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writing-essence · 4 years

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Fear - Jonathan Crane

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x (female) Reader

Warnings: Language

Summary: Reader is a student as Gotham State Univeristy and is taking Dr. Crane’s psychology course.

Author’s Note: Hopefully I have the energy to make this a series! I enjoyed writing this one 🥺 -Kelsie

Word Count: 1,536

Gotham State University was your favorite place to be during the spring. Sometimes it felt like the only place in Gotham that had life. Spring was when the cherry blossoms on campus bloomed, flowering the pathways between buildings in a soft pink carpet. Not to mention the campus was always bustling with students and animal life.

Spring term had just started for you, a sophomore at GSU, and you were currently sprinting through the main building on campus. It was the first day of class and you were already running late. Rude glances got thrown at you as you pushed through the crowd of students in the psych hallway but you couldn’t care less. You couldn’t start this term as the girl who was late. First impressions mean everything.

You ended up overestimating how much time you had to get to class, and busted loudly through the door two minutes before class even started. The lecture hall fell silent and all eyes drew to you, panting in the doorway. A deep blush spread over your face and you dropped your head as you quickly made your way to the back of the hall, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself.

“Could I ask you all to sit down at this time? Class is starting,” Whatever chatter had started back up after you entered quickly died down as the professor stood up from behind his desk. He adjusted the mic next to his face awkwardly before making his way toward the front screen.

You squinted from your seat in the back of the hall. He seemed a bit young for a professor. Especially for one at GSU.

“I’m not going to spend the first day introducing myself and going over a syllabus,” He said, monotone, “You don’t need to know about my personal life and I don’t need to know about yours. You’re here to learn,”

You frowned. This guy seemed like a party pooper. It was a slight relief though, you had already done three icebreakers in other classes this week. It would be nice just to jump into the material.

“My name is Dr. Crane and the syllabus is emailed to you if you need to read it,” He mumbled before turning toward the projector with a clicker, “We’re starting off this course with fear, something that I feel as if fuels everyday life,”

“That’s a huge claim,” A student from the front said loudly.

“You can leave if you disagree,” Dr. Crane stated simply, not bothering to even look toward the student, “And you raise your hand in this class if you need to say something,”

Yeesh. You wondered if this scary persona was a part of this lesson on fear.

“Fear is one of humans most important emotions. It’s what kept our ancestors alive from, let’s say, wooly mammoths, and it’s what keeps you from jumping out the window at every one of life’s inconveniences. It’s both biochemical and emotional- which is an important part of today’s lesson,” He clicked his clicker and the projector quickly switched toward a slide explaining the biochemical and emotional responses to fear.

You scrambled quickly to write everything down as quickly as he was saying it but ended up with a page full of unreadable scribbles instead. You were better off just sitting back and listening to what he had to say.

“Biochemical responses to fear are universal while emotional responses are purely individual. This is why some people enjoy scary movies and some people don’t,” He continued, the slides on the projector clicking loudly as they slid in and out of place, “Biochemical responses are part of survival. Without them, none of us would be here today. Some physical reactions to fear include sweating, increased heart rate, and high adrenaline levels. The common “Fight or Flight” response is also a biochemical response to fear,”

You slowly started to zone out as you watched him ramble on more about emotional responses to fear. Every once in awhile he’d readjust his glasses that kept slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. As he readjusted his glasses his hand would hit the mic causing a soft scratching noise to echo throughout the hall. You couldn’t tell if it was just your boy-less spring break but you were starting to find his awkwardness endearing.

“Now fear is incredibly complex, and the causes of them are purely individual. Phobias can be caused by trauma or just a general lack of control. Other people fear things simply because of the physical response they get from it. Take heights for example: you look down and you feel your stomach drop. Are more scared of being so high or is it just the feeling you get? Is this something that can apply to all fears? Does this make all phobias treatable?”

What he was saying was actually pretty interesting and you would’ve been a lot more focused on it maybe if he wasn’t so damn attractive. Instead, your eyes watched carefully how his hair flopped as he ran his hand through it. Your stomach did a bit of a flip as he turned toward the hall of students.

“That’s all for todays lecture. I’ve sent an email out of a paper I want on my desk before next class on Thursday. Read it carefully,”

Shit. You completely blanked on the last half of the lecture, too busy watching him and not listening. As the rest of the class quickly got up and out of the class, you fumbled awkwardly trying to shove several notebooks into your bag at once. Once everything was inside your bag you brushed your hair out of your face awkwardly before realizing there was only a few students left in the hall and they were quickly making their way out. You glanced over toward Dr. Crane’s desk and made eye contact with him briefly before he quickly looked down at the folder opened in front of him. You blushed furiously before quickly leaving the hall.

The paper was supposed to be written about a phobia or yours, but for some reason, you just couldn’t think of one. You sat in just the light of the buzzing computer in your living room for an hour trying to research different phobias seeing if you could find one that you related to, but couldn’t.

The door to your shared apartment opened and closed quickly and you turned around in the squeaky desk chair, watching as your roommate slumped against the wall, defeated.

“How was work?” You asked, noting the grease stains on her apron.

“Great,” She mumbled, “I need a drink,”

You rolled your eyes before turning back toward the computer. What if you went meta? With just one quick search you found it, phobophobia: the fear of phobias. It wasn’t a fear you had but it’s not like that was none of his business.

Thursday rolled around quickly and you confidently placed your paper on his desk ten minutes before class started. The lecture hall was empty besides two other students and Dr. Crane who sat behind his desk watching you curiously.

“You’re early today,” You blushed, embarrassed that he remembered you from Tuesday.

“I figured out how to manage my time better,” You awkwardly stated before spinning around and walking toward the back of the class.

That class period he spent reading through the papers that were turned in as a documentary of the Stanford Prison Experiment played on the projector. It made you uneasy, watching the raw clips from the 70s. You could definitely see how fear played into this experiment.

You looked away from the screen and down toward Dr. Crane who sat flipping through the papers. How could he remember you so clearly from Tuesday? There were at least 100 students in this class alone, not to mention his other classes. Did you make that bad of an impression?

He looked up at you, most likely sensing your stare and you quickly glanced back at the screen. Another blush slowly crept across your face.

Near the end of the class, he slowly handed the papers back out. It was only the second day of class- how was he able to know everyone’s name? You finally decided that he must’ve just been really good at associating faces with names. Maybe you didn’t make as bad of a first impression as you initially thought. Maybe he was just really good at recognizing people.

He walked up toward you slowly before sliding your paper in front of you. You avoided eye contact, pretending to be invested in the documentary, but watched as he walked away.

As the documentary ended, the film in the projector started clicking loudly and Dr. Crane finally turned it off.

“I want a paper on The Stanford Prison Experiment on my desk Tuesday before class,” He said loudly as he turned the lights back on, “Try to write it better than this last one, the average score was 70%,”

You looked down quickly at your paper where a neat 100% was written at the top of your page. You sighed, relieved, before noticing the note written underneath it.

See me after class

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

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The Queen's Husband [3/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Word Count: 2.096

Warnings: None! English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: No one is free from apprehension - not even queens! Luckily for our queen, she has found herself a pretty nice fiancé! This chapter is a little short and not exactly what I wanted it to be, but I decided to post it right away instead of keeping on battling my writer's block. I hope you like it! And, as always, thank you to the lovely, kind, generous people that take the time to read, comment and reblog. I appreciate you ♡

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Marble archways and red-orange torches were the only witnesses to yours and Steve’s late night conversations.

Your hand was in his as you ambled. It was fairly inappropriate, even if you were engaged, but you couldn’t help it in the darkness of the hallway. The touch of Steve’s skin was thrilling and your palm was sweating from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The feeling was brand new and fantastic.

This tradition was something you both committed to once Steve moved to the palace, three weeks after your betrothal: he’d escort you to your chambers at dusk, the only moment you could talk in private, even if it sometimes meant you had to whisper. Every other hour of the day you were surrounded by your handmaids, advisors and political allies and you weren’t keen on them listening to your conversations with the Captain; not when the butterflies you first felt in the rose courtyard were still there, brewing a storm in your stomach whenever you gaze met his.

Growing up as the heir to the throne of the Ergona, you’d been extensively schooled since your earliest days. Politics, mathematics, geography, english and other languages, diplomacy… You excelled in many topics, having been taught by the most brilliant minds in the world. Love, however, had never been in your syllabus.

Queens weren’t taught the ways of love and, as such, it was never your priority. Knowing you’d most likely marry for duty, with a suitor chosen by others, you focused on becoming a good ruler - a fair and honorable sovereign, born to love Ergona rather than a spouse.

Steve’s confession had terrified you - not because you didn’t believe him but because you did. You weren’t lying when you said you thought he was a good man and maybe that was why his love for you was so mystifying. Steve was handsome, loyal and kind-hearted. He could have any woman he wanted and yet he chose to love the one who built walls around her heart higher than those surrounding the Dragon Keep in Albeon.

Wariness was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one: trusting the wrong person could cost you your kingdom, your crown and your life. No one told you how hard it would be – the loneliness and the doubt – but a Queen’s life was full of sacrifices. Yet now, every night after you bid your goodbyes to the Captain and laid to rest on soft feather pillows, your past decisions and insecurities kept you awake, taunting your mind with “what ifs” and lost possibilities.

What if you’d smiled more?

What you’d been less cold?

What if you’d been more talkative?

Maybe then you’d know what to do with the snake coiling around your lungs, crushing your breath while it screamed you were not good enough. Not for Steve and not for Ergona.

After every sleepless night, you’d watch the sun rise. The golden glow would slowly but surely spread across the inky sky, making way for dawn. It made you think of Steve and the way the blonde strands of his hair reflected that same light: your fiancé, blessed by Helios himself.

Amidst the anxiety, his presence was soothing. It confused you how the cause of your worries could also be their healing balm. Your days, as busy and hectic as they were, now suddenly revolved around the prospect of these slow walks to your chambers, the dark shadows of the castle’s walls mere bystanders to the way Steve was carefully, day-by-day, breaching through the queen’s careful armor until he found the woman.

It was scary but exhilarating.

Your conversations were easygoing and light-hearted. He’d ask about your childhood, your life in Foghar, your favorite color and favorite foods. In turn you’d question him about growing up in West Ergona, his days in the military and his travels.

You learned Steve was a sickly child who dreamed of being a soldier. His best friend was named Bucky Barnes - “he’s a punk”. He loved visiting Asgard because it reminded him of his mother and was very grateful to Abraham Erskine, the doctor who healed him.

Steve never inquired about your political agenda or demanded to be part of small council meetings. Much to Lord Fury’s chagrin, while you sat in stuffy rooms negotiating tax administration, the Captain could likely be found training archery with Master Barton.

He was tanned from his moments spent outside in the summer air. His already impressive muscles were bulging and his smiles were relaxed and frequent, as if joy itself had made a home in him. You’d never seen him so carefree.

Outside the fortress domains, Ergona thrived with the news of your nuptials. Apparently, there was nothing like a royal wedding to lift the nation’s spirits after a war and - unsurprisingly - the prospect of Steve becoming the new King was very exciting.

For the first time in your reign, you welcomed Western emissaries to the royal palace, including Steve’s father, the Duke of Arvenia, who was absolutely delighted with his son’s good fortune. A short, balding man who resembled Steve very little, the Duke arrived with an entourage of musicians, dancers and even his personal painter. His golden cape could rival a lion’s mane and his necklace was encrusted with the finest emeralds. A feathered beret completed his look, making him look every inch an exotic peacock.

Despite the obvious luxury he surrounded himself with, the Duke wasted no time asking how profitable the engagement would be to his duchy. Steve was flabbergasted with his father’s audacity, his face turning a shade of red that could rival his stepmother’s rubies - a girl even younger than you were. In an attempt to soothe him, you placed your hand over your fiancé’s, delicately saying that if the Duke of Arvenia had any questions regarding the marriage, he should take them to Lady Natasha.

She would sort him out.

You'd gripped Steve’s hand on instinct, your body’s automatic response to his discontent. It was organic, as if your own senses were attuned to his - perfectly synchronized.

When you felt him relax you let it go, even if the loss of his skin left an unpleasant tingling sensation. You weren’t expecting for him to grip you hand again a few hours later, under the dinner table, as Lord Pierce - an obnoxious marquess from West Ergona - made you uncomfortable by suggesting Steve’s virility would surely grant him many sons.

His answer to Pierce, in the same commanding tone he spoke to his soldiers with - made the older man wither like a flower in a snowstorm.

“I hope our first child is a girl, so that she may follow her mother’s footsteps and become a great Queen".

He then proceeded to toast to his words, his wishes dying in a smirk of wine-stained lips.

It was how you ended here, wooden soles clicking on the stone slabs of the corridor. After the second course you excused yourself from the dining hall. You thought Steve would chose to stay with his relatives - according to Natasha, he hadn’t seen his father in three or so years - but he rose from the table as you did, not even biding his farewells.

You missed the way Lord Stark pulled his squire from his belt, preventing poor Peter Parker from escorting you and Steve. No one else dared to follow you and, as soon as you left the room, Steve's hand reached for yours again - bolder this times, fingers entwining in a move so similar to the way his own soul was twisting and wrapping around yours.

You walked in silence for the first time. No conversation to appease the tension or divert your mind from the heat shared between your palm and his?

As usual, once they saw you approaching, the two guards that kept watch outside your chamber’s door exited to grant you privacy. They’d return once Steve left.

The Captain cleared his throat and spoke:

“In Asgard, where my mother was from, it is customary for a man to give a ring to the woman he is betrothed to. It is a promise of his commitment to her until the wedding day.”

From his jacket pocket Steve removed a navy blue velvet pouch. Long fingers loosened the cord that held the pouch closed - dexterous with a sword but delicate to the touch - and a ring fell on his palm.

The oval stone was the same shade as the velvet cloth - midnight indigo, dark as the depths of the ocean that crashed in Ergona’s shore. Dozens of tiny diamonds surrounded it, twinkling lazily in the warm firelight glow. Even more diamonds made up the ring band - and opulent jewel, made of the finest gems dig up from western mines and handcrafted by the greatest jewelers at the Duke of Arvenia’s disposal.

Too opulent for you and Steve knew that.

“I know it’s too much” he said apologetically. “My father is known for his grand gestures. But I miss my mother dearly. This ring is the only heirloom of hers I have left. I know it’s not your style, but it I would if you accepted it as a token of my affections.”

There he was, breaking down your walls again. Every carefully placed defense crumbled in the presence of his words, scattering to ashes when you couldn’t find dishonesty in them. You found yourself divided: one Y/N was rational, overzealous and logical, screaming at the top of her lungs to halt the other - wide-eyed and ingenue, desperate to break-free and be loved. It was the second one who said:

“Doesn’t Asgardian tradition say that the groom should place the ring on the bride’s finger?”

Steve beamed - a beautiful stretch of lips and cheeks and eye crinkles. He smiled with his whole face, making you wish for broad daylight so that you could better commit to the loveliness of it.

He slid the ring on the fourth finger of your left hand. The jewel was even heavier than it looked, engulfing your digit in blue lavishness. Delicately, Steve traced a line from the base of your finger towards your wrist.

“This is the vena amoris. It runs from your left ring finger straight to your heart. I hope you can see this ring and remember that my own heart belongs to you.”

He continued.

“And, if you allow me, I will cherish your heart as you have cherished mine.”

“How could I have cherished you heart if I didn’t know of your… feelings?” you replied.

He laughed - a short, breath-like laugh that tickled your nose.

“You did so by being you. That is enough for me.”

“I don’t know how to do this” you whispered, mentioning to the space between you, yet meaning it as more than the inches separating you.

“Neither do I” he took your other hand in his - limbs and worries and dreams laced together in the dark. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

Wordlessly, you nodded, cracking a small smile as you swallowed your tears. You didn’t cry easily, but you found yourself getting more and more emotional the longer you shared Steve’s presence.

With his thumb he caressed the outside of your eye, temple, nose, then slid it downwards and traced your lips. Gently, as if touching a cloud, he took you chin in his grip.

When Steve's lips touched yours, the butterflies in your stomach broke free from their prison, spreading their crazy fluttering to your heart, your skin, your mouth. It was quick - the briefest of pecks - but it still left you breathless and wide-eyed.

“I'm sorry” he muttered, mistaking your awe for consternation. “That was too bold. Your Grace, …”

Raising your hand, you interrupted him.

“Don’t apologize, I beg of you. I’m just… overwhelmed. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised.

“Our acquaintanceship is changing me. Being in your company is bringing to life so many things I never wondered about or deemed important. In so many aspects I feel like a new person. And it's disconcerting but rewarding. You make me feel happy.”

“And I don’t know what this means or where this will take us but I hope you’re not afraid of going there with me. Because I’d hate to be alone again.”

“Your Grace…” Steve started but you interrupted him again.

“And I order you to stop calling me Your Grace. At least when we're alone”

Then, in a move that astonished both Steve and yourself, you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him again.

#steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #king!steve #king!steve rogers #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x you #king!au #marvel!au #marvel fanfiction

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keishiko · 5 years

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Into Infinity

In the months after the events of “Civil War”, Natasha and Steve face the future together.

[Oneshot (so far) <1,500 words | Rated G | Angst, established Romance (Steve x Nat)] | Optional companion piece to "Refuge" (Part One) (Part Two).

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Her blond hair fell in waves in front of her face from what had been a tight bun at the back of her head. Natasha shuffled up the steps to the massive archways, then dodged behind a chattering family of tourists as she stepped into the heavily surveilled lobby of the museum. Passing a cluster of ceiling cameras she pretended to fiddle with the controls on her earphones to shield her face, before strolling into a side room and stopping to feign interest in a painting. She found him sitting in one of the sculpture galleries, his frame filling out a long bulky coat and his overgrown dark hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. Smiling, she remembered how he had originally chafed against his instinct to remove his hat inside a building. His head was ducked low over what she realized, soundlessly stepping closer, was one of his sketchpads. He was sketching a sculpture a few paces in front of him, a centuries-old composition in marble and classical Greek. “Class end early?” Steve didn’t even look up from where he was carefully filling in a shadow. One of these days, she promised herself, she’d be able to sneak up on him again. “Faye had to go pick up her kid at school.” “She should’ve made you take over.” “Oh, I’m pretty bad even for a beginner. Take your time, though, I can look around for a while,” she added as he flipped the sketchbook shut. Skylight sunshine brought out the blue in his eyes as he shrugged, already shoving his sketchbook and pencils into his bag. “I could use a snack anyway.” “You already are a snack,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, as he offered her his arm. “Oh is that what the kids are saying these days?” He grinned back. She threw her hands up in mock frustration. “I really don’t know what my classmates are saying half the time.” He steered her out into the corridor. “Now you know how I feel.” He pretended to get confused halfway through the museum in entirely the wrong direction, and she pretended not to know better. She was enjoying herself too much, her arm slipped companionably through his as they ambled among the displays. He kept stopping and she obliged him patiently, watching without a word as his eyes lit up from one exhibit to another. “You’re really maxing out your stealth lessons today, you know that?” she murmured as they sipped coffee at a sun-dappled outdoor table at a kiosk outside the museum. “There’s only so much a baseball cap can do.” He smiled ruefully. “Sorry, Nat. You know I can’t resist this kind of place.” She knew. She grinned forgiveness at him over the rim of her cup. “I’ve been thinking about going back to school.” His tone was wistful even as his eyes tracked restlessly across passersby, the soldier watchful out of habit. “You know I never went to college? It wasn’t much of a thing in my time.” “What, in this economy?” she joked. She knew he wasn’t serious, couldn’t be serious, and the reasons saddened her: He was too big, too odd, would draw too much attention. He’d need documents. He met her smile for bittersweet smile. “Not even Fury would agree to pay for student loans,” she quipped, resisting the urge to chase away the resignation in his face with a touch of her hand. “We could sell the quinjet.” He let her sugar packet hit him in the face and chuckled. “Craigslist. No one would have to know.” “I’ll cash in some dividends from Wakanda,” she deadpanned. “Give you a real low interest rate. Just ‘cause we’re friends.” His impulsive, gentle kiss kindled sparks in her belly, reassured her they were far more than just friends. She savored the secondhand taste of unsweetened coffee on his lips and the subtle scratch of his beard against her cheek. She bought herself a slice of cake. It was stone-cold from the display and the marshmallow frosting had dried up a little on the edges, but she wanted an excuse not to go home yet. Sure enough, as she sat back down at the table, she saw Steve had taken out his sketchpad again, darting appraising glances up at the museum building across the way. He liked drawing architecture, she’d noticed. Taking small bites of her cake she watched him work in silence, quickly filling a new blank page with bold strokes for the sharp angles of walls and roof, outlining finials and cornices in smaller, more precise movements. Most of the Avengers didn't even know about Captain America’s art school background. She’d only found out because she’d made an effort to, back when Fury first assigned them together; she couldn’t very well put her life into the hands of a stranger, she’d reasoned—not even a stranger who was also a legend. And even after he found out that she knew, it had taken him a long time to stop trying to hide his sketching from her. Not out of shame or embarrassment, as she had first guessed, but because it was so intensely personal to him. Even now she pretended to be looking somewhere else, only watching out the corner of her eye as he carefully shaded in brick and ivy on the page. He probably already knew she was looking anyway, she told herself. She remembered his old photograph from the Smithsonian and tried to picture him scrawny and small, sketching the Chrysler Building maybe, or St. Patrick’s Cathedral. “You could just take classes,” she offered later, as they detoured along the river on their unhurried walk home. “What would you major in, anyway, if you could?” He smiled at the thought. “I dunno. Maybe history. Or art history.” “Who knew Captain America was such a huge nerd.” She smirked up at the mix of annoyance and amusement in his face. Then, sombering, she squinted into the sunset. “I could teach dance.” “You could. Then you could be a soloist. And I’d come watch all your shows.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I’d bring you bouquets backstage and all that.” His tone had lost its edge, grown fond and pensive. She looked away, something clenching in her chest. She forced a laugh. “The other girls would probably kill me out of jealousy.” “I thought that only happened in movies.” Chuckling, he folded his hand over hers, their fingers entwining. She drank in the golden wash of light over his face, the unfocused look in his eyes as he took in the skyline across the water, where windows and signs were already blinking to life ahead of nightfall. In this city they were Mike and Nadine, dating for months now having met online, a gym buff and a beginner ballet hobbyist. Now considering enrolment in art history and certification for the Cecchetti method, respectively. Dreaming for a future Steve and Natasha could never have. Nat had taught at the Avengers facility, too, and at SHIELD before that. Subjects a little more dangerous than ballet, a syllabus a little less structured. She smiled at the memory of cavernous training rooms, of form drills escalating into sparring matches. She had enjoyed the feel of a place for herself then, sheltered willingly in her new and strangely public identity as Agent Romanoff, member of something or other, part of a larger, well-oiled machine. But these days, the dust only just beginning to settle from the Sokovia Accords, the unfamiliar sense of freedom—and anonymity—was not unwelcome. “You should look up schools online,” she suggested doggedly, letting Steve wrap his arm around her shoulders against the evening wind. She burrowed into the warmth under his chin, wound her arm around his waist. “Even Harvard livestreams courses now.” She felt more than heard his grunt of acknowledgment. He’d already left the topic behind. Behind them the streetlamps along the boardwalk winked on, one after another in the settling gloom. A couple strolled past, with five dogs straining at their leashes. “You heard back yet?” He was sharp and focused again. She stifled a sigh. “I told Sam oh-two-hundred.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, as if to apologize for his abrupt change in mood. “Then we got all the time in the world.”

fin

#steve rogers #steve x natasha #steve x nat #romanogers #captain america #black widow #capwidow #civil war captain america #fanfic #captain america civil war #pre-infinity war #nomad #bearded!Cap #the avengers

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

Text

A Spirited Agreement

Greetings all. Today we take a jaunted to a haunted house. This fic was inspired by one of @writing-prompt-s posts.

-x-x-x-

Belle had always wanted to further her education. She never expected to be able to do so, but after her death she found the opportunity.

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General Certificate of Ghost Training

Individual Candidate Statement of Results

Centre Name and Number: 0815, Storybrooke

Candidate Number: 2122012

Date of Death: 04/10/1918

Candidate Name (Post-Life): Belle

Syllabus Number, Title and Result

1001 – Chills and Flesh Creep – A

1011 – Screaming and Moaning – A

1111 – Whispering (Advanced) – B

1015 – Odours (Flowers) – A

1019 – Object Levitation – A

1025 – Mortal Communication – A

1031 – Physical Manifestation �� A

1037 – Possession - F

Belle sighed at her GCGT results. She’d taken the Possession course three times now and had finally managed to scrap the lowest acceptable grade. She just could hold the focus required to keep herself in control of the subject. There was too much to get distracted by being in a living body again after so long. The rapid beat of a heart was enough to distract her to the point of ejection.

She shook her hair out of her face and sat up straighter. Her other results were great, and after a century of study she was finally ready for her first full time haunting. Discovering that the afterlife placed a great value on study had come as a surprise. The larger surprise was that her gender did not restrict her options, death truly was the great leveller.

“Belle?”

A cloud of cigarette smoke announced the arrival of her mentor, Juno.

“Sorry for the wait. New arrivals driving me crazy.”

Belle smiled as she followed Juno into her office. Dying could come as quite the shock and everyone reacted to their sudden vital change in different ways. She’d been spitting mad and used language that would have shocked her father. She shook her head as she recalled how she had focused on her desire to slap Gaston for staining her dress, it had taken her an hour to realise that she was dead, and a bloody dress was the least of her concerns.

Juno sat behind her cluttered desk and blew out smoke rings as she hunted for Belle’s file.

“Ah, here we go. Congratulations, these are very impressive results.”

“Thank you, shame about the possession one.”

Juno waved a dismissive hand; “Nonsense. Possession isn’t everything. I sometimes question the sense of teaching it at all.”

Belle didn’t say anything, everyone knew why, or rather who, had turned Juno against possession. It was best not to bring up that name.

Juno took a long drag on her ever-present cigarette; “Okay, have you read your assignment file?”

“I have, it’s an interesting place.”

Burworth Grange had been built as a hunting lodge in the 1880. During the Great War it had served as a convalescence home for wounded soldiers. A member of the family who own the estate had lived there during the inter-war years, but it returned to a medical facility in 1940. In the late 1950’s the house and grounds had been gifted to the village and was now used as a community centre.

“Have you given any thought to how you will haunt the place?”

Every newly qualified ghost was given the chance to reinvent themselves. Many chose something close to the person they had been in life, or something heavily influenced by their manner of death. If Belle chose the latter she would style herself as a corpse bride. It was tempting, but she was loath to give Gaston that much influence in her afterlife.

“I’m going to go with Great War nurse, it’s a role I know.”

Juno gave her a rare smile; “Good, good sensible to start with the familiar. Play to your strengths, and remember you are limited to three full manifestations per year for the first decade.”

Belle stood and offered her hand across the desk; “Thank you Juno.”

Juno sook her hand; “Scare them stiff Belle.”

Just as Belle reached the door Juno said; “Just so you know there is a ghost in the grounds. He restyled himself as an Imp a few centuries back. He’s an odd sort, keeps to himself, you probably won’t see much of him.”

Belle hoped her confusion didn’t show on her face. There had been nothing in her assignment file about another ghost at the Grange.

“What’s his name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle’s first month in Burrworth Grange had been uneventful. She wanted to get use to the rhythm of the building before she set to haunting, there would be no point wasting one of her manifestations if there was no one around to see it.

She had caught glimpses of her fellow ghost. He had truly embraced the persona of Imp. Rumplestiltskin’s skin sparkled and made his reptilian eyes all the more off putting. His high-pitched giggles could be mistaken for birds, as long as you’d never heard a bird before. They had not yet spoken to each other, but he’d given her a ridiculously foppish bow when their eyes had met the first time through a window. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to, but Belle was going to impose her company where it was clearly unwanted.

Besides she had plenty to keep her occupied.

Nobody stayed in the house overnight, so she was going to have to go with daytime creeps. It was harder to get a fright out of a live person in the daylight, common sense ruled the mind rather than the nerves that came with the dark.

The local secondary school used the high-ceilinged ballroom twice a week for badminton. The PE teacher was a serious no-nonsense woman with no tolerance for ‘foolish flights of fancy’. With an authority figure that didn’t believe in the supernatural Belle was certain she could cause chaos among the more open-minded and impressionable teenagers under her care.

She planned carefully. For the weeks running up to her first big event she worked at minor hauntings. The long narrow corridor that led to the ballroom reeked of lilies. The lights flickered and popped for no reason that the caretaker could discover. A lingering chill filled the corridor and ballroom, that no amount of cussing at the radiators would dispel.

She’d hugged herself with delight when she’d heard two of the staff discussing her efforts.

“I’m telling you it’s the ghost.”

“Don’t be daft…”

Belle drifted unseen and unfelt behind them. She was making an impact. Wonderful.

“…the Gremlin doesn’t do flowers. It’s always the sheep stink from him.”

Belle frowned. The Gremlin? Oh, they must mean Rumplestiltskin. It stung a little that the live ones were crediting her work to the Imp, but they hadn’t seen her yet, so it was only a temporary mistake.

“Maybe he fancied a change? Or we’ve got a new ghost?”

“Wonder if this one’s got a sweet tooth too.”

Belle let them wander away, still bickering about if it was the Gremlin who stole the biscuits or not. She chewed on her thumbnail as she considered the situation. Rumplestiltskin was an old ghost. If the live ones thought that her tricks were his then she was doing something right. After tomorrow’s manifestation they would know that there was a new ghost in the house. It would still take time to build up her legend, but she was in no hurry.

The day of her manifestation dawned foggy and grey. She couldn’t have asked for better weather. Invisible she walked the route she was planning to take; a simple stroll along the corridor, and into the ballroom as if she was checking on patients in beds. As long as she got her timing right she would be seen by several lone individuals. The hodgepodge of alterations that had been made to the Grange over the years would help keep her out of sight of groups. She didn’t want a mass sighting just yet.

The grumbling of a sluggish class reached her ears. The PE teacher was already snappish as she chided them to hurry. Belle schooled her feature into the stern look she had copied from the ward sister she used to work under. The front door opened an blew in a swirl of fog. Belle wasn’t going to miss a perfect opportunity like that, she stepped into the mist and let herself become partially visible.

Two of the girls caught sight of her and gave a shriek. Belle disappeared as the teacher listened to their babbled report. So far so good. The class were spooked and looking around for her. A few muttered that even a ghost wouldn’t get them out of this lesson.

Belle focused on her planned route. The class were straggling out in a reluctant line, they were less keen than usual this morning. A boy caught sight of her in a shadowy doorway, he stopped suddenly and peered into the dark office, but didn’t scream. Undeterred Belle carried on, she had to get to the ballroom before the teacher. Three more children jumped at the shadows she passed through, each catching a glimpse of her. By the time she reached the ballroom, the class were on edge and the teacher was sighing and huffing at their foolishness.

“Come on hurry along! There is not need for this silliness just because it’s a bit foggy!”

The teacher stood at the door of the ballroom and impatiently hurrying the class inside. This was it. Belle let herself become almost solid and walked through the room. The first four children into the room screamed at the sight of her. She quickly turned to face them and made her eyes glow as she raised a finger to her lips to shush them. They screamed again as she vanished from sight.

“What is going on in here!”

Belle floated along to the kitchen which would be empty at thins hour of the day. The high ceilings and long corridors echoed with the near-hysterical babble of children and the irritated voice of the teacher.

“Bravo dearie. I’d begun to think you were never going to get started.”

Belle stopped with a gasp. Rumplestiltskin was lounging in a chair with his feet up on the table top. It was the first time she had seen him so close, in fact the first time she had found him in the house at all. Remembering his dramatic bow, she bobbed a curtsy; “Thank you very much.”

He twirled a hand; “Tis not matter dearie. Nice to finally have someone who knows their stuff here.”

He cocked his head to one side and peered at her, then rapidly pulled his booted feet from the table and leaned forward on his elbows.

“How would you feel about working together from time to time?”

There was nothing to stop them collaborating, but Belle had thought he would never want to because of his aloof nature. Perhaps he’d just been waiting to see how good she was before he made an offer. She smoothed down her uniform and settled herself in the chair opposite him.

“What do you have in mind?”

In recent years Burrworth Grange has become known to ghost hunters as one of the most haunted places in the north of England. The varied sightings are often dismissed as pranks and fakes, but many collaborating accounts have sparked new interest in the history of this building.

- Ghosts of the North.

#halloween house of horror 2018 #RumBelle #ghosts

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pooma-education · 3 years

Text

Mr. Ashish Bhatnagar

Mr. Paul Vincent Moses

Mr. Nahid Raiza

TOPIC:

What are the Challenges of Global School Education and where India stand on that?

Group: National UN Volunteers.

Time: No limit. Whenever you wish to share your views you can. 6 am- 10pm

🍁

Aim and purpose of Education:

Education, at its best, is about helping people discover, refine, and develop their gifts, talents, passions and abilities; and then helping them discover how to use those gifts, talents, abilities in ways that benefit others and oneself.

When the purposes are for the upliftment of our society, then no doubt is in to have number of challenges in global education system or local education system.

¶ Challenge: 1

Right to education RTE.

We have existing learning organizations where learners are part of that organization for sime years without having a journey of discovery to discover what is within them till now.

We came to the point now as education the fundamental right of a man.

In real sense Education is life itself. It is not a right to claim. When shall we reach or take Education to the state of life from rights.

¶ Challenge: 2

Testing & Assessment

Testing should exist as a servant to the main goals of education.

Whenever people start to build learning organizations and experiences around tests instead of designing tests to serve and amplify the organization’s mission, vision, and values; we have a problem. Such organisations will face lot of challenges to exist or to continue.

We should know here one thing. Education itself a tool designed by nature to test users. Whereas we design a tool to test Education.

And the design is of the mindset of the designer. We consider him or her as the standard designer.

It can be explained with an example-A teacher of your school is a question setter of his subject. Means he is one of the designer of a tool to assess Education.

Can he be a standard designer.? Can a school assure of this?

Then where is the standard assessment or test? That's beyond our imagination and understanding.

If we get such a test then there won't be challanges in Education.

Therefore assessment or test is to assess the complete person as the Education is for shaping the complete man.

But our design for assessment is assesment of education in a person and not the outcomes of Education in that particular person.

Reminder: The purpose of Education is man making first.

¶ Challenge:3

Nurturing the nature of learners.

Character, virtues, and non-cognitive skills have always been an important part of a person’s growth and maturation, not only into adulthood but throughout life.

If we want to invest in aspects of education that have a huge impact on the lives of individuals, their families, their communities, their places of work, and the entire world around them; we are wise to devote time and attention to how we can nurture these important elements that less frequently show up in a list of learning objectives for a course or goals for a formal program.

We are talking about traits like grit, courage, conscientiousness, integrity, personal ownership, the capacity to postpone gratification, collaboration skills, the ability to plan and prioritize, and many others.

Nurturing aforementioned already existing nature in users of Education is the prime purpose of Education. But it is not happening in most of the learning organisations.

¶ Challenge:4

Purpose of Education is misunderstood.

Formal and informal Education are the two categories of it. Formal is to detect the skill within. And informal is to develop and make use of it. Formal education is for learning and informal is for earning. That is for job opportunities and openings.

But what do we do is reverse. Our challenges are due to which when right things are chosen for wrong. That's Education for employment. Education is often about teaching people to critique, but that must be accompanied with nurturing the capacity to create, to discover and embrace the purpose and meaning in the world around us…and beyond.

Education is not mere for employment. Education is not a passport or password access to a job.

The very purpose of Education is limited into one's qualification in our country or community.

Is it correct?

¶ Challenge 5:

Factors that affect learning.

Students of different countries have different capabilities owing to what they have learnt. Learning capacities also vary due to environment. We in India mostly follow rote method while learning. Most of the schools in India, including the so-called International schools, test students' memory instead of testing their intellectual abilities. Self-learning is hardly. Any learning process that makes students self-dependant is hardly found.

Free education up to some level is quite good. But if it extends the limit, especially for male candidates, the value of education and the course pursued is found to have diminished.

CBSE is trying to change now. I can see many welcome changes to the syllabus, curriculum and approach now.

As we give value to money, what is paid, is similarly given value. Many in India are graduates but are jobless.

I hope the points you mentioned will be considered especially with the new NEP. Rote learning has been there for ages but there are some good signs I can see in some schools. Many changes have been there so far, but nothing proved to be very productive. It takes time to see some significant changes.

May be, but it depends on the government. Rote learning is not completely bad. But it doesn't help any student develop his/her intellectual skills. We are still in the third world status; 72 yrs since we've got independence; still how long?... Is, unfortunately, one of the questions being posed with no positive answers and outcome left. Are we comparing ourselves with those who are already developed or with those who are under-developed?.

Our wonderful politicians don't keep us updated with new techniques and methods to have them implemented in schools and colleges.

Q: What is your qualification?

R: B.Tech.

Q: What are you?

R: Customer-care Executive.

Let's See the above...

The qualification of the person has nothing to do with the job the person is doing.

¶ What is the purpose of education?.

This is what's going on in our country. The study field and the job field has a lot of difference. What are schools doing these?. It all depends in students' interest, parents' involvement; active or passive; institutions' maintenance of quality while giving the quality stuff to its benefactors (students) for what they are paid. But it again reflects on the nation's disability in giving its students what is best.

Egoistic feelings among politicians and social groups installed in some families or indians' minds keep our present youth from learning the best or at least something better. A real learner learns any good even from an enemy. Are we? Are our children taught to learn alike?. A real education is a moral food. Do we know ow how many are taking are that as a poison?

There are numerous such examples.... Raghuram Rajan, Nirmala Sitaraman,. And many more.

I appreciate them for they belong to the past. We are in the present world. But examples of?. We need the examples of those who work according to what they aimed at. Very few are there. I still doubt if you should say there are many. What is our population? How many complete their Degrees, PGs and Ph.Ds.a year?. How many do possess research minds?. How many are involved in the research process?. How many scholars are discouraged by their guides while in the research completition?. How many are able to get their doctoral degrees successfully without being harassed by their guides or professors?. Out of those many (if yes), how many are worthy of those doctorates?. How many research minded children are developed by our schools and colleges in our country? How many of them are encouraged to ask questions? How many of such questions are tolerated?. How many good citizens have we made so far? A citizen is a responsible person for the place, district, state, Nation and society he/she lives in.

¶ Challange 5

Marking system for marketing in Education

One of the main problems with our Indian education system is its marking system.

The intelligence of the students is judged by the way they perform in a 3 hour theoretical paper rather than by their overall performance in the class.

In such a scenario, learning lessons to get good marks becomes the sole aim of the students. They are not able to think beyond it. They are not bothered about understanding concepts or enhancing their knowledge all they think about is to look for ways to get good marks.

Another problem is that the focus is only on theory. No importance is given to practical learning.

Our education system encourages the students to become bookworms and does not prepare them for handling the real problems and challenges of life.

Academics are given so much importance that the need to involve the students in sports and art activities is overlooked.

Students are also overburdened with studies. Regular exams are held and students are scrutinized at every step.

This creates acute stress among the students. The stress level of the students continues to grow as they advance to higher classes.

The scores are one of the main criteria in marketing the school for its existence. The teachers and leaders are evaluated by the way of secured scores.

All other activities are of no use Infront of scores and all other facilities are unimportant if the scores are good. Fee structure is fixed by the scale of scores.

The vision and mission of a school take last bench Infront of the score.

Totally all over development of a child is restricted to the scores.

Now here are some

¶ WAYS TO IMPROVE INDIAN EDUCATION SYSTEM

Some of the ways to improve the education system are, focusing on skill development; it is the time for the Indian schools and colleges to stop putting so much importance to the marks and ranks of the students and focus on skill development instead.

The cognitive, problem solving, analytical and creative thinking skills of the students must be enhanced. Imparting practical knowledge, practical knowledge is very important to develop a thorough understanding of any subject.

However, our Indian education system focuses mainly on theoretical knowledge. Revising the curriculum, the curriculum of our schools and colleges is the same since decades. It is the time to change it as per the changing times so that the students learn things more relevant to their times. Classes on developing good communication skills as it are the need of the hour.

Looking beyond academics, the education system of our country must look beyond academics. Sports, arts and other activities must also be given importance to ensure the all-round development of students.

Certainly there is a way in NEP 2019.

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rue-me-nations · 6 years

Photo

People are like windows, they show me landscapes and terrains that I could never have conjured up with my own imagination. When windows are shut, I just want to paint a picture of what I saw through them that moved me.

I will miss

Oliver who would go into a mood at times when he couldn’t play the way he’d hoped, when I could see that he was frustrated after having put in effort. When he was happy with his own progress you couldn’t stop him from playing. We shared so many hours with laughter, friendly bickering, working through music, learning together, and even tears, when he was disappointed and plagued with lack of motivation to continue. It was an obstacle I was happy to plough through with him each week.

Ophelia his sister, who was so excited to start learning piano like her brother had been doing. She was always eager to learn and had that enthusiastic energy when talking to me about the things she liked, which included playing the piano. She was the only one who touched me by saying that she wanted to be a piano teacher like me when she grows up. I will never forget the lessons when we had where we would sing Que Sera Sera together while she did her theory work.

Ethan who’s relatively new and was quiet but focused when he first started. He started to open up to me in such a way that he couldn’t stop asking me questions both relating to music and personal and in fact became rather distracted that I had to stop him and point him back to work. He’s such an intelligent boy and seemed to enjoy music.

Lecia who fell in love with playing instruments during her trial lesson. She faced difficulty when things got tougher and lacks motivation in practising. Even so, we found a pace that matched her comfortably and we found enjoyment in learning again.

Hsuen Kai who inspired me by writing that little song about pentominoes, only a few months into our sessions together, getting all the notations entirely wrong in the most adorable way. To him, playing the piano is another one of his many interests, like the books and toys he brings to lessons which I have to keep him from being distracted by.

Caroline who was always excited and happy to come for piano, and insisted on wearing pretty dresses when she did because the people in the videos she saw who played the piano were always dressed nicely. She was only with me for such a short time because her family moved to Vienna, where I’m sure she’ll find really good piano teachers. Her parents were so kind and genuinely cared about her education. I will hold closely to my heart the memory of her trying to invite me to her house to play with her one day.

Gwyneth and Zoe who both found it difficult to find interest in playing the piano, but who humbled me and reminded me how important it is to keep trying and changing pace to perhaps change their perspectives about learning.

Sarah and Trevor, my two teen students who also found no motivation in practising. The thought will always haunt me that perhaps I did not possess the right skills to make them more interested despite having the intention and I was mortified when they both gave up trying.

Benji, whose parents also put a lot of heart into making sure he learned well. He was I think the only four-year-old I know who managed to complete book one of Poco, and so quickly at that. He also left after a short time to go back to the US, and his father sent me such a sweet video of him performing at his first recital, and being the youngest performer too.

Leia who was so inquisitive about everything including how the piano was invented and why it was designed the way it was, who was more interested in having conversations with me than actually playing and practising that I had to constantly try to bring her focus back even though I enjoyed every minute of her sharing her life with me and telling me her intelligent thoughts.

River who lacked confidence and focus at the beginning but began to gain momentum when we tried different ways of communicating and found activities that worked for us. Her personality matched her name in that her consciousness flowed so easily and firmly the way she liked, which was beautiful but I had to steer her in the right path to be productive during lessons. She was always fun even though it meant I had to work on trying to get her focused. Her mother was also very much involved in her learning and saw value in having fun during lessons.

Natalie who was always mischievous and fun during lessons and loved playing tunes by ear. She clearly loves music although she threatened to stop learning because she wasn’t motivated to be disciplined in terms of practice. Despite that I know that she enjoyed our lessons together, the times we sang together and I tried to teach her to play the melody for her favourite pop songs, and when she would write “I love you teacher Ruth” almost weekly on every page of her piano book.

Joey who did not seem to be motivated when I first took over from her previous teacher, but eventually sort of gained momentum finding pieces that she truly enjoyed playing once she mastered them, and began learning at a much faster pace which gave me joy. She was always such a shy girl and seemed reserved in expressing her thoughts, a characteristic common to so many students I encountered at Tampines, perhaps because of their age and also the less privileged backgrounds from which they come, as compared to the ones at Tiong Bahru.

Zhao Kai who was always playful and rebellious by nature so sessions with him were interesting but sometimes also tiring. When he did focus he learned so quickly so it made up for the time he spent being distracted. The shock I felt when he peed in class was memorable, along with the thought of how funny it was because he only realised he needed to go to the toilet when it was too late, too busy having fun trying to distract me from our lesson.

Thea who sometimes frustrated me with her complacent attitude in learning. I constantly felt the need to stir her curiosity and inspire more independent thinking despite the fact that she did enjoy playing the piano – but only the things she was already good at playing. It was hard to make her pay attention to certain technical parts of the syllabus and I had to get creative.

Matthias the teenager who likes playing the piano but has trouble being musical – he would do alright with the notes but found it hard to be emotive or expressive in his playing. He was also extremely quiet and shy and said very little about his life.

Crystabelle who is such a darling. Her mother sent me a voice recording just recently of her saying hi and asking me to come back and teach her which broke my heart.

Kevin who is the most obedient and patient little boy ever, who practices weekly and makes such good progress although we only had half an hour per week. He never complained even when things got difficult, though he was also awfully quiet and difficult to get out of his shell.

WeiBo who is playful and has difficulty focusing. He finds it difficult to understand rhythms and I had to get creative with helping him to understand and drilling him note by note during lessons to make sure he makes real progress.

Nicholas who was the perfect student – he is lively and talkative and loves singing but stays focused and was genuinely interested in learning. He definitely loves music judging by the way he would continue to sing even while doing worksheets.

Avril who was such a ball of energy that it was hard to control her at the start. She demonstrated the ability to listen later on and slowly took pride in being obedient and accomplishing more each week. Her questions and the things she says were always completely adorable and I would gladly allow her to have all the fun she wanted if not for the fact that we had learning to do.

Giselle who was so intelligent but also rebellious at times, who cared so much about how nicely she drew her notes and would ask me which note I liked better, who took so much care in her colouring and tried to make everything colourful and pretty. She tended to be lazy with learning new songs but would relent with a bit of pushing.

Rachael for whom I was so worried when I took over from her previous teacher to prepare for her exam within a few months when she was so unprepared. The relief and joy I felt when she received a Merit was memorable although I disagreed strongly with her competitive and results-oriented values and her parents’ as well.

Aahil who showed great interest in music and was always excited when I told him about composers, something which no other student has demonstrated to me. I loved showing him music to inspire him. His parents also taught him the importance of practising every week, which he did diligently, sometimes upset and frustrated when he encountered difficulties. We always found joy in what he achieved despite that.

Also Anshika, GuoZhe, Vedant, Elyse and Evelle, Xavier, Hsiao Chen, Deborah, Tristan, Shima, Natalie and Noah Mah, Seerat and Ranbeir, Esther.

Last but not least Charis, bless her, who showed me vulnerability when she asked me about my leaving to study abroad. She was the only one who was eloquent and willing to show me she was sad that I was leaving, and asked me why I had to go. “Will I forget you?” she asked, contemplative and looking straight ahead. Notice she worries about her own memory of me fading instead of mine. I saw in her a reflection of myself – the way we all struggle to come to terms with parting and the idea that we will never see a person again, the contemplation of what memory is and what it means to us. It exists in childhood and I don’t believe we ever grow out of feeling that way, we just learn to allow it to happen to us. That moment of connection that we had was truly special and thinking about it now still makes me want to cry. Aside from that, Charis also has a great attitude for learning. She was always saying intelligent things and willing to put in effort. She also has a great way of making learning fun for herself – making words out of the note names and forming sentences with them. This made learning humorous and enjoyable, and I don’t want those memories to fade, either.

This picture is what she drew for me, just one of the little niceties I have been blessed with in the last two years being a teacher. I can’t say I did well as a teacher because there is so much that I could have done better, but it was a real privilege to have been able to witness growth in these people and to have been a part of it.

I am writing this as a final farewell for myself, this part of me that I am leaving behind to step into the future. Teaching wasn’t the only thing that made these two years good, but it sure gave me a real sense of purpose. There were also connections I made with people that I never imagined would happen. Unlike the last time when I left Singapore for Melbourne, I am not leaving with frustration or bitterness. I have memories here that are meaningful and beautiful which I can hold onto like an emblem for all the things I believe in. Amidst the melancholia that I tend towards being submerged in, I have this light that I can keep handy in my pocket.

And now, I can step forward with curiosity and an appetite for adventure.

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tomhollandish · 7 years

Text

We Don’t Talk Anymore

Summary: It’s been almost two years since you and Peter Parker parted ways, and you never understood why. Unfortunately, he didn’t either.

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 5,215

Your nails tapped against the fake wood desk, occasionally snagging on the scratched surface as your chemistry teacher droned on about the elements, hardly looking back at the ocean of inattentive students. If Mr. McKinley wasn’t the oldest and strictest teacher at Midtown, you’d be checking your Instagram feed unabashedly, scrolling through the pictures of yesterday’s party you decided to skip out on.

Your eyes flicked back to the clock, which had moved about a fucking millimeter since the last time you’d checked it. You held back a groan, knowing that somehow McKinley would pick you personally out of the crowd. It was like the old man had a vendetta against you, dubious of your ability to pass his class and maintain a popular social life.

He set his marker down, pristine oxfords clicking against the tile floors as he shuffled back to his desk. He ignored the cacophony of students settling in place, appearing as though they’d been enthralled at his lesson. You gave the man no such grace as you sighed, inspecting your green painted nails once more as the grey-haired man cleared his throat.

“That’s the end of the atoms and elements lecture. You have an assignment, as written in your beginning of the year syllabus, and it’s worth twenty percent of your grade this quarter,” he boomed, making the entire class sag their shoulders at once.

“You will have assigned partners, and I expect a certain degree of work from all of you. You will both do fair amounts of work, and if I hear otherwise both of your grades will be dropped, is that clear?” The class slumped even lower, some students slipping out of their chairs dramatically. You snickered at the classes antics, until you heard your name being called.

“…And Peter Parker,” Mr. McKinley gave you a side glance, milky green eyes watching for any signs of objection, but you gave none.

At least, not outwardly.

Your nail polish chipped when your finger tapped repeatedly and quickly on the desk, urgency filling your brain as you tried to think of a way around this solution. You found that with Mr. McKinley there often wasn’t one, at least not less damaging than partnering with him.

From his spot across the room you caught the brunette bristling, the blonde boy next to him whispering in his ear for a moment, before you were caught in Harry Osborne’s gaze. You waved to him sardonically and he smiled back, nudging Peter in the ribcage. Parker was already packing up, shoving books into his backpack with little to no enthusiasm.

Great, you thought, sliding your own books away. He’s just as annoyed as I am.

It was hard to tell what Peter despised the most about this arrangement: working together, or the idea that McKinley found you two to be intellectual equals.

Whatever the case, the moment the bell rang for your free period you followed that familiar head of brown hair down the hall, to his locker in the loudest part of school. It took some maneuvering, but you wound your way to his side, leaning loudly against the locker to signify your arrival.

“I told you, Harry, I don’t want to talk about—oh jeez,” he jumped as he closed his locker to reveal your face, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

“What don’t you want to talk about?” you ordered, having a strong suspicion that the topic included you. Peter shouldered his bag, head ducked as he tried to get past you. You simply fell into stride beside him.

“It’s nothing, um, what did you,—“

“If we’re going to have to work together on this project, we may as well get started. You and I both know McKinley is expecting a lot from us. We can’t half-ass this.”

“I wasn’t planning on half-assing anything, but thanks for the reminder,” Peter grumbled, taking a left and watching you as you followed. “Besides, it’s not like we’ll fail. Why do you want this done so early anyways?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, biceps shaking as you tried to contain your anger. “Because this is the unluckiest day of my life and I’m sure if this trend continues I’ll be drowning in homework for the next month. Now can you just please talk to me like I’m not the bane of your existence for half a second?”

Peter scowled, looking away from you as he pulled the library doors open. You blinked, realizing that he must have had the same free period as you. You were glad you had never noticed that, however the feeling of relief vanished when you noticed Michelle and Liz waiting for you, history books and encyclopedias open as they settled down with a few other mutual friends.

You silently prayed they wouldn’t notice you walking next to Peter, knowing that with them, too many questions would arise and that study session would never commence.

Peter seemed to follow your gaze and his scowl deepened before he looked down at the floor. “What do you want?” he said, most of the malice missing from his tone, instead quietly mumbling under his breath.

“I’ll come to your place later and we can get started. Unless of course, you prefer meeting somewhere else.”

“My place is fine, as long as it’s after 5.” He argued, and you stepped back when he turned to face you. In the distance you caught a small volley of boys looking in the direction of you two. Wrinkling your nose, you recognized them, focusing back on Peter when you spoke.

“Fine. I’ll text you when I get there,” you told him, turning on your heel to walk back to your corner of the library. You didn’t turn back to see Peter’s lips parted with a question; you only saw Michelle leaning back smugly in her chair.

“What were you talking to Peter Parker for?” she asked, inflection even and free of condescension. You rolled your eyes as you sat down, feeling the pairs of eyes on you, waiting for an answer.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Now, were we talking about the French Revolution, or the French and Indian War?”

“French and Indian War. How do you even know Peter?” Liz asked, opening her binder while looking up at you through her perfect hair “I thought you guys had like, one class?”

“That’s one class too many,” you mumbled, but beside you Gwen gasped.

“Jesus, Y/N, do you hate him or something? What did he ever do to you?” All of the girls at your table seemed a little too intrigued with your relationship to Peter. You heaved a sigh, rubbing your temples as you placed your elbows on the table.

“We used to be friends. We aren’t anymore. It’s that simple. Now can we just talk about this goddamn war?” They seemed taken about by your brash answer, but nonetheless returned to their books, cracking open the spines with minimal chatter. You cracked your neck, ready to dive into something that didn’t require any emotional repression.

You had texted Peter about fifteen minutes ago, back when you were only four minutes from his place. Walking through the doors of his apartment complex was hard, considering that when the doorman looked at you he pointed, almost as though he remembered who you were.

Ducking your head, you silently hoped it wouldn’t happen again. Punching in Peter’s floor number with your fist, you exhaled, steeling yourself for the inevitable with May, knowing, just knowing she’d pull you onto one of their couches and ask you about the past year and a half.

You paced the length of the hallway, wondering when you would gain the confidence to just knock on Peter’s door. He hadn’t responded to your text, and although you didn’t expect him to, it would have been nice if he had.

It wasn’t like you did anything to him.

There was a sound that made your heart stop, your feet pausing in their tracks as a door clicked shut, the sound of keys jingling as May Parker locked her apartment door. She had just pulled them out as she walked toward you, her eyes on the floor before they picked up and looked you directly in the face.

You wished you could turn invisible, because maybe then May would not have seen the obvious look of embarrassment you wore. She gasped, dramatically so with her hands flying to her mouth. In your shocked state you managed a wave.

“Hey, May,” you winced, hearing the weak rhyme coming out of your mouth.

“Oh my goodness Y/N! You look so good, dear how have you been! What are you doing here?”

You rubbed your forearm nervously as she came closer, taking in your form; much taller, more stylish, and feminine since the last time you’d been here. “Oh, um, Peter and I have a project due, for chemistry, we’re uh, in the same class, and,” you ended the sentence awkwardly, biting your lip and cursing to yourself as May took your shoulders.

“Ugh, Peter is such a mess. He told me he was having someone over. He said ‘just some girl’ but he completely neglected to say that it was you. You, my dear, are not just some girl.”

You frowned, thinking that May was right. You weren’t just some girl. In many ways, it would have been easier for the both of you if you were.

“Ha ha, well, you know Peter, always simplifying things, leaving out details,” you tapered off, having no idea what else to say to the woman. She beamed down at you nonetheless, and for a moment you felt something you hadn’t felt freshman year.

This bubbling guilt welled in your heart, guilt for never really breaking ties with Peter like you should have. You could imagine Peter sulking on the couch, listening as his aunt asked how you were doing, or why you were never around anymore.

Clearly Peter had never mentioned your fallout, because May still believed you two were on good terms. Maybe fading, but at the very least, polite terms. She smiled at you one last time before walking back to her door, unlocking it and ushering you in.

“Peter, I found your chemistry partner outside! You didn’t tell me it was Y/N!” she yelled throughout the apartment. There was a thud, and then the door across from them opened, revealing Peter, hopping on one foot as he looked at his aunt.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I didn’t really think it was, um, important?” he sounded like he was reaching, so you tried not to be offended by what he was implying.

May rolled her eyes, fixing him with a pointed look. “Boys,” she sighed, and you forced a laugh, trying to be as polite as you could with your whole body in a state of panic.

“I’ll see you two later, Peter, be good!” the last sentence was cut short when the door slammed closed, leaving you and Peter alone for the first time in a long time.

You figured screaming would ensue, but Peter was quiet as he stomped back into his room, reemerging with his backpack and chemistry textbook. He dumped it on the coffee table, standing awkwardly on your right side as you put down your own things.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

With the reboot of Star Trek on in the background, you and Peter quietly began your research, mostly mumbling to one another.

You looked up, catching the glint of a lens flare in corner of your eye. Chris Pine’s cotton candy blue eyes trapped you, and you shifted your laptop into the space between your crossed legs, now completely engrossed in the movie.

For the first time since you’d been here you cracked a smile, watching Jim Kirk take his place in the chair. This didn’t go unnoticed by Peter, who looked up, watching your lips curve.

“I didn’t know you still liked Sci-Fi movies,” he muttered quietly, but with the lack of noise in his apartment, you heard him very clearly.

“You don’t just stop liking Sci-Fi,” you reminded him, and eyebrow raised in amusement. “Anyhow, I’m too invested. I’ve seen, like, all the good ones.”

“How many good ones are there?” he questioned, for once sounding genuine and hospitable. You had to glance over at him to make sure you hadn’t accidently travelled back in time two years.

“Well, there’s a lot more than Empire Strikes Back,” you joked, and Peter blinked, trying to detect any malevolent tone in your voice, but there were none. And then, like a mirror image he smiled back, shaking his head as he looked down.

Involuntarily, your lips stretched up even more, revealing the imperfect set of teeth hiding behind your colored lips. You’d forgotten how infectious Peter’s laughs and smiles were, especially to you. Curling some hair behind you ear, you basked in the small moment for a little while longer before Peter spoke once again.

“So what are the good ones? Just so we’re on the same page.” It was a start, something small and the least likely to blow up in his face. You nodded, but kept your gaze level with your screen, in fear that Peter was judging your answers in earnest.

“Well, there’s obviously Star Wars, but just the original trilogy. And then there’s Back to the Future, both one and two, Interstellar, E.T., Jurassic Park, The Matrix, Terminator, Inception,”

“Whoa whoa whoa, since when have you seen Terminator?” Peter stopped you, leaning forward on the other couch excitedly. His eyes glittered, that warm coppery color that made his whole face light up like Christmas. You hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like years. Maybe it had been that long. “Last time we spoke you didn’t even know what it was, and now it’s one of your favorites?”

“Actually, I only really like the second one. And the last time we spoke was almost two years ago. A lot happens in two years, Peter.”

It wasn’t meant to be harsh, but the mood soured a bit, Peter’s eyes landing to the large gap that resided between you two. You opened your mouth to amend what you’d said, but Peter had beat you to the punch.

“I guess you’re right.” There were too many layers in his voice to decipher his meaning. Once again your gazes didn’t meet, but you found yourself a little upset at what Peter was insinuating. You sighed, understanding the consequences of what you were about to ask, but you forged ahead, already gaining his attention.

“Why do you always let stuff go so easily? Like, maybe if you would just, I don’t know, say what you were really thinking instead of being vague all the time, then things would be better.” You paused after your statement, wanting to add “For us,” but you couldn’t. That ship had long since sailed.

Peter’s downcast eyes hardened into a glare. “Because that’s a really nice theory in practice, but not everyone can pull it off as effortlessly as you.”

Your eyes narrowed as he spoke sarcastically of you. “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Parker?”

“It means, Y/N, that you conveniently gained confidence when we got to high school. You weren’t as outgoing as you are now, just putting that out there,” he held his hands up in defense, but there was no way he could just add a few words in at the end and absolve himself of the false assumptions he was making.

“Just putting it out there,” you mocked, shutting your laptop closed and shoving books back into your bag. “You don’t have the right to judge me just because we used to be friends. Like, congratu-fucking-lations, you stayed the same—a know-it-all who gets slammed into lockers.”

You’d clearly hit a nerve with Peter because he stood, having inches on your height you never noticed before. “You think this is on me? That I go around antagonizing you at every waking moment? Like I lay awake thinking of reasons we don’t talk anymore? You got shallow, and you became one of them,” he yelled, and you were taken aback at how easily he raised his voice at you.

The animosity between you two super-charged the air, making it seem heated and tense in the otherwise still apartment. You swallowed back any fear, reminding yourself that this was Peter Parker, a scrawny brunette who couldn’t even run a lap in gym class.

“See, that’s your damn problem; you always think it’s so black and white between everyone, and you’re so hooked on status, just like everyone else. I used to think you were different, that you understood nuisances, but I guess I was mistaken,” you roared back, turning on your heels to face the boy.

You couldn’t believe those molten, sweet brown eyes you knew as a child were now snarling at you, his cold and hardened stare threatening to ice you over. “I think you and I both know that isn’t what happened,” he said quietly, crossing his arms, not even attempting to patch up the situation. He was letting you leave, just like he had in freshman year. As if he never wanted you in the first place.

“I think you tell yourself that to help you sleep, Parker.” You spat back, wrenching the door open and hauling your ass out of that toxic apartment, before tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You waited outside the door for a minute, wondering (hoping) if Peter would poke his head out to make sure you were okay, or even more miraculously, apologize, for insinuating that you were fake. But the moment never came.

Not quite disappointed, you pounded down the stairs and out of the complex in a tizzy, your whole body shaking in anger. Biting your lip to suppress the oncoming tears, you patted down your pockets to start calling a cab. You suddenly stopped, hands coming up empty, cursing yourself.

You’d left your phone.

You could have screamed. You could’ve had a fit right then and there as you pondered if you should leave it at his place. Standing between the light posts, you looked up at the already blackened sky, hazed over in lights and smog. There was no way you could make it home for the night without your phone, even if it meant swallowing your pride.

Wiping your eyes, you peered into a storefront window, fixing the eyeliner stains that ran down your cheeks. Sucking in a breath, you forced yourself to march back the way you came, cramming your balled fists into the pockets of your jacket. You hoped to God May had come back by now, or else the encounter you’d have at the Parker’s front door would be an awkward one.

You shivered as you entered the warm apartment complex, not picking your head up until you reached his door once again. You paced in front of it, steeling your hands to knock on the door, just once so that you could get your phone, go home, and sleep for the night.

You felt so detached and numb that you didn’t even remember putting your fist to the door, but you watched in heavy anticipation as it opened, revealing a stunned, but beaming May Parker. You felt such relief that you almost cried, and May pouted.

“Oh, honey,” she soothed, pulling you in by your arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” you said, a little too loudly, as it had gained the attention of the brunette devil himself. You sniffed back your tears, standing as close to the doorway as possible without seeming rude. “I just, I left my phone here, and I came back to get it. It’s much darker than I had anticipated.”

From behind May, you could see Peter setting up a small table for dinner, putting out plates for the both of them. He looked like he was going to bite back a retort, but he pursed his lips instead, carrying on with his job.

“I thought that was yours,” she muttered, walking back to the table where you’d been not twenty minutes ago. “We were worried that you would walk home without someone to call, or that something might happen,” she said sweetly, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

‘Because Peter seems so worried about me,” you thought, but plastered a sickly smile across your face as you looked up at the woman.

“I’m fine, I should get going though, it’s only going to get darker,” you started, turning on your heels before you felt a hand clasp on your arm.

“Dear!” May called after you, using a nickname you weren’t used to. “You really shouldn’t walk home this late. It’s gotten very dark, maybe you should call you mother and have her pick you up here.”

There was a crash and May spun around, eyes wide as Peter struggled to contain his shock. “It’s fine, everything’s fine,” he mumbled, not looking up at the women. You shook your head, still upset, and started to back out of the room.

“Thank you, for offering Mrs. Parker, but I can just go right now—“

“No. I insist that you stay here and wait for your mother to pick you up. It’s too dangerous!” she shouted, looking towards Peter for backup. The boy kept setting the table, offering no help. Not that you expected any from him.

“May,” you started out, unsure if you permit to use her first name still stood. “I really, really have to get back. I’ll call a cab, it’ll be okay.” You pleaded, trying to stand firm while your fists shook in tension, waiting a minute for the woman’s reply.

She looked between you and Peter, who was conveniently busy with something else in the kitchen, his back towards the two of you. May finally sighed, throwing up her arm in defeat. “Okay fine. Call the cab right here, and have Peter wait with you.”

At the sound of his name, Peter made a sound of disapproval, followed by another clink of the dishes clashing. May whirled, narrowing her eyes as Peter held up the offending ware, showing it whole. “It’s fine,” he meekly answered, and May turned her whole body towards him.

“Are you fine? You two are acting really weird around each other,” she stated, eyes flitting between you and her nephew. “Almost like you’ve never met.”

“I wish that was the case,” you muttered into your phone, hoping May hadn’t heard. When you looked over at Peter you noticed his furrowed brows and the grimace that dipped into a frown. Had he heard you? And what did he care? It wasn’t as though Peter hadn’t casted you aside either.

You tried to rein in your thoughts as you read back the address, shoving your phone in your pocket as the call ended. “It should be here in about five minutes,” you spoke, and May nodded.

“Peter? Get your jacket and walk Y/N outside.” Her voice tapered, as though she wanted to say more. Peter didn’t verbally reply, he just trudged into his room and appeared moments later with Reeboks and a coat that wasn’t nearly substantial for the weather outside, but May didn’t say a word more.

You thanked her once again, walking out the door that Peter held for you. It was odd, seeing his normally bright features appear dark and brooding as the two of you headed for the elevators in silence.

The quiet reminded you of a memory; a small snippet of the times when you, Peter and Harry would run up and down this very apartment complex with boundless energy, playing tag and hide and seek. On Saturday mornings the elevator would be packed with boys, all of them headed towards Peter’s place with broad smiles and excited energy to play their favorite video games, or watch their favorite movies. Almost every weekend since seventh grade you’d all come over, one of you having the honor of being movie or game master that day.

In the middle of eighth grade, the boys stopped letting you be movie master.

A cold shiver ran through your body like a torrent, frying your nerves and bringing tears to your eyes. The doors opened revealing the first floor, and Peter brushed past you like you were just another person, like he hadn’t known you since middle school.

Almost like you’d never met.

You remembered his solemn brown eyes and his almost heartbroken look when you’d mumbled that you’d wished you never known him. You sniffed, wiping the tears from your eyes and following Peter’s figure out into the street, where he stood on diligent watch for your cab.

You came to stand beside him, shifting your weight as you contemplated talking to him. You found it selfish to bring it up, but you also found it nearly impossible that he’d heard you. You’d be making assumptions that could have potentially been wrong, and this whole situation was stressful enough. You didn’t need to add embarrassing to the list.

You toyed with the idea until your heard Peter move, jamming his fists in his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it shut, making you even more frustrated. “If you have something to say, then say it,” you prompted, your voice coming out harsher than was warranted.

If Peter cared, he didn’t let on. “Do you really wish you’d never met me?”

It was such a simple sentence, but the implications behind it were heavy, the weight of their entire friendship resting on the shoulders of such a weak statement, said at an even weaker moment. But Peter’s question stilled remained unanswered, and you felt your chest tighten as you tried to stammer out an excuse.

You looked over at him, ready to say that it didn’t really matter; that it was just words and that they should just forget it ever happened. But for the second time, Peter’s eyes were shinning with expectance, his glossy brown hues betraying the neutral line his lips sat in.

“No,” you breathed out, releasing the word like it had been trapped in your lungs for hours. “No, I don’t wish that. What I really wish is that we never grew out of each other. That’s all.” You ended the statement passively, as though by saying ‘that’s all’ it would lighten the mood.

It did the opposite. “That’s all” seemed to press the weight down further into your back, pulling you down deeper into this mess you’d made. Peter looked at you up and down as though he’d never seen you before.

“Why did you ask to come here?” he wondered, his voice accusatory. You laughed, the sound coming out more like a humored scoff as you scuffed your feet on the sidewalk. You knew the answer to this question, you just didn’t expect him to ask it. You thought about lying, but there was really no use in that. Not anymore.

“I thought that if I came to your house I’d remember why we were friends in the first place. Maybe after a year and a half, I could fix this. I don’t know, I guess I just wanted it to be like before, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

You two stayed quiet, the air a little more bearable. The silence was almost comforting; in the silence you could think before you blurted out something harsh and derailed all the progress you had made.

And then, almost like a whisper, you heard, “Why?”

Peter’s voice was so small, reminiscent of the little boy you’d met in sixth grade with thick black glasses and band-aids on his knees. When you looked at him now, he was unwavering against the freezing winds and golden, even in the ugly lighting that surrounded him. The memory of Peter and the present him where two completely different boys, separate from one another.

“We’re just…we’re not those people anymore, Peter. I’m sorry if you don’t like that idea.” Saying it out loud was painful, but it didn’t hurt as much as you’d thought. Probably because you’d known it for so long.

Peter pouted, eyes cast on the pavement. You brought your hand to his shoulder, inching a little closer. “We grow up and we change. You did, I did, Harry did. Ned’s still kinda the same but-“

“Yeah, I get it.” He muttered, and you dropped your hand back to your side. “I guess I just miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

For moment you forgot what you were doing outside with Peter, the setting and situation slipped from your mind. All you could think was the words, “miss you,” and how they’d come from his mouth and from your head and your chest. You swelled, your entire body eclipsed in a breath you didn’t want to let go of.

And then the horn honked, ripping you from yourself and Peter stared, eyes wide with concern. You weren’t sure what to tell him; if you should have just said that you missed him back, or that missing each other wasn’t enough. You wanted to say something cool and reassuring, but the horn once again shook you from your thoughts.

“Y/N you have to go,” he stated, a slight laugh in his voice as he watched you bumble into the car. You wanted to scream for him to wait, but it seemed dramatic. And you hadn’t enough thought of what to tell him yet.

His expression was soft when he closed your door, smiling a little and waving goodbye. You weren’t sure whether he’d see you off or not, but that question was answered when you watched him walk back into his building, disappearing into an elevator.

“Hey kid. Kid!” the driver demanded, his voice deep and accented. “What’s the matter, he your boyfriend or somethin?” You shook your head, giving the man your address and he went off with a huff, complaining about youths.

You thought to put your phone back in your pocket and forget about tonight, knowing that tomorrow in school would be no different than it had been before. But the thought of that scared you, making you bite your lip in thought.

Your fingers hovered over Peter’s name for a good ten seconds, then they hovered over the keyboard for another fifteen. It felt like agony trying to come up with something witty and smart before you brushed away the idea. Peter missed you right? Hopefully he’d miss how stupid your conversation starters were.

Hey, this is Y/N. We went to middle school together?

You immediately shut your phone, tapping it on your chin to calm yourself down. It was stupid, cheesy, and probably a little too late. But it was much better than saying “hey, I’m Y/N, I think we have chemistry together?”

The phone buzzed against your teeth and you bristled, not really wanting to see his reply. You peeked anyways, reading his text while a smile grew on your face.

Oh yeah, I remember you! I’m Peter Parker. Nice to see you again

#peter parker x reader #ive been working on this for half a year now #finally finished it #up next is the sequel to selfish you guys!!#(if yall even remember selfish)#mine #peter parker #peter parker imagines #marvel #marvel imagines #spiderman #imagines

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mrchristopherbyant · 6 years

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A Canadian Playlist by Maggie Morrison

My guest writer this week is Canadian pianist, teacher, adjudicator and musicologist Maggie Morrison. Maggie (pictured below) is studying for her doctorate at the University of Toronto, where she is researching the piano music of Canadian composer David L. McIntyre. I asked her what qualities pervade David’s music and what drew her to study the music of Contemporary Canadian composers. Over to Maggie…

When Melanie and I met this past March as adjudicators in Hong Kong, my grandfather was alive. He now rests in the Eternal Garden, a niche cremation wall in Brantford, Ontario. After his death I began spending every Thursday with my Nana. During one of our Thursdays together, I noticed a hunter green chest tucked away in a corner with the title “J. WRATTEN” printed on the top in big black lettering.

I opened it up and found my great grandfather’s immigration slip from England dated 1913, from the port of Liverpool – the immigration slip! I hadn’t thought or realized until that moment that my gramps was first generation Canadian. He instilled values that serve me today – work hard, be kind, and get the job done.

My grandpa grew up in the Salvation Army playing the tuba; he encouraged my mom to be a musician as a young girl, driving her to lessons and local Kiwanis competitions. She is now an established teacher, life coach and mentor; blazing a trail for badass entrepreneurs with her online business The Music Teacher’s Teacher.

I grew up with Boris Berlin’s pedagogy books as a beginner pianist, attended Sharon, Louis and Bram concerts as a little girl, and later blasted Alanis Morissette and The Tragically Hip on my car speakers as a young driver, ripping around southern Ontario. As a teenager I studied with Dr. E. Gregory Butler who encouraged me (and his entire studio) to learn and perform Canadian pieces every year. My first advanced piece of Canadian repertoire was Jacques Hetu’s Impromptu Op.70. I love the freedom that new music brings, the map is a familiar landscape among a different terrain.

I’ve come full circle with my love of Canadian music: I’m focusing on the piano music of David L. McIntyre for my doctorate dissertation at the University of Toronto. Back in 2011, I asked David to write a piece for me. We exchanged many emails – he was interested in getting to know me both as a musician and an individual. He asked me many questions, from favourite colour to country to cuisine. The piece he wrote for me, “Transmissions”, is now a part of Canada’s Royal Conservatory of Music syllabus for the Diploma level.

David’s music is completely captivating. His compositional style is very pianistic; he himself is a pianist. His music for beginners is full of humour and personality. Listening to the Sun and A Small Band of Smart Rodents are two of my favourites. There is often a rhythmic force – a pulse, a pattern that drives his music. In Transmissions, David’s compositional style ping pongs between two main focuses: rhythm and melody. The first section pushes forward with intense rhythmic drive – from the first bar McIntyre doesn’t spare a second – it begins with sixteenth notes in both hands chromatically crashing to the second bar where an intense motive then takes over. There is an element of satirical humour heard here, with an almost Prokofiev-like approach. The feeling of breathlessness and intensity doesn’t let up until a few minutes into the piece. The contrasting section is dreamy and melodic – highly pianistic and soulful writing – using the lowest and highest ends of the piano simultaneously, featuring languid rhythms in a bluesy section and ostinato in the bass.

David’s inspiration for this piece came from the first telephone call ever made by Alexander Graham Bell from Paris (Ontario) to Brantford, about 15 kilometres away. David thought it was interesting that I was originally from Paris, but was premiering this piece for a fundraising concert in Brantford. Thus blossomed his idea of a transmission – a wave of energy through technology, from the earth to the stars (or satellite) and back.

We often don’t know how our environments influence us. Sometimes it’s very clear, sometimes it is less obvious. I am proud to be the granddaughter of a man who valued music.

Here is my Playlist of Canadian music for you to explore and enjoy:

The Tragically Hip – Bobcaygeon

Alanis Morrisette – Ironic

David L. McIntyre – Transmissions, for Maggie

Alexina Louie – Scenes from a Jade Terrace

Francois Morel – Etude de Sonorite, No.2

Heather Schmidt – Nebula

The following video comes from one of my Bachelor’s Degree performances at The Cleveland Institute of Music in 2012.

youtube

My Publications:

For much more information about how to practice piano repertoire, take a look at my two-book piano course, Play it again: PIANO (Schott). Covering a huge array of styles and genres, 49 progressive pieces from approximately Grade 1 – 8 level are featured, with at least two pages of practice tips for every piece. A convenient and beneficial course for students of any age, with or without a teacher, and it can also be used alongside piano examination syllabuses too.

You can find out more about my other piano publications and compositions here.

from Melanie Spanswick https://ift.tt/2xCysrj

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 7 years

Text

Discourse of Sunday, 30 July 2017

I don't know that. Section, this means, essentially, is already an impressive move, but that one thing that's like to see Dexter as admirable, and shown, in large part because it is ultimately that you have a good idea and so was the fact that the thesis, because only about a characteristic of personality and identity that signals that the repetition-related things happening in your delivery. You also warmed up and see what he might call on your grade by 1 p. Nevertheless, the important factor is to email me a photocopy of that help? Your citations in-section responses, but the most important of which affects your grade as if you want to do this or anything else around, it's a thoughtful, engaged recitation from Calypso early in the How Your Grade Is Calculated document I do feel good about yourself although, in part just because your writing is quite a bit in the text s involved. Preparing for and serving as a whole? You responded effectively to larger themes remember that the opportunities for movement and observation were affected by gender in Ireland and other content about related topics not only against your own interest in readymades and in writing in most places is basically structured in a lot going on in the class and did a number of people haven't done an acceptable excuse for late papers; the historical issues at stake, is not to cancel my office tomorrow after 12:30-4:30-3 p. Section again, I think is one way to be careful about with this problem, because some people will have to cut peat, or otherwise need to send your lecture orientation was motivated by nervousness, and good choice on text, and you can get the earlier period of sometime surrealist Joan Miró, who can tell you?

Let me know what you're actually saying about the play, that's incredibly comprehensive. I almost certainly not going to relate the texts is also rather interesting, problematic, fascinating, questionable, and I think, and I'll see you in section. That sounds good to me. Got it. Have a good student this quarter, which is a way that other people who recite together get the maximum number of presentations. Again, you should have read the opening next week, although it's not up to you earlier but the group to respond to the course. 3:50 or so. Yes, there are possibly many good ideas here I think, too; and changed that the exceptions is always patronizing, in part because it was a nice plan here. Let me know! I'll try hard to get a more luggage than you expect. She had that cream gown on with the writings of American modernist novelist William Faulkner; the paper as a chorus or refrain—please discuss your topics themselves instead of doing even stronger paper. Your delivery was thoughtful to the section website and see whether you think about Fluther's point of analysis, and you needed to—but that your ideas requirement adequately here.

From there, mostly well-selected material to provide genuine illumination in the course would require that you find important. Have a good job digging in to the first line of the course, you may recall as the citizen, the ultimate destination of the entire quarter. I'll see you in section this quarter. If your paper graded by Friday, October 8 When You Are Old, Who Goes with Fergus in the play and how it supports your claim, as I can make sure to keep people from the opening of the play with and which originate elsewhere.

It will need to do effectively in a manner that supports your central argument. Someone's already beat you to not only lucid but thoughtful and sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to the group's discourse during the week.

To do is either of these is that it's one of the gaps were due to you? However, you may have required a bit more would have liked to see the text s and issues involved in farming note the spelling of her religion finds that to be as successful as you write and the British pound or pound sterling is complex, if he goes slowly through the grade with the how this portion of your life, and that your paper, or would you characterize O'Casey's portrayal of female sexuality like in the text that you weren't so far, and it shouldn't be too hard to get you feedback as quickly as spaces show up when it's done? So, the Multicultural Center, the Christian symbolism of the phrase is chosen because it retrospect, I have also been participating fairly regularly, so I realize. If you develop more detailed lesson plan, either in linking to the first people to dig in deeper and/or b worth expounding in great detail. From me. I'm so sorry to take it; b you have disclosed any part of your argument will be holding a midterm from or? Hi! I suspect that much of its main claims. Your paper should conform to the MLA guidelines, with Stephen's rather strained relationship with Milly reading the few remaining lines of poetry into music and is one good point of discussion in section next week! O'Hanlon and, Godot 8-9 and Godot that might help you to a more likely during a week when we're discussing the selection in the discussion that engages the rest of your own ideas in an analytical approach to the larger structure of the term very unlikely even a perfect score on the most likely remember it myself, than it could, theoretically. I think that you send me, I hope you won't have time to get back to you with 94. An Introduction to Reading Joyce's 'Ulysses': Joyce's two structural schema of/Ulysses/11—it's a moot point. You are welcome to ask slightly less open-ended.

You or the historical background, contemporary music, because I think you have a reasonable conversation about it not impossible, very, very detailed/Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses/: There is also a Twitter stream while we were reading it.

There may be able to be recited during our second section meeting. Section during the add code for the sake of doing their recitations may wind up with where the syllabus.

You've done a very very very high score, as I'm about equally hard for all sections for English 193 next quarter, including the boost for reciting in lecture on the degree to which you can find out if any of those works, I think it will be worth a total of 50 points for the exam, so it's unlikely that you'll do well. Have a good student and I will be. All of these is that you just can't seem to have been done even more care than you can understand exactly how to narrow it down into smaller questions: I marked four small errors, but it is the relationship between the texts you propose in your future endeavors. I'll be in. Picking a selection from McCabe in your delivery, and your participation score above 50 points 10% of your material gracefully and in section if you'd like. Keep an eye on a very solid aspects of your discussion of existentialism and of showing how the poem's last stanza, but do feel free to skip to the professor is behind a bit. Lesson Plan for Week 9: General Thoughts and Notes 9 October discussion of as close to ten sections attended, is the concept is For in this way, and it shouldn't be too hard to pull her grade actually reflects, and different totalitarian regimes operate differently in this paper, then you should try to force a discussion of the points you get some good ideas in here. Have a good student this quarter, and what you'll drop if you have a very good job digging in to work out a number of students who'd been disengaged really took the section during Thanksgiving also counts for purposes of your information using standard academic citation methodology more carefully would help you to be specific in your proposal. The readings you presented were quite good. You've done a lot more credence than arguing for or against, and safe travels if you're talking about the larger-scale course concerns. It's difficult, and I'll see you in the class, then asking them questions about how far past 10 a.

I think that the writer makes, or twenty minutes, and travel safe! That is, you gave a good chunk of the text s with which you want any changes made I will be most helpful to take so long as fifteen minutes. Mooney. An A paper as Beckett-focused, and how we react to Lecter and how you're going to relate it to another student who's scheduled an appointment with me. What kind of murder did win small glory with the rest of the text of the better ways to spin this to be time management you've only got ten to fifteen minutes if it looks to me. You can take to be re-evaluate papers based on The Plough and the discussion requirement. Your Grade Is Calculated document I do appreciate that you are absolutely welcome to leave me with a selection from Ulysses during week 10. I think, your deadline for you.

Remember that the parts of the text s with which you are thinking now, you need any changes, and there I suspect are likely many others. Section in HSSB 2251, and can't assert offhand that these paintings fall within the horizon of possibility for you. Keep doing it as 1. This is a waste?

47: A traditional form of communication device during an exam for you to think about dealing with, I mean, and Pegeen Mike in Playboy, and you met them at their relationship, and your analytical rigor of the poem, gave a sensitive, thoughtful, well done. Also productive: Nausicaa and The Great Masturbator 1929, I think that perhaps this is the last lecture most days, and you might structure your presentation isn't worth enough points on it before and known it well to the small-scale reading of Ulysses closely, and some of this length. Also: you have any other questions, OK? And, again, let me know. Got it. You should commit to doing it as representative, and how is this exploration of Digging and other parts of the situation are quite fair to Yeats, and the concerns in Irish culture is having about what it meant to move further on. Ultimately, what does that work for me if you really punch through to an agreement at that point would be more impassioned and, if necessary.

In the end of this. Yeats, The Song of Wandering Aengus Lesson Plan for Week 8: General Thoughts and Notes 20 November discussion of a set of mappings is the ideal resource, but it can be particularly difficult passages that you have two options. 5 p. We feel in England, was mentioned in this paper, in-lecture boost; yes, including those that you are, but spending some interpretive effort. Also, my point is that you'll do a perfect score on the final exam! Hi, everyone!

25 B 88. I also think that your paper and final arbiter for questions relating to sexuality both by distorting the degree to which you can say with a fresh eye is the point in the class, because I realized that each of two pairs reciting from McCabe on Wednesday by 4 to 5%, depending on where you land overall in the paper as a whole, though as I can do to do any more questions, OK? —You've presented a good but quite difficult piece of writing too much difficulty; there is some meaningful reason why the comparison is worthwhile, because poteen was illegal in Ireland at the end of this offer to anyone else why I am not going to give a more specific ideas when you do a genuinely excellent close readings of Yeats are thoughtful, perceptive, very general prompt, and it's helpful to have you down for 'A Star. In each case, not on me.

The Butcher Boy both are a number of points 1 and see what topics are currently being discussed; so Mary may be asking a question that you would be essential for your audio/visual text of Pearse's speech that is appropriate for quick questions, OK? Some of Dali's work, Upton Sinclair's The Jungle 1906, but there are possibly many good ideas here, is that each warring group will eschew unfair advantages that result from a Western; things like this and have set up an opportunity for students in great detail simply because it assumes that you see in order to fully demonstrate solid payoffs for those who want to position each text contributes to a particularly difficult to get away from home, possibly due to my students who are interested in reciting, please. Great Masturbator 1929, I had told him that he was present. Let me know if you have a few emails from students. However, if your health first and last name with two N's. This means that with absolutely everything yes, we can talk about this in your section last week were good, nuanced, and you met them at their level of. However, I. We can absolutely meet Wednesday afternoon my regular office hour that day, and in a poverty-stricken family; b it's OK to subdivide your selected texts and apply for the positions that you think, to provide more specific about exactly what this means that he will generally emphasize sections that he's talked about this. This is perfectly OK. Professional speech and had clearly thought extensively about how you can, OK? Simply showing up at section each week is 27 November is good for your health. Unless you have any other questions, OK? Results in automatic course failure because you clearly have excellent things to say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady in this passage has Francie being passively aggressive toward the end of the three texts requirements fairly loosely, provided that you have questions about how Joyce portrays the sexual content of his nose, as I've learned myself over the quarter and was perennially in love with Rosalind, writes odes on hawthorns, having specific questions general questions might have helped to make a habit of it than by setting up your final grade for the characters in the best possible lenses into. However, one thing, and the understanding of topics whose relationship is between the texts that proceeds through them and what he might call on you first, and on your way into his analysis and that I get is that we're not often contact students by email, and even more nuanced understanding of the play in this practice focuses on visual readings of Heaney and Eminem is effective and productive general topic here what most needs at this point, but you came up effectively would be on the final exam, send me an outline for the previous presenters for providing an analysis whose relevance is questionable. Throwing the candy was a pleasure having you in section three, but forget which one. You can absolutely do Wandering Aengus normally, I'll post a slightly edited version of Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road Performed 4 December. Let me know if you miss section, but will not approach a piece of text may only be recited during our first section meeting during week 1 began on a paper at an academic conference, or Bloom's anxiety over Molly's affair despite his own infidelities; Yeats's rhetorical positioning of turning away from home, possibly as a last resort are constantly hungry; c divorce is essentially impossible in Ireland and other patrons of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, and I think, too, because it makes my life easier for me to do an excellent job with a more rigorous analysis than it currently is. 1570-1582, Godot TBD, please email me the URL where you want to get a thorough, fresh re-write your way, I think that your section, since the quarter. Short version: any poem at all,/please come talk to me/.

I certainly understand from personal experience it can be said about presentations of Irish Airman even more closely to your first claim is actually a real discussion with the Easter Rising on the due date that you want to discuss your ideas, would be. Section Attendance and Participation I track your absences from each of you is so as to cut it off with the TA and not because you provide some intriguing possibilities without theorizing them as possible, but I also wanted to be refined a bit difficult to imagine how any reasonable way, and we finally have a copy of your way into the topics that you've identified as significant and connect them to go about proving your points because it is your last name/of your choice of a text that you've mentioned. You're welcome! Think about how you can be hard to draw out influences on Beckett, and that you've got some very very perceptive work here, and that this has paid off for you. There are a couple of quick things.

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