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babbiweeb · 1 year

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it's always been you-kyojuro rengoku

(anime in gif:unknown)

tw:arranged marriage, short mention of abuse (shinjuro rengoku)

initial tags:pre-established reader background, kyojuro rengoku, female reader, demon slayer:kimetsu no yaiba, kyojuro rengoku lives au

genre:romance, slow burn (attempted), angst (if you squint. maybe?)

story playlist:

let you break my heart again-laufey ft. philharmonia orchestra

here with me-d4vd

in the embers-sleeping at last

tv-billie eilish

i’m with you-vance joy

authors note:the last few days have just been filled with so many potential ideas that i haven't exactly fleshed out (yet). today is the day i (hopefully) feed my moots with more kyo content! talk to you later! enjoy!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Morning breaks as it brings a sheer glimpse of hope for the new day. The first rays of subtle light pour into the windows of two separate bedrooms. The marriage of two young souls illuminates in such a way that would shock many. Two bedrooms across from one another. One holds the secrets of a man who is shrouded in complete mystery. While the other, holds the heart of a woman who yearns for more.

They married in the fall with hopes that in the upcoming new year, a child would be conceived. However, the pair still hadn't even shared their first kiss. A marriage with an empty marital bed and empty hearts. A constant reminder of what was always meant to signify their relationship-

Simply an arrangement.

Walking along The Flame Estate halls, a woman of poise and grace emerges. You would expect nothing less from such a woman born into such prominence. Perhaps this is what annoys him? Perhaps she is overwhelming while in his presence? For over a year, each conversation they surprisingly had was always filled with slight tension. As if her mere existence brought pain to the man of the house. She never understood why, her mind just filled with constant doubt-

”Why marry someone you don't entirely agree to?” ”How can one hate me so much?”

Her thoughts echo throughout her mind. Despite this, she is determined to remain by his side. Playing the role of his perfect wife-

Because while he would never admit it…you are the perfect wife.

You are perfect for him.

My mind races as I walk towards our kitchen. My fingers trace along the hem of my robe, before finally grabbing hold of the soft fabric. Ruby red that compliments my delicate skin-the red boosting the radiant fire within my heart. I was a fool to think this would catch his attention. Nothing seems to ever do just that. Oh how I wish to be more than just strangers.

Breathing deeply, I prepare a few bowls and place them on the countertop, careful to keep the noise to a minimum. However, before losing myself, he makes his presence known. At this moment, I take time to watch him. Pulling a chair out from the dining table, he takes a seat.

“Good morning Kyojuro! Perfect timing, I was just about to start breakfast!”-I spoke with a familiar fondness. I can’t help but crave for more, my voice makes that abundantly clear.

A grunt of satisfaction for my duty leaves his lips. As if this is my queue, I begin to cook-

All for him.

His father was estranged for a time from the young boys of the home. Senjuro, being the youngest, had a hard time remembering his mother. As if the young boy couldn't go through any more hardship, his father grew distant and abusive after her passing. Though, from my understanding, the relationship between the three grew recently.

Kyojuro, after dancing with death, had survived the events of The Mugen Train. The battle with an upper moon demon had changed his heart according to many. During his recovery however, the light grew brighter on the other side. While he lost the battle, he gained what their dear mother would have wanted.

Now, though not officially retired, he still takes on light missions to remain active duty. I never pried where I felt I couldn't, at least…not to him. His father approached my family over a year ago, believing marriage would help ease his eldest son into a more relaxing life. I was deemed the perfect match for such an outstanding man. A young woman who was raised in the same prefecture as the Rengoku family truly would have been the ideal fit-

If only he had seen it sooner.

Serving his breakfast on a tray, I place it in front of him as he sits patiently at the table. I took the time to make his favorite. Most mornings, while he never explicitly said, I cook his breakfast and excuse myself.

“There you are.”-I speak softly with a hint of disappointment. The same disappointment he is far too familiar with.

“Thank you Y/N”-He spoke,

Kyojuro didn’t know what was wrong. Thoughts running wild as he catches her every movement. The sunlight that grows and pours into the window captures her skin beautifully, illuminating her purity. He looked down at the tray as he caught that familiar sense of tension, though it seems as if it isn't as prominent this morning. His heart feels warm.

“You’re welcome Kyojuro”

“Please let me know if you plan on leaving for duty today…I will pack your things.”-

Her voice was alluring, even with the slightest hint of sadness. Kyojuro watches intently as she removes her apron. Her kimono underneath is now on full display.

“You are gorgeous. You always inspire awe within me.”*-His thoughts ran.

“I-I…-He stayed quiet for a brief pause. He was about to ask you to stay. To not leave him, for once. He wanted to ask you to stay by his side until he left…but he knew he couldn't-.

“I’ll be going out for a mission today”-He tried to ignore the sadness growing on your supple face.

Before leaving, Y/N looks into his eyes with a softened gaze. Her words flowing freely-

“O-Oh…a mission? Again? I-I mean of course! You are The Flame Hashira! I will pack your things right away! When will you be leaving?”

With a sigh, he responds.

“Within the hour.”

“I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me”-

Another day without him. It seems this is all we are meant to be. Two people sharing one roof without any love.

Walking to the back of the Estate, I enter his own bedroom. Immediately, I pack all while my eyes trail to his room. His unmade bed with blankets teasing the floor.

“Such a large bed…and yet we don't share”-I thought as my hands placed firmly atop his bed. My fingers trace his sheets. The bed smells like him-I like it. I wish we could be more. I wish he would try.

Eventually, I grow weak with emotion-I find myself sitting on his bed, caressing what little bit of him I can have.

Kyojuro-

The developing feeling of warmth quickly becomes bittersweet. My mind fills with thoughts of her and grows immensely each time we meet. The past year has been difficult for us both, moreover, it has been incredibly unfair to her.

Growing up, my parents loved one another deeply. Their electrifying love inspired me to find something similar-

“Will I ever have love?” “Of course sunshine–you’ll never be alone.”

I haven’t even touched my food. The food she made. My thoughts became too overwhelming-

“So much for ignoring my feelings.”

Soon, I get up from my seat and slowly find my way back to my bedroom. She’s there, I know it. She’s in my bedroom, taking care of me even if we live separately.

Quietly, I round the corner nearing my room. I don’t want to startle you. Entering the cracked door, I see you running your fingers through my sheets.

“My body is stiff, why? My cheeks are hot? Why?”

I can feel myself growing, almost…jealous? Why am I feeling this way? Taking a deep breath, I speak-

“Y/N? What are you doing…?”

An audible gasp leaves her beautiful lips as she frantically finds her own words. Something about losing her train of thought? How cute-

Y/N-

“I-I finished packing y-your bag!”-My voice is frantic as I slowly approach him with his belongings in hand. Slowly, I bite my lip, nervously attempting to rationalize my desire to be close to him. I want to be husband and wife. But it’s clear he doesn't feel the same.

Kyojuro was silent for a moment. Although, I would take his silence over his single word any day. A single word that further sends me down my own spiral.

“...Okay.”-He speaks.

As I stand a mere few feet from him, I hold out his bag and keep my head low. The embarrassment is all too much for me to handle. A sigh releases from my mouth-

“I-I know you don't like me, and it seems that you never will. I’m sorry for pushing the boundaries this morning.”-Without looking up at him, I walk past him and out the door. My heart stings ever so faintly at the prospect of such a sad excuse of a marriage.

For a moment, I felt the release of tension. A pause that abruptly ended as the sound of movement echoed behind me. My wrist turns hot as I feel his hand wrap around me.

“Wait”

This is the first time he’s touched me. The warmth of his hand travels down. His fingers lace with mine perfectly. The calloused hands signify the hardwork and dedication he carries with him. My heart skips one, two, three, maybe four beats-

“...I…I don't dislike you-”

That came out awkwardly, and I think he noticed. His hand shakes slightly. This innocent touch was enough to make me do the same.

“I don't dislike you Y/N.”-While the facade of confidence stuck out like a sore thumb, his awkwardness was rewarded by my own delicate smile. My body straightens as I look into his eyes. Slowly, he starts to shy away.

“O-Oh I see…”-I whisper softly as I relish in the feeling of our warmth combining.

“Kyojuro? T-Thank you for telling me that.”-Hesitantly, I removed my hand from his. As I walk away again, I whisper.

“You should get dressed. You must leave soon-your mission? Remember?”

With this, I begin to calm myself from such a high. A simple touch from him is enough to send me over the edge. He’s never been so forward before. We’ve never touched each other before. I can’t help but feel…happy.

Kyojuro-

Shocked. I couldn't grasp the sudden quick action I had just taken. I can’t stop the way my heart is racing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I can’t do this to her. But what if? What if I had one more touch? What if I hugged her? To feel her frame against mine? To feel what they had? The idea of being alone never worried me. I was always confident love would find me. Now…I fear for my future. Simultaneously, I’m bringing her down with me-

Confused. I enter back into my room, sliding the door shut. My hand still has her lingering warmth attached to it. My lips curve into a smile as I begin to feel euphoric. The emotion she brings out of me makes me feel like I still have a chance to earn her affection. Those few seconds when I touched her hand, and that smile that appeared subtly on her face.

I didn’t realize this at first, but my heart yearns for more. I want more of this.

I want her. I do.

As the morning continues to build within the home, the once apparent loveless void is finally growing. The cracks in the foundation being nurtured with the first touch of romance. Suddenly, being apart for now doesn't seem all that bleak.

Y/N silently sits by the open deck. A book in hand as she awaits her husband. Though, she fools no one. She wears her heart on her sleeve proudly. The flush in her face never fading as a certain glow fills her to the brim.

Y/N-

Moments pass and soon, the faint sound of his door sliding open and shut can be heard. While the thought of him sacrificing himself weighs heavily on my heart, I can’t help but feel honored to be by his side. As Hashira, he is responsible for our safety. He dedicates his entire being to protect the weak, and this is just one of the many traits I fell for. His manhood is defined by protecting those that deserve to lead simple, full lives. Yet, there is a part of him that remains gentle.

“I’m ready, Y/N.”

As those words ring in my ear, somehow, I feel different. My lips release a soft hum as I slowly stand from my spot. Book in hand and feet moving, my fingers brush against the spine nervously.

“So that you are…”-I smile to hide my growing disappointment. The last thing I want is for him to view me as a sad burden. He has gone on many missions since we were wed. Most of them lasted longer than a week! But this? This time it’s different. Our hands touched, and we held each other for just a moment. We had shared the first blossom of a new found bond. Just once, just for a moment, I finally felt as though we were meant to be.

“How long will you be away this time?”

To my surprise, he smiles as his voice becomes bright-

“Just a day. I’ll be back tonight…Y/N.”-Just like this. Every time he leaves, we remain in this dance. Almost as if we both have more to say. But, that’s impossible-he still doesn’t see me as his wife. Biting the plush of my lip, I nod my head as my words fail me for now.

He’ll be back tonight. This is enough to bring me some comfort-

Kyojuro-

As we sit in a short, yet peaceful silence, our eyes meet. Words no longer deemed necessary. Taking one last glance at her, I grab my bag. My lips relax as my smile begins to fade-

Content. It has been such a long time since I felt this liberated. She makes me feel as though I am more than capable of letting go.

Reaching the edge of our back garden, my hand goes for the latch. Almost gone-until she calls out for me. As I stop completely, I turn around and meet her gaze.

“Yes, Y/N?”

Once more, the air grows thin as I feel entirely lifted. Two simple words that I’ve heard over and over again. But this time, it’s different. The subtle desperation in her voice send tidal waves of emotion to overflow within me.

“Be safe.”

I have nothing to say. Nothing seems to be enough. I can’t help but just simply stare back into her eyes. The same eyes that I have come to adore so much. Everything about her makes me feel…oh so many things. I’m supposed to leave now…but would it be so bad to stay? Would it be so bad to hold you close? Her words. Two simple words drive me crazy. They make me feel as if all that truly matters is…your love.

“I will…”

I finally said.

The hours for each of them had played out differently. For Y/N, her morning had quickly gone. Her morning after he departed was spent taking care of the home. Every detail must remain unchanged and perfect. Perfect for him. She never minded all the housework-

“Always a pleasure to take care of the man that provides for me”-

Despite the relationship, Y/N had always found herself taking care of their every need. Including taking care of his father and brother. Senjuro had grown quite close with Y/N. Always wanting to be near the pair, and each time he visited, Y/N could not help to wonder when it would be her turn to experience motherhood. A woman with big dreams, yet grounded to the prospect of having her own family. Senjuro truly fueled her passions.

Ruka would be proud.

For Kyojuro, time slowed. His mission sent him off to a nearby village. Sightings of a low ranking demon lurking within the shadows. Thankfully, during the report, Kyojuro was relieved to find out there hadn't been much damage to the community. As always, he is still determined to fight till the bitter end.

The wonders of her plagued his mind. But, he did not mind it. In fact, he welcomed his emotions to take over his mind. How could he let her roam this life alone for so long? To be married but not welcomed? The never ending fear of leaving someone behind due to his responsibility conflicts with his true feelings.

“I could not forgive myself if I left her alone”-

Dancing with death truly changes a person.

Kyojuro-

Home. That’s what I see. The sun is setting behind me as I clutch my bag tightly. My nerves begin to rise the closer I get to home, to her. I wonder what she’s doing? Is she resting? Have I crossed her mind today? Perhaps she thought of me as I did her? Everything I felt then, I crave to feel again.

As I approach our Estate, my feet begin to pick up the pace slightly. The excitement grows as I shed away the feeling of secrecy. To fall for her is my greatest pleasure. I just hope she accepts.

Just then, a shadow passes in front of a window. It’s her. She’s pacing back and forth, seemingly frantic. A small chuckle escapes my lips. She seems nervous. Reaching our gate, I haven’t once left her. My eyes feel full as I watch her every move. I can't help but stare.

“Y/N?”-Calling out to her as I enter our home, she stops in her own tracks.

“God she’s radiant”-

Y/N-

Just then, a familiar voice echoed, my lips curving slowly. There he is, my husband. His uniform is slightly dirty and wrinkled. His hair flowing down behind his broad shoulders. His face was soft despite the hardships of the day.

He doesn't seem injured! No blood, no scratches! Good.

Walking towards him, now standing a few feet in front of him, my eyes finally reach him.

“Welcome home Kyojuro.”-My voice is soft and gentle as I take in him completely. A certain fondness hidden within my demeanor. His eyes stare back at mine as we take in each other's peace. He took a step closer now-

“Y/N.”

Nervously, I stutter. The way his smooth voice says my name brings joy to my full heart.

“K-Kyojuro! H-How was your mission? Was it successful?”-Shyly, I begin to fidget with my hands, a nervous tick.

“Yeah, it was. And now, I’m back home safely.”-Home? Home? He’s inching closer now. His warmth reaches my core as his arm reaches forward. He looked at my hand briefly. He’s never been so close before. I’m enjoying every moment with him, however I can't help but feel myself slowly shy away. To spend an entire year with my husband, and not have any form of contact, to then suddenly be given a bit of affection? How strange?

“May I…hold your hand?”-My ears ring as I flush red. As if we could just simply ignore the sudden call to such intimacy, I attempt to change the subject. Poorly might I add.

“I-I’m glad to hear it! Oh! Before I forget! I-I made you a small dinner. You must be hungry!”-Biting my lip, I await his reply. I do not know if this is okay for us to do. This all feels so foreign.

Kyojuro-

Inching closer to her, allows me to feel her warmth. Her being captivating me as I look at her soft supple skin. Her small hands that work tirelessly for me. My lips curve before I can even think. To hold her hand would be a divine pleasure I would love to indulge in. A simple touch. That’s all I ask.

My shyness is killing me, but she shamelessly makes me weak and brings me to my knees. An uncharted wave of feeling that I want to explore with only her.

“Changing the subject? How cute.”-I thought.

“Thank you, I definitely am hungry…”-For just a moment, I tease her with a bit of relief. A pause allowed me to capture her once more. Her lips. The temptation becomes my downfall as I feel myself grow impatient. I want to hold her hand–so, so badly.

“Hold out your hand, Y/N.”

An audible gasp escapes as her cheeks glow a faint pink. A small simple word melts me-

“Y-Yes…”

Her delicate hand lifted in front of me as her eyes shone with anticipation. She’s eager. This is everything I had imagined about. Soft, puppy love taking hold of us, finally. My calloused hands reach for her, as we meet, I smile. A true, genuine smile. One that signifies my readiness. I want to fall for her-

“May we walk together?”-There is nothing else on my mind but you.

Y/N-

“A walk? B-But your dinner? It’s getting late Kyojuro!”-My blush deepens. I can feel it. His hand squeezes mine slightly. This affection he is granting me–everything I have been craving for is finally mine. He finally sees me.

He wasn't listening to you. He couldn't bring himself to hear your words. Your lips, your soft and delicate hands. He wanted nothing else than to just have your company. The bright smile creeping on his face told you enough.

“Let’s just walk, just for a while”-With his words came a sudden rush of pure euphoria. My shy skin sheds as my comfort grows. He is all I need. And I’ll be damned to lose this opportunity. He is mine. I simply nod my head as he takes the lead. Time had slowed as he took gentle care of me. Our garden being the perfect spot for a time such as this. The moon is now rising as remnants of the sun slowly disappear.

The long silence, while calm and inviting, breaks as we make time to sit side by side.

“Y/N…”-His voice trails before he lets out a short sigh. His body shifts as he turns to face me. His knee brushed against mine. Yet another foreign touch-

“...why haven't I held your hand until now?”-His question stumps me as I look up at him. Could he be genuine? Shall we take the next step and break these walls? To be honest and undone?

Making up my mind quickly, I speak in a hushed tone.

“I-I do not know Kyojuro. Your mind is a mystery I’ve wanted to explore for a while. However, you're not alone…”-I pause to catch my nerves. My words carry me as my thoughts try to catch up.

“I’ve spent many nights wondering why we are the way we are. You have brought me a great sense of relief asking me such a simple question. Thank you.”

The sound of the night beginning to fall upon us amplifies as the silence becomes apparent once more. Flickers of light begin to pop like small fireworks. Lightning bugs surrounding the nearby shrubbery. The sound of rustling brush fails to hide the feet of critters passing through. Oddly enough, I feel no tension. The air is clear and so is my mind.

His hand squeezes mine as if to let me know he’s still here. Right by my side.

“O-Oh…you’re welcome. I-I feel as though I really didn't do much. In fact, I know I haven't done much…”-His voice lingers for a bit before continuing his train of thought out loud.

“This marriage must have been difficult for you. I’m not exactly a man that you would be proud of.”

He’s right. This marriage has been difficult. I had such expectations for us. I fantasized endlessly during the weeks leading to our wedding. I always chalked up his cool demeanor as just nerves. Though, my dreams finally broke apart the evening after we had announced our nuptials. The heartbreak I felt gradually took over, until eventually, I allowed myself to get lost within my own marital duties. That was all I had. Although, the Rengoku family as a whole still welcomed me and made me feel somewhat comfortable. His father kept reassuring that his son's behavior truly was out of the ordinary. Being a veteran to the corps, Shinjuro understood all too well the pain his eldest son felt. Shinjuro suffered just as much-

“Just give him time, he’s been through hell and back. This second chance has been granted to him while feeling as if he isn't deserving of such a thing.”

“Kyojuro, you may not be the husband you expected yourself to be. But please, do not cut yourself short. I am still proud of you. You are a man worthy of praise and admiration. You have been blessed with the perseverance of a true warrior–your mother would be proud.”

Treading lightly, I speak from my soul. I’ve waited an entire year to finally have a moment to share with the man I married. His father shed well deserved light on the hardships of their livelihood. Shinjuro lost his wife to terminal illness. Losing the spark to his flame, he burnt out. Turning to alcohol as a way to temporarily forget his pain. Senjuro grew up having only faint memories of their mother. His brother, having to sacrifice his own youth to raise such a gentle boy. Regardless of such tribulations, I firmly believe Ruka Rengoku would be immensely proud of her son.

I am wholeheartedly proud of him.

Slowly, my gaze returns to him. Not knowing what to expect, I began to admire his eyes. His eyes filled with a spark I had never seen before. Wide and bright, I smile softly as my eyes soften. This is all I need. His attention directly focused on only me. As if I am the only woman in the world.

Time is frozen as the two share a slice of heaven on Earth. At this moment, Kyojuro had finally seen Y/N in all her glory. Reminisce of his mother found in her. The woman he had neglected had given him yet another chance to prove himself worthy of her love. They are absolutely smitten.

Kyojuro-

Her words tug playfully at the strings of my heart. She’s delicate and careful with me. She doesn't see my behavior as something to fear. She sees the man crying out for something, someone–she sees me. My waterline stings painlessly as I feel the flow of water. Looking at her, keeping her hand within mine, I can’t help but feel seen. The soft curve of her face that carries the many expressions yet to discover. Her lips curve into a smile that I never want to fade. The bridge of her nose that my eyes follow to meet her caring gaze.

You are so beautiful-

“Y/N? C-Can I ask you something?”-With a smile, all I have now is the aching thought of her lips against mine. I don't know where to go from here, all that is certain is that I crave her more. She is my undeniable cure to my own loneliness–I’ll be damned to ever let her go. Without hesitation, she speaks-

“Y-Yes! Of course”-Our faces close as the setting of such serenity illuminates the ethereal beauty that sits before me. Tightly, I grip her hand and lead her towards my chest, laying her palm flat. My heart is pounding-

“Do you-As the hardest question undoubtedly brings back the tension within me, I breathe in and out deeply before asking. My heartbeat skips as her fingers tease the buttons along the front my uniform-

“Do you…love me Y/N?”

Intimate and vulnerable. How I want to be with her always-

Y/N-

Do my ears deceive me? Perhaps the otherworldly glow of the moon hazes me. No? If that were true, why does he hold my hand against his chest? Why does his heart beat so quickly? Why do I feel so dizzy? So lightheaded…

“I-I am unsure if answering will benefit us in any way…considering the state our marriage is in…”-Taking a deep breath, I lower my head. Looking at my lap, my one lone hand clenched the hem of soft fabric. I feel myself choke up, full from the intensity of such a telling question.

But–

“H-However, if you must know…Kyojuro. I do. I do love you.”-My voice just above a whisper as I close my eyes. My confession out and in the open air. The moon and stars as my witness.

The way his hand slowly lets go of mine, I keep my hand firmly upon his chest just for a moment longer before swiftly reuniting my hands with one another. My body heat rises as I begin to realize how absolutely vulnerable I am now.

“Y/N…”-He whispers my name as he moves even closer. The space between us is almost non-existent. His hand travels up my arm as his finger trails the fabric of my sleeve. Soon after, he reaches the curve of my face. Caressing my cheek gently-A foreign touch welcomed.

“Y/N? May I kiss you?”-His voice melting me once more as a hint of pure love falls from his beautiful mouth. Looking up cautiously, his touch became needy.

“W-What? K-Kyojuro? The sudden shift…the affection? Why now? This isn't like you!”-

As they sit together, the touch of his hand becomes needy as he pulls her close, alluding to his desire. If you would let him, he would love nothing more than to touch your skin all night long.

“Y/N, I’m only doing this because of you. You’ve changed me. Your touch, your skin, your lips–everything about you is a never ending addiction. I’m affectionate because of you.”

My face is filled with anger, confusion, and love. All hitting me at once. My slight anger stemmed from the surprising shift of romance. To have me wait for what felt like an eternity, is truly cruel. My confusion gives me up with the furrow of my brow. Why now? We’ve never kissed, and yet…

“I’ve been holding myself back from you. I was such a fool to treat you so coldly from the very beginning. You deserve a man. If you would allow it…Y/N, I want to be that man.”

And all at once, my doubts and questions fade away from my mind. In an instant, my dreams of being his piece back together. The water that had built along my waterline trickled down in short streams. One tear, then two, now three-

All he could do is just look at you. Every inch of you is becoming more and more addicting. Why hadn't he noticed your beauty before? You made him feel so intense, and yet it took him almost too long to finally acknowledge this love. Dipping his face closer to yours, he wipes your tears as he stays mere inches from your lips.

Kyojuro daring to not move an inch closer until he knows. His eyes peered into yours silently begging for this. And as the angel you have become in his eyes, you had blessed him-

Your lips meet each other as you both close your eyes. The warm, foreign feeling of velvet melting together perfectly brings you both to each other's complete devotion. He kept quiet as he wanted to hear more of that gentle whimper. For once, he allows his heart to take over-

Our lips move in sync as now both of his large hands caress my face. Drawing me closer to him, leaving no room for us to leave. As if I ever would.

The dance we share is more intimate than anything we had ever shared before. Our first kiss together is electric. His soft tongue running against my bottom lip as our continued passion exposes our hidden desires. The sound of almost lewd noises fall from my mouth and pour into his. The crisp night breeze being the only thing that cools me down–chills raising the hairs along my arms. In an instant, he pulls away, whispering against my lips.

“Y/N…”-His hands fall from my face as they drop to hold my frame. His embrace reassuring me.

As I whisper his name back almost breathlessly, I rest my head gently on his shoulder. My face is glowing with love.

“I love you too…”

As if a part of Y/N had already known this, she let out a deep breath of relief. Nuzzling close to him, her face buried into his warmth. You had done something to him truly. Your warmth against his body felt perfect. He couldn't get enough of you, he never wanted to stop having more of you. This was all his soul needed. The beat of his heart now belongs to you.

Their long awaited love now slowly unraveling before their eyes. Neither wanting to ever let go of the pure joy they’ve been blessed with. Kyojuro had finally found the one to set his heart truly ablaze.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

authors end note:not gonna lie, i had such a hard time ending this. i knew i wanted to leave it quite open, (just in case i decide to write a smutty pt. 2 teehee), but whew my head hurts. re-reading, me thinks this is just fluff wanting to be something it's not (angst). oh well, as long as you enjoy it, i’m happi! did anyone catch the callback i did to the infamous kyojuro comic done by @/kammi.lu!? i adore their art omgggg! the rengoku family deserves such happiness. it’s what ruka would of wanted. oh, and i tried switching pov’s. not really sure if i did good. i’m telling you, it’s been so long since i’ve written ficccss! this is harder than i remember! props to the authors that pump out stuff daily! y'all work harder than the devil. okie! goodbye for now! (kyojuro brainrot is real)

word count:5763

many thank! -babbi₊˚⊹♡

-08/05/23 (my birfday)

#anime and manga #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku senjuro #rengoku shinjuro #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kny x reader #reader insert #female reader #babbiweebwrites

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moirtre · 7 months

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‎ ‎ ⋆⠀⠀&.⠀⠀٬⠀⠀❝ 2 : 33 AM : EVERGREEN. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

one day, i will stop falling in love with you. some day, someone will like me like i like you. until then, i'll drink my coffee, eat my pie, pretend that we are more than friends. then, of course i'll let you break my heart again.⠀–— from, “Let You Break My Heart Again - Laufey & Philharmonia Orchestra”

&.⠀⠀CHARACTERS⠀⠀┉⠀⠀*⠀NAIRA CHRISTIANSEN, CARTER KIM. &.⠀⠀WORD COUNT⠀⠀┉⠀⠀*⠀2.7K &.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀┉⠀⠀*⠀suggestive content, manipulation. &.⠀⠀NOTES⠀⠀┉⠀⠀*⠀apologizing in advance. it's not heavy but it approaches being heavy. carter (derogatory) can be found at @genav0s. naira's (unfortunately) a little dumb in this one but i really can't blame her! not proofread bc i never proofread anything <3 takes place in 2019 when both of them had way too much time on their hands.

Naira feels the buzz of her phone before she can process its awakening by her side.

Her hands, covered in the gray mush that rests on her wheel, scramble to grab onto the towel that lies discarded beneath the carefully sectioned block wrapped up in plastic. The mush splatters onto her cotton overalls as the wheel comes to a halt. The music playing in her ears mimics the wheel, ceasing to play as her ringtone fills her ears through the white headphones attached to the jack of her phone.

She huffs in frustration as the towel sticks to her hands. Pressing against the material, she silently prays she can free up a few fingers before the call disappears.

It’s 2am in Seoul, midnight in Bangkok.

“Must be important,” is what she tries to rationalize in her mind as she continues the scramble.

The ringing ends before she can put the towel down. With a low curse under her breath, she relents to cleaning her other hand. Before she can pick up the phone, it buzzes with a notification.

thought i was special :(

A scoff leaves her lips, her hands clamoring to answer the melodramatic man on the other end of the text.

it’s 2am carter

She responds, fighting off a smile that pulls at her cheeks and warms her skin.

The late-night texts from the Canadian were nothing new between the pair. In the month or so since the two had begun whatever this was, Naira had found herself in conversation—or in his sheets—more times than she would readily admit to the other members of their respective groups. A part of her found it a bit embarrassing; how easily he could draw her in with his empty words and blistering kisses. But they were good together. So good she’d forget her name and giggle a bit too loud at his half-assed flirtations.

It takes a simple, come over, for Naira to pull herself away from her wheel. She smiles a bit too widely and moves a bit too quickly. With a glance towards her reflection in the mirror adorning the left side of her entryway, she grabs her keys with one hand while fluffing her hair with the other.

He doesn’t try to text her again as she makes the drive from her apartment to his penthouse on the west side of the city. Naira’s not sure she would even notice a text coming from him with the way her imagination runs wild. The embarrassment of the situation is lost on her. She can’t bring herself to worry about the chances of getting caught when she can practically feel the warmth of his body and the drawl in his voice pulling her in gently.

Her hands shake in anticipation as she twists the key—one he’d taken her to get a copy of last week. His foyer is dark, devoid of both light and life. He had just moved in the day before she had gotten her copy of his key. She remembers the box tossed to the side of his couch; the same box she had tripped over as she lied to Sanghyuk and Romeo about her presence in the kitchen that early morning.

The fading smell of cigarettes draws her to his room where he stands over his record player. His favorite ashtray sits on the small nightstand next to the wall of vinyl she had organized for him—by genre and artist—the last night she was here.

“What am I doing here?”

Naira rubs at her face. The cold from the blistering wind battered at her nose, chapping her lips during her walk from the parking garage to his door.

Her accent blends familiarly into the consonants. The English leaves her lips with the subtlest twang of uncertainty; though she’s fairly sure he senses it from the way he smiles graciously.

They always spoke in English. Carter never cared enough to pretend to learn Thai for her. She had asked him about it once during one of their early encounters on a company trip to Tokyo back in September. He had looked away from her naked face as he told her that he felt safe around her—vulnerable might have been the word he used back then.

Naira wasn’t quite sure she bought it then. But she couldn’t think much about it after the words left his mouth. And how could she? Not when his chest was so warm underneath her blossoming cheek. Not when his hands wandered slowly beneath the covers shielding her bare chest. Her mind let go of the thought just as quickly as she perceived it.

She never asked him again.

Carter barely spares her a glance before motioning her over to his side. Sensing her wariness of the lit cigarette resting in the ashtray, Carter chuckles, taking a slow drag before stubbing out the flame in the tray it once lay in. With a release of her shoulders, Naira carefully crawls into the mess of his sheets, perching herself against the headboard to watch as his tanned hands skim over his collection of records.

“What are you doing here?”

He laughs at her question.

It was one of the things that annoyed her about him. Everything seemed to be a joke to Carter Kim. That distinct, perfect laugh he always managed to release made her feel smaller than she already was by his side. He’d throw his head back. His perfectly browned, floppy hair mirrored his movements; falling back, perfectly, over his face once he was done. She’d get caught up in the shine of his perfect teeth—another thing that annoyed her about him.

Carter Kim was always perfect.

“I can’t answer that for you, hon.”

Hon. It was embarrassing the way she sucked in a breath at the release of the pet name he had chosen for her. If Carter noticed, he never said a word, continuing on in that perfect Canadian drawl he added to the ends of his sentences.

“I called, you didn’t pick up. I asked you to come over, and you did. Don’t know why.”

She rolls her eyes playfully at that, leaning up to shove at his shoulder.

“You know why.” She mutters slowly.

Her hand caught in Carter’s as he continued to skim his collection. With a tug, she’s pushing herself off his bed and onto her feet. He guides her hands to the player. Having finally picked an album to play, her fingers nudge the play button at his will. French Exit’s opening track soothes out of the player so low Naira strains to recognize it.

With a turn, Carter finally faces her. A shared glance is all it takes before her hands are on her waist—hers crawling from his shoulders to the nape of his neck—and his lips are on hers. In what feels like forever, Naira lets go of any clever quips loaded to bite back at the Libra.

“I knew it,”—he’s deliciously breathless between kisses—“you’re obsessed with me.”

Naira groans into his mouth, pulling away to shake her head. He’s pulling her wrist to his lips before she can think of any words to say.

That was simply all it took for her to lose herself in him. That was what it always took. A tug of her waist, a caress of her neck, the sweeping off of her feet.

Naira was aware of the absence of rationality every time she let him draw her in like this. She was aware of the way he tugged at her boundaries, pushing them a bit farther every time he summoned her with a text. She was aware that she knew next to nothing about him—instead, he would distract her from any personal details the same way he lured her to his bed in the first place. She had known all these things, but all of a sudden she was aware.

He bites at her neck—something he never did—and it rouses her out of her Carter-induced haze. With a jump, she pulls away from him, suddenly too aware of all the things she knew before. All the things she chose to ignore. His eyebrows furrow as the record changes to the next song. The silence between the two of them cut away at any notes lifting from the player. Their eyes catch in a deadlock, Carter’s firm hands unmoving from their place underneath her shirt, her own pulling into a fist from their place on his chest.

“I’m obsessed with you.” She whispers. The edge of her lip twinges in realization, and his eyes remain fixed on hers. Unrelenting and emotionless.

“Hon,” he sighs, finally breaking eye contact. His arms bring her in closer as he tries to distract her once more, “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

He laughs again. Naira grits her teeth, turning her head away from him.

“Yes, Carter.” She snaps. If he was taken by surprise at her outburst, he doesn’t let on to it.

“I’m obsessed with you and that’s a fucking problem.”

His eyebrows raise as his hands loosen their hold on her body. Naira frees herself from his grip, suddenly feeling uneasy in his presence. Her anxious pacing does nothing to tick Carter off. Instead, his eyes slowly track her movement away from his side to the other side of his room.

“Why are you doing this?” Carter groans, his hands resting on his hips. Eyes continuing to track Naira’s pacing figure.

“Because you…” Her words fail her with a groan. She can feel the words on the tip of her tongue but they don’t connect to her brain. And it frustrates her.

“Because I what, Naira?” His voice rings out once again, this time much harsher. She makes contact with his eyes through the mirror laid out in front of her. She can just make out the furrowing of his eyebrows and the irritation set in his hardened jaw.

“Because you’re not obsessed with me.”

The words connect with her brain in Korean.

The switch visibly knocks Carter off of his chilly pedestal, the shock marked in his face striking Naira. She—admittedly—had never conceived Carter could process any other emotions beyond being smug and just okay. The shock held a bit of fear she could not begin to recognize amongst his features. It was odd how quickly it all happened. How quickly he became an entirely different person altogether. How quickly she could knock him off balance and a version of himself she was sure not many people could get to.

“I don’t understand,” He resorts to English once more. Though Naira understands what he truly means, she refuses to meet him there. With a shake of her head she mutters, “Of course not.”

His arms cross over his chest, guarding himself from Naira’s words. The pensive anxiety in his eyes brings Naira to turn to face him. He refuses to meet her eyes.

“You know, there’s only a few things the girls can all agree about recently.” She trails off, drawing herself closer to his guarded figure. “And I should’ve listened closer when they said you were a problem.”

Stoic as ever, Carter takes one step closer to Naira, towering over her as he does so. His eyes held a darkness she had never seen in him before, different from the general emptiness they usually held whenever they met up on their late nights.

“How am I the problem, hon?” He hums, his hands reaching out to brush the hair away from her face. Pulling her hair into a makeshift ponytail held in the fist of his hand, he tugs her closer to him; her legs following the yanking of her body.

With a whine, Naira shuts her eyes.

“Can you tell me? Why am I the problem?” His voice is impossibly deep, oozing with both venom and lust in a way that shakes Naira out of her anger and back into that trance. “What happened, hon? You were so worked up a minute ago. Telling me that I’m the problem.”

Naira sucks in a deep breath, attempting to hold on to the last amount of autonomy she can muster. It’s all too much. His voice and the way it surrounds her. It swirls in her mind, envelops all of her thoughts, and chases them off leaving nothing but him. She can smell the mint and nicotine on his breath. A smell she had come to associate with the late nights in his sheets, covered only by the thin silk and his warm hands.

Then his lips are everywhere. Attaching themselves to her clavicle, his body bending down to meet her height. His hair tickling at her skin, his familiar clean shampoo flooding her senses. Trailing up her neck with his hands holding her to him in their impossibly tight grip. Undoubtedly, leaving a slow trail marking where he’d been along her side. Then they press against her jaw, drawing what little will she has left.

“How could I be the problem, hon?” He hums against her skin. “I’m spoiled by you. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” Her breath escapes her as he speaks against her lips. Low and controlled, steady in a way she could never begin to pull herself away from.

“All I can do is live and breathe you. Only you.”

His hands move again. Falling away from her hair as if offering her release. When she doesn’t take the opportunity, they pull her body closer to his. Those wandering hands traveling down her arms and bringing them under his control. They pull hers to their familiar place on his chest. He’s a furnace, burning at her hands but so inviting she falls into line with him.

“I couldn’t let you go if I tried, hon. I’m yours.” His face cradles itself into her neck, his whispers slowly crawling into her ears.

“I’m yours.”

Carefully controlled desperation leaks into his tone, furrowing Naira’s eyebrows as she fights against her better interests. Sure that he’s sensed this, her hands ball into fists once more, pressing against his chest as if begging for her release from the hold he’s captivated her into.

“Relax for me, hon.” He soothes, all too familiar to her ears. “Open those eyes for me, pretty girl.” His words pull at her will, ripping her away from her judgment and leaving her waiting for his next words.

As if in control of her reflexes, her eyes pry themselves open, receiving the sight of his own gazing intently into hers. It’s all too much for her; his voice, his commands, his heat, his presence. It consumes her control over her own body and it relinquishes its autonomy to him without much of a fight. Her hands relax from their bounding tightness, her voice loses its edge, and tears begin to flow from her eyes. It’s all too much for her.

“There’s my girl,” Carter hums. His forehead presses to hers, a hand lifting her chin to keep her eyes on his.

“I can’t be the problem. Not when I make you feel this good.”

All sirenic, his voice seeps into her psyche, pulling her out of her own body and leaving her defenseless. Then his lips are on hers and everything melts away. All her anger, all her control, all her confusion. Left in its place is a yearning for his touch, a desperation for his kiss.

Effortlessly, he carries her to his bed. Laying her down as he hovers over her.

She can barely breathe as he pulls at her shirt. Her mind carried away in a sea of loss. All she can think and feel and do is him. It leaves her in a daze that disconnects her mind from her words. And despite it all, she can’t push him away.

She can’t bring herself to let him go.

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lesser-known-composers · 1 month

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William Mathias (1934-1992) : Concerto for clarinet and orchestra Op. 68 (1975)

I. Allegro vivo 00:00-06:30 II. Lento espressivo 06:30-12:30 III. Allegro molto vivace 12:30-17:40

Performed by Gervase de Peyer (clarinet) and the New Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by David Atherton.

#William Mathias #Welsh composer #clarinet concerto #classical music #Youtube

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justforbooks · 1 year

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Colin Bradbury, who has died aged 90, was the BBC Symphony Orchestra clarinettist whose dazzling cadenza in Sir Henry Wood’s Fantasia on British Sea Songs held audiences breathless at the Last Night of the Proms for many years. He became principal clarinet in the orchestra in 1960, and continued until his retirement in 1993.

During the 1970s, with Pierre Boulez as the principal conductor, the orchestra achieved worldwide prominence. Bradbury described it as “a unique time, musically and orchestrally – a golden age”. Away from the orchestra, he became an outstanding exponent of the clarinet’s lesser-known 19th-century repertory, in recital and on record.

He was born in Blackpool, the younger child of Jim Bradbury, a railway clerk, and his wife, Nellie (nee Cookson), both amateur singers. Encouraged to sing from an early age by his mother (his father died when he was four), Colin began to learn the piano at seven and soon bagged the only B flat clarinet at his primary school. Using his initiative, he worked out the transposition and was soon playing along with the school recorder group.

At Blackpool grammar school he started clarinet lessons with a local semi-professional, Tom Smith, and acquired a pair of simple-system Barret-action Albert clarinets. In 1947 he auditioned for the newly established National Youth Orchestra, becoming a founder member.

His sister Jean went to university, intending to become a teacher, and Colin assumed he would follow. A career in music had not crossed his mind, so when the viola player Bernard Shore came to the second NYO course to talk to young musicians intending to enter the profession, he did not attend. Ruth Railton, director of the NYO, took him for a long walk, four times around the Leys school in Cambridge, where the course was being held, and by the end he was persuaded. She went on to offer him the opportunity to play the Mozart Clarinet Concerto with the NYO at the Edinburgh festival in 1951, on condition that he left school that Easter and began studying with the clarinettist Frederick Thurston.

This he did, missing his A-levels, and started at the Royal College of Music in London in the autumn of 1951, funded by a Blackpool festival scholarship. After a year he left to join the Irish Guards, then returned to the college and completed his national service concurrently with the rest of his music studies. He won the Tagore gold medal for the best male student of his year.

During the summer of 1956 he drove an ice-cream delivery truck to get himself out of debt, having not quite paid for a 22-litre Jaguar with his earnings from a West End run of Summer Song that had folded unexpectedly.

That September, he joined the Sadler’s Wells orchestra as second clarinet, becoming principal in 1957. Playing in the pit was enjoyable, but also “frustrating for an extrovert, conceited character like me, but I learned a great deal”. He married Janet Forbes, the principal flute, in 1959.

During the 1959-60 season he began working with John Carewe and the New Music Ensemble and took part in Schönberg’s Pierrot Lunaire in the second of the new series of BBC Thursday Invitation Concerts. He was also invited to give some solo recitals for the BBC Home Service; at the first concert he played Seiber’s Andantino Pastorale and the Sonatine by Honegger.

In September 1960 he joined the BBC Symphony Orchestra (BBCSO) as principal clarinet. When the orchestra appointed co-principals in 1963, Bradbury shared the position with Jack Brymer for seven happy years. During that period, with more flexible working hours, he was able to play with other orchestras such as the LSO and the Philharmonia and take part in recordings. He also performed as a soloist, playing the Mozart Concerto, the Nielsen Concerto, the Weber Concertino and the Debussy Première Rhapsodie at the Proms.

During the 70s the structure of the BBCSO was changed and Brymer moved on to the LSO. It was during this period that Bradbury was elected chair of the orchestral committee, representing his fellow players’ interests.

In 1979, Bradbury’s old teacher, Smith, sent him his collection of amusing 19th-century pieces, the sort that the younger Bradbury had been rather snobbish about. Together with the pianist and scholar Oliver Davies, he produced The Victorian Clarinettist – the repertoire of the 19th-century virtuoso Henry Lazarus. This was followed by three more LP records: The Drawing-Room Clarinettist, The Italian Clarinettist and The Edwardian Clarinettist; selections from these LPs were reissued in CD format as The Virtuoso Clarinettist (1990), and The Art of the Clarinettist (1994).

In 1993, Bradbury retired from the BBCSO, and made the CDs The Bel Canto Clarinettist (1996), a sequence of 19th-century opera paraphrases, and The Victorian Clarinet Tradition (1998), linking Bradbury to Lazarus through Lazarus’s pupil Charles Draper, and Draper’s pupil Thurston. An interest in computer music software took Bradbury on to publishing good editions of these 19th-century works under his own imprint, Lazarus Edition.

From 1963 to 2000 he was professor of clarinet at the Royal College of Music, eventually becoming head of woodwind. His greatest joy was the RCM Wind Ensemble. Having no love of wind bands (which add saxophones and brass to woodwinds), he created a Harmonie ensemble – woodwinds and horns, as for the wind music of Mozart – which toured extensively, with visits to Japan and Vienna.

In 1999 he revived an earlier partnership with the pianist Bernard Roberts to record both Brahms sonatas together with the Hindemith Sonata. A review in BBC Music magazine commented: “Bradbury plays in a beautifully natural way without resorting to the forced rubato adopted by some artists in a contrived attempt to be different, and he allows the music to speak for itself.”

Bradbury is survived by Janet and their five children, Keith, Louise, Paul, John and Adrian, and 15 grandchildren.

🔔 Colin Bradbury, clarinettist, born 4 March 1933; died 28 May 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Colin Bradbury #in memoriam

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jarenka · 8 months

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Another contemporary composer, pretty young this time.

Salina Fisher from New Zealand draws her inspiration from her Japanese heritage and from nature. My knowledge of Japanese music starts and ends with anime soundtracks so I can't comment on that, but it's very easy to see her fascination with nature in a lot of her peaces.

There is a separate genre of Russian poetry that can be translated as "landscape lyric". They usually contain very poetical description of landscape and how it change during the day or year. I don't think that Salina Fisher was somehow inspired by Tyutchev, but some of her works have very distinct "landscape lyric" feeling to it.

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Salina Fisher - Rainphase performed by New Zealand Symphony Orchestra

Here is Salina Fisher's site, if you want to learn more about her and her pieces.

Couple of other pieces are under the cut

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Salina Fisher - Komorebi performed by ViMaDeAn Duo

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Salina Fisher - reflect performed by Mark Menzies

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Salina Fisher - Coastlines performed by Amici Ensemble

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Salina Fisher - Murmuring Light performed by Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra

#music

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bloodmoonlich · 1 year

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My new song "California and Me feat. Philharmonia Orchestra" is out in the world! Thank you to @philharmonia_orchestra for making this song more magical than I could have imagined 🤍

#laufeyedit #laufey #music news #womeninmusic #lichposts

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n4682 · 11 months

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loved your raut recs especially the violin concerto tysm :)))

general romantic / impressionist / modernist recs?

hey so sorry for responding late but i saw this and just kinda went a bit feral, so im sorry.

Alberto Ginastera

Piano Sonata No. 1 (Terence Judd [pfte.])

Piano Sonata No. 2 (Fernando Viani [pfte.])

Piano Concerto No. 1 (Sergio Tiempo [pfte.], Gustavo Dudamel [cond.] w/ Los Angeles Philharmonic)

Guitar Sonata (Aniello Desiderio [gtr.])

Harp Concerto (Nancy Allen [hrp.], Enrique Bátiz [cond.] w/ Orquesta Filarmónica de la Ciudad de México)

Alfred Schnittke

Concerto Grosso No. 1 (Gidon Kremer [vln.], Tatiana Grindenko [vln.], Heinrich Schiff [cond.] w/ Chamber Orchestra of Europe)

Concerto Grosso No. 2 (Oleg Kagan [vln.], Natalia Gutman [vcl.], Gennady Rozhdestvensky [cond.] w/ USSR Ministry of Culture Symphony Orchestra)

Cello Concerto No. 1 (Natalia Gutman [vcl.], Gennady Rozhdestvensky [cond.] w/ USSR Ministry of Culture Symphony Orchestra)

String Quartet No. 3 (Kronos Quartet)

Dmitri Shostakovich

Symphony No. 1 (there was a great recording but when i went to check the recording on yt it wasnt there and it sucks cause it was great)

Symphony No. 5 (Evgeny Mravinsky [cond.] w/ Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra)

Symphony No. 7 (Yevgeny Svetlanov [cond.] w/ USSR State Symphony Orchestra)

Symphony No. 9 (Rudolf Barshai [cond.] w/ WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne)

Symphony No. 15 (this one too dissapeared)

String Quartet No. 9 (Fitzwilliam Quartet)

Violin Concerto No. 1 (David Oistrakh [vln.], Dmitri Mitropoulos [cond.] w/New York Philharmonic)

Maurice Ravel

Violin Sonata No. 2 (Viktoria Mullova [vln.], Bruno Canino [pfte.])

Sonata for Violin and Cello (Jean-Jacques Kantorow [vln.], Philippe Muller [vcl.]

Introduction and Allegro, for Harp, Flute, Clarinet, and String Quartet (Skaila Kanga [hrp.], Academy of St. Martin in the fields)

Alborada del Gracioso (Fritz Reiner [cond.] w/Chicago Symphony Orchestra)

Piano Concerto for the Left Hand (Samson François [pfte.], André Cluytens [cond.] w/Orchestre de la Société des Concerts du Conservatoire)

Piano Concerto in G (Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli [pfte.], Ettore Gracis [cond.] w/Philharmonia Orchestra)

La Valse (solo piano version) (Seong Jin-Cho [pfte.])

Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (Louis Lortie [pfte.])

Franz Liszt

honestly too many to list here (hehe, liszt here) but heres just some of the ones (marked with Searle numbers)

S.126i, S.139, S.145, S.173, S.174i, S.177, S.178, S.206, S.216, S.217, S.242 (especially no. 20), S.244/12 + 15 + 19, S.252, S253, S.254, S.388, S.390i, S.392, S.393, S.394, S.400, S.409a, S.412iii, S.413, S.418, S.420 (hehe funny number), S.464 (yes i prefer the arrangements, fight me), S.513a, S.558/4 + 12, S.695c, S.697i (not the Busoni version), S.700

Other Composers

Bela Bartók - Piano Concerto No. 2 (György Cziffra [pfte.], Marco Rossi [cond.] w/Budapest Symphony Orchestra)

Olivier Messaien - Le Banquet Céléste (Gillian Weir [org.])

Samuel Barber - Piano Concerto (John Browning [pfte.], George Szell [cond.] w/Cleveland Orchestra]

Kaikhosru Sorabji - Sequentia Cyclica on Dies Irae (Johnathan Powell [pfte.])

Ferrucio Busoni - Piano Concerto (Marc-André Hamelin [pfte.], YL Male Voice Choir [chor.], Osmo Vänskä [cond.] w/Lahti Symphony Orchestra)

Sergei Rachmaninoff - Sonata No. 2 (Nikolai Lugansky [pfte.])

Marc-André Hamelin - 12 Études in All the Minor Keys (Marc-André Hamelin [pfte.])

Eugène Ysaÿe - Sonata No. 5 for Solo Violin (Hilary Hahn [vln.])

Oren Boneh - Sprout (Lung-Yi Huang [gzhn.] w/ C-Camerata Taipei)

Karol Szymanowski - Violin Concerto No. 1 (Lydia Mordkovitch [vln.], Vassily Sinaisky [cond.] w/ BBC Philharmonic Orchestra)

aaaand i think im going to end the list there because this took WAY too long

#ask #ascendantdreamweaver #music recs #sorry

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sugalaritae · 1 year

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griddle me this: 1, 14, 21 ✨💕

jade! i will griddle all of that!💕💕

1 what song makes you feel better? when i'm feeling in a slightly melancholy mood: let you break my heart again by laufey (philharmonia orchestra) when i'm feeling like i want to fight the world: cypher pt. 3 by bts when i'm feeling like i'm in love with life: my day will come by james francies and yebba

when i'm meh: fake happy by paramore

14 favorite feel-good show? it can vary but lately it's been new girl, abbot elementary, and what we do in the shadows

21 if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be? thank you for all your help. i've got this now.

you're going to live to be 34 and it's going to be hard but it's also going to be the best fucking time ever.

soft asks

#jade!!!#ask and i shall answer #ask games

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originalharmonysalad · 2 years

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Beethoven on TikTok

This professional campaign titled 'Modern Classics' was published in New Zealand in December, 2022. It was created for the brand: Auckland Philharmonia Orchestra, by ad agency: Stanley St.

#auckland philharmonia orchestra #beethoven #tiktok

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afreakingdork · 2 years

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ok im sure this is already on the playlist and it isnt too relevant anymore given ths most recent chapter BUT

“Let you break my heart again” by laufey. SUCH A PRETTY SONG PLEASE GIVE IT A LISTEN IF U HAVENT ALREADY

This is our first duplicate, but you already figured it was! It's wild how it's backed by the Philharmonia Orchestra. I listen through each song in it's entirety at least once. I'm about 90% caught up on the current playlist and it's always such a treat. I've gotten so much new music! Thank you all!

#ask

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whileiamdying · 2 years

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Karajan: a new film – and the controversy continues

Tom Service The Guardian London, UK Thu 4 Dec 2014 @ 03:00 EST

The conductor – who led the Berlin Philharmonic from 1956 to 1989 – is the subject of a new BBC documentary. But he remains an enigmatic figure, whose musical approach sounds a false note in today’s world.

📸 Visionary? Conductor Herbert von Karajan in 1976. Photograph: Bettmann/Corbis

Herbert von Karajan. He’s both an icon and an enigma in the story of 20th century music. Baton aloft, hair expertly coiffed, shot in soft-focus lighting from the left (he insisted he was photographed from what he thought was his best side), he is the familiar face of millions of records, videos, laserdiscs, and now DVDs and downloads, the person who arguably did more to turn symphonic music into a commodity in the postwar era. He is also the despotic maestro of imperialistic ambition, who wanted to conquer every available media possibility and turn them into publicity-generating – and commercially lucrative – opportunities for him and his orchestra, the Berlin Philharmonic.

But Karajan the man remains elusive: a conductor who didn’t – and possibly couldn’t – form friendships with the musicians he led for more than 30 years, whose political past (he was a member of the Nazi party) was a dark halo over his reputation throughout his life, and whose music-making itself, for all its gigantic success, has now become a legacy that most of today’s conductors openly repudiate. Karajan’s approach, they say, represents an ideology in which the superficial gloss, finish and perfection of orchestral sonority is an end in itself, a one-size-fits all solution for repertoires from Bach to Berg, from Mozart to Mahler, which ironed out the expressive edges of everything he conducted. Simon Rattle, for one, has talked about how he was “slightly repelled” by the Karajan sound when he heard it in the flesh for the first time, and he’s just one conductor who feels that Karajan – “the emperor of legato” – belongs to a musical world that has no place in today’s orchestral culture.

It’s all of those myths, cliches, and phenomena that John Bridcut’s new film – Karajan’s Magic and Myth, broadcast on BBC4 on 5 December – interrogates, in the BBC’s first commissioned film on the conductor, 25 years after his death. There are some fascinating moments: interviews with musicians from the Philharmonia in London in the early 1950s, from the Berlin Phil, fellow conductors Nikolaus Harnoncourt (who played as a cellist for Karajan in the Vienna Symphony Orchestra) and Mark Elder, and a handful of the starry soloists he worked with in the later stages of his career, Placido Domingo, Anne-Sophie Mutter, and Jessye Norman.

Most illuminating of all are the glimpses you’re given of a man and musician who didn’t conform to the one-dimensional caricature he has become for some: far from a dead-eyed perfectionist, Karajan actually ignored obvious imperfections, such as a magnificently obdurate fluffed note from the fourth trumpet in one of his recordings of Strauss’s Alpine Symphony, in favour of the overall sweep of a longer take in the studio – or possibly because it was cheaper not to patch it up.

Karajan’s undoubted vanity comes over as one of the strongest indictments of his personality: not just the whole left-side-is-my-best-side thing, but making sure that his principal flute James Galway wasn’t visible in his films, because Karajan didn’t like Galway’s facial hair. Conversely, he didn’t like baldness either in himself or his orchestral players, and he made follicly challenged musicians wear wigs for the filmed sessions – even if they were often invisible since the camera focused for the vast majority of the time on Karajan and his closed-eye conducting, and on the instruments rather than the actual players.

But the biggest issue of all, the question of how Karajan actually produced the performances he did, remains unanswered in Bridcut’s film, as it does in the other Karajan documentaries that have been made. There are the crazy facts of his contract with the Berliners – that they were to be at his beck and call around the clock whenever he was in Berlin, summonable at a moment’s notice for a recording, rehearsal, or film session – but even accounting for Karajan’s famed magnetism and charisma on the podium, it’s hard to completely understand how he was able to command such complete authority over his musicians and orchestral culture all over the world.

It’s possible that Karajan is a phenomenon that today’s musical culture just couldn’t tolerate (although the fetishisation of the conductor figure continues unabated; just think of the adulation, marketing and hype around Gustavo Dudamel, for example), but the other side of it is the sheer scale of Karajan’s achievement. In rejecting Karajan’s recordings, we risk underestimating both the sheer intensity and indelible power of the sound world he created, and the sophistication of what he was doing musically. He also made visionary use of the latest media.

A few examples: watch his films with Henri-Georges Clouzot, rehearsing and performing Schumann’s Fourth Symphony and Beethoven’s Fifth. Karajan and Clouzot turn the art of orchestral rehearsal and music analysis into sensual filmic experiences. Of course, Karajan is performing for the cameras, but the substance of what he is saying when he tutors the hapless student conductor is rivetingly insightful, as is his forensic, multi-dimensional explosion of the start of Schumann 4.

These are suggestions (and there are others in the surprising amount of Karajan rehearsal footage on YouTube) of an essential approach to music-making, a way of building an orchestral score and a symphonic sound world from the bottom up, so that the symphony or opera or tone poem is generated from the basics – and the bass lines – of its harmonic momentum.

Karajan seemed to feel each piece he conducted as a single sweep of musical momentum made up of interconnecting lines of melody and harmony. His closed eyes, by the way, aren’t only about a mystical communion with an internal world of the music (and an incomprehensible mode of communication for Simon Rattle, and most other conductors), but a way of recalling the score, which, it’s said, he could see in his mind’s eye, turning the pages in his imagination. He had to keep them shut, otherwise he would lose his concentration.

But it’s his physical gestures that really tell this story of what he’s doing. So often, Karajan is reaching down with his hands, moulding and kneading a kind of sonic plasma that seems to begin somewhere beneath his podium, in the bowels of the earth – or at least with the Berlin Phil’s double bass players – and emerges upwards with volcanic force. That’s why his Bruckner, his Brahms, his Sibelius, his Wagner is so thrillingly powerful, because the music seems to be made of elemental energy, not simply orchestral sonority.

Well, that’s how it seems to me when Karajan is at his best – you can hear that too, in Karajan’s essential years with the Philharmonia in the 1940s and 50s; the Beethoven cycle they made together is arguably the most exciting of all his Beethovenian surveys. And it’s worth remembering how radical Karajan’s experiments with music and film were: yes, the fixed rows of musicians seem uncomfortably like a musical-modernist version of a Riefenstahl-like sense of order and abstraction, but they are achieved with a remarkable sense of filmic possibility, and with the essential idea that classical music on film should not simply be a filmed version of concerts, but a new medium, a new kind of experience.

The best of all is a film that Karajan didn’t like, directed not by the maestro himself but by Hugo Niebeling. It’s a version of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, made in 1968, in which the cinematography is as powerful an interpretation of the piece as the performance, so that you feel the storm and the stream, the architecture and the physicality of Beethoven’s music with your eyes as well as your ears. Forty-six years after it was made, it’s a film that is infinitely more radical than the vast majority of classical music films made today.

A quarter century on from his death, Karajan remains a seismic figure in classical music, and even in a film of the range of Bridcut’s, the man himself remains hard to fathom. But as a new generation of listeners discover his legacy, especially in China and Japan, where his records still sell as the acme of classical music, he’s an unavoidable presence. In the questions that his life and music-making pose, you might not like him, but you have to deal with him. The Karajan controversy continues.

Karajan’s Magic and Myth is on BBC4 at 730pm on Friday 5 December, and then on iPlayer until 4 January.

#Herbert von Karajan #Berlin Philharmonic #Jessye Norman #Gustavo Dudamel #Placido Domingo #Anne-Sophie Mutter #Henri-Georges Clouzot #Hugo Niebeling #Bruckner #Brahms #Sibelius #Wagner

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