. Erskine in 1943. Fought alongside his team, the Howling Commandos, until 1945, the same year he had gone into the ice. For someone who claimed to be looking out for the little guy, the common man, Rogers sure did a bang-up job of letting his loved ones get hurt and leaving them to pick up the pieces. You had read about Bucky Barnes’s fall in your research, of the assassination of Dr. Erskine, of Peggy Carter continuing the SSR’s work fighting HYDRA well after Rogers disappeared.

If Rogers couldn’t even protect his childhood best friend, why is the rest of the world so eager to believe he can protect them?

After New York, news outlets and tabloids had been worked into a frenzy once the Chitauri had left Earth. The Avengers had vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a ruined city and shaken morale in their wake. To you, a true leader didn’t cut and run. The Avengers had the liberty of going their separate ways, of going home. You had been ripped from yours, trauma forcing you to relocate, learning to better control and understand your powers alone.

Early on, you had considered approaching S.H.I.E.L.D. for help. As much as the idea had made your stomach turn in knots, if they had formed the Avengers, a team each with their own unique abilities, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. could help you too?

But your plan for help had been destroyed with the Triskelion, after Captain America had unceremoniously crashed into S.H.I.E.L.D’s HQ with a HYDRA helicarrier, forcing the few remaining loyalists to go underground. Your hopes had been dashed, your window of opportunity now closed and with HYDRA at the wheel, the last thing you wanted was to be made into an asset, weaponized.

You remember waiting for weeks in hopes of someone, anyone, coming to you to explain what had happened, what this thing is in your chest. New York deserved an answer. You deserved an answer. But no one ever came. No mentor, no guidance.

For three years, you’ve lived the life of a recluse. For three long years you’ve been harboring animosity for Steve Rogers.

You’re sitting in your living room when you hear the commotion. Shuffling footsteps, the click of countless doors opening and closing. Tentatively, you step away from your pile of annotated books and go to your own front door, peering through the peephole.

The hallway of your floor is bustling with activity as residents pour out into the stairwells, carrying all sorts of luggage. Surprise grips you.

Was today some sort of national holiday? You think hard. No, you can’t remember anything of the sort. You glance out the window and see Sokovians filling the streets by the hundreds and all hurrying in the same direction.

It’s eerie. No one says a word to each other. No hum of chatter, no talking, just a mass of people leaving at once, like everyone knows something but you. Curiosity dissipates to sit as nervous energy in your throat. You grab a jacket and jog into the hallway.

“Going somewhere, sir?” you joke politely in Sokovian dialect to Mr. Kostić, the older gentleman who lives next door to you as he emerges from his apartment. His eyes look intensely focused, staring right past you as if deep in thought. Instead of quipping back with a teasing remark, he clips you in the shoulder as he rushes by with a briefcase in tow.

Stunned, the momentum turns you completely around and your neighbors continue to brush past you, not breaking step as you stand in the middle of the flow of people. You raise your voice a bit when you ask again to someone else, even try to catch a young man by the elbow. No one gives you a second glance.

You try to steady your breathing as you follow them down to the streets. It’s cold tonight. Spring is just around the corner for Sokovia, the air still crisp and fresh. Residents have dressed with this in mind.

You spot a young woman in the middle of the crowd. Like you, she seems to be the only one not going anywhere. She stands against the tide of movement, an eye of a storm. It takes you a minute to get to her as you dart and weave around civilians. Her back faces you.

Your hand on her shoulder seems to startle her and she whirls around with quick movement.

She has a pretty face. Auburn hair falls in long, loose waves past her shoulders, framing clear hazel eyes. You swear you see a quick flicker of crimson in her irises before they fade to a warm green. You’re not sure if it’s because of her beauty, but you feel a tinge of warmth in your chest, a connection, when her eyes meet yours.

“Where is everyone going?” you ask her, your voice a bit quieter than you would have liked, mouth drying. You wonder if she feels this link between the two of you, at least, you assume she does as she continues to gaze at you.

“Out of the city,” she answers. Her voice rolls off her tongue with a touch of raspiness, a soft edge. You feel stupidly mesmerized. “You should be too.” The girl says.

Then, something caresses the wall of your consciousness. It’s a gentle push, hard enough to notice. The sensation is foreign, warm, and inviting. Pleasant, even. It envelops you and you want to let it in, curious. But then your power suddenly comes alive with a single firm pulse in your chest, a keening, a warning to resist. You snap out of your daze and brush away the fog from your mind.

“What about you?” you ask her again. She wears a flowy black dress paired with a tight jacket, combat boots. She looks dressed for action, something to move freely in, no risk of restricted movement. Not someone taking refuge. She doesn’t answer, only continues to stare with those captivating eyes and again you feel a push, harder this time.

Your mind’s fog lifts when you both lose your balance, knocked to the ground with a sudden rumbling underneath your feet. Cracking and moaning, the earth begins to split beneath you.

An earthquake?

The roar echoes low over the entire city. Car alarms blare, buildings crumble, streets tear like paper. The tremors are constant, powerful. Something tells you this isn’t a natural anomaly.

Then, you feel it. The pull of gravity, wind in your eyes and hair, a weightlessness in your stomach as if you’re climbing and climbing up the top of a roller coaster like you often did as a child.

You’re rising. And all of Sokovia with it.

A voice then resonates from all around you, like it’s anywhere and everywhere all at once. Raw, cold.

“Do you see the beauty of it? The inevitability? You rise, only to fall. You, Avengers, you are my meteor. My swift and terrible sword and the Earth will crack with the weight of your failure.”

Your hearing cuts out with loud ringing. Your bones feel like jelly and you lay there in the dust and dirt.

Of course this is of their doing. You haven’t heard that name in years, stopped keeping tabs as soon as S.H.I.E.L.D went dark. Tears of frustration and anger sting behind your eyes. If the Avengers are here, then something else is too. Something bad.

Creatures of metal and machine burst forth from the broken earth like reanimated corpses, others touching down from the sky growing ever larger up above, the sky of your second home. The young woman from before helps you to your feet, one protective hand coming to duck your head down as the two of you run through rubble, ruin.

The androids are close, close enough to feel the heat of their plasma cannons. You shiver. A stray android zips dangerously near and the girl drops her grip on you to weave her hands in an arc in front of her.

Red energy materializes from her fingertips, conjuring an offensive forcefield that strikes it with enough force to send sparks as it explodes into a burst of fire and solder. You suddenly feel the energy of your power emerge just out of reach, a gentle tug deep within the gemstone in your chest, blooming and cobalt, eager to surge at your slightest command. Surprised, you ease it back down to its standard low hum in the root of your center.

Your abilities have never attempted to independently manifest before.

You then realize she’s like you. Your own powers have granted you some energy manipulation and barrier generating, but not to her extent, wisps of ruby and scarlet pulsing all around you, shielding, protecting you. You’ve never seen anyone else with superhuman powers like yourself, independent from a lightning-wielding hammer, gamma radiation, a super soldier serum.

As the dust settles, the girl guides you to the city square, or rather, what’s left of it.

“Go!” She exclaims to you in English and sends you off with a firm push. You catch yourself, stumbling. When you turn, she’s gone. A thousand thoughts race through your mind. One floats to the surface, brushing past the questions of her power origins, if there are more people out there like you.

You want to know her name, at least, to thank her.

Taking a deep breath, you feel a gradual trickle as the power of the cosmos start to pool in your clenched fists, bold and blue. You shape a gravitational field large enough to shield the city square, to repel any incoming attacks. You feel it leave the radius of your center, past your own being and stretch outward slowly. But just as you begin to push out farther, harder, an android slams into your field. It startles you, enough for your control to waver for a split second. Another collides, then another. Frightened screams sound from behind you and you grit your teeth in concentration, resisting as hard as you can to keep these civilians safe. Dust and smoke swirl around you. You taste it on your tongue. Your eyes flash.

You suddenly stand in the ruins of New York. Chitauri snarl and roar and you hear a woman begging for her life, the hum of an alien weapon trained on you…

You shut your mind at the memory, but it’s too late. Your gravity field flickers out and the androids rush towards you. You panic. As a last resort, you reach out your ability as fast as you can, the air around you rippling indigo as you take hold of their gravitons, their anchors of personal mass, and smash the androids into the earth with as much force as you can muster.

Your body is zapped of all strength, but adrenaline moves you to direct the group of Sokovians away from the plaza. You all take shelter inside a shop and wait with bated breath. It seems the androids are attacking in waves, the streets outside quiet save for the rush of wind as Sokovia continues to rise hundreds of miles into the air.

You’d managed to keep everyone safe, but your concentration had slipped. The girl who rescued you had performed tremendously under pressure and her actions had inspired a spark of courage within you, to at least try. You, however, had faltered. Your fear and lack of confidence had instead triggered your deepest trauma.

You need to stop doubting yourself, you realize. You can’t keep doing this. If she can do it, so can you. You’re capable. You’re strong.

There’s a sudden clamor to the windows as you see something rising above the clouds. Murmurs of excited whispering that the Americans, that help has arrived. You spot the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on the lifeboats now loading civilians, transporting them to the infamous Helicarrier No. 64. Your pulse hammers in your throat, from relief or dread you can’t tell.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #captain america #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #fic #reader insert

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fangirling-throughlife · 5 years

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Sant Jordi (World's Book Day)

Summary: Shawn falls for a Valencian girl who's an enormous bookworm.

A/N: as today (well, it's past 12, so technically it was yesterday) is Sant Jordi (a festivity in Spain, specially in Aragón and Catalonia), a day commemorating the World Book Day (because of the anniversary of the death of Shakespeare, Miguel de Cervantes and Garcilaso de la Vega), I thought of this little idea. I'm from Valencia (where the girl is from), so it's just almost 2k of publicity for my city and my language (Catalan). So, if anybody is going to visit or would like to visit the city, I'll be happy to answer any questions. Also, I'm a big bookworm, which is why it's about books and St. Jordi. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1795 words

One of the first things Shawn learned about Anna was her unending love for books. She didn’t mind when it happened, where she was or in whose company, she always had a book between her hands. She couldn’t leave the house without something to read, and Shawn had learned that the hard way. During Christmas he had flown out to Valencia, her hometown, to spend some time with her, as he would be starting tour soon, so he wouldn’t have the time to see his girl, who was busy with her classes. One night, between Christmas and New Year, he took her out to have dinner and watch a movie. They arrived late to the restaurant, because she realised she didn't have her book with her when they were on their way for 10 minutes.

It isn't surprising, though, considering where he met her. She spent the summer in Toronto, studying English, and she went to a little book shop next to Shawn's building two or three times a week. Shawn saw her one day, roaming the aisles full of shelves and talking to Leonard, the owner, as if she were an old friend, and was intrigued immediately. He noticed she usually was there between 18 and 20, so he went outside around those hours, hoping to see her.

He looked at her black hair, her dark-brown eyes hidden behind considerably thick glasses and her tanned skin. He knew her features so well that he saw her when he closed his eyes. At one point, he started feeling like a stalker, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. He noticed that she wasn't Canadian three weeks after he saw her for the first time, when she left the shop one day talking on her phone. He didn't recognize the language, though he was sure it wasn't French (he surely would've recognized some words). All he knew was that it was beautiful and melodic, so it had to be something between French, Italian and Spanish. He realised that she would be leaving soon (he asked Brian when college started generally, as she was giving off some big nerdy college girl vibes), so he decided he had to talk to her before she did. One day, after he checked she was inside, he entered and talked to her, pretending to be looking for a gift for Aaliyah. He asked for her advice, which she gave very excitedly, and, after 30 minutes, he found the courage to ask her out to have a drink.

If Shawn loved the idea of her, after “stalking” her for three weeks, he fell for her the moment she talked to him. He was surprised when she admitted she knew his music, because she was completely cool with the fact that Shawn Mendes himself asked her out. She talked about her dream to become a writer, or, at least, an editor, and he talked about how much he loved writing music. They kept on seeing each other every night after her classes for the last 10 days she spent in the city.

By the time she had to go back to Valencia, the both of them were deeply in love with each other. The only thing stopping him from buying a ticket to go see her were the multiple commitments he had for the next months. The first time he could go see her was end-October, for her birthday. When he got to Valencia and she showed the city to him, he understood her personality. She mirrored the beauty of her city perfectly. He quickly noticed the duality of it: it's got the characteristics of a big city as well as of a small provincial town. It combines century-old history in the centre with a modern and vibrant side more outside. Just like he expected (just by knowing her) the people were nice and welcoming. For the first time in ages, he could enjoy some time without being “the Rockstar” all the time, as people seemed to be very chill about him being there.

As tour started in Amsterdam in March (she didn't have so much work around that time), he made sure she was there for the two first shows. She didn't have any classes for a whole week afterwards, but as she quickly explained to him, “It's Fallas, I can't miss that. Plus, I've already said yes to a billion plans, I won't even be free.” So, from the 15th till the 20th of March, he would find after every single show pictures of his bookworm girlfriend at parties, in front of statues that, according to her, were “a form of art, and satire” (he would have to see them with his own eyes, and maybe actually understand her language to conceive that very deep meaning she was trying to explain). She sent him awfully long videos of fireworks displays, every night longer than the previous one. Through her camera and his screen he was dragged into the festivities of Fallas, something he definitely needed to experience by himself.

His favourite moment of March, though, was the show in Barcelona. She didn't answer the phone for hours, making him anxious, but she appeared out of thin air backstage, sharing a mischievous smile with Brian. Later, he found out that they had been plotting against his sanity for the past hours. That day he saw her really get into the show and the atmosphere. She was fluent in both French and English, but in Barcelona she could speak her native languages, Spanish and Catalan. She surely didn't notice, but he did: she opened up, she chatted with fans and won them over with her charming personality. After all, she was talking to her people. She freaked out when Aitana came backstage and asked for a picture with her “please, please, please” . That day, he knew that the love for her culture would always be enormous.

She couldn't make it to the final show in London, because she had an exam on Thursday and the combination of trains, flights and busses was simply impossible, so she just watched it from a video call with Brian. She saw her boy be sick and told him to stay hydrated, she told him how proud she was, but she couldn't help but feel awful because she wasn't there, with all his family and loved ones. When he announced, after the show, that he was going back to Toronto in the morning, she couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. One part of her understood him completely. He had been away for such a long time that he needed to be in his own bed to recharge. He had studio sessions and SNL coming up, so she shouldn't be surprised that he wasn't coming. He still called her every single day and night, he asked about her classes (didn't she tell him they had 2 weeks of Easter Holiday?) and about the city (the weather was awful, so she didn't leave the house).

The one subject he seemed to avoid was the most pressing one considering the time of the year. To Anna, the most important festivity (even though it wasn't a national holiday, it should be, in her opinion) was St. Jordi. She remembered with a smile the story she heard every year at school. And, even though there were two official days to celebrate love in Valencia (the historical one, Sant Dionís, on October 9th, and the globalised one, Saint Valentine, on February 14th), she considered Sant Jordi, on April 23rd, the one true lover's day. The traditional gifting of a rose and a book was, in her opinion, the most romantic gesture in a relationship. Well, she didn't really care about the rose (although she couldn't deny the fact that she was a hopeless romantic and she loved to get a rose), she was always eager to know what the book would be. It was also the first Sant Jordi since she started dating Shawn, so she was terrified. Hadn't she made it clear how important the day was to her? He didn't have to fly over, he could just ship a book, or even send her a gift card so she could buy the books herself.

When midday passed on the 23rd, she decided she wouldn't be waiting for him to call alone sitting on her couch. Even though it was raining (surprise, “En abril, aigües mil” (in April, it rains a lot)), she took her umbrella and raincoat and walked to the book fair. All the stress she had been building for the past weeks vanished when she saw the thousands of books in front of her. She quickly started to look (not buy, that's her strategy: first looking and then deciding on the purchase), and she almost forgot about her boyfriend who'd forgotten about this special day.

But, the same way she kept quiet for the entire day when she went to see him in Barcelona, he didn't talk to her while he was getting to Valencia. Even though he didn't think she'd be at home, he tried, and his suspicions were confirmed by her sister. So, he immediately left for the book fair. With the help of her sister, he found her without attracting too much attention to himself. She was reading the first chapter of a book she seemed to be considering, a second one in her hand to check up on later. He slightly chuckled, because she's the only person who would stop to read the first chapter of a book before deciding on buying or not. He immediately froze, but relaxed rapidly, as his chuckle didn't give away his presence. When she finally was done, she returned one of the books to its place and turned to take her wallet. That moment, she was met with the view of Shawn Mendes with a red rose, her favourite, and a copy of her favourite author's new book. At first, she couldn't believe it, until he walked up to her and whispered in her ear, “it's not that funny to be kept in the dark for so long, isn't it?” She laughed, knowing he was talking about her's and Brian's stunt in Barcelona, promising herself she would never do it again. “It's not. I thought you didn't remember.” She confessed. “That was my whole idea.” She couldn't help but glare at him, but he quickly pressed his lips onto hers, smiling in the kiss. “Feliç dia del Llibre, amor”. (Happy Book Day, love) Shawn said, proud of himself for remembering the phrase completely. She chuckled (he didn't understand why, though, his pronunciation had been excellent), and answered. “Feliç dia de Sant Jordi, amor.” (Happy St. George day, love).

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagine #sant jordi #book world day #bookworm #valencia #spain

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iturbide · 5 years

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A Gift that No One Else Can Give

Happy holidays, everyone! Apologies for the late offering (getting sick threw a wrench into my plans), but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write a warm happy holiday piece.

Even after the better part of a year, the constantly changing beauty of Ylisse still left Robin in awe. Arriving with the first thaw of winter’s end, he’d seen brown fields turn verdant as grass and flowers sprang forth, the bare branches beyond transformed into a lush canopy stretching as far as the eye could see. Summer shifted the lands away from the gilt green of new leaves to something deeper, cooler, and the shadows in the gardens offered relief from the clinging heat and shelter from the frequent rains by equal measure. The advent of autumn left the landscape awash in fresh color, golden farmlands ripe for harvest shimmering beyond forests ablaze in red and orange, and fallen leaves crackled like flame beneath travelers’ steps. But though winter had since regained its hold and stolen the halidom’s vibrant palette, Ylisstol’s citizens seemed intent on fighting back the dreary greys and browns within their city by any means possible.

It had taken him entirely by surprise when he came downstairs and found the dining room festooned in green and red garlands. Over breakfast, Lissa had explained that it was all part of the winter festival, a time-honored tradition where the people of Ylisse decorated their homes inside and out and exchanged gifts with loved ones to liven up the bleak midwinter. And Robin had to admit that the results were quite effective: just walking out onto the snow-dusted streets, he could not help but smile at the renewed color in the city, banners breaking up plain grey stonework and candles burning bright in every window. The people, too, seemed renewed by the change, and the city square rang with talk and laughter as citizens milled and shopped, smiling and greeting everyone they passed on their ways.

Guest or not, it had been impossible for Robin not to get swept up in the festive mood, and Lissa had heartily encouraged him to take part. So with her guidance, the Plegian had set about finding small tokens for each of his friends from within and beyond the halidom, adorning each with a tiny red bow in lieu of wrapping (which he attempted once and failed quite spectacularly at, much to the princess’ obvious amusement). Some were easy to shop for: exotic ingredients for Stahl’s apothecary pursuits, a new set of leather satchels for Henry’s hexing materials, a silver bangle studded with rose quartz for Olivia’s performances. Others were much more difficult: he settled on a stamina concoction for Sully’s seemingly endless training endeavors, a silver blade wrought in Ylissean style for Lon’qu’s weapons mastery, and a decorative wall hanging for Maribelle’s tea parlour (on Lissa’s advice, since he’d never seen the room she swore the tapestry would look perfect in).

But there was one person who, try as he might, he could not think of a suitable gift for. After all, what could he possibly give the man who already had everything?

It gnawed at him as he made his way through the palace halls, worrying at the ribbon tied around the plain ebony box in his palm. Was it perhaps too little, something so small? Inappropriate for someone in his position? Too much for someone in Chrom’s? Gods, why did the prince have to be so difficult—

A muffled oath caught his attention. Looking around, Robin saw only a few closed doors along the hallway, most of which were sitting rooms if he remembered the palace tour correctly…but the sound came again, and he could swear he recognized the voice now that he paid attention. Frowning, he moved toward the nearest door and knocked lightly. “Is everything alright?”

The cursing came again, significantly more frantic, and now he was certain he recognized it. “E-everything’s fine! No trouble!”

“Chrom, what’s going on?” Robin sighed.

“Nothing! Like I said, everything’s fine, nothing to worry about – oh gods damn, why won’t it stay--”

“It doesn’t sound like everything’s fine.”

“W-well, it is, I promise, nothing to worry abooh no no no don’t—”

“…can I come in?”

There was a long moment of silence…followed by a long-suffering sigh. “I guess.”

Much to his surprise, Robin heard the bar on the door shift, and hurriedly hid his hands behind his back before it opened to reveal a harried-looking prince with scraps of green cloth sticking to his tunic and silver shavings glittering in his hair. “My, you look festive,” Robin chuckled as Chrom stepped aside.

“Ha ha,” the prince deadpanned, retreating to the table near the center of the room.

Robin closed the door and followed cheerfully after him, enjoying the warmth from the crackling hearth after his latest journey through the chilly streets. “So what have you been up to? Besides decorating – g-good gods, what is that?” he asked, stopping in his tracks as he finally caught a glimpse of the desk.

“I’ve been trying to wrap gifts for the winter festival,” Chrom mumbled. If Robin had thought his own attempts were failures, they were arguable successes compared to the nightmare of ribbon scraps and torn covering scattered haphazardly across the table in the wake of the prince’s efforts.

“Well…I certainly can’t guess what you’ve wrapped, so perhaps you can call it a success?” he volunteered.

Chrom groaned, moving a fresh sheet of red-dyed parchment to reveal the shape of something underneath. “I haven’t managed to wrap it at all. Thanks for trying, though.”

Well, it had been worth the effort. “You could just tie a ribbon around it?” Robin suggested, thinking of the gift concealed behind his own back.

“That takes all the fun out of it, though. You don’t really have to guess what it is if you can see it. Although,” the prince mused, lifting the parcel and folding the wrapping around it, “I suppose there’s not much guesswork involved either way, is there?”

Peering over his shoulder, Robin had to admit that the outline looked very much like a book, with the rounding of one long edge seeming indicative of a spine. Quite a thick tome, too, judging by the size; perhaps he’d found a new book for Sumia? “It’s the thought more than the mystery that’s important for the festival, isn’t it? You’re clearly thinking of them, so I doubt anyone will mind not puzzling over their gift.”

“You think?” As Chrom turned a pleading look on him, Robin smiled…and after another moment, the prince relented, offering the clumsily covered present to him. “It’s a little early, but…this is for you.”

“For me?” Robin repeated, hastily shoving the tiny box into his coat pocket before taking the bundle. Holding it in his hands, he had no doubt that it was a book – and quite an impressive one, at that, nearly as wide as his palm and heavy enough to pose a threat if dropped. Perhaps there was something to be said for the mystery, after all: a curious sense of excitement fluttered through his mind as he pondered just what sort of book it could be, and it took all his self-control not to discard the paper then and there. “May I open it?”

The prince smiled, leaning against the edge of the table. “I don’t see why not. The festival lasts the whole week, and usually there’s a big party on the last day for feasting and exchanging gifts, but…well, lots of times friends will trade presents early, since the parties tend to be family things. W-which isn’t to say you’re not invited to our party here, because you are! I-I just meant that…uh… … …”

Robin grinned, running the tips of his fingers over the edge of a cover. “Would you like it if I opened it now?” he ventured. Chrom rubbed the back of his neck, meeting the young man’s eye almost shyly as he nodded. “Well, if anyone asks where your festival gift to me is, I’ll be sure to bring this along.” Humming to himself, he unwrapped the slightly crumpled parchment, casting it aside…

…and for a moment, he could find no words at all for the beautiful tome left resting in his hands. The leather covers alone were masterworks, with painstaking texturing and gold inlay accompanying the light and dark staining; but the gilt pages, too, were cut and aligned in perfect form, with tiny indents and markers drawing his fingertips as he ran them along the outside edge. Opening it to one of the sections, he saw a tiny script ‘Y’ written on the tab – and on the page itself, a delicate illustration of Ylisstol Castle as seen from the city square greeted him; flipping through, the next few pages included a brief treatise on the halidom itself, from its climate and religion to its major exports, followed by blank parchment covered in neat guidelines waiting to be filled. Moving to the next marker, inscribed with a ‘P,’ he found a drawing of Plegia Castle waiting, the great six-eyed skull at the foot of the mesa looking nearly as grand in ink as it did in his memories – and as with the section before, a handful of prescient details preceded blank pages. Curious, he flipped to the very end to find thickly bundled sheaves of parchment bound to the spine…which, as he tested them, unfolded to reveal maps of the Archanean continent and their Valmese neighbors, along with more detailed charts for the individual nations within each.

The prince’s voice broke the silence as Robin spread a map of Plegia out across the cluttered table. “I was…having some trouble figuring out what to get you. So…I started thinking about…how you always go into the council meetings with that armload of parchment and quills and ink, and how much of a hassle it must be to keep it all straight. I was hoping this might be a little easier to manage. You can take all your notes in this – about council meetings here, diplomatic negotiations with Ferox, things going on back home – and it’s even got some helpful stuff like a list of Ylisse’s noble families in the back.” As Robin eagerly re-folded the maps and turned back to explore the aristocratic lineages, he heard Chrom draw another breath…and paused, looking up at the man standing beside him. “Do you like it?” the prince asked, his voice almost pleading to the Plegian’s ear.

“It’s incredible,” Robin replied without hesitation. “I’ve never seen anything like this! I’ve certainly seen section markers in this style before, but the inclusion of the maps is ingenious…”

“I…w-well, I can’t take all the credit there,” Chrom admitted. “I got a lot of help. Gregor helped find the maps, and Miriel figured out how to fold them up like that so they could be bound in with the rest. And Maribelle pulled together the part about the nobility, since she’s sort of an expert. Oh, and I got Henry’s help hexing the quill, too.”

“Quill?” Robin repeated.

The prince cursed under his breath, tossing aside crumpled parchment and bits of ribbon until he uncovered a raven feather hidden in the colorful chaos. “You don’t have to keep refilling it – it stores ink, I guess? And then it turns white as you use it, but when you dip it in an ink well it’ll refill and turn black again.”

Robin took the plume as Chrom held it out to him, running his thumb along the soft edge. “This is all wonderful! I’ll miss less with a quill that can keep up with my thoughts, and the book is beautiful, and contains so much – not just room for writing, but details that can help in treaty discussions and diplomatic endeavors and…gods, this section on the nobility alone might ease our way through some of the reforms we’ve been struggling with in the council…”

“I guess I was…kind of worried you might get the wrong impression from it,” Chrom confessed. “I don’t want you to think that I only want you here for your advice and your help. Not that I don’t appreciate it! Because I do! This past year with me filling in for Emm, all the changes we’ve worked out – I couldn’t have done any of that without you. But…but it’s not just your counsel I value. It’s…it’s you.”

Robin felt a touch of warmth creep into his cheeks. Glancing over, he could swear he saw a trace of color in the prince’s own face as he reached out to close the tome and open the front cover, revealing a handwritten inscription within:

This book belongs to Robin The man whose mind steers me safely through storms and trouble And whose heart is a beacon guiding me toward calm and peace

He feared for a moment that his heart might leap from his chest, and pressed a hand against it to keep it contained. The script was unique among the various writing styles he’d seen elsewhere in the book, and after all the messages they had exchanged in coordinating the Plegian campaign, he recognized it as Chrom’s own. The precise composition and painstaking lettering spoke of several practice iterations before attempting the final product within the book…and he wondered just how long the prince had spent agonizing over the message and its implications.

“It’s perfect,” Robin breathed, looking up just in time to see the smile break across Chrom’s face (and he was relieved that he’d not let his hand fall yet, since his heart pounded once more against his ribs and left them aching beneath his palm).

“I’m really glad,” the prince laughed, rubbing his neck again. “I was worried it might be too much. Lissa says I can be a little…sappy, sometimes.”

Robin beamed, shaking his head as he re-read the inscription. “Not at all.” If those words were true – if he wasn’t reading too deeply into them – then perhaps… “A-actually…I have something for you, too.”

Chrom’s expression brightened as Robin reached into his pocket, and he did a poor job of hiding his excitement as the beribboned box came into view. “Do I get to open it?” he asked eagerly.

“I’d have it no other way,” Robin chuckled, passing the gift into the prince’s hands.

Forcing himself to breathe, he watched as Chrom untied the bow and let it fall, lifting the lid…to reveal a brooch, the deep red stone at its center framed by gold feathers echoing the pattern of Grima’s Mark. The prince lifted it carefully, holding it up to the light and filling the garnet with a warm glow. “It’s beautiful…but it looks more like something for you than me,” he teased.

Steeling his nerves, Robin adopted the most confident smile he could muster. “That was intentional. In Plegia, the first new moon after Grima’s Night marks the start of our new year – and as luck would have it, that happens to be tonight. The eve of the new year is a time of reflection, where we look back on the times we have fallen short and where we’ve excelled, consider the things we regret and those we take pride in, and strive to make amends with those we have wronged or strengthen our bonds with friends and family we’ve grown apart from. It’s…also a time of change, though, where we look ahead to the coming year and how we might better ourselves. And there’s a saying that…the best time to give your heart away is at the turn of the new year: if you face rejection, you have the year ahead to mend; and if you find acceptance, you have the year ahead to bond.”

“Give your heart away…?” the prince repeated.

Robin nodded, realizing as he did that he was rubbing his Brand and forcing his hands to be still. “That brooch is called a heartstone. The setting is meant to call the giver to mind, because it represents their heart, so…’wherever you go, so long as you wear this, my heart will always be with you.’”

Silence met those familiar words. Swallowing back the fear in his throat, Robin looked up to find Chrom staring at him. “Does that mean…?” The prince’s voice trailed off as he looked between the brooch and the man beside him.

The first stirring of panic frayed his nerves. “You’ve no obligation to accept, I know it’s very sudden and I’m sure you have other—”

“No – Robin.” He stopped as Chrom lay a hand on his shoulder, his grip gentle and sure. “I need you to tell me exactly what this means.”

Staring into the prince’s eyes, blue as the sky before dawn, Robin felt his resolve falter. But before it could abandon him completely, he folded his hands before him and offered up a shy smile. “It means I love you, Chrom.”

It was perhaps for the best that he’d had nothing more prepared: the prince’s embrace would have prevented him from getting any further even if he’d tried. Before he could collect himself, Chrom lifted Robin off the floor, his laughter muffled in the soft fabric of Robin’s hood as he spun them in place...and even when the prince finally stopped, he did not let go, simply holding the young man close. “Are…are you alright?” Robin asked.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Chrom breathed. “I figured that…maybe if I said it first, you might, but even then…”

So he hadn’t mistaken the intent of that inscription. But even still, his heart leapt into his throat, and it took a moment before he could find the voice to speak again. “Will you accept my heart, then?” he murmured.

“Gladly,” Chrom agreed, stepping just far enough back to pin the brooch neatly to his chest, just over his own heart. “Would it be too much to ask if…you might accept mine, as well?”

“Haven’t you given me enough already?” Robin teased, feeling his face flush with warmth as the prince removed the signet ring from his finger.

Chrom grinned in reply. “Never. And besides: this is something only I can give, just like your gift to me.” Taking gentle hold of Robin’s hand, the prince carefully slipped the silver and lapis token onto his finger…though they both fought back laughter at the poor fit. “It might need to be resized. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Of course,” Robin beamed, brushing a kiss across Chrom’s cheek (and feeling his own burn brighter at the blush that such a small gesture left in its wake). “Happy winter festival, Chrom.”

“And happy new year, Robin” the prince replied, pulling the young man close once more – and the kiss he touched to Robin’s lips as he laced their fingers left him certain that the year to come would be joyous, indeed.

Creatively, this has been an amazing year, but I owe a lot to all the amazing content creators out there, whose headcanons, writing, and artwork have helped inspire me and keep me writing, drawing, planning, and creating in general. Thank you to @2goldensnitches , @21stcenturyhero , @acloudylight , @amazingartistyellow, @anankos , @chynandri , @citadelity , @cepherine , @cloudobo , @fractalinferno , @grimastiddies , @gunhorse , @hihkoo , @kofutofuu , @la-picchio , @levin-swort , @lllaurora , @lucid-spike , @p3ach-salt , @squiddlybopbop , @tecchiiiiii , @vikonohero and so many others for everything you’ve done through this year: you inspire me every day to create, and I hope this piece can show in some small way how grateful I am to you all for what you do. <3

Happy Holidays!

#fire emblem: awakening #fanfiction #chrobin #chrom #m!robin #i didn't need a new au #but that certainly didn't stop me from making one specifically for this piece #yes it has a complicated backstory but i honestly just wanted happy holiday fluff #everyone deserves happy holiday fluff if you ask me #apologies for all the mentions but i really am just so grateful to all of you and more #the art and writing and headcanons you've made inspire me and keep me going #honestly i'm usually terrified of bothering people with mentions #and i'm pretty sure there are people i'm forgetting from that list #but i really wanted to share this #and i hope it can brighten your seasons as much as you always brighten mine #assassin's creed: awakening #snippets

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levihauser · 5 years

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十月の三週間

25 October, 2019

Sorry I have taken so long to write another blog entry! I have been a little busy with stuff here in Japan, so this entry should be filled with interesting events from the past three weeks.

On the fifth, my host niece and nephew, Yuria and Shuudai, came over for lunch. We had pasta (with thousands of tiny fish eggs mixed in-yum!) and crabs. My host mom said that the crabs were small, but they were larger than any I had ever seen. I was told to scrape the meat out of the legs and eat that, as well as the eggs for that. After having had eggs for breakfast, it was a pretty egg-cellent day. There. I hadn’t made a pun yet on this blog, but now you get to put up with one of the most cliché bad puns of all time. I went to our neighbor’s (Mrs. Takamatsu, I think I mentioned her in the most recent post) house to stay the night. I just learned a few days ago that her husband runs one of the 5 most profitable businesses in the prefecture.

The next day, I read in the morning and finished the last book that I had brought with me from the US. We had curry rice for breakfast, then I went with Mrs. Takamatsu to a temple for a Buddhist festival. It was quite a big temple, and very new. The festival was also interesting-everyone just sat in a central room and watched a recording of the same festival happening in a central temple in Tokyo, occasionally chanting, bowing, or clapping along to it. We left early to pick up her husband at the train station. He had just come back from Chicago (a few days later, actually, Mrs. Takamatsu left for Chicago. They have a daughter there, so they visit there a lot). I had my first Japanese-style pizza for lunch. It was very thin-crusted and crunchy, almost like a big cracker. I returned home, then my host parents and I went out for dinner at a nearby specialty restaurant called Nishide. I think they know the people there, and the like eating there, but it is expensive so they don’t do it too often.

The entire next week was midterms for the students at my school (their school year starts in April), so the school days ended at around 11 AM. I couldn’t take the tests, not understanding the language, so I was sent to the library to read and study Japanese.

On the tenth, I had a Rotary meeting. I have started taking Japanese lessons every Thursday at the Matto Cultural Hall near my school, so I have to go straight to the Rotary meeting without going home to change out of my school uniform. This one was in Kanazawa at a special restaurant. We had good food after a short meeting, and played host to a Rotary club that had come to visit all the way from Lake Biwa.

On National P.E. and Sports Day here in Japan (the same day as Columbus/Indigenous Peoples Day in the US), I had no school, so my host mom and dad suggested that I take the train to Kanazawa. I have never ridden the train before, even in the US (unless you count subways and old-fashioned railroads where you pay a lot of money to sit in leather seats and get your ticket punched with an actual ticket puncher), so I was a little worried. I had no problem buying the tickets-the ticket machines have an option to use English-but I accidentally got in the wrong line (I am still not sure what it was for and I haven’t seen one like it since then) and wasted about 40 minutes there without moving before I asked someone and they pointed me in the right direction. I successfully got to Kanazawa Station. One of my classmates was on the same train by coincidence, so I followed them to find my way to the exit. I actually went out the one that my tiny tourist map didn’t cover at first, so I had to go around to the other side. It was raining and windy, so I had some difficulty reading the map and holding my umbrella at the same time. I eventually made my way to Oyama Jinja, a famous shrine just outside of Kanazawa Castle and near Kenrokuen Garden (which is a famous Japanese garden, for those of you who haven’t heard of it). I admired the shrine for a bit and bought a few good luck charms that were for sale there, then returned to the station and went home, since I had to be home before 5 PM. The round trip only cost ¥400.

On the 18th, my school festival began. My school’s festival is a small one, or so I’ve heard, but the Japanese certainly know how to throw one (no offense to anybody back at home, but PHS should take some advice from Matto High School. Those 2-hour pep rallies and shouting contests just don’t cut it). The first day was not at the school, but at the nearby Matto Cultural Hall, since they have an auditorium and the school doesn’t. There were several student presentations and performances, including brass band (I mentioned this earlier. It has won regional awards and is very impressive. They play music that sounds just like the original recordings. They did a specially arranged version of the alma mater as well as the Jurassic Park theme and a few other songs), choir (it is made up of only 7 members, but has beautiful harmonies and keeps in tune perfectly, while creating a huge amount of sound without microphones. They did a song from Sister Act and a few others), taiko (I performed in this one! We borrowed some drums from the Asano Taiko Company, the largest taiko company in the world. The owner and CEO is a member of my host Rotary Club and my school is the only one in the prefecture with a taiko club), and dance (it was very well rehearsed. There were only five members, but I think they created their own routine and it was fun to watch), as well as a short, corny play put on by the teachers in which one of the gym teachers, Mr. Higashi, had to go on a funny adventure to rescue Miss Matto High School 2019 from her kidnappers (either a gang or a group of devils, it was hard to tell without understanding the language) headed by the other gym teacher, Ms. Sawada (everyone loves Ms. Sawada and they were a little disappointed to see her defeated in the end). We returned to the school after the performances finished, then finished preparing and decorating for the next day (I say finished because we had been preparing for this after school for weeks, making paper chains, posters, placemats, paper flowers, etc.), before being dismissed. The next day was a Saturday, but the festivities continued. It was in the school, and was pretty much the “buy stuff” day. We had tickets that cost from ¥50-400 that payed for things ranging from waffles to games of bingo to weird, confined-space bowling to tea ceremony. It took up seven hours, in which I explored, ate lots of food, and went to various events including what they called a 4DX movie, which was essentially an English horror film translated into Japanese and played through tiny speakers while a few students made weird sound effects and threw things (e.g. whacking rulers on desks, throwing foam at backs, and spritzing water from spray cans) to make it “more realistic.” With all of the stuff going on and the voices, I really didn’t pay attention to the movie and instead collected as many of the little foam pieces as I could.

On the twentieth I had my favorite Japanese food for breakfast-hooray, inarizushi! I went to Kanazawa alone by train again and spent about 5 hours wandering about and seeing new things, but forgetting to eat lunch and getting kind of hungry. I returned home at around 4, and was almost immediately told that I was shortly going to a concert with a Rotarian, Ms. Ikemoto (I think she is going to be my third host mom too, but I am not sure). We went to an old, elaborate temple and watched an out-of-place-seeming amateur old folk and country music concert with a couple of English songs and one entirely about curry rice. The musicians were very talented. We went to an udon shop for dinner afterwards and stayed very late because Ms. Ikemoto didn’t want to leave until the match of the Rugby World Cup between Japan and South Africa had finished.

I had the 22nd off of school because of the enthronement of the new emperor of Japan. My host Rotary club counselor, Ms. Nagase, took me to Kanazawa (by train, because the roads were too crowded due to the holiday). She spent 3 years in England a while back, so she speaks fairly good English, which is good for smoothing out misunderstandings. She is a bit of an anglophile and is constantly asking me how to say things in British English. We briefly stopped in at the 21st Century Museum of Modern Art, but it was crowded as usual and we had to leave soon. There was a Moomin exhibition which I would love to have gone to, but the Japanese love Moomin and the entire floor it was on was packed (Moomin is 20th Century art, so how does that fit into the museum?). Next we went to the D.T. Suzuki Museum, which is a small, modern museum celebrating the famous Kanazawa-born philosopher that is its namesake. There were not many people and it was very peaceful. It was even free admission because of the Enthronement Day (upon seeing the sign, Ms. Nagase got very excited and took several pictures-apparently it is very rare at this museum). We went to a fancy sashimi restaurant near the train station for lunch-it was great food, and we got our own special compartment with sliding doors! After lunch, we went to a concert hall right next to Kanazawa Station for a piano concert. The Kanazawa orchestra has a weird mascot named Gargantua that is sort of like a caricature of a conductor. The orchestra was conducted by Keita Matsui, and the three piano concertos were Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 23 in A Major, performed by Yukari Yamada, Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in E Minor, performed by Rikono Takeda, and Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in E-Flat Major, performed by Marie Kiyone. The performance was all very high-quality, and it was open-seating so we got second-row seats in the perfect spot to watch the pianists’ hands. At the end, all three pianists returned and played a piano trio all on the same piano, which must have been difficult. They were all wearing dresses that I would think would hinder playing (forgive me if I went a little overboard in description there, I am very interested in anything related to piano playing). Ms. Nagase and I returned to Hakusan City by train, then went to her house. Half of it is a 30-year-old addition to the other half, which is 200 years old and barely touched. She has a beautiful yard (a rarity in Japan) and back garden. She showed me around briefly, then we went to walk her dog. After we returned, her husband got home from work. Both of them are very friendly and kind. Ms. Oribe, another Rotarian, had been invited for dinner and arrived shortly, then we walked to a nearby restaurant and had tempura.

There was also no school the next day, to make up for the Saturday that we had come to school for the festival. I studied Japanese for a little while, then on a snap decision decided I wanted to go to Fukui, a city in the neighboring prefecture. I obtained permission, then left. It was only ¥1,100 for each way, and the train ride was an hour and ten minutes on the small trains that stop at every station. I arrived and got some maps at the tourist information center, then set out exploring the city. I walked past some animatronic dinosaurs (that seems to be Fukui’s big tourist attraction, as the prefecture is a paleontological hotspot) and the ruins of the castle (which is now the prefectural government office-what a great workplace! You get to drive across a moat every day). I eventually reached a beautiful mountain in the middle of the city that had been turned into a forested park. It was the closest I have gotten to nature since I have come to Japan. I stopped at a shrine and explored a little more before descending. I continued wandering some more in search of restaurants and candy stores, but the food map I had was either outdated or misleading, and I couldn’t find any of the shops I searched for. At about 4 PM, I settled for some rice balls and ice cream from a convenience store for lunch instead, then returned home. The sun sets so early here, it is difficult to stay much longer and still have a good time.

Yesterday was my school’s P.E. festival. I was told to study Japanese in the school library instead of participating, but all of the other students went to a big park and participated in races and other mandatory events for gym class. I had my Japanese lesson and watched a tea ceremony with a lady who was visiting from Germany who happened to be at the Cultural Hall at the same time before going to the Rotary meeting. This week, a delegation from Hakusan’s sister city, Columbia, Missouri was visiting, so they came to the Rotary meeting and presented in the first half before leaving for some other obligation.

Today has been a fairly normal day so far. I had an average school day followed by an average afternoon, as far as I am allowed to use the word average, being an exchange student to Japan. I have been studying my Kanji (Chinese characters used in Japanese) quite a bit lately and seem to be making some headway. I am looking forward to being literate! I feel like it’s about time, now that I have officially passed the two month mark. Thank you all for your patience in waiting for this long-delayed entry.

Oyama Jinja Shrine:

Kanazawa Station:

I would add more pictures, but it keeps telling me there is an upload error, so I will try again later.

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letterboxd · 5 years

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Life in Film: Michael Tyburski.

The Sound of Silence director Michael Tyburski shares some insights into the making of his debut feature, and answers our new “life in film” questionnaire.

In The Sound of Silence, Peter Sarsgaard is Peter Lucian, a house tuner in New York City who believes that the notes emitted from a household’s appliances must harmonize in order to bring peace to its residents. However, his state of mind collapses when he struggles to apply his methods for a new client, Ellen (Rashida Jones).

Directed by Michael Tyburski and based on a short film he made with co-writer Ben Nabors in 2013, The Sound of Silence debuted at the Sundance Film Festival and stood out for its “remarkably silly” unique premise and strong performance from Sarsgaard. Fans of ASMR, get your headphones out; the film’s sound design will trigger those sensations.

The Sound of Silence started life as your short film Palimpsest. Is the ‘house tuner’ occupation at all based in reality? Michael Tyburski: The short answer is no, it’s a fictional profession. The character idea is something that my co-writer Ben Nabors brought to me. Right away, I loved the idea of a practise where someone shows up at your door and offers you a solution to the emotional problems that you’re having.

A lot of alternative therapies exist in New York City so it didn’t seem so far from reality that people would take someone intellectual, dressed well in a tweed blazer, with professional-looking tools, seriously. I really liked that as a conceit. We tried to base it in real science and looked at sound engineers and acousticians for what tools they would use. We tried to make it exist in a very real New York City; that’s why we have touchstones like the character being profiled in The New Yorker.

How has your research into music theory affected your own domestic space? Actually, I moved, for the first time in ten years—after living on a pretty noisy commercial street—during the course of developing and making this movie. Somehow, during the edit, I made my first apartment move within New York City, to a much quieter street. I also took a cue from the main character, Peter Lucian, because I moved my office below my apartment, in a subterranean space. At least I can control the sound a little bit more now that I’m cut off from the surface level, similar to the way Peter does it in his “fallout shelter”.

Michael Tyburski and Peter Sarsgaard on the set of The Sound of Silence. / Photo: James Chororos

The character Peter Lucian feels like a perfect fit for Peter Sarsgaard. When did you have him in mind? He was my first pick. I knew I wanted him from the beginning when I first started thinking about who would be the perfect house tuner. I feel so lucky to have him and fortunately the script resonated with him right away. He’s someone who’s very musically inclined and he plays a number of musical instruments. I was so gratified that he connected to the part so closely.

He’s such a chameleon of an actor. He can play a lot of dark roles, but also he has a very scientist-like intellect. I also think he has one of the best voices, it’s very unique and I enjoy hearing him. So for a movie about sound, it kind of seemed fitting that someone with those types of qualities would work for the role.

What was important to you about keeping Peter’s house-tuning technology analog instead of digital? I think he’s just someone who has the philosophy of “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it”. Even though his tools are a little more dated, they’re still as effective. They might not be as efficient as digital technology so he’s a little slower, but they still work. There is at least one sound engineer in New York City who we found in our research who measures the sound in rooms, and there’s one thing called a spectrum analyzer that we use in the film that we completely got from this guy’s tool bag.

Director Michael Tyburski.

The film is carefully crafted and you have Peter obsessing over every inch of New York City. What degree of obsession did you have in the making of the film? I’m pretty obsessive as an individual in general. I like to be very organized and have everything mapped out. We had been developing the screenplay for so many years that I got tired of reading it, so before we made the movie, the first thing I did after Peter came on board was sit down and record the entire script in audio format. I kind of had this radio edit of the movie. That transitioned into a rough animatic of the film that I put into the timeline and I was able to add in location references, tonal reference photos, dialogue in different room tones, and then music.

Logistics-wise, we only had 21 days to shoot the movie which is very conservative especially because we had a lot of ground to cover, but I just needed to be as efficient as possible, so it was helpful to have that thorough, animatic tool.

With all the technical departments it was a very close collaboration and I like to be very involved in all details. For the sound design, I wanted to re-record all of the tuning forks, which were kind of an aural motif through the film. When you’re shooting in the elements, you don’t always have the control over the environment, so I hand-recorded each one of the tuning forks myself. We were aiming for that level of precision.

We’d like to ask a few questions about your life in film. What was the film that made you want to become a filmmaker? My choice is probably not that unique but when I was 13, maybe a little too young, I got a VHS copy of Pulp Fiction. That stunned me and took me from A to B. It shook up how I thought contemporary American stories could be told.

Which film do you think is the best love letter to New York? Annie Hall, closely tied with Midnight Cowboy. I suppose I love that era of New York.

Which film has the greatest sound design work of all time? There’s a lot, but one of my favorites is Play Time.

Nice choice. Greatest production design of all-time too. Yeah, not bad. I used a few frames for my look book.

Jacques Tati’s ‘PlayTime’ (1967).

Which is the most overlooked performance from Peter Sarsgaard? I loved him in Experimenter, which I think is an underrated film. More recently too, Errol Morris’s Wormwood. I don’t know how many people went down that rabbit hole because it was long, but I think he was so good in it.

What films did you watch to prepare you for The Sound of Silence? There were three that we were looking at, for a lot of different reasons. We watched Jonathan Glazer’s Birth for the mood and that fairytale vibe it has in a mysterious, alternate New York City.

Being John Malkovich for its bizarro version of science, and I love the naturalistic quality to that film. And obviously The Conversation for its production design and how it follows a man obsessed with sound.

This is a nicely-timed, autumnal, gentle film. What films give you those peaceful autumn vibes? My favorite is Hannah and Her Sisters.

What mindfuck movie changed you for life? I’ll have a couple Kubrick on this list, but for this probably A Clockwork Orange.

It’s Halloween next month. What movie do you watch every Halloween? The Shining! There’s my next Kubrick.

As a teenager, what film character felt like a total mirror to what you were feeling at the time? One of my favorite coming-of-age films is Harold and Maude. I definitely identified with Harold.

What’s your go-to comfort movie? And how many times do you think you’ve seen it? My favorite film of all time, which I promise will be my last Kubrick, is Barry Lyndon. I think it’s just a perfect movie and I’ve certainly seen it dozens of times. I think it does everything I want in a movie. I don’t even know what genre to call it because it’s funny, it’s dramatic, it’s an epic. I love the idea of doing a perfect epic movie that covers a lot of ground.

Stanley Kubrick’s ‘Barry Lyndon’ (1975).

What film do you have fond memories of watching with your parents? We were a big Chevy Chase household and National Lampoon’s Vacation holds up as a fine movie.

What’s a classic you could just not get into? Maybe Brazil. Admittedly I think I need to rewatch it because I first saw it when I was 14 or 15 and I just didn’t quite get it at the time.

What classic are you embarrassed to say you haven’t seen? Two Kurosawa films; Rashomon and Seven Samurai. They’re always on my list to brush up and they seem to come up in conversation more and more.

Which movie scene makes you cry the most? Definitely the holiday classic It’s A Wonderful Life.

What film was your entry point into non-English language cinema? That was a good one, I like that question. I remember when I was in my freshman year of high school I was given two VHS copies from someone who knew I was getting into film. One of those films was Persona, but then the other one, which I knew I watched first, was a film called Woman in the Dunes.

What filmmaker—living or dead—do you envy the most? If Kubrick, go for living… If it’s Kubrick go for living? Oh my gosh.

I feel like you’re going to say Kubrick. Yeah. Envy is a funny word. Kubrick has an admirable career for the depth of his filmography. You know, like a lot of film nerds I’m a huge Paul Thomas Anderson fan.

Christopher Nolan’s ‘The Prestige’ (2006).

What’s a film that you wish you made? I would love to make a movie about magic but ever since I saw The Prestige I think it would be hard to compete with that. That period, that Victorian era of illusion, I don’t know if you can top that.

It’s time for best-of-decade lists. What’s the greatest film of the 2010s? If we went back even further it would be easier. For the last 10 years, I think Phantom Thread is pretty great.

‘The Sound of Silence’ was released on September 13 by IFC Films and is in select cinemas now.

#the sound of silence #michael tyburski #peter sarsgaard #new york #kubrick #filmmaker #director #best of #letterboxd

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