#cello prodigies GO HARD.

[necromycologist]

why do the unstable prodigies in media always play the violin huh. i mean i understand what youre trying to convey but can i just say. speaking from experience. ur neurotic since-they-were-five perfect-pitch-having prodigy kid in orchestra?????? 9 times out of 10 they a cello.

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Not Another Love Song by Julie Soto

4.5/5. Releases 7/17/2024.

Heat Index: 8/10

Vibes: rivals to lovers, celebrity classical musicians (?), "I wanna fuck you so bad it makes me look stupid"

Gwen Jackson is a naturally gifted violinist, having been taught by shop owner Mabel. Graduating from playing for tips on the subway to being offered first chair in the Manhattan Pops orchestra means fulfilling a dream. Not so happy about it is cello player and musical prodigy Xander Thorne--who happens to be a member of a band Gwen was (is) a fan of. But she's a fan no longer, sensing Xander's resentment... and something else. As the two are inevitably drawn to each other's talent--among other things--they have to figure out whether their blossoming relationship is more important than their long term goals.

OOOOH, this one hit. As someone who doesn't know much about classical music (honestly, a big question of mine was: is the fandom around famous classical musicians this intense? Like, I believe that it is, I've just never experienced it) I was sucked in by the passion in the story and the way Julie Soto seamlessly blended Gwen and Xander's obsession with music into their growing fixation on each other. There's a delicious tension in the first half of the book, flitting between anger and irritation and kinship and desire. And once it bubbles over... whew.

I really enjoyed Forget Me Not. Not Another Love Song has made me a fan. I'm ready for whatever Julie Soto writes next, because this is what I want from a contemporary romance: a sense of reality heightened by drama (and angst), high heat, and FURIOUS passion. This is a good time.

Quick Takes:

--Dude. I may not be very knowledgeable about classical music, but I do know that it should be properly utilized as a Sexy Device in romance novels. (And to be real? In fiction, as a general rule.) This book may utilize classical music in the sexiest way possible. Like, often when I read early reviews going "the X scene!!! omg omg!!" I kind of expect to be let down. Not because the scenes are bad, but because they're so hyped.

The cello scene? In this novel? Lives up to the hype. Like, more on that later, but... It's not just about the physical things that happened when Gwen and Xander play. It's also about their focus one each other when they're supposed to be playing, the way she in particular drives him to distraction. I will say--the rivalry stuff lasts longer than the true resentment. It becomes pretty clear, pretty quickly that Gwen doesn't really hate Xander. And that Xander wants to fuck Gwen's brains out.

But uh, I was not upset about that development. I feel like a lot of authors try to pull off "seething sexual tension" and fail. This was an absolute win. I know in my heart that if I saw these two playing in real life, she would be desperately trying to pretend she didn't notice him; and he would be playing his ass off while ROCK. HARD.

--All that aside, I also think that this actually feels like two people in their early to mid twenties falling in love? Like, the finances are probably off, but you kind of have to handwave some capitalist hellscape stuff to set a contemporary romance novel in a big city in this day and age... But the way they act, the mistakes they make, the exuberance they both have for falling in love, the DUMB HORNY moments... it all read right to me.

I also appreciate that Xander, for all that he is a hot and talented dude by whom Gwen is intimidated at first (until she isn't) and with whom she is infatuated, still strikes me as a dude. Like, he's gifted and he's deep and he has mommy issues like crazy and manipulative entities in his life. But a lot of how he reacts to things--it may not be rational, but it is human, especially for someone who's really still figuring his life out. He's a mess! And that's okay! Sometimes he and Gwen don't make the right decisions in their relationship, but that doesn't mean the relationship is broken beyond repair.

--There's some really juicy familial and professional drama beyond the romance, and one thing I loved is that there isn't a clear "good side" or "bad side". Some people have their shitty moments because to be human is to be intermittently shitty, but not inherently, wholly bad; some people just choose to be shitty all the time, and they aren't on designated sides. There isn't a single perfect option when the choices are presented to our leads.

There's a lot of gray, basically. And I like living in the gray of a book.

--Julie Soto is setting up her own universe, and I'm seeing the places these characters could go. It's not just about setting up future books, though; it's also about creating a community for her leads.

The Sex:

UGH. This book was hot. Like, it's honestly a relief when I read a contemporary romance novel that's this sexy. Yes, there is the cello scene, and much "then I will sit here, consumed with lust until for the rest of the evening". But there is a lot more. I feel like this is one of the hotter tradpub contemporaries I've read in a while. They're all over each other, they're vocal, there is a scene in which things are done while people are on the phone...

I'll definitely be rereading some of those scenes.

In conclusion, Not Another Love Song is fun, swoonworthy, and passionate. It's exactly what you want an author's second novel to be--topping the first, while maintaining all the things you loved about it. I'm so excited to see what Julie does next.

Thanks to Netgalley and Forever for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks @space-writes for the tag here!

Rules: find the given words in your WIP(s) then tag some people with new words!

My words: return, allow, free, away

Your words: positive, breathe, hair, accent

Tagging softly @writernopal @the-stray-storyteller @mk-writes-stuff @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @loopyhoopywrites @buffythevampirelover @cowboybrunch @elizaellwrites @bread-roses-and-chrome @sleepywriter00 @mysticstarlightduck @revenantlore + OPEN

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites - you know the drill; y'all can join in if you want

Keep reading for:

Sweet moment between Maddie, Kelsey, and Wilfredo the amigurumi tiger

A day in the life for Úrsula

Debate about phone brightness

Time for a group training session! Gabriel plans.

Return - from The Secret Portal Part Two (Maddie POV)

“Maddie, I do want to have lunch with Hye-Jin!” she snapped. Her tone surprised me. Kelsey sighed. “Sorry. It’s not Hye-Jin, it’s Dr. Asghar. She’ll do whatever it takes to get results out of me, regardless of my comfort.” “Dr. Moon seems okay, though, maybe he’ll talk sense into her.” “Dr. Moon is not okay just because he’s nice,” Kelsey insisted. “But he did tell her we’ll find another way next time. But he also didn’t stop her this time.” “Hm,” I said, thinking. “Well, think positive, then: this won’t happen again.” “It still happened this time.” “But never again,” I repeated. Kelsey rocked on her feet before sighing. “I guess you’re right.” My eyes went to Wilfredo in my hands. I thought for a moment about what Kelsey may need. “Do you need, like, a hug or something?” I lifted my gaze to Kelsey. Her eyes slowly shut tight as her face bunched together, and she nodded. Wilfredo still in hand, I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. Her face buried into my shoulder, despite being a few inches taller, though her arms took a moment to return the gesture. I tried to think of something comforting to say. “Hye-Jin thinks it’s cool you crochet.” Kelsey let out a laugh-like exhale. “You showed her Wilfredo?” “Well, I didn’t show her; I just held him, and she saw him.” Kelsey pulled away first. “Glad you love him so much. Thank you. C’mon, let’s go to lunch.”

Allow - from School of the Legends Year One

As she ate, Úrsula paid close attention to the harmonies of the baroque music emanating from her speaker. Every part perfectly balanced. Complimenting each other. Contrasting when needed. Úrsula had Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos memorized. Why wouldn’t she? They composed an hour and a half of pure perfection. She swayed along to the up-tempo beat, humming along in between bites. She had been attempting a new hobby of composing her own music just six months ago. She usually worked on her piece around the late morning--after breakfast and she practiced the cello she’d requested...about two years ago now. She liked to think that she’d gotten pretty good for someone who was taught by only herself, the books, and a few instructors she’d found in online videos. Her self-composed piece, however, she was not as confident in. Music Theory was relatively hard to grasp--each time she accidentally found parallel fifths in her four-part harmony she wanted to bash her head against the wall. Besides, she was no Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart. She wasn't a prodigy of her time--she was just a girl with a lot of time. After she finished clearing off her plate, she pressed the pause button on her music. Usually, Úrsula would allow whatever was playing to finish as she awaited Mamãe to bring her whatever dessert she had made, but she had left her book on a cliffhanger. It pained her to leave the music, but at the moment, this was her priority. She leapt on her bed and picked up her book right where she had left off, not bothering to get into her usual comfortable position, as she was too excited. Immediately, she felt her surroundings disappear. She left the confines of the room she’d lived in for the past five years, and entered the world that only existed in the ink forever tattooed on the face of the binded yellowed pages. After a while, when Úrsula turned the page, she found not more story, but the acknowledgements from the author. She sighed, smiling as she closed the book. She wiped her eyes--watering from the ending. She set the book temporarily on the bedside table beside her, glancing at the time. It’d been almost an hour--surely her mother should be in with the dessert soon.

Free - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

“I think you have an excellent point,” said Liam. “Keeping your phone brightness low and in dark mode saves a lot of battery.” “But when you go outside, you can’t see your screen without raising the brightness,” said Gwen. “That’s an excellent point,” said Liam. “That’s why you have it on automatic brightness,” Kelsey said. Liam pointed to Kelsey. “Also a good point. You have anything to say, Rose?” “I don’t care,” said Rose. “I keep it up halfway.” “I think it’s fine having your phone brightness all the way up,” I said, inserting myself into the conversation. “I mean, the wide variety is actually helpful for those with different needs. If you can’t see well, you need your brightness up. If you have sensory issues, it’s helpful to have the option to turn it down. And both light and dark mode can be beneficial for those who struggle with their sight.” “Since when were you a debater?” Liam asked, crossing his arms, but looking impressed. “Just making small talk,” I admitted. “Boo!” said Liam. “Hey, George! If you’re free, I’d like to work on that scene for my movie.” “Isn’t it cheating using technology from another dimension?” George asked as he stood. “No,” Liam countered as Sam stepped aside so George could follow Liam into the kitchen. “I’m taking advantage of resources at my disposal. If I were a multibillion-dollar company, I’d be able to get the effect I want. But I’m not. I’m just a dude who wants to impress VFS.” As they disappeared toward the elevators, Gwen perched herself on the back of the couch and Lexi stole George’s spot. “Oh, no, he warmed that seat up, that’s weird.” She moved to the other side of the couch. “Okay, that’s better.”

Away - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)

My team huddled together. “Okay,” said Gills, “we obviously need to have an offense and two groups of defense: one for Custos, one for the Shoeless team. That’s three groups. There are nine of us, so we should have three on each team. J, you’re on Custos defense.” “Why?” Jazlyn asked. She snorted when Gills looked at her like she was stupid. “I’m kidding, G. You’re adorable when you’re flabbergasted by other’s dumbassery.” She ruffled his hair, causing Parker, Tyler, and me to cackle. “Only Cassidy and Niri also have powers useful against Custos,” Gills continued as he smacked Jazlyn’s hand away. “Oh, thanks, Gabe,” said Liam as Parker laughed and clapped Niri’s shoulder and high-fived Jazlyn with his other hand. Jazlyn gave Liam a half-mocking pat on the head. “Don’t take that as a compliment, Cassidy, I’m facing the facts,” Gills said flatly. “And Beaumont, unless you find out how to shift some wings onto your back, you’re on Shoeless defense. You, too, George.” “Got it,” said George. “But what if—” “You’re not gonna run up the wall to fight Custos. They have a teleporter and your sister on their team. You’re the only one who stands a chance against them.” “Fine.” “I think I could be on offense,” I offered. “I can swoop in and grab the sphere.” “Were you not listening?” Gills asked. “Your powers wouldn’t work near Custos.” “I can build up the momentum and catch myself on the way down,” I reasoned. “No, you’re on Shoeless defense,” Gills stated firmly.

[uloelu]

Location: Lakeside Lagoon, Newcrest

(transcript under the cut)

Episode 3 | Previous | Next

Here it is! As stated before, episodes 3-5 are a bit shorter than usual, but only because I'm in the process of planning a huge slate of parties, plot-changing events, etc. for summer break. No additional parts to this episode, so I'll be back with episode 5 as soon as I can.

If you haven't seen it, I made a post yesterday about my future plans for this series. Link is here!

Copperdale Records lot created by @softerhaze: link here

Episode 4: Mark Collins

Scene 1 - Newcrest

(starts with a boy walking a dog)

Meet Mark. (And Archimedes.)

Mark’s a first-semester senior at Copperdale High, scheduled to graduate early in the winter.

These are his parents, Drs. Whitney and Landon Collins. They’re both esteemed mathematics professors at the Foxbury Institute.

And Marissa, his nearsighted little sister, who’s a sophomore and currently freaking out.

Marissa (examining an acne breakout in the mirror): How am I supposed to show my face at school today? (phone rings) Ooh, Rani’s calling!

Like her parents, Marissa is a math (and science) genius. She’s also a cello prodigy and an outstanding painter. Mark never stops hearing people praise her many talents.

Scene 2 - Copperdale High

Compared to them, Mark’s more like your typical teenage boy. He’s a science whiz, sure. But he’s not Marissa trying to collect skills like infinity stones, or his parents earning PhDs by 25.

He likes to chill with his friends after school, suck face with his sweetheart before it, and just in general enjoy life as a 17-year-old boy.

Don’t believe me? Here he is at lunchtime, grabbing a bite to eat in the cafeteria.

Let’s pretend he hasn’t decided to dine with the principal today.

Ah, he’s moved to sit with Sofia Bjergsen. Finally.

[How cute! Some freshmen are getting lunch with their teacher. They look like babies!]

(cut to Copperdale students eating lunch together)

Social cliques are loosening up as we creep towards summer break. There’s camaraderie to be found in being tired of school, it seems.

Scene 3 - Dog Park, Brindleton Bay

After classes and extracurriculars, Mark and his sister like to take Archimedes to the dog park.

Here’s Marissa feeding a stray. She’d love to have another dog in their home, but her father’s sensitive constitution can barely handle the one they already have.

Let’s listen in on their conversation.

Marissa: You okay? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.

Mark (frowning): Yeah...actually, no. I’m so tired of going to that physics prep class. I think it’s time I put my foot down and tell Mom and Dad that I want to study music in college.

Marissa: You know what they’ll say about that—

Mark (rolls eyes): I know—

Marissa: “The hard sciences are the future. No one with any real life goals wastes their precious education on the humanities.”

Mark: What about you? Don’t you want to become an artist?

Marissa: Sure, maybe as a side job. But I like math, and I like what Mom and Dad do for work. I’m okay with art being just a hobby for now.

Mark (sighs): I wish I could be like you.

Scene 4 - Copperdale Records

(cut to a record store)

Music? Where did that come from?

Oh, right.

Copperdale Records, the hottest place for music lovers and alternative teens to hang out after school.

(Mark is mixing beats in a studio)

Our boy Mark sneaks here on his way home from the dog park (under the guise of studying with a friend, of course).

Fancies himself a producer, a musical jack-of-all-trades.

To be fair, he did teach himself how to mix beats, edit tracks, and play the guitar, piano, and bass. What can I say? The kid knows what he wants.

(cut to Mark strumming an electric guitar)

And as he tests out the newest six-string in the shop, I wish him the best of luck. He’s sorely going to need it.

[theloveinc]

SCREAMSSS YESSS I think the only way he’d be able to communicate his feelings for you would be between the insufferable practice sessions you have… you both have a big concert coming up and you’re seeing him more than just weekly to practice your new routine to perfection, so its unfortunately harder to avoid him because you can’t, you have to stick around because you need his feedback so you can work together in sync!! And while you’re so annoyed about it at first… you start to warm up to him the slightest. Its just.. something about the way he’s so passionate in everything he does, when he criticises your latest sheet for the song and takes apart each note, saying why some work and some wouldn’t, he’s just so honest and raw in the way he works and it gets to you? It somehow inspires you and annoyingly makes you want to do better for him!!! You hate him!! But want to please him so bad!! Bc as annoying as he is… he’s a wonderful musician, a prodigy even

AND AAAAAA HIM INVITING YOU ONE TIME AFTER FOR DINNER bc one thing led to another while you were working and it’s?? 7pm??? So he’s apologising for keeping you out so late and insists he takes you out to eat, after-all it’s his fault for not being able to settle for the tune you composed until it was perfect down to the very last note… and he hates having debts!! So he takes you out, and it frustrates you somehow even more?? Because you can distract yourself from him when all you have to think about is music, but now with him sitting less than 2 feet away from you, raising his hand for a waiter and ordering food…. You’re forced to really see him. His face, his hands and the way they clearly look like a worked musicians hands, the way his voice sounds when he’s speaking to strangers, and now you’re more annoyed!! In a different way!! Because he will just not!!! Leave!! Your mind!!!

MENDJDH SORRY FOR RAMBLING I HAD THE BIGGEST CLASSICAL MUSIC PHASE AT SOME POINT AND NOW ITS ALL JUST RESURFACING

(cello bakugo au tag here!)

NONONO don't be sorry, i'm really glad actually cuz here u are adding all the substance and accuracy for me!! it's truly allowing me to live out my 6th grade romance novel dreams sdlfadsklaa;dsjf...

BUT YES UGH, you swear if it weren't for the recitals you wouldn't be anywhere NEAR him in your spare time, but... there's something about seeing him outside of normal performance/practice circumstances that has you a little less frustrated, a little more willing to work at things.

Maybe it's the casual jeans and flannel he shows up to the studio in rather than the slacks and button-up you're so used to? The bags under his eyes and unbrushed hair proving he's only human, just like you? his sudden need for (unsweetened, damnit!) lattes and all the phone calls he gets from his own instructor (aizawa) yelling at him about this and that (and remember to dry clean your silks..... and be on your best behavior because eri is coming, too).

it's like.... who has he become? where did the REAL bakugo go???

AND THEN HAVING THIS REALIZATION AT THE DINNER, TOO... where's he's acting like a proper gentleman and ur suddenly aware of just how much you actually look like a couple alongside everything else, too??? it's would def not be the first time people have asked if you're together (even if now you wouldn't really know what to say)... but it's just so AHHH to be faced with because you've been trying so, SO hard to deny it. i'm crying :(((

(and yes he orders a dessert for you to share and that just makes things WORSE)... GOD. i'm sick. i'm SICK!!!!!!

[seolinah]

some new test muses -- if you're interested give this a like and i'll message you or lmk which one you like and i'll write you a starter with them !

park jae-hwa | fc: go min-so | social media influencer & model | vampire (if spn verse) | bisexual

selfish and greedy, does what's necessary to get what she wants; uses her looks to get ahead; deeply insecure about her upbringing so she lies about her past; relies heavily on her brother to get her out of the consequences of her actions

zachary davis | fc: josh hutcherson | journalist | heterosexual

awkward loner type but tries badly to socialize; came from nothing and has had to work twice as hard to get anywhere in his life; always trying to find the next big story to try and make a name for himself

johanna ryeo | fc: catherine haena kim | cello player | bisexual

was considered child prodigy in the music world; used to perfection in all aspects of her life and very ambitious; willing to do what it takes to remain on top and relevant

simone jensen | fc: rachel hilson | tutor & graduate student | bisexual

makes a living tutoring students of rich families in english, history, and piano; typically hates the families she works but is jealous of what they have

park jae-sung | fc: lee jongsuk | software engineer | vampire (if spn verse) | bisexual

was expected to take care of his family, especially his sister, and grew kind of resentful of it; tends to be on the antisocial side; if a vampire - cannot control his thirst & was turned against his will by his sister

jennifer chu | fc: son na-eun | dancer | bisexual

l*ve quinn coded; desperately wants to be in love and loved but is afraid they won't like the real her; can be on the obsessive side and will form a co-dependent/toxic relationship with you; will kill to protect someone she loves

hannah won | fc: yang hyeji | interior designer | bisexual

based on the book home before dark by riley sager; her family's famous because her father wrote a best selling "memoir" about their family fleeing a haunted house they lived in while she was a child; estranged from her family bc she thinks it's all lies despite not remembering anything about her childhood; has currently inherited said-haunted house after her parents' passing

carina torres | fc: carmela zumbado | former actress | bisexual

washed-up child/teen actress who barely gets roles anymore; constantly in tabloids for poor behavior; recently is growing concerned about her money drying up and very desperate to keep her current lifestyle up

david crawford | fc: penn badgley | mostly unemployed | heterosexual

libby day from dark places coded; sole survivor of a family murder that became an unsolved cold case; has made a living through donations he received from anonymous strangers but that well has slowly been drying up as he got older; makes appearances or speaks publicly for a fee

samuel hino | fc: andrew koji | professor | heterosexual

son of a serial killer; turned in his father for his crimes once his father tried to get him to kill too; still struggles with what he's grown up with; is concerned will end up having the same darkness as his father and maybe already does but doesn't know it yet

[atrcus]

— — — obligatory headcanon post under cut

he has quite a deep voice, despite his very pretty appearance. (pls listen u won't regret it)

before he went down the trainer path in his youth, he was a prodigy violinist and was expected by many to go professional - he quit the competition scene because of his dislike of music elitism and seeing one too many of his fellow young musicians getting berated for losing.

loves the violin to this day, and plays quite often. he can also play the cello and the piano to a level he can teach in, is a trained vocalist and can generally figure out the basics of most musical instruments in a very short time.

he's an emotional person deep down, but trusts his head over his heart more. has a tendency to bury emotions and not express them in a proper way.

his ears are pierced, with two holes in each lobe. he hasn't worn earrings in years, however, but somehow they haven't closed up yet.

can go on endless tangents about his own passions, while struggling to hold conversation on matters that don’t interest him. autism

loves astrology, is a very proud pisces alomomola

he likes being in water and finds it relaxing, but doesn't have time to commit to swimming as a hobby. compensates with baths to relax.

when he has time to relax he has a ritual of sorts for baths - bubbles, a bath bomb, chill music (jazz or classical) and a glass of red wine. like a mom...

definitely an acquaintance of grimsley, unova's elite four gambler and resident dark type expert. would love to expand on this some time

has a casual interest in various martial arts as a form of exercise, which keeps him quite fit and healthy.

in matters of the heart he falls fast and hard, but if unrequited can bounce back rather quickly. he tends to like taller partners regardless of gender, as well as those who are objectively pretty or handsome, but values personality above all. though he’s a tad embarrassed about it, due to his independent exterior, he also loves to be taken care of.

[backfliips]

getting emo thinking about how important music has been in my life

putting a read more so i dont ramble on peoples dashboards

music has just been such a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember... I started playing instruments at a very young age, apparently one of the first big memories my parents have of my childhood is me playing our piano without any training and getting songs right bc I can play from ear which I think is a pretty solid way to demonstrate just how important music is for how i process things

i started playing the cello later when i was in 2nd grade and even though i have a LOT of trauma associated with the cello and orchestra in general it's still something I really want to return to someday... orchestra without the competitive edge feels almost heavenly, it's so amazing to make music as a part of a group... cello practice with my dad was probably the worst part of my childhood I still feel so much dread when I think about it. I was basically a prodigy from the beginning and because I set a high standard at the start my dad expected the same rate of improvement forever after that, and it was also coupled with him teaching me based on what he had read and observed rather than through his own experience playing a string and bow instrument, so he thought the techniques were easy and me not immediately being able to implement them was me not paying attention to or caring about what he was saying, so he'd get upset and insult me and say that I was terrible/lazy/awful/etc. for not listening to him ad not trying hard enough, and then I would get upset and cry and go nonverbal because I was like 8 and upset, and then he would get upset because I got upset and refuse to engage with me or quit with the insults until I could get my face back to a neutral position. so. I have a lot of emotional trauma around cello practice. but. that being said I do really miss playing it for fun. I was honestly very good at it. I would be better if I picked it up again and started playing.

I started playing the guitar when I was young too, my dad taught me how to fingerpick and now it's something I strongly associate with the good parts of my relationship with him while the cello I associate with the bad parts (cello practice with him was like extremely emotionally traumatic for me + my biggest trigger now as an adult is any sort of verbal berating while someone is playing an instrument, which is an extremely specific trigger and yet I found it while watching The Perfection --- great movie by the way i still highly recommend it --- so I know it's something that still affects me a lot)

But anyways, onto the rest of my tragic backstory :

When my parents finally split up when I was younger I channeled everything into the music I listened to and mother mother had such an iron grip on my head because I KNEW i was mentally ill in some way but I didn't know how to express it and I was so emotionally stunted and removed from my parents (see former experience with emotions around my dad) (and now they were getting a very very very messy and traumatic divorce and I didn't want to make things harder on anyone because I thought everything happening around me was my fault all of the time) (repeat ad infinitum) and mother mother expressed so much of what I was feeling and it just helped me process so much. When I moved out of my childhood home into my great grandmother's basement (which was literally hell for me like every morning i would watch to see if she was breathing to make sure I wasn't walking into a room with a corpse in it and it was so far away from my friends and i felt so isolated and sad and terrible all of the time and it was filled with mold and i was rotting there) I would just listen to music so much and it was like one of the only things that could take me out of the situation I was in.

I realized I was trans sometime before I moved out of my childhood home, maybe a year or two before then, and mother mother really helped me process that too thanks body by mother mother

When i got into high school i started to branch out a bit more and started listening to metal and found ghost which really impacted my artwork and just made me feel better about life in general

and now I just love music so much. One day I hope I can learn to mix and produce music so I can compose some stuff for myself.

anyways there isnt much of a point to this other than to say that music is a big part of my life and i love it a lot

[swanmaids]

so Celegorm is 26 and he’s having the worlds worst quarter life crisis and I can’t stress this enough he sucks. His dad died three years ago of a heart attack at a family bbq and he swings wildly between pretending he’s too hard to even care at all and having Roman Roy esque public meltdowns about it. His girlfriend Luthien broke up with him after like a month because of him having no ambition and a coke habit and he reacted so badly that he almost caught a harassment charge. Look he didn’t know that it’s not normal to call your ex 80 times a day and comment on their ebay listings when they block you on everything else and dm their new boyfriend telling him to kill himself ok. Now his one friend who is also his cousin Aredhel isn’t talking to him anymore because of how badly he handled that. His mum said he has to get his life together or she’ll stop paying for his studio apartment and that’s just not happening so he’s gone back to uni to study sports science where he’s the only person over the age of 19 on the course and everyone there thinks he’s weird.

enter Oromë who is a 40 y/o former semipro rugby player and one of the lecturers. He and his wife Vana (super successful ceo of one of those flower delivery businesses, 38y/o) are swingers. Their favourite swinging partners are Nessa and Tulkas (Oromë and Nessa aren’t related in this btw) but they also have other partners both separately and together. Orome and Celegorm have a grindr one night stand before celegorm starts uni and then ofc they recognise each other and they’re like oh shit. But they decide to keep hooking up for reasons Oromë can’t explain. That little blonde bitch just has his claws in him.

They have lots of sex. There are lots of photos and videos. There are toys and feminisation (celegorm is amassing a second wardrobe of girls clothes) and probably a few threesomes with Vana and Tulkas. They aren’t exclusive but celegorm just doesn’t get the same feeling from sex with anyone else. They break up frequently and get back together frequently. They have a bit of a sugar daddy thing where Oromë will sometimes pay Celegorm a few hundred quid to do his coursework.

Orome and Vana also have a daughter (Nielíqui) who is 14. She is vaguely aware of her dad’s bf and just finds the whole thing really embarrassing. Nielíqui is a music and dance prodigy and occasionally celegorm stumbles down the stairs for breakfast to find her sat at the breakfast bar eating yoghurt and berries and he tries to make really awkward conversation like “hey so ummm your dad tells me you play the cello umm that’s cool.” And she ignores him

The only other people Celegorm interacts with on a regular basis are his brother Curufin and Curufin’s fiancé Ruindis (both 24 y/o) and their baby Tyelpe who’s only a few months old. Ruindis is an Instagram influencer and Curufin allegedly has a job at his late father’s company but he basically just shows up and scrolls Ruindis’ feed every day and couldn’t even tell you what his job title is. Celegorm likes to go around to their flat to brag or moan about how the situation with Oromë is going and he never helps with the baby. One time he was showing Tyelpe some peppa pig on his phone and then a text from Oromë 😋😎 Daddyyyy 🤤🍆💦 saying “if you’re going to act like a slut then I’m going to treat you like one” or something flashed up on his phone and Celegorm was like thank god this baby doesn’t know what words are yet. Ruindis was not impressed.

I’m not sure yet what Huans role in this au is but he should have one.

Nobody wants to hear about my deeply silly Celegorome modern au and yet. I want to post about it

[dicmondskies]

☆ & * .   ♡   i n t r o d u c t i o n  . . . 

[          ◟  KAY. ◝           ]     ⸻     have  you  ever heard  normal girl by sza ,  well  it  is  CHAILAI CHEN  to  a  tee  .  the  twenty five  year  old  first chair violist in the london symphony orchestra has  been  spotted  wandering  down  portobello  road  markets  just  last  sunday  ,  do  you  know  them  ?  would  you  say  she  are  more  extreme  or  more  ambitious ?  anyway  ,  they  remind  me  of  perfectionism working overtime, pink sugar essential oil, thai tea over milk in the mornings with a warm cinnamon bun, a sage green couch covered in half finished books, sequins dazzling on ice skating costumes,  maybe  you'll  catch  them  around  yeah ?     ⸻     [          ◟  WAWWA NICHA. ◝           ]

chailai chen was born with the highest of expectations placed upon her by her parents. her mother and father both came from hard working upper middle class families who came to the united kingdom before she was born. her mother is an incredible violinist who went on solo tours around the world after making a huge name for herself in the symphony world. chailai was always held to a higher standard than she noticed her peers were held to and she was placed into many different hobbies and activities to ensure she was well rounded and an over achiever. they built her into the perfect moldable multi-talented prodigy. her existence was for their benefit, to reap the praise and ego boosts it gave them and their image of having a perfect daughter. she was taught to always keep herself in line to make sure her family’s reputation stayed squeaky clean and so they’d keep climbing the ranks in growing popularity among the other wealthy families in london. chailai’s father is very wealthy due to generational wealth. but they do not display it in an over the top flashy style, they are more conservative and hush hush about their wealth unless you’re in their inner circle. they have nice things but they don’t go out of their way to draw attention to themselves in that way.  because of this, chailai grew up being very critical of herself. she is a perfectionist in her head and is always harping on what she can do better. she simply doesn’t know how to relax because of all the pressure she has had placed on her since a young girl. if she’s relaxing, she feels guilty, because she was taught to always be putting energy into her craft and bettering herself. chailai didn’t have much of a choice in regards to following her mother in her footsteps with orchestra life. the only say so chailai got over her musical abilities was picking out which instrument would be her signature or her specialty. she can play the flute, the violin, the viola, the cello, the harp, the acoustic guitar, and the ukulele. the viola has always been her instrument of choice though. she loves how the viola harmonizes with the violin. most people are more interested in the violin but chailai loved the deeper melancholy sound that the viola produces over the higher pitch violin. it was surprisingly approved by her mother because it meant they wouldn’t have to compete for title of the best. the viola allowed chailai to have her own spotlight, separate from her mothers where they couldn’t be compared all the way. chailai was also an award winning ice skater when she was about 7-14 and then she completely switched her focus strictly to playing the viola and singing.  chailai was always tutored and made sure that her grades were nothing short of perfect, she had to work really hard to make straight a’s while also maintaining all of her out of school activities and hobbies. now, chailai is a first chair violist in the london symphony, she studied at the royal academy of music in london and is a household name if you’re immersed into the world of the arts, specifically the symphony, classical music, orchestra world. it would be totally appropriate that the average person who isn’t really into that kind of stuff not to know who she was at all, though she’s done many tours and is even favored in the united states as well. 

[littlemessyjessi]

"Guardians of Stone": Age Thirteen: Chapter Four : Poly Fantasy BTS AU

=

Poly BTS, Fantasy, Supernatural AU,

Fallen Angels, demons,angels, yandere themes, fantasy themes, supernatural themes.

💜 chapter 4: age 13 💜

======

Anxious fingers continue to fidget with the handle on the cello case. 

There were people everywhere. 

Her father had a function and Jessabella was meant to perform. 

It wasn't a question or a request but rather a direct command.  

The place was the picture elegance. 

Truthfully, the function itself probably cost more than most people would make in their lifetime. 

And her father spent it like it was nothing because to him that's exactly what it was. 

Money was no object for him. 

He thought it could solve all problems. 

"Everyone has a price, Jessabella.  Anything and anyone can be bought, for the right amount. You would do well to remember that." he had said to her more times than she could count. 

She hated him for that. 

For that mentality. 

The very idea that he thought he could just buy people off. 

After all, it had never worked for her and she was his own blood. 

His only child and one that he had given ever material thing anyone could ever desire. 

But she would never accept him because he was evil. 

She truly believed that. 

In her thirteen years of life, she had seen the true dark, cruel twisted side of him and it didn't matter what other thoughts. 

She had seen the wicked grin that lay just behind the charming smile he gave to the socialites. 

He was dashing and handsome and successful but she knew exactly who he was. 

However, she was still a child and there was only so much she could do. 

She had tried. 

Oh, how she had tried. 

She'd ran away more times than either of them could keep up with but she never got far for long because he had people everywhere. 

It was only a matter of time before she was deposited right back into his hands. 

"You're meant to inherit my legacy, Jessabella.   You are the only heir and it's expected of you." he would say every time.   "But apparently you have another lesson to learn." 

It was always followed by a statement to the public that she was off on another vacation with her 'doting, loving father'. 

To the public, he was the widowed single father to the daughter who he spoiled and adored. 

No one else saw the absolute hell behind closed doors. 

A month later when the bruises had healed and he was convinced he'd broken her spirit enough- only then would he allow her to go out into the world again. 

A hand settled on her shoulder, a little too hard to be comfortable. 

"Darling." 

She nearly gagged as the word leaving his lips. 

"It's time for your performance." he said. 

Jessabella looked up at her father. 

His black hair glinting in the light, the smile on his face sharp- a warning. 

She simply nodded tugging her cello out and getting settled. 

She had chosen "Numb" by Linkin Park. 

She hadn't bothered to run it by him because there would be no lyrics and she knew it wouldn't matter. 

It was simply about the music and the idea that his 'beloved daughter' was a prodigy. 

In truth, she was but she hated that he referred to her as such. 

She just loved music, of any kind. 

Music put her feelings into the words that she couldn't seem to get out. 

She took a deep breath before she let the song overtake her. 

The bow sliding across the strings effectively captivating the audience. 

She knew it was. 

The song was beautiful and the composition of it was gorgeous. 

The lyrics spoke to her personally and even without them… the emotion bled through in the melody. 

She sang along in her head as she played, the pads of her fingers calloused from hours against the strings. 

'I'm tired of being what you want me to be.  Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.  Don't know what you're expecting of me.  Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.' 

Tears brewed behind her closed eyes but she would be damned if she let them fall. 

She thought of her mother often.  

There had definitely been struggles but she hadn't deserved to die. 

And Jessabella missed her. 

'I've become so numb.  I can't feel you there.  Become so tired.  So much more aware.' 

She hated being alone with her father. 

She hated it. 

At times, she understood her mother's reasons. 

Her eyes opened focused in across the street. 

The back of Bangtan Mansion displayed before her, guarded by the iron gate. 

It was right across from the local country club. 

It had been three years since she'd been back. 

She was still terrified of her experience but at times, she wondered if whatever happened… might've been better than this. 

Her eyes slid down to the crowd to see her father standing there. 

He looked proud. 

Not of her. 

But of the envy in the other's eyes. 

She was nothing more than a possession to him. 

Something to gloat about and lord over others. 

She hated him. 

Her eyes closed again, trying to just focus on the music. 

'I'm becoming this.  All I want to do is be more like me and be less like you. 

And I know I may end up failing too but I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you. 

I've become so numb.  I can't feel you there. I'm tired of being what you want me to be.  I've become so numb.' 

She finished her performance to an outstanding ovation and her father all but leapt on the stage, harshly tugging her into his side. 

He went on to brag about his 'prodigy' of a child and she barely kept it together. 

She gave a few polite bows before she promptly got as far away from the stage as she could. 

Normally, he would take this opportunity to cart her around like a prized show pony but he was distracted by some politician. 

She saw her chance and she took it, sneaking out of the party and down the street. 

Her black heels clacked on the sidewalk, the matching black dress blowing in the wind a bit. 

She already missed her cargos and combat boots. 

Her hair had been pinned into submission and her face painted to look much older than the young teenager that she was. 

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost ran into something as it swung out in front of her. 

Her eyes narrowed at the iron slightly swaying in front of her feet. 

Eyes dragging up to see that it was in fact a gate and she was standing right outside of Bangtan Manor. 

Apparently, it had an entrance in the back that she'd never noticed. 

Though truthfully, it was a bit overgrown. 

She gnawed on her lip for a moment, deciding if she should go in or not. 

"Last time you nearly got yourself killed." she said to herself.  "But then again, here lately, maybe…" 

She shook her head of the dark thoughts… but apparently not enough to clear them because soon enough she was pushing through the vines and stepping onto the property again. 

It was quiet. 

The kind of quiet associated with horror movies before the main character got ripped to shreds. 

Even with that knowledge… she pressed on. 

She slid her heels off, the grass tickling her bare feet but soothing the soreness. 

She sighed. 

There were no voices. 

She was sure that they were angry with her, after all, what would she expect after the last encounter. 

She'd nearly been killed. 

Though, at times when she lay awake at night, she wondered if that had been intentional. 

She had many conversations with Jimin before. 

That in and of itself sounded insane, she knew. 

He was a statue after all but she had long since accepted that she wasn't normal. 

And he had always been kind to her before. 

She ventured further into the property where she knew a small pond sat. 

It was still a bit overgrown but there were flowers blossom in varying shades of pink and the little wooden bench was still in tact. 

She took a seat as she looked up at the statue closest to her. 

If anyone had been blessed by Aphrodite, it was that man. 

He was truly beautiful in every way. 

"Hello, Seokjinnie." she said.  

She received no answer but she didn't really expect one to be honest. 

It would be a miracle if she managed to leave there alive today and somehow… she had made her peace with that. 

"Your flowers are looking lovely." she commented.  "I see that the azaleas are a new addition." 

The statue remained looking over the water managing to look both pensieve and serene at the same time. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been back, Seokjinnie." she said.  "I have missed you.  But with what happened last time, I've been afraid.  I- I thought I was going to die.  I thought Jimin was going to kill me.  But now, even if that is what happens, I'm no so afraid of it anymore." 

The water of the pond turned vicious, churning in a way that a pond never would. 

Jessabella grew afraid again but moments later the pond settled into a gentle ebb and flow. 

Music drifted around them as it floated out of the manor. 

The tinkling of piano keys filled the air. 

"I know this song." she smiled.  "My mother used to play it for me.  It's 'Jasmine Flower'." 

Warmth blossomed in her heart that the good memories of her mother and before she knew it she was singing. 

"What a beautiful jasmine flower! What a beautiful jasmine flower! Buds and blooms are here and there, pure and fragrant all do declare.  Let me gather some with tender care, sweetness for all to share.  Jasmine fair, oh jasmine fair." she said, breaking into a fit of giggles as she leapt to her feet and spun in circles around in the grass. 

She fell backwards, encased by the flowers. 

She hadn't felt that light or joyous in a long while. 

"Thank you, Yoongi." she whispered, eyes prickling with tears.  "It was as if my mother was here with me again." 

She expected nothing in return but when the deep, soft voice invaded her mind with a comforting, "You're welcome, flower." … she wept. 

All of her emotions, all the trauma and the bullshit bubbled ot the surface and she cried in the flowers. 

Her wretched father, the loss of her mother, the constant war she was in, the expectations, the suicidal thoughts, everything. 

The damn broke and she just laid there. 

Her tears falling into the warm of earth of spring. 

In that moment, she was both ready to die and yet, wanting nothing more than to live. 

On the one hand, she wanted her life as a her father's daughter to end. 

She wanted that girl to die. 

But here, in the garden with the flowers where no one expected her to be anyone but herself… she wanted to live. 

She wanted so badly to live there forever. 

"You could." 

The fuzzy voice invaded her mind again and she tensed a bit at the sweeter tone. 

"Jimin?" she spoke. 

"I never meant to hurt you." his voice said, warmth bleeding in around the edges.  "I got a little jealous that you had brought someone else and then you were leaving. I thought you would never come back and-" 

There was a rush of many voices all at once again, talking too fast and too low in her mind for her to be able to sort them out or what they were saying. 

But it didn't matter. 

She thought she would be terrified but it brought her comfort to have them there again. 

She laid back in the grass again, eyes closing. 

There arguing almost served as quiet background noise. 

She had made up her mind. 

Whatever happened, happened. 

But in that moment, she was going to enjoy the blissful peace of the garden. 

No one was expecting anything of her. 

She was just a girl laying in the flowers. 

===== 

Hello loves and tahnk you for checking out my work! If you'd like to see more Kpop content, just check out the navi link in my bio and click on Masterlist 2.0! I hope you're doing well and I would love to know your thoughts!

@toomanyfictionalboyfriends

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Please enjoy purple Seokjinnie for healing!

======

[47crayons]

so, you want to write a musician?

about me: i play viola and have experience in symphony orchestras, string orchestras, string quartets (+ a few other small ensembles), and solo performances. i've done some light composition, and have friends/family who play other instruments. while my musical history is extensive, by no means do i know everything or speak for everyone.

this guide will focus on classical music/how to portray classical musicians and things that aren't as easily researched.

quick overview of instruments in a typical symphony orchestra

upper strings (violin, viola), lower strings (cello, (double) bass; i've seen viola included here too, but it's more commonly classified as upper strings)

strings also technically includes harp and piano

woodwinds (flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon)

depending on instrumentation, they may also have piccolo, english horn, bass clarinet, contrabassoon

saxophones are not traditionally in symphony orchestras due to it being a relative newer instrument! but this is changing because more contemporary composes are including sax parts

brass (trumpet, trombone, bass trombone, tuba, euphonium)

percussion (depends heavily on instrumentation, but common instruments are bass drum, timpani, snare, crash cymbal, xylophone, marimba)

some things you should research

where the hands are supposed to go!! i'd recommend you look at pictures of professionals in orchestra settings (ny phil, cso, berlin phil are all top tier). some musicians *coughs at yoyo ma* have less than perfect posture when they're performing solos (for the same reasons famous authors can break "rules")

necessary equipment including reeds, rockstops, different kinds of sticks/mallets, rosin, mouth pieces for whatever instrument you're writing

common misconceptions

loose/photocopied sheet music is not aesthetic—it's annoying and impossible to keep organized. folders and binders are fairly common especially when managing multiple ensembles.

original copies are often expensive and required to perform a piece (legally) for profit or otherwise (though i know a few people who have bent this rule)

not all performers are good composers (i myself have very little formal music theory training), but many composers have performance histories.

not all musicians can sing.

perfect pitch is both a blessing and a curse. notes can be slightly lower/higher but in tune with the context of the piece, which drives people with perfect pitch insane.

having perfect pitch does not guarantee someone will be a prodigy, and people don't need perfect pitch to be a talented musician.

drama in ensembles does exist, but it rarely gets in the way of rehearsal. same thing goes for good friends: if your characters have even a shred of common sense, they aren't going to be talking/messing around during rehearsal.

instruments (especially good ones) are extremely expensive. people very rarely store instruments on the wall or other displays for fear of falling.

instruments are very picky and require tuning every time. every time! it doesn't take long anyway. temperature and humidity can and will make instruments go out of tune or damage your instrument if not properly stored.

some people listen exclusively to classical music, but in my experience, that's definitely not the majority

like with anything, most musicians struggle with self doubt at one point or another.

musician culture

getting excited when we hear a piece we recognize

getting frustrated because we can't remember the name of the piece (after all, no lyrics to search)

being horrified when a non-musician actor is playing a musician. yes, we notice. yes, it's obvious.

if people are joking, it's likely to be about: violas (a quick search for "viola jokes" will tell you all you need to know) or trumpets (a reputation for being overly loud, playing and not)

putting stickers (places they toured, their orchestra, or just purely decorative) on cases is common, but not for everyone. same goes for pictures (of family, past concerts, or anything) on the inside.

scrambling for a pencil when the conductor says to mark something. pencils are a musicians best friend :D

asking (and forgetting) how to split double stops/two parts at the same time. sometimes one stand partner will play the top while the other plays the bottom, and sometimes this is split stand by stand.

this has NEVER resulted in a sexual top/bottom joke. please just. don't. also no g string jokes. it's just unrealistic.

awaiting the obligatory "it's one week before our concert, and you sound like this?!" lecture

not talking about music 100% of the time!!! they have lives outside of music (most of them, at least /j). especially to close friends, music is probably not going to be a conversation topic unless something is out of the ordinary (high stress, something funny from rehearsal, etc.)

bragging/talking about how often they practice is generally not welcomed. great, but other people don't need to hear it!

stages are hot and bright. there's no way a performer can see someone in the audience with the possible exception of the first row.

practicing

three words for you: love. hate. relationship.

slow practice (like really slow lots of people recommend half speed; good for focusing on the right notes, tone, phrasing, smooth transitions)

metronome practice (while playing, it's not annoying at all! it's helpful and requires a lot of focus; when NOT playing, it's annoying and loud because it needs to be heard over the playing)

drone practice (having a machine/website/another person play one note in the background; good for tuning and scales)

and too many more for me to detail

auditions

ensembles may have entrance auditions to determine who gets in and seating auditions to determine placement within the section.

adrenaline does not make us play better; it just makes us make mistakes. and then thinking about those mistakes causes more mistakes.

some instruments, especially those with less repertoire, have common excerpts that come up frequently (i can think of one in particular that i've played for three separate auditions this year).

stopping/starting over is not recommended ever, but if you do, it has to be 10x better. most audition judges aren't looking for perfection!! they want to see how your character can keep going after messing up.

sight reading (being given new music, having ~30 seconds to look at it, being asked to play) is never perfect. i don't care how talented your character is; if they think they nailed it, they aren't experienced enough to see all the phrasing/dynamics that they didn't incorporate. no one gets sight reading perfect!!!

perhaps most importantly, musicians are not all the same! they enjoy it for a number of different reasons and have diverse and interesting lives outside of music!!! more information about specific instrument groups under the cut :)

strings

callouses. with the exception of pianists, most string players (and especially professional ones) have callouses where they press down/pluck the strings. i also have one on my right thumb where i hold my bow. cellists and bassists might have them on their left thumb from playing higher notes in thumb position.

hickeys are also fairly common, though only some people get them. upper strings will get these by under their left jaw. cellists may have one from the wooden body resting on their sternum. some people (including hilary hahn and many many others) use a cloth for comfort and to prevent hickeys.

few people want a hickey, but it might suit a character who is constantly trying to prove themselves.

our fingers do not "glide" anywhere. you can get cuts/"string-burns" from pressing down too hard when shifting. cuts like those are the only reason someone's fingers will bleed, and it's rarer than you think.

upper strings are more prone to back/neck problems from the way they hold their instruments on one side. see also: shoulder pain.

finger cramps happen. they aren't too common, but most if not all strings have experienced at least one.

pianos require tuning every few years or else the chords will be out of tune. few pianists can tune their own instrument because of how complicated it is.

piano parts/accompaniments will have so. many. pages. a page turner may sit on the right of the pianist to turn the page.

woodwinds & brass

spit. so much spit. some instruments clean afterwards with a cloth; others have a spit valve which is as gross as it sounds.

proper embouchure, or how a musician uses the muscles in their face/lips, is tiring, and people actually get strong cheek muscles. they can also easily turn red, but it varies based on a person's facial complexion. see also: good lung capacity.

flute and piccolo are not dainty. piccolo requires as much air as a tuba. an old teacher of mine almost passed out playing piccolo when she was in college.

flutes and piccolos are high, but often not shrill depending on the level of the ensemble.

reeds last a few weeks (less if your character plays for hours a day) and can be expensive to buy.

keys and valves can get sticky especially on older instruments which can result in the wrong note or bad tone.

saxes, clarinets, flutes are more likely to "honk" on low notes.

oboes are more likely to feel "wispy" on high notes.

articulation comes from the tongue, especially for brass instruments, and conductors may ask for "tah" "pah" or "wah" sounds depending on the style of the piece.

percussion

callouses from the friction between hands and sticks/mallets.

there are so many types of sticks and mallets!!! make sure to take a look at what materials are good for what instruments/sounds.

cymbals, triangle, and bass drum are not easy to play, even though they look simple.

percussionists with the exception of timpani may play more than one instrument during a piece, and they're constantly moving around in the back during their rests.

percussion instruments are too expensive for most people to have everything they ever play. practice pads are very common in place of these instruments.

ability to play one instrument doesn't translate to different instruments. for example, many percussionists don't have experience playing set/drum set.

some of the things detailed here are heavily glossed over, so if you have any questions, i'd always be happy to talk about it with you; i may not have answers, but i will try to help as best i can!!!

since you read this far, have my favorite viola joke.

what's the difference between a violist and a large pizza?

a large pizza can feed a family of four :)

tagging some people who showed interest: @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @kg-willie @owilder

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Weirdly enough I don't have a lot of scenes where characters are alone in TSP. I found exactly two in Part One. I could've used them, but they were so brief, I decided to go with one from the few chapters I have for SOTL:

The door shut, and Úrsula muttered the tune under her breath until it stopped. She shuffled as far as the cuffs would let her, reaching with her feet for the box she’d stashed in the corner--as far away as possible. Once the box was in her hands, she began pushing in the combination--the buttons tiny, the password a random number she’d made herself memorize. Once unlocked, she pulled up the key, unlocking the cuffs. She placed the key back in the mini-safe, tucked it back into its corner, and finally turned to her dinner. She made herself comfortable in the oversized, cushioned chair in front of the plastic table tucked in the corner beside the window that was never opened. On the table rested a touch-screen tablet. Úrsula shuffled through the playlists she’d made over the years, finally choosing one titled “Classical Music.” Bach blared through her speakers, making her jump. She lowered the volume on the tablet to a comfortable setting, then finally began to eat her dinner. As she ate, Úrsula paid close attention to the harmonies of the baroque music emanating from her speaker. Every part perfectly balanced. Complimenting each other. Contrasting when needed. Úrsula had Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos memorized. Why wouldn’t she? They composed an hour and a half of pure perfection. She swayed along to the up-tempo beat, humming along in between bites. She had been attempting a new hobby of composing her own music just six months ago. She usually worked on her piece around the late morning--after breakfast and she practiced the cello she’d requested...about two years ago now. She liked to think that she’d gotten pretty good for someone who was taught by only herself, the books, and a few instructors she’d found in online videos. Her self-composed piece, however, she was not as confident in. Music Theory was relatively hard to grasp--each time she accidentally found parallel fifths in her four-part harmony she wanted to bash her head against the wall. Besides, she was no Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart. She wasn't a prodigy of her time--she was just a girl with a lot of time.

Úrsula has been locked in her room for years due to a curse. We don't know much of it at this point.

Well I do haha.

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[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne: Part 9 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: With the first concert of the season approaching, you continue working as the personal assistant of Maestra Agatha Harkness, while attempting to juggle your relationship and future in the process.

Word Count: 5K Words

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCfDtxcFoyM

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to Part 9 of Chaconne. One quick thing...I have decided to extend this story by just a few parts, I really don’t want to rush through the ending and there are a few more things I want to write haha. Anyways, I included a link to the first movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and it’s briefly mentioned throughout the story so if you feel inclined feel free to listen. I really hope all of you are still enjoying the story, and that you enjoy Part 9! As always, please feel free to leave a comment and my asks/messages are open if you have any questions :)

Tag List: @annie-mit-ie​  @celasteria​  @danvers97​  @imthedoctorlove​  @mcfriggingonagall​  @meowsaidmissy​ @notsosecretlyalesbian​ @sarahp-stan​ @scarletwxtxh​ @scarletmeltstheice​ @shinkomiii​ @sxfwap​ @thestrangeundoing​ @teenwonder​ @upsidedowndanvers​  @venticalooks​  @vintagegoddess12​  @everythingmarvelsherlockspn​  @thoroughly--confused​

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen on stage, completely lost in your thoughts before the sound of Agatha’s heels came clicking from backstage. Just as you managed to clear your head of Wanda’s offer, the alluring scent of lavender invaded your senses. Even from a few feet away you could hear the conductor mumbling to herself about god knows what. As soon as she spotted you, however, the ramblings immediately stopped.

“Ah, there you are,” Agatha said, offering you a rare but genuine smile as she set her belongings down on the podium. “I see you set the stage.”

Nodding you motioned across the hall. “It didn’t take too long but I gave the winds extra room like you requested.”

The conductor nodded before curiously eyeing you. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

Well you could tell her that her least favorite concert pianist had just suggested you move to Vienna. Or how Wanda was apparently aware that there was something going on between the two of you. A part of you did think it would be important to inform Agatha of that, but you also didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

You quickly nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours for a moment before nodding and turning her attention to her Dvorak score. A few minutes later, various MSO musicians arrived and began unpacking on and off stage. You eventually headed out to sit in one of the front rows, and you realized you never told Monica that she would be getting a new stand partner.

Luckily it didn’t take long for the violinist to enter the hall, followed closely by Jimmy and Darcy. Her face lit up when she saw you, and went to set her violin down in the row you were sitting in.

“Hey Y/N,” Monica greeted you brightly, before frowning when she noticed something was amiss. “Where’s your violin?”

“I...I’m not playing with the MSO anymore,” you explained quietly, watching Agatha berate the second chair oboist on stage for the way she tuned. “Hayward had blind auditions to fill the chair and I didn’t get it.”

“That’s whack,” Darcy immediately replied, causing Jimmy and Monica to glare at her. “What? It is.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Monica said sincerely. “You’re really talented, I hope you know that.”

“Yeah and it’s only one audition,”  Jimmy pointed out. “Hayward’s always been a bit hard headed when it comes to filling seats, especially if it’s someone he picked.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted. “And Monica you’ll be getting a new stand partner so I’m sure he’ll be really good.”

“Which one is he?” Darcy asked curiously as she scanned the hall.

You discreetly glanced around the room before you found him. He was already heading on stage, violin in hand. You hadn’t really paid him much mind before the audition, but now you seemed to notice every detail about him. The sure way he presented himself as he practically strutted up the stage. His rigid posture as he sat in his seat, as if that was a comfortable way to sit.

You motioned your head to the stage and Darcy let out a quiet snort. “Oh good. John Walker.”

Monica rolled her eyes at her friend. “You know this guy?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy replied. “I know everyone.”

“What’s his deal?” Jimmy asked curiously. “He seems a bit...”

“Like he has a stick up his ass?” Darcy guessed, and Jimmy laughed.

“I was going to say uptight, but sure.”

“Walker fancies himself to be a bit of a prodigy,” Darcy explained and shook her head. “He’s good, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not amazing. I played a few gigs with him last summer in the Hamptons and I dreaded every moment spent in his company.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Monica argued before giving you a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I agree with you,” you reassured the violinist. “I’m going to go see if Ag- Maestra needs anything before rehearsal so I’ll see you guys later?”

Agatha was leaning against the podium, drinking her water when she saw you approach her. The conductor appeared exhausted again, and you made a mental note to make sure she went straight home after rehearsal.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Agatha handed you her spare Dvorak score. “I’ll need you to tell me how the sound projects through the hall. We’ll be running the first movement today and I need to make sure the opening cello theme is clear enough.”

“Right, and if something isn’t clear what do you want me to do?”

“Well you could always throw something at Dottie,” Agatha suggested. “That would certainly get my attention.”

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I’m being serious.”

“As was I, dear. Dottie needs to look up from her music more. Perhaps that would encourage her to do so,” Agatha replied nonchalantly before sighing at the look you gave her. “Fine. I’ll ask you at the end of the movement what your notes are.”

“You mean my notes on sound projection, right?”

Agatha shrugged. “Or any suggestions you have on how to improve different sections. I...” the conductor paused and glanced around the hall to make sure no one else was listening in. “I do value your opinion.”

Your felt your heart sing at those words, and it took everything in you to not grab the older woman and kiss her senseless. Instead you gave her a bright smile. “Well I suppose I can try really hard to come up with a few meaningful suggestions.”

Rolling her eyes at your words, Agatha shook her head. “Try not to make me regret my decision, dear. Take a seat a few rows back, I’ll be starting rehearsal soon.”

Sure enough, just as you took your seat Agatha had the orchestra tuning before instructing them to start at the beginning of the first movement of the Dvorak. You loved every movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and while you adored the fourth movement, there was something quite special about the first. There was this beautiful building intensity that started in the strings before slowly rising to include the entire ensemble. It was passionate, colorful, and left you eager for more.

As much as you loved performing, and you did more than anything, you found yourself enjoying getting to observe the rehearsal from your seat in the audience. It allowed you to focus on so much more than when you would be sitting in the first violin section. Before you never saw how Jimmy appears to have his entire part memorized since he usually has his eyes locked on Agatha the entire time. Or how talented Darcy was. You knew she had to be a good percussionist to be subbing for the MSO, but she performed with so much energy you found it hard to tear your eyes away from her.

Then there was Agatha. The conductor appeared lost in the music as she mindlessly conducted, but you swore you never saw anything more beautiful. Every single time you had the privilege of watching her conduct you swore she kept finding new ways to draw you in. How someone could make the simple movements with a baton and her hand so enticing. She had so much energy in her while conducting, and the love she had for the music was so clear in her eyes. What was even more fascinating to you was how easily the rest of the orchestra seemed to follow her. All of her cues were perfect, and she never missed a downbeat. She was by far the best conductor you had ever seen and you would never tire of getting to see this side of her.

The movement progressed and you turned your attention to the first violin section. Monica was was entirely in her element, and you immediately felt a slight pang at not being next to her on stage. You had a few stand partners who had been lovely over the years but Monica was better than all of them combined. She was so precise in her playing, and her technique was absolutely flawless. But what made Monica so unique was how genuinely kind she was. A lot of violinists were so focused on their craft it didn’t matter who they stepped on to get their way, but it was clear Monica didn’t play by those rules.

As you felt your eyes wander, they landed on the new violinist. John Walker. He was...good. The egomaniac violinist inside of you wanted to argue that you were better, but you shoved those comments away. For one thing he used far too much bow on his tremolos, and you were worried he was going to send his bow flying across the stage with the way he was holding it. Then there was his posture, he sat so rigid in his seat. After a few moments, you realized you were sounding more and more like Agatha.

Tearing your eyes away from the first violin section, you wrote down a few notes on sound quality throughout the movement and forced yourself to stay focused. The movement progressed and you couldn’t help but note how good the orchestra was sounding. Granted Agatha ran them hard, but it was clearly paying off. They were good before, but they were finally playing with more of a purpose. Unfortunately, you didn’t think Agatha felt the same was. As soon as the final chord rang out, the conductor whipped her baton on her stand, and you could tell she was angry.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Agatha spat out as she flipped through her score. “That was the saddest attempt of Dvorak I have ever heard in all my years of conducting. I’ve worked with youth symphonies who sounded better than all of you combined.”

Personally you felt Agatha was exaggerating a tad, but you watched her continue to rant.

“Woo, your projection is eons better than before but I still need more,” Agatha called out to the winds section, and you saw Jimmy shoot up in his seat as the conductor called his name. From the percussion section, Darcy also appeared to notice Jimmy’s change in posture and she glanced over and shook her head at you.

“If the rest of you could play as well as Woo I doubt we would be having this conversation but alas,” Agatha sighed, before tapping her baton on the stand. “Flutes, I’m starting to wonder if all of you are deaf or just enjoy the sound of my voice berating you, because what the hell was that? Jones, all of your solos are splitting my brain open. Either work on your intonation and have it fixed by tomorrow morning or I’ll be moving you to second chair.”

Dottie slouched in her seat and you bit your lip. Agatha had lost her temper before during rehearsal but this was slowly starting to get worse.

“I don’t have to time to rerun all of this because we have the idi-Miss Maximoff joining us shortly, but please turn your attention to measure seventy-five,” Agatha instructed the ensemble, before turning her attention to the first violins. “First violins, I need this melody to be sweet and light as we begin, don’t give me too much too soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the new violinist raise his bow to ask a question. Oh good. That would definitely end well...Agatha continued rambling on about vibrato and tone, seemingly unaware of the violinist and a part of you hoped perhaps he would simply move on and ask the question later. But it appeared he was the persistent type as he cleared his throat to get the conductor’s attention. Although you were positive Agatha heard him, you were a few rows back and the sound was clear as day, she continued her rant, ignoring him completely. At this point the rest of the orchestra seemed aware of what was going on and everyone seemed to be waiting for Agatha to acknowledge him.

“Maestra? I had a question,” The violinist’s voice boomed through the hall, and you internally winced as you watched Agatha whip her head to look at him.

“Ah yes, our new addition,” Agatha said briefly, as she eyed the violinist. “John Walker, is it?”

He nodded. “I hate to interrupt Maestra-“

Agatha cut him off, appearing to grow more uninterested with every word that came out of his mouth. “Yet you still proceed to act like a privileged toddler to get my attention, so please, Walker, what is it?”

“I merely wanted to suggest a different approach to measure seventy-five,” John explained and he had far too much cockiness for your liking. “I know you feel it’s best to take a softer approach, I was always told to start with a bigger sound then slowly decrescendo. It’s just a suggestion.”

There was another pause as Agatha stared at the violinist with a calculating and cold stare. A part of you wondered if this would be the day she finally snapped and whipped her baton at someone. You had heard rumors of a betting pool the interns had on when Agatha would inevitably strangle someone for making her too angry. You had thought they were being a bit drastic at the time, but seeing the way she was looking at Walker was making you reconsider that.

“Thank you for sharing your very generous suggestions with us, Mr. Walker,” Agatha replied, and there was emphasis on the word suggestions. “I’m not sure if you are aware of where you are, but this is my orchestra.”

John frowned at that, and once again unwisely opened his mouth. “Maestra, I wasn’t attempting to overstep. I just thought I would offer my opinion on how to make the section stronger.”

“Ah yes, my mistake. I must have forgot when I asked for your opinion,” Agatha retorted. her temper appearing to grow more and more heated. “Would you like to offer any other suggestions, Walker? I’m positive the entire orchestra is simply dying to hear your words of wisdom.”

This time John remained silent, but you saw how darker his appearance grew at being called out in front of the entire orchestra. Agatha appeared satisfied by that and she tapped her baton against the stand again. “Lovely to see the newbie catching on. Measure seventy-five.”

The rehearsal of Dvorak continued to drag, and you marked a few notes for suggestions like Agatha had asked you to. You would occasionally check the clock, wondering when Wanda would be arriving since the orchestra was set to rehearse Rachmaninoff at 8:30 sharp. Eventually the doors to the hall opened, but instead of Wanda entering the room it was one of the interns Agatha hadn’t managed to scare away during her early reign of terror. The intern appeared nervous about something, who knows what, and they quickly sought you out.

“Y/N, you have to tell Maestra Harkness that Miss Maximoff won’t be attending rehearsal this evening,” the intern told you, and it looked like they were going to pass out from the fear of having to tell Agatha.

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal?” You asked curiously.

The intern quickly nodded. “She’s sick.”

Sick? You had just seen the pianist a couple hours ago and she appeared fine, but maybe she just came down with something. Giving the intern a small smile, you stood up. “I’ll tell Maestra, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” the intern said sincerely. “I’m pretty sure if I tell her she’ll find a way to fire me.”

The intern hurried back out of the hall and you slowly made your way to the front of the stage, hoping Agatha would call for the orchestra to take a break so you could make your move. With there only being a few rehearsals left until opening night you knew the absence of a soloist would send the conductor over the edge. But hopefully her strong dislike of Wanda would lighten the blow. As if the two of you were telepathically connected, Agatha turned around as you approached the stage and signaled for the orchestra to stop.

“Let’s take ten,” Agatha instructed them. “Have Rachmaninoff ready by the time we come back.”

The musicians all but hurried off the stage, and said hello to the few you had gotten to know over the past few weeks. Darcy caught your eye as she walked down the stairs and motioned her head to where John Walker was standing by his case, rolling her eyes in the process. You swallowed the laughter that threatened to escape as you went to join Agatha on stage. It didn’t take the older woman long to realize something was wrong.

“If you’re going to say I was being too hard on Walker, don’t,” Agatha quietly warned you, and it was apparent she was still fuming.

“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to throw a temper tantrum after I tell you this,” you said, and your tone was light, but Agatha gave you a look.

“I do not throw temper tantrums,” the conductor hissed as you motioned for her to follow you backstage.

“Of course not, Maestra. Your outbursts are completely normal for a woman of your-“ you quickly paused as Agatha arched an eyebrow at you, clearly unamused.

“My what, darling?” Agatha questioned, giving you an unconvincing glare as you laughed.

“Your stature,” you corrected yourself.

“You’re on thin ice,” the conductor warned you. “I’m not sure I like how easily you tease me.”

“Coming from the woman who’s done nothing but tease me since we met I think it’s only fair,” you offered, and Agatha smirked. “But really, please don’t freak out.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’ll have no choice but to tie you up and force the words out of you myself,” Agatha mused, causing you to blush, which made her smirk grow wider. “Ah, do you like the sound of that, darling?”

“The rest of the orchestra is only a few feet away,” you warned her as she took a step closer to you. “If our relationship is supposed to stay private wouldn’t it be a bit unwise to...”

“Oh no, dear, don’t stop using your words now,” Agatha practically purred, she closed the distance between you, lightly shoving you against the wall. “We’re just getting started.”

“Agatha, I really think maybe we should do this somewhere-“ you began to say, and you truly had every intention of trying to be the rational one here, but any remaining brain function you had left was erased as Agatha’s lips began trailing up your neck, occasionally stoping to nip at skin. “Agatha...”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Agatha whispered against your ear, the warm air of her breath sending tingles down your spine. “Or do I need to encourage you a bit more?”

“I don’t know how you doing this is supposed to encourage me to talk,” you argued, and bit back a moan as the conductor bit down on your earlobe.

“I’m just trying to help, darling,” Agatha insisted, pulling you impossibly closer to her as you were pressed against the wall. “I can help even more if you would like.”

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal,” you finally managed to let out with a gasp, and Agatha paused her movements at that.

“Darling, I know I’m a bit distracted but I believe you just said the Sokovian dingbat won’t be at rehearsal,” Agatha said slowly, as if she was trying to wrap her brain around what you just said.

Unwrapping yourself from the conductor, you nodded, trying to gauge her reaction. “She’s sick so she won’t be in attendance today.”

Agatha scoffed, shaking her head at your words. “Wanda Maximoff doesn’t get sick and miss rehearsal. I was-I worked with her long enough to know that.”

“Well that’s what personnel told me, so I’m not sure what to tell you,” you said, and you found yourself stuck on what Agatha had almost said. What wasn’t she telling you?

The conductor took a moment to pull her phone out of her pocket and her frown deepened even more. “Oh for the love of...” Agatha trailed off before whipping her phone against the wall, shattering it in the process.

You jumped at the sound, but Agatha barely seemed to notice you as she was entirely too lost in her thoughts. “Agatha, what’s wrong?”

“Cancel the rest of rehearsal,” Agatha said dismissively as she straightened her sweater. “Those idiots are infuriating me far too much and without Wanda we won’t make any progress on the Rachmaninoff.”

Gaping at her, you took a moment to process what she said. “You’ve never cancelled rehearsal before. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Now, Y/N. I have something I need to do,” Agatha said before storming out of the room, leaving you alone.

To say the MSO musicians were relieved Agatha had cancelled the remaining two hours of rehearsal would have been a vast understatement. You swore you never saw half of them move so quickly when you gave them the okay to leave. Since Agatha had apparently left for the day, you took the liberty of grabbing her belongings and dropped them off in her office on your way out. It wasn’t out of character for Agatha to lose her temper, you had grown used to her yelling and ranting. But her outburst backstage was unlike anything you had ever seen before. There was something the conductor wasn’t telling you, and while you had no idea what it was there was a sinking feeling in your chest that it had something to do with Wanda. Regardless of how curious, and anxious, you were over Agatha’s abrupt exit, you knew there was no good in worrying. She would tell you what was wrong...right?

It had been two days since you heard from Agatha. You received a call from management personnel early Saturday morning informing you that the conductor had cancelled all weekend rehearsals due to a stomach bug, which made you immediately go to call her until you remembered she left her shattered phone backstage. It wasn’t unusual for you to go a day without hearing from Agatha, the conductor valued her privacy and you respected her enough to give her what she needed. But after the practical smothering you had received from the older woman since the blind audition, it left you with a gut feeling that you had done something wrong.

What were the odds that Agatha was sick mere hours after storming out of rehearsal? They were slim, and it didn’t take a genius to tell you that. You had told Sam and Bucky what happened, and while they thought it was suspicious they also agreed that giving Agatha space would be the smartest move. Rationally speaking you knew that everything was fine, it just would have been nice to have received confirmation from the woman you were worrying so much about.

It had been a long time since you last had a Saturday off, so you spent your weekend watching Disney movies and napping while trying your best to keep your mind off Agatha. In fact you had been so distracted with the radio silence from the conductor that you almost forgot about Natasha Romanov and Vienna. The keyword being almost. You knew you needed to make a decision on if you were going to meet with the violinist, and you needed to make one soon. There was no guarantee Natasha would even choose you for her group, but still you found yourself imagining a world where you were performing in Vienna and finally getting to live your dreams. Only those dreams seemed somewhat bittersweet at the prospect of having them without Agatha. It was cliche being this attached this soon, but you couldn’t help it. You had never felt this strongly for anyone you dated before, there was something so different about Agatha that kept drawing you in.

Would it be fair to her if you moved to another continent when you were just starting your relationship? You knew she was concerned you would leave the Symphony after not getting the chair placement. While she had never directly told you, it was what made the most sense when considering her recent behavior. You didn’t want to leave her, you really didn’t. Agatha had given you so much while asking for nothing in return.

But the voice in your head asked if it was fair for you to stay somewhere you wouldn’t be happy. Would you grow to resent your job, or Agatha by association by remaining on as her assistant? Sam had been right when he said there were other jobs in New York City, but you knew nothing here would compare to the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. While quitting would allow the two of you to date publicly, maybe, it would also ruin any chance you still had of hoping to join the MSO. Was that something you were willing to sacrifice? You had a lot you needed to consider, you just wished Agatha was there to help you.

Monday morning came far too quickly for your liking. You were anxious to see Agatha, to make sure she was okay, but you also had to make up your mind on whether to meet with Natasha Romanov. Wanda had sent you a polite, but short, email late Sunday night asking if you made a decision or not. You were still just as torn as you had been all weekend, and sadly this was a decision only you could make for yourself. As you exited the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised to see Agatha’s car waiting for you. The rear window was rolled down and Agatha had her gaze fixated on yours. Giving her a small smile, you approached the car while balancing both coffees.

“Good morning Maestra. Fancy seeing you here.”

Agatha rolled her eyes before helping open the door. “Yes yes, good morning dear. Please hurry up and get in before I have Hank leave without you.”

“You’re in a mood today,” you said lightly after making yourself comfortable in the vehicle. “Rough weekend?”

Agatha grimaced at your choice of words before shrugging. “Oh it was fine. A lot better since I didn’t have to hear those morons butcher Dvorak on Saturday.”

You gave her a look as you motioned to your coffee. “Oh right, your stomach bug? Maybe this won’t sit well then, should I give it to Hank?”

The conductor all but snatched the coffee out of your hands, glaring at you. “Funny, as always darling. I’m feeling much better now.”

So she was sticking with the sick story. As much as you wanted to press and find out why she stormed out of rehearsal so suddenly, you thought it best to not start a possible argument this early in the morning. Besides, Agatha wouldn’t lie to you, right?

You decided to take the safe approach. “Well I should probably keep my distance in case you’re still contagious. Wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

“If that’s what you think best, dear,” Agatha replied. “I would hate to get you sick.”

That’s how things remained the rest of the day. Agatha was clearly not over whatever upset her on Friday, and it appeared she wasn’t willing to share her troubles with you. So you did what you did best, and ignored the persistent voice begging you to talk to her. You busied yourself with various tasks both in and out of the conductor’s office. Opening night was in two weeks and there was much to do still. Even though Agatha had promised to be nicer to the interns, it appeared her generosity had run out as you began counting the number of crying individuals sent running from her office since lunch. Her mood was only growing more and more unstable as the hours passed, and even you found being in her company to be slightly unbearable. Agatha was clearly stressed, and you understood she was under a lot of pressure, you just wish she thought of healthier outlets to relieve it.

Towards the end of the day you received yet another polite, yet persistent email from Wanda and you knew the time had come. On one hand you wanted to ask Agatha’s opinion on the potential job, for you valued her opinion over anyone else’s. But the fear of a fight, especially over something involving Wanda, was enough to make you realize now was not the right time to bring up a potential move to Vienna. Plus you were only meeting with Natasha, it wasn’t like she was going to offer you a job on sight. There would be little to no harm in setting up a meeting. Then you could talk to Agatha.

Satisfied with your decision, you sent a quick reply to Wanda stating you would be interested in meeting with Natasha before heading back to Agatha’s office. Hopefully the conductor had enough time to cool down to consider leaving work within the next few hours. However, when you opened the door you were surprised to find her hunched over her desk, eyes locked on her laptop. She didn’t appear to hear you enter, and a part of you wondered if you should leave and come back later. Ultimately deciding that you would stay, you lightly knocked on the door to attempt to draw her attention away from the screen. It worked, only when she finally looked at you, you saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Fear.

“Y/N...” Agatha trailed off, and you could practically see the frown lines become embedded in her skin.

“Agatha?” You barely recognized the sound of your own voice as you approached the conductor. “What’s wrong?”

Before the conductor could reply, your phone began to repeatedly ding. Pulling it out of your pocket you felt your heart sink at the notification. You had several texts from Sam, Bucky, Monica, even Darcy, but what caught your eye was an article from The New York Times.

‘Agatha All Along? An Inside Scoop to the Alleged Affair Between MSO Conductor Agatha Harkness and Concert Pianist Wanda Maximoff’

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ waltzing with your gloves off ]

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x f!reader

word count: 3.5k words

contains: slight royaltycore vibes, cellist instructor!fyodor, slight instructor x student dynamics, vague historical setting yet again, lots of yearning, fitzgerald is also here cause why not?

summary: your life had forever changed after you first met the famous cellist, fyodor dostoevsky, and found out he was going to be your instructor. but with him leaving the day after your eighteenth birthday, how are you going to let him know about your feelings

a/n: i want to bury my head in the sand for writing this because it’s so self-indulgent and i didn’t think my fyodor brainrot would end up like this. i... have no excuse except that i am absolutely smitten with this man

(music pegs at the end of the fic)

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

“ah, ah, ah. you were half a beat off again, my lady,” fyodor tutted as he fixed himself a cup of tea near the window. you huffed at his perceptiveness and stopped your playing abruptly.

“again?” you sighed, stretching the aching fingers of your left hand. your back ached from having to maintain your posture, your fingers throbbed from pressing on the cello strings and your head was spinning from reading sheet music. but, this was your favorite part of the day. while stretching your fingers, your eyes drifted up to watch your cello instructor as he sipped his tea contemplatively while staring out the window. he looked like a vision, especially with deep amethyst eyes, and your breath caught in your throat again.

the first time you met fyodor dostoevsky was on your birthday, three years ago, when he played the cello for you and your party guests in the middle of the dance hall. he was technically a gift from your father and a ploy by your mother to get you interested in learning and playing a musical instrument. but in that moment, you didn’t care. the sound of his playing had the hair on your arms standing on end. it wasn’t quite like your experience watching live orchestras with your parents. when fyodor played, it sounded like he was enticing you, specifically, and you didn’t even realize how far you were leaning forward. 

“y-you played beautifully,” you stammered after he finished his piece and approached you and your family. you could tell he was a foreigner by the way he dressed, the way he spoke, and of course, his name. he introduced himself as fyodor dostoevsky, a musical prodigy and famous cello player, and you didn’t even care about his slight arrogance because of how entitled he was to it. 

“thank you, my lady,” he bowed before you, holding a hand to his heart. you saw that he wore white gloves. even after knowing him for a few seconds, you felt a pang in your chest thinking that you would never meet fyodor again. that was until your father placed a hand on your shoulder and granted you the best birthday wish you could ever ask for. that fyodor was going to be your cello instructor from now on.

“can’t i play something simpler? something that i’ve learned and played by heart?” you asked as fyodor sat down on the seat right in front of you. “like...”

“the bach cello suite?” he sighed.

“...yes?” you smiled innocently.

“that’s a beginner’s piece and you are not a beginner,” fyodor shook his head. 

“but would anyone be able to tell?” 

“you’re right, maybe they won’t,” your cello instructor said, setting his cup down on the table beside him. “but, i would awfully like to see a stunned look on the audiences’ faces when they see my student play.” 

you felt yourself flush at the sound of ‘my student.’ anything that declared you as ‘his’ was enough to make you smile. “well, it’s still quite unreasonable for father to expect me to learn a new piece in just two weeks before my birthday.” 

“i have to admit, it was,” fyodor nodded. “however,” his violet eyes glanced at you from the side. “i don’t mind having our extra sessions.” 

“i’m... glad then,” you pursed your lips, trying hard to conceal your emotions, and turned back to the sheet music in front of you. you raised your hand again to the neck of your cello to press your fingers against the strings when the door opened behind you.

“miss l/n,” you recognized the voice belonging to one of your servants. “sir fitzgerald has arrived. he’s waiting for you in the gardens.” 

“he’s a whole hour early,” you said through gritted teeth. 

“he’s... requesting your presence, my lady,” your servant said.

“tell him--”

“--that he has arrived too early, which is quite rude for a guest no matter what their status is. this isn’t his house,” fyodor insisted, his voice firm and unyielding. “and if sir fitzgerald argues, tell him that practicing for her upcoming performance in two weeks is of the upmost importance. her father specifically requested for it.” 

you admired how he spoke. he was talented, yes, and treated well by your family because he was your instructor. but unlike you, fyodor wasn’t born into a family with royal blood. he was born in small village with only his mother and an older brother to raise him. if it wasn’t for his older brother who saw his talent and the help of a patron, fyodor would have never been able to enter a music conservatory and truly hone his skill. but despite that, or maybe in spite of that, he held himself in high regard and was never fearful of speaking his mind around those of a higher status.

your maidservant knew this, muttering “understood,” before leaving the room. you smiled shyly at your cello instructor.

“thank you. i thought i’d have to spend an extra hour with fitzgerald.” in your head, you fantasized about fyodor wanting to spend more time with you and chasing away your suitor by making you stay to practice more. however, that probably wasn’t the case.

“of course. you’ve been playing beautifully today and it’s a shame to waste this moment,” fyodor said. you smiled with your  lips tight, knowing you were right.

“i’ll... go through the piece again,” you said softly, lifting up your bow and turning back to your sheet music. fyodor liked to close his eyes whenever he was listening to music, just to concentrate on the sound a bit more. he did this all the time when he was playing or when he was listening to you.

but for the past few months, he had been watching you intently as you played. ‘you’ve improved very well, my lady,’ he thought.

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a week passed and thanks to more continued instruction, you had improved greatly in playing your piece. enough to even earn a small round of applause from fyodor himself that kept you awake at night. of course, that didn’t mean you shortened your practice sessions with the cello. not only to dodge fitzgerald’s attempts at courting you, but because you knew very well that this last week before your birthday were the last few days you were going to have with your cello instructor.

even though it felt as if a part of you was going to die when you heard the news that fyodor was going to leave, you also cursed yourself for thinking that he would be your cello instructor forever. at heart, he was still a performer and you had heard enough stories from him to know that he loved to travel. why would he want to remain here, in this estate, teaching a young girl to play the cello forever? 

of course, in your fantasies, he wouldn’t be just your cello instructor. sometimes, you liked to imagine you and fyodor taking a stroll in the gardens, a smile on his face as he held your hand. or maybe even sitting near the fireplace with your head on his shoulder, watching and listening to him read poetry.

“come in,” you heard him say from inside his room. you opened the door and stepped inside to find fyodor sitting beside the window with a book in his hands. there was such a calm smile on his face when he saw you come inside.

“apologies. was i bothering you?” you asked.

“you haven’t even come in yet,” he chuckled softly. “but, you could never bother me, my lady. sit down,” he stretched his hand out to the seat in front of him. “is there something the matter? fitzgerald up to something?”

“he’s always up to something,” you sighed. “would you believe that he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for just half an hour?”

“what an uncouth man.” 

“i hope he falls off his horse or something,” you muttered.

“now, now. a lady shouldn’t wish or say such things,” fyodor tutted before casting you a sneaky glance. “how about choking on a crust of bread?”

you giggled at the sight of fyodor’s naughtier side. “wouldn’t that be a waste of bread?”

“indeed,” he laughed. “and we can’t have him falling headfirst into the teacups.” 

“i’ll make sure to save them just in time,” you smiled and twiddled your fingers around the box you brought with you. “actually, i came here for a different reason.”

“and what is that?”

“a... a gift,” you swallowed nervously before placing the box on the table and pushing it in fyodor’s direction.

“my, you’re the one who’s having a birthday and yet you’re giving me a gift?” fyodor chuckled. 

“it’s, more of a going away present,” you said softly. “open it... please.” 

you watched as fyodor slipped his gloves off before unclasping the small velvet box. you didn’t intend to buy him a gift when you were out in town to fit the dress for your party. but the brooch you came across with the deep violet amethyst in the center was hard for you to leave behind.

“how beautiful,” fyodor mused, holding the brooch up in the light with his fingers.

“it.... reminds me of your eyes,” you smiled. 

“oh? and wouldn’t it make more sense for you to keep it for yourself then?” fyodor glanced at you. 

“i-” you stammered, realizing the implications of what you just said only for fyodor to chuckle.

“i’m teasing, of course. thank you for the gift, my lady,” he smiled down at the brooch in his hands. “i’ll treasure it forever.”

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finally, the night of your eighteenth birthday came around. as per tradition, your family threw a party in the hall of your estate and invited esteemed guests from all over the county. in your brand new dress and hair all done up, you were of course the center of attention. young men, potential suitors, all waited for their turn to dance with you. but to you, only one pair of eyes mattered. 

“fyodor,” you smiled, walking up to him in a corner of the dance hall, slightly breathless from the previous dance you had just finished. “you came.”

and he looked much different than he usually did. you had never seen fyodor dressed in anything other than a pair of simple breeches and a shirt so the sight of him now, in a handsome white suit with silver buttons that matched his gloves, was something you were quickly committing to memory. 

“you’re surprised,” he raised his eyebrows in an amused expression. “i know i may not like events like these but, i wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world, my lady.” you smiled broadly when you saw amethyst brooch you gave him pinned to his collar.

fyodor followed your gaze and touched the brooch lightly with a finger. “does it suit me?”

“it does. you wear it well,” you nodded, feeling a pang of sadness remembering that fyodor was going to leave tomorrow. but, all of a sudden, your thoughts were interrupted when he stepped over to your side and offered his hand.

“i’m afraid i have nothing to give you for your birthday--”

“fyodor, it’s alright, you’ve--”

“however, can i at least offer a dance?” he asked, smiling down at you. 

a dance? you swallowed as you stared at his hand. “can i make a request?” you asked.

“of course.”

“can you... take your gloves off?” you finally said. fyodor was protective of his hands and fingers, especially with his profession, and only removed them when he was playing or eating meals. in those three years of knowing him, you wondered how it would feel like to actually hold his hand. 

and to your surprise, he obliged, slipping the gloves off his hands and tucking them in his pocket. then, he grasped your hand in his. fyodor’s hand was cold, but not unpleasantly so, and despite how fragile they looked his fingers were quite strong wrapped around yours. he ran his thumb gently across your knuckles. 

“better?”

in this hall of guests, he was the only one who mattered to you. you smiled and nodded your head before fyodor led you to the center of the dance hall. there were whispers from your guests, some even tried to draw nearer by dancing nearby. but when the live orchestra stopped and began to play a new piece perfect for waltzing, that no longer mattered. not when fyodor pulled you close and placed a hand on your back.

“i... didn’t peg you as much of a dancer, fyodor,” you said, making conversation as you two danced.

“i may have picked up the skill from watching people,” fyodor hummed. “besides, it’s not too different from playing music. all you have to remember is keep time, and...” with a smirk he suddenly let go of your waist and stepped back. if you hadn’t spent most of your life learning different social dances, you would have missed the cue completely. instead, you twirled expertly and returned to his arms.

“...add a little variation,” he finished, returning his hand to your back. “and might i say, very impressive, my lady.”

“you’re always full of surprises, fyodor,” you smiled.

“i guess i’ll have to find even more ways to be... unexpected.”

“i wish...” you smiled sadly. “but, when you meet new people after you leave tomorrow, i’m sure you’ll find a way to surprise them.”

“ah, that’s true,” fyodor said. he ran his thumb lightly over your knuckles again. “and... i’m sure you’ll continue to flourish with playing the cello even without my guidance.”

“but it won’t be the same,” you said softly, gazing up at the man you’ve adored for so long. your chest hurt so much with knowing that you were going to wake up tomorrow and return to the practice room to find that fyodor was no longer there, making himself a cup of tea while waiting for you to arrive. that you would never see that beautiful sight of him playing the cello again.

the music slowed to a stop and so did you and fyodor. still, you wouldn’t let go of his hand. “when you leave...” you said somberly, lifting a hand to rest it against the side of his jaw. fyodor’s expression was unreadable but you continued nonetheless. “please don’t forget me. even if you just remember me as a girl you once taught the cello to, please don’t forget me.”

fyodor opened his mouth as if to say something only for you both to be interrupted by fitzgerald, of all people, appearing beside you.

“my lady, you look absolutely breathtaking today. i could barely keep my eyes off of you as you danced,” he exclaimed. “and sir... cello instructor. you move pretty well for a musician.”

“thank you,” fyodor said stiffly, his eyes still on you.

“now, i believe it’s my turn to have a dance,” fitzgerald said, smiling down at you. “it is common courtesy to dance with all your suitors, is it not?”

“of course,” you nodded, finally letting go of fyodor’s hand. that shook him out of his reverie and fyodor quickly put his gloves back on.

“if you’ll excuse me, my lady,” he bowed and stepped back. you squeezed your eyes shut for a second and let yourself be led back to the middle of the dance hall by another man. 

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fyodor was excellent at suppressing his emotions, but even he found it difficult not to look on with distaste as he watched fitzgerald pull you closer to him in the middle of the dance floor. “how uncouth,” he muttered under his breath before his eyes drifted to the sorrowful look on your face and then another thought entered fyodor’s mind.

“even if you just remember me as a girl you once taught the cello to, please don’t forget me.”

maybe three years ago, when fyodor just saw you as his student and a way for him to earn income, he would do just that. but now, how could he? how could he when you looked at him with such unparalleled adoration? how could he when you were the only one who could arise a chuckle from him with your shared smiles and secrets? how could he when he knew you were the happiest during your cello lessons with him? how could he when he lay awake at night, thinking about the way the warmth in your hands seeped into his despite his gloves on?

how could fyodor let someone else have you? how could he allow himself to only keep an amethyst brooch and a memory of the girl who gave it to him?

after the dance, you were brought to the front of the hall with a chair and your cello all ready and laid out before the crowd of guests. fyodor made sure he was at the very front of the crowd, directly in front of you. he could see the way your hands trembled as you picked up your bow and lay the neck of the cello against your shoulder. your eyes met his and fyodor smiled encouragingly with a nod of his head. you paused with your fingers on the strings before closing your eyes and playing the first note.

instantly, fyodor knew you weren’t playing the piece you had practiced for, the haydn cello concerto that he had chosen. but he recognized this piece: ‘le cygne’, the thirteenth movement from saint-saen’s famous musical suite. a piece that perfectly encapsulated the image of a dying swan. it was the piece that fyodor had performed for your birthday, many years ago.

he didn’t even know you had learned this piece. his eyes were wide open as he watched your head sway slightly with the music and the movement of your arm, nailing each crescendo. at the same time, fyodor knew playing the piece perfectly was the least of your concern, that you’ve now transcended into playing the cello as a way of giving music. 

and fyodor knew that it was all for him. that this was your goodbye.

the three minutes of your performance passed by all-too quickly and fyodor felt himself in a daze when the round of toasts began. even more so when the intentions behind this birthday party was revealed. it was your debut, a way for your family to show that you were eligible now for marriage. and fyodor had an idea of who was going to snatch you away at the first chance.

he had to do something.

he knew exactly where to find you after the party ended: sitting by the fountain in the garden. you were still in your dress but with your hair down and the same forlorn expression on your face. you didn’t even notice when fyodor sat down beside you.

“you played beautifully, my lady,” he said, laying a hand on top of yours. at that, you looked up at him.

“you noticed.”

“how could i not?”

“i think... i’ve loved you since the day i met you,” you said softly. fyodor knew you must have abandoned all hope to say this now. but hearing this from you ignited its own feelings inside him. “you must think i’m stupid.”

“i don’t,” fyodor shook his head, taking your chin with his hands. he admired how your eyes widened and your lips trembled at the sheer closeness of your faces. “how would you feel if i told you that i hate seeing you in the arms of someone else?”

“so, you... do you...” you couldn’t seem to find your words and fyodor chuckled.

“the only thing i’ve ever loved so far was the cello and music,” he mused. “and, i think i’m falling for something new.”

“so, what will we do?” you whispered. fyodor smirked.

“are you ready to throw away your life for me?”

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fyodor marveled at how easily you two were able to stage a suicide. all it took were torn fragments of your dress, your shoes left at the banks of a lake, a few scattered rumors, and weeks on end of waiting and waiting. you were born into the high life but fyodor admired how much you were committed to leaving this world behind with him. while your family organized search parties, you were hidden in the upper floor of an inn, visited only by fyodor himself.

he left right after the funeral on a boat headed far, far away, with what appeared to be a young boy beside him. your hair was uncomfortably tucked into a cap and the breeches you wore itched terribly, but you’ve never been happier with your hand held tightly in fyodor’s.

later that night, in the privacy of your cabin, you were allowed to let your hair down and wear one of the few, simple dresses you had packed. fyodor’s gloves were off, his one hand behind your back and the other clasping your right. there were contented smiles on both of your faces as you danced a slow waltz to the music only you two could here. 

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music pegs:

le cygne (the swan) -  by camille saint-saens, the 13th movement from ‘the carnival of the animals’

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @atsumu-brainrot​ @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo  @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings

[memeadonna]

Playing with your Heart

Hello all! This story was inspired by a conversation @fox-knives and @malicealieness had with me about Sero pining after a Y/n who was already in a relationship. Because I am a classical musician by trade, this happened! It was a lot of fun to write and talk about, and I really hope you enjoy!

Sero Hanta has been in love with you since you first met, but you’ve already got a boyfriend. When tensions rise between you and your beloved, he has to play the supportive friend and be there for you - right? So why does he want more?

Warnings: NSFW content, recreational drug use

Here are the links to the pieces of music referenced in the story:

Voi Che Sapete

Als Luise die Briefe

Merry Go Round of Life

When people thought of classical musicians, they most often thought of someone posh and straight-laced, someone snobby with way too much time on their hands who won’t listen to a piece unless the composer was long dead. Sero had learned from experience that this was very far from the truth. He was an anomaly himself – a piano prodigy who took up percussion one day because he was bored, and had been accepted on a full ride to UA – one of the top university music programs in the world. He also gave off the aura of someone laid-back and lazy without a care in the world, and he did smoke a lot of weed. Like a lot of weed. Regardless of that, he was well-liked and well respected among his peers. He had a lot of friends who played a variety of instruments and genres, (and from people in the teaching and music therapy specializations too), and nobody ever treated him as less than once they realized he was a massive dork.

Unlike most universities, UA boasted a mix of genres its students could study. There were classical musicians, jazz musicians, pop, rock, singer-songwriter… you could find just about everything here. And among all of that, Sero had found you.

You were a classical singer with stars in your eyes the first time you had met him, and as you had excitedly introduced yourself and asked him if he was the same Sero Hanta you had seen perform a few years ago, adoration hit him hard in the chest. The way you smiled at him made him want to pick you up and kiss you, and when you spoke about music – about his music – with such joy in your eyes…

He fell hard and he fell fast. You were a classical singer, so while he went to orchestra, you went to choir. You always smiled and waved at him in the halls, and helped one another with your theory homework. Every day he fell a little more in love with you, and every day the two of you got closer and closer.

The only problem was that you had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who happened to be one of Sero’s best friends, and biggest rivals. Bakugou Katsuki was one of the most talented musicians Sero had ever met. He had perfect pitch, and could make absolutely any instrument sing. He didn’t play the piano (or anything with a keyboard), but he played just about everything else. Violin, cello, trumpet, clarinet, piccolo, bass, percussion… people called him the one-man orchestra. He could play more instruments than Jirou Kiyoka, who was one of the university’s best and brightest.

Bakugou wanted desperately to be a conductor, and that’s how he had met you. The two of you were taking the same elective conducting course, and had agreed to practice together. One thing had led to another, and the two of you had been going steady for a while now. Sero loved seeing you happy, but god if it didn’t make him so fucking jealous that it was with another man. What he wouldn’t give to be the one you looked at that way.

He noticed you seemed less happy about six months into your relationship with Bakugou. You and Sero had finished your counterpoint assignments together before one of your classes, and after conducting your smile seemed a little more forced. You didn’t give Sero a hug like you normally would, and as you paused outside of the percussion studio’s door clutching an art song book you looked sort of… lost. He had been practicing his marimba when you had shown up, and he had stopped to smile over at you.

“What’s wrong, Cherubino?” he asked sweetly. He called you that because the first thing he’d ever heard you perform was Voi Che Sapete, and he couldn’t get that performance out of his head. Hearing you asking someone to tell you if the feelings that overwhelmed you were love made him want to pull you off of the stage and into his arms while he kissed you senseless.

He also liked that it meant cherub, but the real reason was that he kept slipping up and trying to call you “Cariño”, but it was easy to change that into “Cherubino”, even though they didn’t sound remotely similar.

“Well,” you blushed and began to fiddle with your hair. God, he wanted to braid it or stick his nose in it while he hugged you. Your shampoo always smelled so good, like marigolds on a sunny day. “The spring showcase is coming up.” You started. He knew about that, of course, it was one of the biggest events of the year for UA University. The crowd was typically at least three thousand strong, and only the best and brightest got to perform. “You know how someone from our conducting class was going to be given the opportunity to conduct the orchestra for one of the pieces?” oh, he knew how much you wanted to do that. As he was about to comfort you for not getting the part, you cut him off. “They chose me.”

“That’s wonderful!” before he could stop himself, he was hoisting you into his arms and spinning you around. He set you down, and noticed that you looked anything but happy. “Cherubino?”

“Katsuki’s mad at me,” you replied, fidgeting a bit. “I knew how much he wanted it. He told me I only got the position because they want him to play the violin solo, and I can’t even get mad at him because he’s right.”

Sero started to curse the blond boy out in Spanish. “How could he say something like that to you?” Sero grit his teeth. “It is not true. He’s just mad that you’re better than him.”

You looked away like you didn’t believe him, and Sero felt the overwhelming urge to sock Bakugou across the face. You forced a smile. “They also asked me to sing at the showcase. Guess what I’m going to be singing?”

“Hmmmm,” he calmed instantly at your seemingly lighter mood, rubbing his chin like he hadn’t already read the email that had gone out. “Voi che sapete?” He asked coyly.

“Certo!” you nodded as you grinned at him, and if you were his he would be kissing you stupid right now. “Do you want to get lunch? Bakugou went off to go talk with Kirishima and apparently, he doesn’t want to be seen with both a viola player and his girlfriend. One’s bad enough.”

“It would be an honour to take you to lunch, mi media naranja,” he packed up his mallets and you hummed Als Luise die Briefe. It was a short piece about a scorned woman burning her lover’s letters, and cursing the fact that her love for him would still burn within her.

“I’ve played that before,” he told you, smiling over at you. “On the piano. Maybe we could jam out sometime.”

Your eyes lit up. “Yeah, sounds like fun!” you beamed at him. “I’d love to. I’ll get us a practice room. Do you have the sheet music?”

“Oi!” you jumped as you heard Bakugou call your name from across the hall. “Let’s go get lunch like you wanted.” He looked between you and Sero, his frown never changing. “We’ve got something to celebrate, don’t we?”

You broke out into a cheery smile. “I asked Sero if he wanted to come with us,” you answered, tugging him out of the percussion room and into the hall with you. “Because I didn’t think you were still going to want to go for lunch since you ran off with Kirishima.”

Bakugou looked between you and Sero. “He’s coming on a date?” he asked skeptically.

“Ah, right,” you smiled over at Sero. “Sorry. Rain check?”

“Rain check,” he agreed. “Have fun, Cherubino.” He waved at you and you trotted back into Bakugou’s arms. He placed a kiss on your lips as the two of you interlocked your fingers. His heart twisted as you looked over at Bakugou with such adoration. Bakugou, however, wasn’t looking at you. He was staring directly at Sero.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You beat out a 4/4 pattern while Sero watched you intently, the metronome in his head ticking the time exactly. You beckoned with your free hand, painting music only you could hear with your fingers, using ten paintbrushes at once to carve out a masterpiece.

You came to the end of the piece and held the final note in your palm. You kept the energy in the room captive for a few moments longer, and when you released it, Sero smiled at you. “Perfectly on time,” he smiled. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous about it.”

You looked up at him. “Just that Katsuki keeps criticizing me whenever I try to practice and he catches me,” you smiled softly. “I get he’s trying to help but it really does the opposite. We start rehearsals with the orchestra soon, and I don’t want to look stupid in front of everyone.”

Sero frowned. “Well, you won’t look stupid at all, Cherubino,” he smiled. “You’ll look graceful and beautiful, and you’ll shape your music so exquisitely.”

You smiled softly at him. “Thanks, Sero,” you smiled.

A few days later, after your first orchestra rehearsal, you slunk back into the percussion room looking absolutely defeated. He had been practicing with his newest kalimba, playing something from a Ghibli movie. You had walked in and he had immediately swept you into a hug.

“What’s wrong, mi media naranja?” he had asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer as you held him tightly.

You looked up and smiled bravely. “It’s okay,” you answered. “I just – Katsuki was being – he screamed at me during rehearsal and called me incompetent.”

He pulled you into another hug, eyes blazing with fire. He had turned down the ability to be a part of this piece’s performance – he had wanted to see it – but he knew he just had to be. He would swap with someone just for you, so he could be there to support you.

“What is with you always running to him?” You jumped as your boyfriend stood in the doorway. “Own up to it – you came unprepared. You were being incompetent. Grow up and accept it. Do better next time.”

“Hey,” Sero snapped. “As an orchestra player you’re supposed to listen to what she does. You’re not supposed to question the conductor.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t talking to you,” he glared at you. “Show some backbone. Are you really going to let this third-rate-”

“Katsuki,” you snapped. “Leave Sero out of this. You are in the wrong, not me. And you had better apologize.”

“There’s that fire I love,” he pulled you out of Sero’s arms and into his own. “But you’re a damned fool if you think that conducting was anything but half-assed. I’m saying this because I want it to be good, baby. I’m your concertmaster, not to mention your featured soloist, so you should listen to me.”

“No, you should listen to me. Do not yell at me during rehearsal again,” you snapped back, bristling as you brushed past him, minding the violin case as you passed.

Sero was there at every rehearsal. He watched you conduct, watched you command authority from the podium, and shape the music as Bakugou soloed on the violin. Bakugou seemed to be playing within the lines, and jabbered at you to do it his way whenever he could. After every rehearsal you looked tired and defeated, and Sero usually took you to get boba while Kirishima lectured Bakugou about proper rehearsal etiquette. This happened every day for the two weeks leading up to the concert, until the night of the dress rehearsal he snapped. You had already run through your rehearsal of Voi Che Sapete, and Sero could not have been prouder as you sauntered off the stage. God, he loved you. Even watching you from the back of the orchestra, he was blown away from your stage presence. The sweater you wore laced up at the back with a bow resting at the swell of your ass. He might have been staring at it for a little too long, but he didn’t mind having an extra mallet.

As you stepped up to the podium, he admired the way your ripped jeans hugged your figure, and then how you adjusted yourself. You raised your hands, took a breath, and began to conduct. Bakugou stood up from his chair for his solo, and started out a bar early. He kept going, glaring defiantly at you as you continued the piece. Some of the musicians caught up with Bakugou, others stayed with you. You cut the orchestra off. “Let’s start again from bar-”

“If you’re going to cue me wrong,” Bakugou hissed. “You shouldn’t even be on that podium.”

You looked back at him coldly. “I hadn’t cued you yet, Katsuki. If the concert were not tomorrow, I would have hired another soloist. If this were a professional concert, you would have been fired by now,”

“Oh really?” He snapped. “Well, if this were a professional concert, then they wouldn’t have hired a pathetic amateur like you! And you know what, fuck you! We’re done. If you can’t keep our relationship out of this, I don’t want a relationship anymore.” He packed up his violin and left. “I’ll see you all tomorrow at the concert.”

You remained composed, but Sero knew you well enough that he could read the emotions boiling within you like a book. You cleared your throat. “Alright. I would like to go over bars-”

Your composure broke as soon as you and Sero were back at his place. You had planned on spending the night at your boyfriend’s, and he was supposed to be your lift, so you were stranded on campus. At least you had your concert clothes and makeup bag, and of course your best friend here to comfort you. You sobbed into your hands, body shaking as Sero watched you ugly crying. A pizza with your favourite toppings and a bubble tea sat untouched in front of you as he rubbed your back. How were you so beautiful even wailing in anguish and huffing with sobs that shook your whole body?

You threw your arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder as he got close enough, holding him tightly as he stroked your hair. “It’s okay, mi media naranja,” he spoke softly into your hair, savouring the smell of marigolds once more. “Let it out. I’m here.”

He hummed softly to you as you slowly began to stop crying, and then you were just lying pliant in his arms, fingers playing with the beaded necklace he had worn today. “Hey,” he spoke. “Can I get you anything? Water? Doritos? Craigslist ad for a hitman?”

You laughed at that. “Edibles?” you replied.

He hesitated. You had never done any drugs with him before (or at all, as far as he knew), so seeing you blinking up at him asking for his weed he was ashamed to admit he was sort of turned on and excited that you wanted to share some with him. Mostly excited. Yeah.

“Pick something that’ll wear off by morning. I don’t want to do the concert high,” you told him.

He went to his stash of candy and retrieved some of his gummies. He picked out a package of lemon ginger and blueberry acai gummies and walked back over to you. He handed you both packets while he went back to the kitchen to get some beer for you, and when he came back you had eaten one gummy out of each packet.

“¡Pucha! You’re only supposed to have one the first time and see how you feel,” he sat beside you. “Eat some food and we’ll watch a movie.”

You reached for a slice of pizza and cuddled up into him. He put an arm around you as he popped his own gummies, and the two of you ate pizza. “What did I do to deserve such a shitty man?” you sighed. “I – I just don’t know anymore.” You snuggled into his chest, finishing the crust of your pizza and sipping on your boba. You looked up at him, fresh tears brimming your eyes. You wiped at them harshly as you set your drink back down “I’m lucky to have you, Sero. I really am.”  

He leaned down and before he could stop himself he was kissing you, one hand coming up to cup your face in his palm. You didn’t pull away, and when he did you were staring at him with wide eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he mentally cursed himself out as you processed the kiss. “I’m sorry mi media naranja. I just-” you reached up and kissed him back, soft and timid and sweet. You tasted like pizza and brown sugar and as he pulled you into his lap everything in the world made sense to him. Your kisses grew more and more desperate, and he responded in kind, running his hands along your thighs as he helped you straddle him, your fingers dipping under the black fabric of his hoodie.

This was so wrong. You were holding his hands now, and each zinging kiss sent electric shocks zooming through his body. This was wrong – you were still grieving your relationship for Christ’s sake – but as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled away just the slightest bit – enough so you were panting against him and he could see your kiss-swollen lips – he was addicted. For him, there was just no going back.

You kept kissing him as you squirmed in his lap, and he wanted to pull away and tell you that if you kept that up, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back. As you finally chucked off your pants and underwear, he realized you had absolutely no intention of holding back. No intention of stopping. Your hands found his belt as you went back to kissing him, and he squeezed your ass with one hand while his fingers toyed with your slit. He felt a burst of pride as he felt how wet you were, and as you fished his cock out you spent only a few moments stroking it before you were guiding it inside of you.

He hissed at the sensation, shivering as you wrapped your arms around him and tugged on his hair. You began to move your hips, sighing against him as he deepened your kisses. He hadn’t wanted this to be your first time. He’d always imagined wining and dining you, sweeping you off of your feet and carrying you to bed where he would ravish you completely, but as you mouthed at his neck and held him tightly, nothing had ever felt more perfect.

“God, who could ever stand to lose you?” he asked out loud, running his fingers through your hair. “I think I’d die of sadness.”

He kissed you as you tried to respond, not sure he could stomach a rejection yet. You continued to ride him, still slow and unhurried as you just enjoyed his warmth. The intimacy. He held you like you were all that was precious to him, and as you began to slowly speed up, you felt him bucking into you. He kissed you again to stop himself from saying he loved you out loud, relishing the feeling of your fingers sneaking under his hoodie and shirt to trace along the lines of his body.

Your heavy breathing and quiet noises filled his senses, along with the sweet smell of marigolds and the feeling of euphoria your every touch brought him. “H-Hanta,” you spoke breathlessly against his lips, and his heart skipped a beat. You wrapped your arms around him once again, this time with your skin against his skin. “Hanta please.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes and he pulled you into another kiss, one hand finding your clit while the other sat on your hip, helping you ride him.

Your phone started to ring then, and the two of you ignored it as you lost yourselves. The edibles were kicking in now, leaving everything hazy and distant and a little foggy as you tangled your tongue with his. “Feels so good,” you whined a tiny bit as you said that, and the breathy need in your voice made sparks dance around his abdomen. The phone rang again, and he ignored it still as he trailed the arm up away from your hip and pulled your body flush to his. Chest to chest, he continued to play with you and hold you close and listen to your little sounds.

He let a few of his own slip as he enjoyed you, and if he had had any less composure he would have been drooling. He braced your legs against his body and clumsily rolled the two of you over so he was between your legs now, and you were under him. You pulled your arms out of his hoodie to brace yourself, but after a moment your arms and legs were wrapped around him and he was in absolute heaven. He started mumbling to you in Spanish, confessing every little dirty thing he wanted to do to you. He told you that you were beautiful and talented and that he loved you. He told you that Bakugou was the world’s biggest idiot. He also told you nasty words about how perfectly your cunt squeezed him, and as you tugged his hair he almost wondered if you understood.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” he mumbled. “Are you close?”

You nodded, locking your ankles behind his back as you once more pulled him into a kiss. That message was clear enough, he thought as he returned a hand to your clit, the other bracing himself against the couch as he held back his orgasm with everything he had.

“Mi media naranja,” he cooed, kissing you between his words. “My better half. My other half. My-” he lost his words as he watched you fall apart for him, rendered speechless by the heart-stopping moans you were letting out – so quiet but so filled with passion – and the faces you were making as your back arched and you began to throb around him. A few more strokes and he was joining you in bliss, the feeling warm and tingly as it spread throughout his body. He struggled to breathe for a few seconds as you pulled him into another kiss, deep and desperate and perfect. He lay on you for a few moments, basking in the afterglow as he rested his forehead against yours and breathed against you, giving you the occasional kisses.

Post nut clarity began to settle in as he pulled himself out of you, but as you shyly smiled up at him, he wrapped you in his arms and gave you another kiss. The phone rang a third time, and this time both of you saw the caller ID.

Of course it was him. Bakugou knew just how to ruin the moment.

Sero pressed decline as you stood and stretched, the muscles in your shoulders tense and his spunk sliding down your thighs. He had to physically restrain himself from scooping you up and carrying you to bed (and only partially because he didn’t have nearly the balance he did when he was sober). “I’m gonna have a shower,” you said awkwardly, pointing.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Then can we cuddle?” you looked so shy as you asked that, wringing your hands. “I feel safe when I’m in your arms.”

His heart was about to win the gold medal for freestyle gymnastics if you kept that cute look on your face. He broke out into one of his trademark grins. “Mind if I join you?” he asked coyly.

You held out your hand to him, and he stood up as he accepted it. He gave you a lingering kiss you leaned into, and then tried to lead you to the bathroom, but as his pants fell down, he turned and faceplanted. Your laugh had never sounded so sweet before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Sero arrived about an hour before the concert started. You were dressed in a set of tails with your makeup done (he had watched you do it in amazement, and had just about asked you to do eyeliner on him), and as you got adjusted and warmed up (both vocally and physically), he was once again mesmerised.

You chatted with some of the other classical singers as you waited for the orchestra to arrive, and as Sero left to go warm up he found himself so incredibly reluctant to do so. He had woken up with you in his arms, and if he had to go a day without that ever again, he was sure he was going to die.

Bakugou arrived his usual thirty minutes before the concert, and you ignored him as you and the main conductor went over notes from the previous rehearsal. The hotheaded blond sauntered up to you and waited to be noticed, and he only grew more and more irritated as you ignored him. The conductor left you alone and you finally turned to face Bakugou.

“Hey,” he spoke gruffly. “You didn’t answer any of my calls.”

“I didn’t have a reason to,” you replied, calm and collected.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Look, you were right. I’ve been an asshole. I’ve been in the wrong, and I’m sorry. Now come here and give me a hug.” He opened his arms for you.

“No,” you answered flatly.

“What do you mean no?” Bakugou snapped.

“As for your solo, you will play it the way I want you to. I am the conductor. As for our relationship, you made it clear we no longer have one, which based on the way that you’ve been acting lately sounds like the best option to me,” you answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a show to conduct.”

“That’s it?” Bakugou hissed. “You’re just going to walk away from us like that?”

“You were the one who walked away,” you smiled over at him. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. Like you said, if you can’t keep our relationship out of this, I don’t want a relationship at all.” You looked so damned powerful in your tails as you faced the blond down. Did he even know those were his own words? “Break a leg, Bakugou.” Sero felt his heart swell with pride.

The concert started and Sero was absolutely transfixed as you stepped up to the podium. You commanded such authority in front of the crowd, deadly calm and ready to emote. It was no small wonder why you had been chosen to conduct this piece – a switch had been flipped in you, and you carried yourself like a conductor.

Bakugou waited patiently for his cue. When you made eye contact and gave it to him you didn’t linger. He played the solo exactly the way you wanted it, fingers dancing across his fret board and managing to make the piece almost melancholy. You played with that emotion, bringing out certain sections to highlight Bakugou’s playing. Sero was under your spell as he watched you move, and he smiled as he realized this was where you belonged. You were in your element without a doubt, and he was so, so proud of you.

As the piece finished you once more held all of the energy in the room within yourself, and only once you relaxed did thunderous applause fill the hall. You took your bow with a smile, and if Sero didn’t have to play the next piece he would have chased you down backstage and kissed you stupid.

Despite loving the music, he couldn’t wait to be done. Just a few mote pieces until the concert ended, and next up was you. Your character was totally different as you stepped out, no longer that powerful conductor he had seen before. Now you were Cherubino, the young man curious about love. The music swelled as you described the sensations flowing through you, and Sero wanted to call out “Yes!” as you asked if they were love.

You finished the piece with a smile, and the crowd once more erupted into applause.

Now Sero definitely needed to find you backstage. You took your bow and made your exit, and the next time he saw you, you were receiving flowers as a thank you for being a soloist. Bakugou held his own bouquet awkwardly in one arm, his violin in the other hand, but Sero could not have cared less about him as he abandoned his mallets to meet you backstage. “You were amazing, Cariño!” he declared, picking you up and spinning you around. He set you down and the two of you hugged.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you smiled at him and pulled away. Bakugou glared at him over your shoulder, and he grinned as he flipped the blond off behind your back. “So, are you hungry?” you asked sweetly, and the sweet scent of marigolds surrounded him once more. Your bouquet was made up of them, and when you got home he was going to insist you press them. You leaned in close and whispered “We can skip out on the cast party and go right to bed if you want.”

Sero had to physically stop himself from proposing on the spot.