#italian bach imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tinycoffeeroom · 4 months

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farm love | italian bach

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Could I request an Italian Bach imagine inspired by Arthur’s vlog to Jezza Clarksons farm?? Maybe on that trip or maybe they just go on a cute little remote trip in the country farm? In their own private cabin (maybe a hot tub on the deck?👀) I feel like Bach is always a great bf but when he’s with friends he’s in his comedy/entertaining mindset so it’s subtle sweet gestures whereas when it’s just them he’s super clingy and boldly romantic

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📍 Cotswolds

👤 georgeclarkeey, arthurtv liked by y/nstagram, arthurtv and 298,017 others

italianbach me and my 2 boyfriends were invited down to the lovely Diddly Squat Farm to experience farm life and preview #/ClarksonsFarm season 3! Huge thank you to primevideouk for the invite!

y/nstagram and where are my pic creds? ↳ italianbach sorry who are you? ↳ y/nstagram oh, you're sleeping in one of the other huts tonight ↳ italianbach babe no george's snoring will interrupt my beauty sleep :(((( ↳ y/nstagram too bad didnt ask xx ↳ italianbach now look what you've done georgeclarkeey arthurtv ↳ georgeclarkeey wtf did we do?????? ↳ italianbach idk be sexy or something?

fan bach not even posting his gf but has time to post these two muppets

fan we want y/n!!!!!! ♥️ y/nstagram

fan george please give me a chance

fan arthur wrapping his arms around his two little omegas, we love a true alpha ↳ arthurtv what the fuck ↳ georgeclarkeey can't tell if i'm offended by being called an omega... ↳ italianbach i am?? we all know i'm a beta!!

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You were surprised to have been invited along to the Clarkson's Farm premiere alongside Arthur, George and Isaac. You didn't really have a following, mostly people coming from Isaac's constant posts about you to see who his girlfriend was.

The coach ride there had certainly been... something. Arthur annoyed the others by vlogging the entire thing, constantly asking Isaac and George to repeat their jokes so he could catch it on camera and having to redo shot after shot when the footage came out shaky or his finger had been covering the mic at the bottom of his phone.

You'd chosen to sit behind the group of lads, plugging your headphones in to play a small town farmer romance audiobook. If you're going to be subjected to dirt and the trio for the weekend, you were going to take advantage and daydream about a buff farmer sweeping you off your feet.

Isaac made sure to keep an eye on you, well aware that you were too engrossed in your audiobook to notice him. Knowing you were slightly camera shy as well, often choosing to be behind the lens and film his tiktoks, he chose to text you instead of drawing attention to you, conscious of the fact that Arthur could whip out his phone for another vlog clip at any moment.

Midway through the first meeting of the MC and the strong, beefy farmer, your phone lit up. At the top of the screen, you saw a few Instagram notifications and two texts from your boyfriend.

Isaac <3 You ok babe? x We should be stopping at Oxford services in about 20 minutes x

Looking up at your boyfriend, his attention was half on you and half on George who was, once again, jokingly shouting at Arthur who had asked him to repeat himself for the 20th time since you'd stepped onto the coach. Smiling briefly at the trio, you looked back down at your phone to reply.

My Love <3 I'm good angel xx May nip in and grab a sandwich or something, I'm kinda hungry :( x

Two seconds after the read receipt appeared beneath your message, a hand thrust a packet of Malteasers between the seat gaps. Grabbing the packet from your boyfriend, you sent him a grateful smile, quickly tucking into the chocolate.

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y/nstagram uploaded 3 photos to their story

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After a day of trekking back and forth across farm land, cudding cute little piglets and being stuffed full of the most gorgeous food and wine Clarkson's Farm had to offer, you and Isaac say goodbye to George and Arthur, waving them off as you walk up the little path to your cabin.

Despite it being later on in the day, the sun was still shining thanks to the British summertime. You immediately open your suitcase, grabbing a bikini and swapping your muddy tracksuit bottoms and band top you'd stolen from Isaac at some point. Isaac catches onto your thinking, also grabbing some trunks from his suitcase and changing into them.

You grab the bottle of champagne gifted by Prime Video and open the back patio doors which lead to small set of patio chair and a large hot tub.

Whilst Isaac double checks that the front door is locked, you slide into the water, sighing as the warmth soothes your aching muscles. It had been a while since you had spent this long on your feet and the last time you checked your watch, you'd done 35,000 steps.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself a moment of silence, taking in the faraway bleats of the sheep in the meadow opposite your cabin. A warm breeze flows through the air, making a few stray hairs on your face sway gently.

You hear the doors behind you open and close and an affronted noise comes from your boyfriend. Cracking one eye open, you look back to see him frowning at you in the hot tub.

"What's up, babe?" You already know, but it's sweet to see how clingy Isaac gets when it's just the two of you.

"Budge up." He queues up a playlist on his phone, connecting it to the outside speaker before stepping into the hot tub, staring at you with a playful pout.

You comply, moving to the side so he can sit in your spot. As he settles down, one arm snakes around your waist, lifting you up and dragging you onto his lap under the water. His other arm joins the first, a strong interlink ensuring you won't go anywhere. Not that you'd want to.

"Better?" Grinning up at him, you slide your hand to rest at the base of his neck, fingers tangling in the chocolate brown curls there.

Isaac hums in lieu of a verbal response, face coming to rest in the curve of your neck. Feather light kisses trace along your skin, starting at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, trailing up to below your ear.

You giggle at the sensation, twirling the strands of hair entangled in your fingers round and round as he playfully nips your ear lobe once before pulling away. You untangle your fingers from his hair, moving your hand to the front to swipe his fringe away slightly to get a good look at him.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the now fading sunlight as he takes a moment to trace over your face. "You're so beautiful."

You can feel the blush rising hot up your neck, splaying out dusty pink on your cheeks. Even after being with him for so long, he still manages to fluster you every time he calls you beautiful. Normally, it's a throwaway comment, something he mentions whilst in the middle of something else. But here, just the two of you in the quiet British countryside, your heart seems to skip a beat, thumping a clumsy rhythm in your chest.

Wrinkling your nose to hide the way the statement made you feel, you run a finger gently across his cheekbone, dragging it softly down his cheek to the corner of his jaw. "And you're handsome."

His eyes are glued to your cheeks, smile widening as the blush only deepens, now crimson pink and burning hot. "I mean it. I know I say it a lot, but right here, in this moment, you're ethereal. I'm just so lucky you finally agreed to date me. Knowing that I get to wake up everyday and see you when you first wake up, that I get to walk into any room you're in and watch your face light up when you see me, and that I get to fall asleep holding you every night... Honestly, I don't think I could ask for a better life."

Your eyes are lined with unshed tears, mouth trembling as words of adoration spill from your boyfriends lips. He's a known secret romantic, you had the anniversary cards filled with paragraph after paragraph of him waxing poetic about you; but to hear it come directly from him, his voice warm and syrup soaked, your heart beat another treacherous beat, yearning to burst out and reach for the man below you.

"Isaac... I love you. So much." Your hand cups his cheek, thumb rubbing lightly over the skin below. "I couldn't ask for a better life either. This is the best relationship I have ever been in, and I have you to thank for that. Thank you for showing me a love I only thought was possible in movies."

Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, revelling in the delighted hum it pulls from your boyfriend. His arms wrap tighter around you, twisting you in a way so the two of you are chest to chest. He pulls you in deeper, mouth warm and insistent against your own.

When it feels like he's pulled every last bit of breath from your lungs, he pulls away slightly, murmuring a soft "I love you too" as he presses one final kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You move your head to rest in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth of the water and your boyfriend's body as the sun sets slowly behind you.

You're almost lulled to sleep, cocooned in the arms of your lover. Isaac's hands move in a repeated rhythm along your back, dragging up and down in slow circles as he hums along to the song playing softly from the speaker in the corner.

Before you can drift off, he mutters just loud enough to be heard over the bubbling of the hot tub. "Wanna go in the pool tomorrow?"

Nuzzling down further into the crook of his neck, you nod your head lightly, already smiling at whatever stupid Tiktok's he'll make you film. "Fuck yeah."

His chest vibrates with laughter in response and you close your eyes, pressing one last kiss to the skin beneath your lips as the two of you welcome the sky full of stars.

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y/nstagram uploaded 3 photos to their story

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a/n: first italianbach fic ! welcome to my gaggle of men mr isaac xo first of the ac3may hc's and my lil fingies are flying working through the rest !

#italianbach fic #italianbach smau #italianbach social media au #italianbach imagine #italianbach x reader

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th3-0bjectivist · 10 months

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Dear listener, I tried listening to six full hours of mainstream radio this week again. I tried, oh, sweet merciful Jesus, I tried. Lo, I have at this point all but confirmed that modern radio is a steaming pool of liquid dogshit. Given a second appraisal, it’s dogshit with a candy-coated hardshell for ease of ingestion! The disheartening repetition, the complete lack of cutting-edge creativity and genuine emotion, ten to twenty ass-ramming commercials in a row only to come back to the feckless frenzy of fail that comprises the vast, vast majority of modern music? It was all terribly grating, and somehow the music was even worse. As soon as I couldn’t take a millisecond more of the doldrums of modern radio, I went to YouTube and listened to two straight and comparatively blissful hours of immortal work by Antonio Vivaldi. So, get into the time machine again with me dear listener, and set course for the early 1700’s, a time when radio didn't exist! The social standards might not have been top-notch, but the powdered wigs were undeniably gorgeous, and the quality of the music… to die for!!!

As anyone who comes from a musical family has likely experienced, Vivaldi had the principles of composition fused to his DNA, and perhaps even down to the subatomic level with the help of his father. Having trained for priesthood in his early years, Vivaldi instead gradually gravitated toward a now celebrated career in music. Becoming an elite level violinist under the tutelage of his father Giovanni Battista, whom he regularly toured Venice and played duelling violins with, this legend of orchestra developed an immense capacity for transforming the basics of music into something so immensely interwoven and sublime that very few can or will ever dare so much as approach the legitimate majesty of his body of orchestral work. Known as something of an Italian religious dogmatist, his calling to the church and desire to be a priest secured him the nickname ‘Il Prete Rosso’ (The Red Priest) because he was a ginger, or in modern politically correct parlance… a natural red head. During a three-decade long gig serving as Master of Violin at an historical Vincentian orphanage, Ospedale della Pietà, Vivaldi managed to gather inspiration and organize his most emotionally powerful compositions. I could probably add a lot of unnecessary details here, but his greatest and most everlasting works are part of his ‘The Four Seasons’, a set of four violin concertos that are meant to express nearly the precise sensations and emotions of summer, winter, autumn, and spring. If you smash play on the above track you will be treated to Presto (from the Summer section), a song you probably know or have heard before. Presto means ‘quickly’ in Italian and is performed at one of the quickest speeds a human can possibly play music (second only to prestissimo speed, I think). Vivaldi also had a strange disease throughout all his life which many historians suspect might have been severe asthma. And with his penchant for taking numerous ‘leaves of absences’ to tour the world and develop an international reputation, this clearly mega-talented rockstar of yester-century ended up spending all the money he earned during his lifetime. Sadly, after approaching the end of his life and skidding through a decade’s worth of career decline, all accounts show that he died completely broke, having spent what little money he had left on multiple assistants that circumnavigated him through his now dire and at the time completely untreatable health issues. Vivaldi isn’t my personal favorite composer of all-time, I’ll leave that distinction to Bach (who himself was inspired by Vivaldi). But his works live on to this very day because he accomplished exactly what he strove to do; embody the excellence of execution in his craft to produce works that bring us together as human beings and sometimes inspire a rare spark of imagination to propel us to create the very best work we can possibly bring forth.

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Right above this paragraph is a live variation of The Four Seasons, a classic musical work of art and transcendent beauty that I cannot recommend highly enough. Vivaldi sure did one thing that modern, corporately funded, concentrated and even desperate bands just can’t… and that is actually innovate. He had immense natural technical skills, had them brought to bloom by his family and his own efforts, and he ended up creating over 500 instrumental and choral works, plus about 40 operas. Have *you* created 500 instrumental and choral works and 40 operas!? Didn’t think so. So, get to work on that! And join me next time for some jaunty Brahms. Image source: https://www.craiyon.com/image/dPwZA5VRRTawSH1T9Sslcw

#vivaldi #antonio vivaldi #music on tumblr #classical music #the four seasons #presto #music from the 1700's #audio video #music video #audio on tumblr #classical composer #composer #baroque #legend #violinist #orchestra #Italian composer

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rjalker · 1 year

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I don't speak Italian :(

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Translation by @el-the-cell:

Yesterday the Great Circle came to inspect the State Prison for his seventh yearly visit, asking me for the seventh time:

"The prisoner insist on supporting his absurd lie?" "You know very well that you are tall, as well as long and wide." "Lie! Measure my height, then, I shall believe you!"

It's been seven years, and I'm still in prison, but I keep existing, in the hope that these memories of mine could let a class of rebels arise, that refuse to live in a limited dimensionality, which for the clarity of you, inhabitants of space, I will call "flatland".

Credits shown:

FLATLAND from the fantasy novel of many dimensions by Edwin A. Abbot Film-making by Michele Emmer

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on the surface of which shadows with luminous contours move without being able to lift or dip. Straight lines, triangles, squares, hexagons and other geometrical shapes. This way you will have a correct enough idea of my country and of my compatriots. However we are not able to see anything of all that. Nothing is visible for us, except straight lines. I shall demonstrate why right away.

Let's take an equilateral triangle. If you, inhabitants of space sink your eye to the level on which it lays, it will, bit by bit, cease to appear as a shape, to appear as a straight line. Well, that is exactly what we see in Flatland when an acquaintance approaches us.

"Good morning, my dear!" "It's a pleasure to see you again!" "Is everyone doing well?" "Please give my regards to your lady!" "Goodbye!"

-How do you recognise each other?- You will ask. I shall take my time to answer you later.

Allow me to talk about the climate and the accommodations in my country. As with you, so with us there are four cardinal points: north, south, east and west. Since there isn't a sun, or other celestial bodies, it is for us impossible to determine which way the north is with the usual method. We od have our own system, though. Here, a natural law dictates that there shall be a constant attraction towards the south. And this attraction constitutes our compass. In the cities we are guided by the houses, of which the roofs are always pointing towards the north, to protect us from rainfall. The rain further helps with orientation, as it alway comes from the north. In the countryside, where there are no houses, the trees can serve as a guide, with the points always facing north. But if you happen, like it happened to me, to walk on a perfectly deserted plain, you'll be forced to stay still for hours, waiting for rain.

But let us go back to the problem of inhabitants. The inhabitants of Flatland. Our women are straight lines. Soldiers and workmen, which are our inferior classes, are isosceles triangles. Our bourgeoisie consists of equilaterals, namely triangles with equal sides. Our professionals and gentlemen are squares (class to which I, myself, belong to), and five sided shapes. Immediately above that comes aristocracy, that begins with six-sided shapes and goes on until the many-sided ones, awarded with the honorary title of "polygonal". When the number of sides becomes so great, and the size of the sides so small, a shape becomes indistinguishable from a circle. That is how you become part of the sacerdotal order, or the order of circulars: the uppermost class. In our social order, a natural law dictates that the male son shall have one more side than the father, thus climbing the ladder of nobility. This way the son of a square is a pentagon, the son of a pentagon is a hexagon, and so on. It is not that way for soldiers and workers. The son of an isosceles will always be an isosceles. I remember one time when two isosceles parents brought an equilateral into the world. It was reason to celebrate for hundreds of metres! But the newborn, recognised as "regular", was immediately taken from the despairing parents. An equilateral without offspring was summoned by the congress of the Great Circles.

"Equilateral bachelor, at your command" "You shall adopt the newborn equilateral!"

Held under oath, the new father pledged to never allow the adopted child to see his parents ever again. He now belonged to a superior class.

(Isosceles triangles gather in a house)

"We no longer accept abuses!" "Let's bring down the unjust laws!" "No one will be able to stop us!"

The acute-angled hoi polloi managed, in some to their seditions, to find leaders capable of making the Wisdom of the Circles their superior strength and numerical advantage.

"Isosceles! United, we will win!"

But the polygons manage almost always manage to stifle the sedition in the bud.

"We need to convince the leaders of the uprising to accept to partake in a discussion." "I'll tell the medics to stand ready."

The isosceles, leader of the rebels, is induced into entering one of the State Hospitals, to undergo an accurate medical examination.

(Hexagonal medic, in a German accent:)

"How is an artificial expansion possible? Thanks to a perfect surgery, the isosceles - made regular and innocuous - is thus allowed to become part of the privileged classes."

This way, the hapless mob of isosceles, deprived of their leadership, will let themselves be stabbed by a small group of their brethren, hired by the Great Circle and kept ready in the State Forts, in case of emergency.

"Soldiers, the fatherland calls!" "Ready for inspection! Present, arms! Attention! Right face! Forward March! Present, arms! Forward March!"

"Fire! Fire!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Wipe 'em all out! Exterminate them!"

"Fire! Fire!"

In our annals there are no less than 120 revolutions. And they all ended like this.

Some very important figures in Flatland are women. Being straight lines, They are basically invisible for us, inhabitants of the two dimensional world. A law forces them to constantly move their back part, so that we, flat beings, can see them when they arrive. Their character is ever-changing, and they get angry very easily. Since their end part is very sharp, it is not advisable to start a discussion with them in the streets.

"Please, do give way. I am in a hurry. Move aside!" "Actually, I am as well. And I arrived before you." "I'm not in the mood to waste time. Move!" "My lady, you offend me. I don't understand." "My patience has a limit!" line stabs isosceles triangle

As we have well understood, being touched by a furious woman can be very dangerous in Flatland. When we notice a woman passing through the street, we, the men, are all very careful not to cross her, or make her nervous. Our women's changing nature often causes real family tragedies. It's not rare that a woman gone crazy will exterminate her whole family, husband and children first.

"Enough, I'm sick of being at your services! I want to leave, I want my own freedom!"

An insane woman that wanders through the city immediately results in the intervention of soldiers, who are forced to eliminate her.

"Enough, go away! Stop! I'm sick of this!" "Let's get away, quick! She's dangerous." "Halt! That's enough."

Women are not a joke. Despite this, our supreme rulers, the Circles, are profoundly attracted to women. Especially the most beautiful and corrupted ones.

"Did you see that Let's follow them."

Dancing is one of the most beloved activities by circles, and all the people of flatland. And without women, what kind of dancing would it be?

A very delicate geometric problem for us, inhabitants of the flat world, a problem that inhabitants of space don't even imagine, is how to recognise each other in the street. One method consists of going around the other shape, touching gently side against side, in order to understand what shape we have encountered. We must be very careful. A brusque movement - a simple touching of the edge - can cause immediate death. But what I the reason for our problem? It's an issue of plane geometry. If I, a square, encounter another geometric shape, I'll see (as opposed to you, inhabitants of space) nothing but lines. It can be very difficult to distinguish who I have in front of me, based on what I see. I could even fail to recognise a woman.

Another big problem in my country are irregulars: geometrical shapes with unequal sides. They have difficult relationships with everyone. They can't get a job. Nobody wants anything to do with them. Even their parents don't want them.

"Just leave." "We've had enough of the problems you cause us."

Thus, the irregulars vent their anger of excluded and different on whoever first happens to be in range, causing the intervention of soldiers, who are only waiting for an excuse to intervene.

"He's dangerous! Eliminate him! Immediately!"

There is no doubt that the irregulars live very unhappy lives in flatland. But we, on the other hand, must defend our geometric regularity. Does something similar, if I may say so, not happen in your spacial world?

Years ago the fashion of colouring your sides spread in our world. Everyone competed to show off the most dazzling colours. Even the soldiers put on their dress uniforms.

The time has come that I, the square, protagonist of this tale, explain why I am in prison, where I receive the periodic visits of the Great Circle, where he invariably asks me:

"Do you still insist on your absurd lies?" "I cannot do otherwise. You know it well." "Then you shall remain in prison." "I will retain the memory of what I had the occasion to see."

And what I lived through, was the greatest adventure of my life. It began inside my house, where I live with my three sons - pentagons - (According to the law of flatland, children have one side more than their parents) with the servants - triangles of various shapes - with my wife and my son, some of the servants and two grandsons (hexagons, obviously). Then, one night, I was coming home from a tiring day. As usual, I was welcomed by my wife, and by one of my grandsons, who was drawn to geometry.

"Grandpa, you taught me that in our world length and width exist: the directions in which anything expands. Therefore if I want to calculate the surface area of a square, with a side length of, let's say, three, you'll need exactly nine little squares of unitary length. The area is three squared, which equals nine. Then why couldn't you give a meaning to the expression 'three to the power of three'?"

"Oh, nonsense! Go to sleep, I'm tired."

And I retreated to my room. I could not have predicted that I would be so soon and so spectacularly proven wrong. In the middle of the night I was woken, together with my wife, from a loud noise. I ordered my wife to return to her room. The loud noise announced the visit, dream or reality, of a being that I have since then considered sacred: the divine sphere.

The sphere. Only later I understood what it was. It had descended to visit my world. To visit us, beings unworthy and incapable of contemplating it. Obviously, I couldn't understand or see that I had a three-dimensional object in front of me, which showed on the plane of my world, what you would call a section of its shape. I did not understand it until the sphere decided to let me rise with it into space as you know it. Since that moment, I have seen things that I can not even begin to describe, for my word is unsuitable. And taken by the thrill of space, I threw myself into the analogy. But if really three dimensional objects do exist, why not think about not only about three to the third, but also about three to the fourth, why not see the cube - yes, it is divine - but in four dimensions? And seeing the sphere as well, in four dimensions? Even though I am now in prison, where I will remain forever, for trying to convince my too unworthy compatriots of the existence of space, I thank the divine sphere, that allowed me to see, or maybe dream, for a moment, the wonders of infinite space.

#Rjalker watches Flatland #Rjalker watches Flatland 1982 #Flatland 1982 #Flatland #Youtube

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katareyoudrilling · 2 years

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All About the Bass (Marcus Pike one-shot)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: What if Marcus played the double bass (not electric) and joined a community orchestra?

Word count: 5.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Fluff, smut, PIV, oral (f receiving)

A/N: This is self-indulgent AF, so thank you in advance for coming along for the ride! A special thanks to @deadhumourist, @yespolkadotkitty, and @just-here-for-the-moment for your encouragement. I will link to the pieces mentioned at the end. Enjoy!

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Masterlist

You’re always one of the first to arrive to rehearsal. The thought of rushing in last minute makes your skin crawl. You like to take your time.

Maybe you take it too seriously. It is a community orchestra after all, not a professional one. But somehow you think that makes this time more sacred. This is what you do because you love it, because it calms your mind and feeds your soul.

Music is like meditation for you. You can’t think of anything else while you play, or you’ll lose your place. For these hours, the outside world ceases to exist, and your only job is to interpret what’s on the page.

You set down your case in the usual place and open it up. You slide your violin out of her silk bag – sure it’s a little fussy, but your Italian lady deserves some pampering – and attach your shoulder rest. Setting her back down, you draw out your bow. You twist the screw until the space hair is taut and the wood is gently curved. You unwrap your rosin and pull the bow across the little orange disc three times – no more, no less.

You make your way up on stage to find your place.

You’re not a religious person. Not anymore. But being in a beautiful church sanctuary still feels holy. The sound of instruments being tuned bounces off the vaulted ceiling while rays of mid-morning spring sun light up the stained-glass windows. You know a streak of blue will cross your music stand mid-rehearsal.

It’s Saturday morning and the first rehearsal for this program, there will only be three, with the concert a week from tomorrow. This is an extra concert thrown in the usual season for a smaller ensemble. Your music waits for you in the folder on your stand. Your fingers itch to take a look, but first you tuck your violin under your chin and put bow to string.

Hello, beautiful.

Your eyes close as the first note vibrates into your body. You can’t help but imagine all the musicians that have made her sing over her 100 years. Her tone is warm and rich, espresso and red wine. You knew the moment you played her that she was yours.

You check your double stops and adjust your pegs until the notes harmonize just right. The sound reverberates through the room and you let it ring. You take a full breath deep into your lungs and let the trials of the week float away with your exhale.

You run some scales and play a few favorite passages from memory, waking up your fingers, getting ready for whatever awaits in your folder.

You set your instrument down on the empty seat next you – your stand partner always rushes in at the last minute, but you love her anyway – and open the folder.

Bach.

Blech.

It may be an unpopular opinion, but Bach is so boring. You remind yourself that you’ve almost always been able to find something redeeming in the Bach pieces you’ve played. Your conductor manages to find the nuance and make it a little interesting. You set it to the side.

Arvo Pärt – Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten

Yes. Now we’re talking.

You’ve never met a Pärt piece you haven’t fallen in love with. The modern Estonian composer wrote such haunting music. The notes don’t look like much on the page, but you know the beauty of the piece will be blending your sound with everyone around you.

The third and final piece in your folder is also Pärt – Tabula Rasa. Your annoyance at the Bach fades.

You pick up your violin and begin working through the tricky spots taking note of key signatures and bowings.

You are jolted from your practice by the low drone of a bass behind you. You still haven’t gotten used to this new set up where you sit to the right of the conductor, across from the first violins and next to the cellos, with the bass just behind your right shoulder.

You turn to say hi to the bassist, Dan, the sweetest old man you’ve ever met, but find yourself looking at a much younger man instead. An extremely handsome man at that.

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. The shirt pulls tight across his broad shoulders and around his muscular arms. He is focused on tuning, twisting the pegs with strong fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. He pulls his bow across the string in confident strokes.

He wraps his hand around the neck of the bass and your mouth goes dry. It looks small in his grip. As he settles on the correct pitches, his face relaxes and his eyes flutter closed. What a face. Chiseled jaw. Pouty lips. The most interesting and gorgeous nose you’ve ever seen on a person. A lock of his chestnut hair falls across his forehead.

Suddenly, he opens his eyes and his gaze locks with yours. He breaks into a friendly smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re not Dan,” you blurt out. “I mean hi.” Oh my God that did not just happen.

He laughs and his brown eyes twinkle. “No, I’m not. I’m Marcus. I’m new. I think Dan is on vacation.”

“Right, of course, sorry.” You introduce yourself, instruments and bows making it awkward to get up and shake his hand. You offer a head nod.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Just then, your stand partner, Sarah, plops down beside you in a swirl of blonde hair and chaotic energy. You turn away from Marcus to greet her. She does a quick tune of her instrument and lets out a big sigh as she turns to face you.

“What a day!” she starts in with a flourish.

“It’s only 10 am,” you tease.

“Tyler refused to take a nap yesterday so had a complete meltdown over dinner and went to bed at 6. He was up at 5 am. Steven was supposed to take Trenton to his soccer game, but got called into work for an emergency. I had to arrange for a ride for him and I barely made it in time. Anyway, how are you? How was your week?”

Sarah is always a flurry of activity. Her family keeps her on her toes, but she prioritizes her time in the orchestra. She is incredibly talented and funny and has become a good friend over the years. You spend the next few minutes catching up before your conductor, Anton, calls for rehearsal to begin.

-------------------------

Marcus was going to have to buy his therapist flowers.

When he moved to DC six months ago, he decided it was time to get some professional help. He was spiraling after his break-up with Teresa. Dr. M helped him see that his impulsive romantic nature wasn’t necessarily a problem, but he needed to work on communicating with his partner.

He wasn’t a lost cause, doomed to fall in love and get his heart broken over and over. Teresa just wasn’t the right person and he pushed her too fast, disregarding all the signs that she wasn’t on the same page he was.

Dr. M suggested he broaden his horizons. Pick up a new hobby or an old one. Meet some people who weren’t co-workers.

His first thought had been painting, but that was a solitary pursuit and still somewhat related to his job in the Art Crimes division of the FBI. Next, he considered bowling, but the last time he did that it tweaked an old back injury and he was in pain for days.

Then it came to him… music. His old double bass was still stored away in his parent’s basement. He had played all through middle and high school and for a year in college until his schedule just got too busy. He had always been pretty good and enjoyed it. An internet search led him to a community orchestra that rehearsed once a week only a couple miles from his apartment.

He brought his bass home with him after the holidays and contacted the orchestra’s manager. He was a little rusty, but she assured him that the group was open to all abilities, and he would be just fine. Besides, they were always in need of bassists.

He had come here today with no expectation other than to remember what it was like to make music with other people, but then he saw you.

He noticed you deep in concentration when he walked in. He watched you while he got his instrument ready, admiring the graceful curve of your neck and shoulder.

Then he caught you looking at him. The way your eyes widened, and your mouth popped open when you got flustered sent an arrow straight to his heart. You had beautiful eyes.

The rehearsal required intense focus, so he forced himself to concentrate on the music and not on the way your body moved with each phrase.

He felt the urge to chase after you after rehearsal, but he settled for a friendly nod and wave on the way out the door. There was always tomorrow.

---------------------------

You manage to concentrate through Sunday afternoon rehearsal and ignore the tingles going up and down your spine. It’s just your imagination, not his eyes on you, you tell yourself. You’re just curious about him, that’s all. He’s new and he seemed so warm and friendly when you talked and as he waved at you on his way out of rehearsal yesterday.

You surreptitiously steel glances at him when you can. A glimpse of his trim waist. A flash of his strong hands. He catches you once and smiles that same warm, friendly smile. Then he winks.

You turn back around with a start and heat floods your face. What was that? Who winks at people?

Sarah narrows her eyes at you questioningly a few times. It’s not like you to be so distracted and jumpy.

Rehearsal wraps up on time. Sarah leaves in a rush of apologies and promises to catch up more this week. You take a deep breath and make your way over to Marcus.

“Nice job with the solo in Tabula Rasa,” you start.

He chuckles and rubs and back of his neck with one hand, “Thanks. They really threw me in the deep end with that one.”

“You did well. Really.”

He nods and smiles warmly at you again, then leans closer, beckoning you towards him. You step closer and swallow thickly at this new proximity. You focus on breathing evenly, but it only drags his clean, crisp scent into your lungs. Oh God, of course he smells good too.

“I have to ask,” his voice is low and rumbly and causes your heart to pound erratically in your chest, “what’s the deal with all the Estonian music?”

You chuckle, breaking the tension, relief tinged with disappointment floods your body. “Anton is a first-generation Estonian immigrant,” you explain. “He considers it his mission to raise awareness of Estonian music. We play a lot of it. It grows on you.”

Marcus bobs his head in understanding looking at the music on his stand. “I had never heard any of this before. There’s something so simple and organized about it… but then all the parts layered together…” he shakes his head to clear his thoughts and chuckles. “I think I could get obsessed with it.”

“You and me both,” you laugh.

“Hey, umm, would you like to grab some dinner?” he asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice.

Which is how you find yourself in a quaint and cozy pub in Old Town an hour later watching a drop of condensation slide down Marcus’s pint glass, trying very hard not to imagine it sliding down his gorgeous throat instead.

“How long have you been with the orchestra?” Marcus asks, leaning across the small wooden table between you. You look up at him and force yourself to look him in the eyes instead of staring at his plush lips. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, his soft brown eyes are just as distracting.

“Eight years.”

“Wow, you must really like it.”

“I do. I didn’t play for a long time and didn’t realize how much I needed it until I started. What about you? Why did you join?”

“Oh, well, it has been a long time since I last played too. I moved here for work last fall and decided I needed to try some new things. Or old things in this case, I guess.”

You both lean back in your chairs as the server deposits your plates in front of you – a burger and fries for him and fish tacos for you.

“I’m glad you decided to give it a try. What work do you do?”

“I’m with the bureau.”

“Got it, no questions about work,” you laugh and he chuckles along with you.

“It’s nice living here… everyone gets it with one word – bureau. I don’t have to constantly explain why I can’t talk about my job. What do you do?”

“Nothing as exciting as all that. I’m an accountant with a non-profit. Numbers all day, but in support of a good cause. I like it.”

Conversation lags for a few minutes while you both dig into your food. Rehearsal builds up quite the appetite.

“What other new or old things have you been trying?” you ask.

“Not many yet, but I was thinking that I would like to see the cherry blossoms. Would you want to go with me next weekend after rehearsal?” he holds your gaze across the table.

“You really are new here, aren’t you?” you laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“Next weekend is the peak weekend. It’s going to be insane downtown.”

“Oh, I see, never mind then,” his face falls, though he tries to hide it.

“Oh no, you don’t. Don’t go all sad puppy on me,” you chide him teasingly.

“Sad puppy?” he asks, looking exactly like a sad puppy.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know. I bet you can get anything you want with that look. Yes, I’ll go see the cherry blossoms with you.”

His face breaks out into a sunshiny smile and you bask in its warmth.

----------------

Marcus passed his week in the usual way, but with the lovely addition of exchanging texts with you. Mostly you discussed plans for seeing the cherry blossoms on Saturday, but you also checked in with each other a few times just to talk about your day, minus work of course. He discovered that you live practically around the corner from him. It’s kind of crazy you haven’t run into each other before now.

Saturday dawns sunny and warm. Marcus’s morning jog is less of a slog than usual. There is a bounce in his step that hasn’t been there in a while.

He mentioned you to his therapist at his appointment on Thursday. She was happy and supportive, but reminded him of the things they had been working through over the past several months.

He is determined to not get carried away with himself this time. But he can’t help the wide grin that spreads over his face when he walks into rehearsal and sees you.

You smile and wave at him from you place on the stage. But by the time he gets himself settled in his place, it’s time for rehearsal to begin.

“Thank you everyone for being here today.” Anton addresses the group and everyone quiets. “Our concert is at 7 tomorrow.”

“What!?” exclaims one of the cellists and everyone laughs good naturedly. Marcus has a feeling he says that every time.

Anton continues with a smile, “Concert order is the Bach Prelude, Cantos, then Tabula Rasa. Please welcome our soloists.” The orchestra stomps their feet and tap their bows as the two featured violinists and the pianist take their places.

“Let’s begin.”

Rehearsal today is primarily focused on Tabula Rasa since it is the first time playing with the soloists. What was empty and seemingly random is now full and beautiful. The math of the piece comes into focus as bursts of sound alternate with periods of silence. It’s mesmerizing.

Marcus secretly hoped that the addition of the soloists would make his solo at the end of the piece less exposed, but he was not so lucky. Section by section, the musicians lower their instruments until it is just him. It’s a good thing he practiced.

Joining the orchestra unlocked a part of Marcus’s brain that had lain dormant for a long time. Art had become his job which made it more difficult to enjoy in a purely creative way. There were no expectations placed upon this group. Even the audience was secondary.

The orchestra exists for the members and Marcus found himself drawn into this community of people who love to play so much that they would give up their time to be here together. They push themselves to be better, not for external validation, but for themselves. It was a refreshing change of pace.

“Excellent, excellent,” Anton congratulates the group as they finish their final run through. “Remember, the piece ends with six empty measures. I will conduct them then lower my baton. Hopefully the audience stays quiet until I do.” Anton smiles and the group chuckles along with him. “That’s it for today. Thank you everyone.” He turns to shake hands with the concert master and soloists as everyone begins to pack their things.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You and Marcus emerge from the Smithsonian Metro Station in the middle of the National Mall. It’s just as packed as you predicted. The two of you wind your way around tour groups as you make your way down the path towards the Washington Monument and over to the Tidal Basin.

Marcus occasionally puts his hand on your lower back as you make your way through the crowds. His tall, broad frame easily cuts through the swarms of people and he can put on a stern, intimidating expression when he wants that has people edging out of his way. It turns out that it’s nice to have an FBI agent around.

As you turn onto the walkway around the Tidal Basin, a sea of white and pink unfurls before you. It really is breathtaking.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the view and you take in him. He has such a joyful smile. You find yourself thinking you would do pretty much anything to get to see it.

He slips his hand in yours as you begin to walk along the edge of the water. It feels completely natural for your hand to be in his. Occasionally, he brushes his thumb over your knuckles and smiles down at you with his twinkly brown eyes.

You walk slowly around the basin chatting about everything and nothing, bumping shoulders, and making each other laugh.

As you approach the Jefferson Memorial, you both hear it… a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Almost immediately, the sky opens and begins dumping buckets of rain. Marcus tugs you towards the cover of the memorial.

Only a minute in the rain has you both completely drenched and giggling. People swarm into the memorial to get out of the weather and Marcus pulls you over to the end of the colonnade, away from the crowd. He tucks you against a column and angles his body between yours and the gathering crowd.

Your side presses up against him, your softness melting against his firm body. You look up at his chiseled profile. He is looking out over your head towards the swirl of petals and rain. He has raindrops in his eyelashes and on the tips of his hair. A solitary drop runs down the arc of his nose and onto his cheek.

Before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, you lift your hand and trace its path over his jaw and down his neck.

He startles and looks down at you.

“Kiss me, Marcus.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your breathy request catches him off-guard. Almost as much as the feel of your fingertip tracing down his neck.

He pulled you close to him to protect you from the crowd not thinking about how your curves would feel against his side. He couldn’t look down at you for fear that he would get lost in your eyes and forget himself, so he stared out into the distance trying to calm his racing heart.

But then you asked him to kiss you. Now he knows he’s not alone in this.

Marcus wipes the raindrops off your cheek with the pad of his thumb as he cups the back of your neck in his hand. Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh.

He needs to taste that sigh.

What he really wants to do to you he can’t do in public, so he contents himself with exploring your lips, your tongue, your mouth. Languid strokes and licks that only increase his desire for you.

Each of your soft moans tests his self-control.

Each nip of your teeth sends a rush of blood his hardening cock. The slight shift of your body against him says that you’ve noticed and you’re not mad about it.

It would be so easy to forget where he is. To get lost in the thrum of the rain and the taste of your lips. He fights the urge to lick down your throat and palm your ass.

When the temptation gets to be almost too much, he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours.

“That was unexpected,” he exhales.

“Was it though?” you respond with a raised eyebrow.

Marcus smiles and traces the shell of your ear with his fingertip. He watches goosebumps rise along your neck. “I’ve misread things before. I didn’t want to assume we were on the same page. You should know, I’m not good at casual.”

“I’m not looking for casual.”

Marcus searches your face for any sign of doubt but all he finds is your clear, earnest gaze and kiss swollen lips. Lips he would very much like to kiss again.

“I’d like not being casual with you,” he admits, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.

“I’d like that too,” you murmur against him.

He turns you around and pulls you into his broad chest, wrapping his arm around your waist. You sink into him and allow your head to rest against his shoulder. He hasn’t felt this content in a long time. The two of you watch as the storm retreats into the distance.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

No one moves in the sanctuary. You sit with your head bowed, barely breathing, as Marcus plays the final notes of Tabula Rasa.

Anton lowers his baton and the audience bursts into applause. You take a deep breath and smile as you stand with your fellow musicians. You look back at Marcus and smile at the look of relief and pride on his face.

The concert couldn’t have gone better. The combination of pieces, even the Bach you reluctantly concede, created a still and trance-like atmosphere in the sanctuary.

But all that stillness means that pent up energy now thrums through your body. Playing something so controlled and quiet didn’t allow you to release the emotions of the piece through your body. There’s also the post-performance adrenaline rush that follows every concert making you jittery.

You make your way over to Marcus after putting away your instrument.

“Hey”

“Hey” he replies.

“How do you feel? First performance in a long time?”

He smiles and runs his hand through his hair. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the tendons in his forearm. He has rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt since the concert ended.

“It feels good. I wanted to do something different, and this was definitely it.”

“I’m glad. Will you play with us again?”

“I’d like to,” he smiles. “If Dan doesn’t mind.”

“He will be so glad, trust me,” you assure him.

“Would you like to get a drink or something? I’m feeling kind of pent up.” He shakes his arms and hands out trying to release the energy.

“I know what you mean. How about my place?”

“Yeah?” he asks, his expression full of hope.

“Yeah,” you reply with a wink. He’s not the only one who can do that.

His eyes open wide in surprise before he laughs and takes your hand. “Let’s go.”

You unlock the door to your apartment and survey the scene. Thankfully you had tidied up earlier in the day. Marcus would be here any minute, just having to drop off his bass around the corner.

Sure enough, you hear him knock just a few minutes later. He hasn’t even changed out of his concert clothes. His hands fist and relax at his sides with nervous energy.

“Come on in. What can I get you to drink?” you ask as you lead him towards your tiny kitchen.

“Thanks, whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

“My post-concert routine is usually red wine, pajamas, and loud television to drown out the music in my head. Otherwise, I’ll be singing it all night long.”

Marcus chuckles. He accepts your offered glass of wine and follows you to the couch.

“Of course, that’s not my preferred way to get rid of post-concert adrenaline.” You look at him over the rim of your glass.

“It’s not?” Marcus asks feigning wide-eyed innocence.

“Nope.”

“What is then?” His voice is so deep and delicious. It resonates through your body. He scoots closer to you and sets his glass down on the end table then rests his hand on your knee.

“I think you know.”

“I think I know too, but I want you to say it.”

You set your glass down and scoot even closer. You run your hands up his forearms, over his broad shoulders, and bring them to rest on his chest. You can feel his heart beating beneath your palms. He’s so good, so in control of himself, you want to see him let go.

“Marcus, I want you to kiss me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me forget my own name.”

Marcus inhales sharply at your direct words and then his lips are on yours as he presses you back into the couch cushions. He slots himself between your legs as his hands run up your sides and his tongue plunders your mouth. His warmth and scent envelope you as he presses you into the cushions and you moan contentedly into his mouth.

Your first kiss was in public and you both had to control yourselves, but now you can fully give into the heat building between your bodies.

You pull his dress shirt out of his pants seeking his smooth skin. He pulls away to help undo the buttons and take it off.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper in awed reverence at the sight of his muscular chest above you.

“Sweetheart, you’re the beautiful one,” he rasps as he lowers himself back to you and kisses down your neck. His hands grip your ass through your pants. “Can I take you to the bedroom?”

“Fuck yes,” you groan against him.

Marcus helps you up from the couch and pulls you into a messy kiss before allowing you to lead him down the hall. Once in the bedroom, you are a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing before you fall onto the bed together.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he growls against your skin as he kisses and licks his way down your body. He brushes your nipples with his thumbs before sucking one into his mouth.

You tangle your hands in his hair and arch your back against him. He finds your center with his fingers and swipes through your wet folds making you gasp.

“You’re so sensitive,” he says looking up at you with lust-blown pupils as he circles your clit with his thumb and you writhe against him.

“Please, Marcus, please, I want to feel you.”

“Mmmm, you will, but I’m gonna taste you first.”

He continues circling your clit as he shifts down your body. Nipping and kissing at your stomach, the crease of your hip, your inner thigh, until his mouth takes over from his hand with a firm confident stroke of his tongue.

Your hips lift off the mattress as you gasp and he wraps his arm around your waist to hold you down. Then he meticulously takes you apart.

It makes sense really, that he would be good at this. You watched him play his bass, each bow stroke a balance between strength and finesse, his strong fingers moving easily over the strings.

Now he plays your body like an instrument. All the pent-up energy from the day coalesces in your center. Weight settles heavy and low in your abdomen and you begin to tremble. He slides one thick finger into you and the last of your control snaps.

Your climax crests over you in waves. Marcus continues to stroke you with his tongue in time with each pulse of your walls, drawing out your orgasm, moaning his enjoyment.

When you finally fall still, you hear Marcus open a condom wrapper before he gently kisses back up your body.

You open your eyes to find him nose to nose with you. His delicious weight pressing you down. He laces his fingers with yours and draws your joint hands over your head, pinning them to the mattress.

“You ready to feel me, sweetheart?” His rough voice sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Achingly slowly he glides into you. Stretching you open inch by glorious inch. Your eyes roll back in your head in ecstasy.

“Open your eyes,” he pleads gruffly as he seats himself fully in you.

You do as your told. The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming. Marcus wears his desire on his face. Emotions too strong to name flicker across his gorgeous features.

Slowly he pulls out and thrusts back in. You moan and hold his gaze, allowing your own feelings to move freely across your face.

You find a rhythm together as you meet each of his thrusts, heat and friction building between your bodies. You feel your orgasm building again with each deep stroke of his cock. He drags against your walls and grinds his hips into your clit. He surrounds you with his presence. You couldn’t look away if you wanted to.

“You feel so good,” he pants, “I can’t… I’m gonna come.”

The desperation in his voice pushes you over the edge and you quake against him as you cry out his name. You feel him stutter against your hips as he buries his face in your neck.

He releases your hands and you run your fingers lazily through his hair and down his back as his breathing slows, content in the warm press of his body against yours. He rolls off and pulls you into his chest, kissing your forehead.

“So, what’s your name?” Marcus mumbles into your hair.

“What?” you pop up on your elbow in surprise.

“You wanted me to make you forget it. Did I?” He breaks into a mischievous grin.

You swat at him and snuggle back into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you. “Almost, but I’m going to need you to try again.”

“Is that right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you smile up at him.

“Ok.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Here are links to the pieces mentioned:

Prelude in B minor by J.S. Bach

Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten by Arvo Pärt

Tabula Rasa by Arvo Pärt

Masterlist

Taglist:

@neddrollsdice @lovesbiggerthanpride @kirsteng42 @pedrohoe04 @greeneyedblondie44 @pagannightwitch @kaitieskidmore1 @alexxavicry @mandoblowmybackout @mswarriorbabe80 @nothoughtsjustmeds @loonymagizoologist @aynsleywalker @maievdenoir @ruhro7 @amneris21 @tionmeh @theravenreads @bravopeach @bport76 @mandobi @eppy816 @harriedandharassed @littlemisspascal @whataperfectwasteoftime @just-here-for-the-moment @thirsty-flygirl @yespolkadotkitty @deadhumourist @wheresarizona

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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mikrokosmos · 1 year

Note

What’s the story of your life with music?

The main reason I’d avoided responding to this question was that it’s too daunting. How do I make a narrative out of my interests and hobbies over the years? What can I remember exactly? I don’t want to go on and on, but…

My life with music started in…maybe kindergarten? In elementary school music class my teacher showed us Disney’s Fantasia, where my most vivid memories are of the Bach and Tchaikovsky segments. With Stokowski’s transcription of the Toccata and Fugue, I picked up associating music with colors and shapes, and often when I listen I still think in abstract geometric figures, especially imagining the sheet music floating around and changing colors. And from the Nutcracker suite, I went more Romantic and created stories in my head while listening.

At the same school, the fourth grade class would put on a play version of the Nutcracker story with some music from the ballet. I loved the whole “soundtrack” but especially a scene change with the piece “In the Pine Forest”

Growing up, I liked music but wasn’t really into the pop that my sister and cousins were into (Brittney Spears, NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls…), but I’d play around on my cousin’s out of tune piano and “taught” myself how to play Big Ben’s chimes using the black keys. My parents got me lessons with my cousin’s piano teacher who was an old Italian woman who introduced me to Chopin, Beethoven, and Rachmaninoff.

As I got more into music through YouTube and iTunes, my tastes solidified around Chopin, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Alkan, Scriabin, heavy handed romantic piano. More “Romantic” Beethoven, some “darker” Mozart, and Bach’s organ music. Again couldn’t relate to peers when I got to high school. Yeah I liked Lady Gaga and Beyonce, but I didn’t care about any of the bands kids talked about, and didn’t like a lot of the 00s pop singers. Too many of the works I was into at the time were 19th or early 20th century piano. I was embarassed when guys asked if I listened to anything “hard” and showed them one of Prokofiev’s “War” Sonatas

I loved looking up the history of the works. At the time I thought it was just trivia but the longer I researched, the more I realized it was helping me develop an awareness of how we percieve reality and the social and cultural forces that contribute to who we are and what we do, say, and create.

My first piano teacher passed away, which was kind of rough. She felt like a third grandmother, told me stories about her husband in “The War”, and recorded several Chopin pieces for her family to keep for posterity. I always think of her when I listen to Chopin’s Waltz in Ab, op.69 no.1. Maybe too Romantic of me to bring up the “Farewell Waltz” nickname.

In general I had a very Romantic, and somewhat closed-minded, attitude toward music going through into college. I was kind of snobby against popular music styles, I was convinced Mozart was overrated elevator music, that Satie was a “one-hit-wonder”, and that there was no point in listening to anyone before Bach. Thankfully a lot of taste changes happened through college as I explored the repertoire more and got familiar with Mozart, ‘classical’ Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Handel, Hildegard von Bingen, Palestrina, Mahler, Hindemith, Barber, Schoenberg, and I won’t keep name dumping but when thinking back to my time at college I have a lot of memories of how I felt listening to music and pondering life in the way college students are expected to do.

I’ve always been an amateur pianist, and have been self-taught for the past ten years or so. And a lot has changed in my tastes and attitudes.

Still a Romantic at heart but I try to treat music as “objectively” as I can, let it speak for itself, and try to keep the era in mind when asking “what does this mean? What is this trying to convey?”. I’ve tried letting go of biases so I can appreciate other genres more. I’ve also been engaging more with the musical avant-garde, and am on the more liberal side of the aesthetic “culture wars” that have been going on since the mid 20th century.

Right now my favorite composer is Olivier Messiaen who I believe without any irony is the best composer of Christian music, and maybe the only Western composer who conveys a Christian sense of the Divine to the “greatest” extant possible. Of course that’s my own opinion, but for me the 20 Regards sur l’enfant-Jésus is the greatest work of piano music I’ve heard. The idea of best or greatest when talking about art is pretty silly, and the older I get the more hesitant I am to try and argue for something as arbitrary as “best”, so maybe I’d say that Messiaen is the closest to my heart, along with Chopin, Liszt, Scriabin, Debussy, Mahler, and R. Strauss.

And I don't really talk about my personal life so much, but I have a complicated faith in Christianity, and I'm a gay man, and maybe it's silly but music has been integral to my understanding of life and the self.

#classical #ask #music #classical music #my music journey #Chopin #messiaen #bach #beethoven #Mozart #scriabin #mahler #debussy #strauss

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the-nest-dwellers · 9 months

Note

What's you guys favorite musician and/or song?

Paige:

single artist: girl in red

band: foo fighters

top 3 songs:

Body and Mind-Girl in red

Arlandria-Foo fighters

Gladiator-Jann

Edmont:

Band: Pink Floyd

Artist: 2 Mello

top 3 songs:

Run Like Hell-Pink Floyd

N.I.B.-Black Sabbath

livin' midnight-2 Mello

Hel:

Mother Mother

MARINA

Taylor Swift

Maneater

You're On Your Own, Kid

Do I Wanna Know?

Tweetle:

Imagine Dragons

Misery x CPR x Reese's Puffs x Apple Bottom Jeans

Porg:

Panjabi MC

Mundian tu bach ke

Goose:

Punching Bag by Set It Off

Bluthardt:

solo musician: Billy Joel, James Taylor, or Carole King

band: Chicago or The Who

top 3 songs: "Baba O'Riley" by The Who, "25 or 6 to 4" by Chicago, "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" by Billy Joel

album: "Quadrophenia" by The Who or "The Stranger" by Billy Joel

#ask blog #ask #music preferences

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zbknickknacks · 7 months

Text

As a youth I was very impressed by the book “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach. When I saw this guy perched at Traghetto Gondole Molo near Piazza San Marco in Venice, it was a moment of instant recognition. Bein Italian, his name would be, I imagine, Giovanni Vitale Gabbiano, but he was just as unimpressed and bemused with people as the real Jonathan would be.

#photography #travel #venice #venezia #seagull #italy

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88888cinema · 3 months

Text

TikTok at the Cannes Film Festival: How Micro-Clips Are

Changing World Cinema

Cinema of the past has indeed shattered, akin to the enchanted mirror from

Georgy Daneliya's film "Tears Were Falling." This film is crafted in the style

of Polish cinema of moral anxiety, where the protagonist, through a piece of

shattered glass in his eye, begins to see reality as it truly is.

Imagine if Antonio, after his bicycle was stolen, started streaming on TikTok

and shared his story, captivating everyone with his son Bruno's expressive

eyes. This act of sharing could serve as an economic catharsis, correcting the

injustice and enabling Antonio and Bruno to return home with funds for

groceries.

Similarly, consider Accatone, who meets his end on the street after a botched

attempt to steal some processed meat products, with Bach's music from the

St. Matthew Passion playing in the background. As his friend rushes to him,

the dying protagonist, Accatone, is asked, "How are you?" To which he

replies, "Now everything is in order." Despite his sins, he believed in God

and, having endured his earthly trials, accepted his death with peace. It's

important to recall the protagonist's dream where Accatone encountered a

gravedigger digging his grave in the shade, requesting to move to a sunnier

spot in the cemetery, which the gravedigger agreed to. This beloved

transcendental cinema is dearly missed by all of us. One could say it fell

victim to Bella Tarr's Turin Horse, with the horse itself running over

transcendental cinema, and the carriage didn't even stop.

The curious thing is that Pasolini, a committed socialist, chose to film "The

Gospel According to Matthew," casting his own mother as the Virgin Mary. It

shows that filmmakers used to approach cinema as a temple and often

believed in God themselves. With the decline of transcendental and magical

narratives in cinema, Peter Greenaway may be onto something with his new

cinematography based on geometry and science.

With the decline of Christianity, advancements in technology, and the rise of

consumerism, the traditional role of the director has waned. Today,

individuals facing challenging times turn to social media as a last resort.

TikTok exemplifies this shift, as it gives rise to a unique industry of

marginalized or stigmatized people. In turn, talent managers emerge who

produce them. This means that potential heroes of documentaries or arthouse cinema now take full control over their life stories and all the dramas

within them. They gain their own followers who watch their videos and live

streams like Netflix series.

Modern arthouse directors are increasingly marginalized; the most daring

among them, like Perhan from Emir Kusturica's "Time of the Gypsies," have

departed to confront real-life villains, leaving behind their artistic legacy.

And they won't come back to us, and they won't give each of us an accordion

as a gift like Perhan promissed to his son.

In this hyperreal landscape, influencers navigate turbulent waters as

economic conditions deteriorate and brands grow hesitant to support

independent creators. This mirrors the struggles depicted in Italian

neorealism, where characters fight for survival amidst societal upheaval.

Cinema demanded deconstruction; the once pristine image of the starstudded director shattered into countless fragments. Thus, emerged social

media stars—rising, falling, and reinventing themselves on platforms like

TikTok and YouTube. This narrative fragmentation mirrors our postmodern

reality, blurring distinctions between truth and representation, challenging

established notions of authenticity.

Joseph Beuys once proclaimed that today, we are all artists. Drawing from

French philosophy, particularly influenced by thinkers like Jean Baudrillard,

one could extend this to say we are all actors and filmmakers in the digital

age. TikTok serves as a digital panopticon, where individuals globally share

glimpses of their lives, embodying Baudrillard's concept of the hyperreal.

This philosophical evolution mirrors broader cultural shifts towards

participatory storytelling and digital expression. The democratization of

filmmaking via social media not only disrupts established norms but also

empowers individuals to reshape narratives and influence collective

consciousness. Like the unflinching realism of Italian neorealism, today's

digital narratives reflect contemporary struggles and aspirations, inviting

audiences to engage deeply with fragmented yet powerful human

experiences.

In the realm of Economic Catharsis, prevalent in capitalist societies, those

with financial means may act as patrons over those in need. The cinematic

portrayal of suffering plays a pivotal role here; those lacking photogenic

appeal risk being overlooked, their stories left untold. This economic

catharsis stems from individuals seeking solace from the stresses of modern

life, willing to pay for a glimpse into ordinary human emotions.

This economic dynamic parallels VR cinema, where viewers shape unfolding

events and determine outcomes. Recall the scene from "Mamma Roma" as she

rushes into her modest apartment, secured through sheer effort, followed by the worried crowd. Her anguished cries for her son Ettore, tortured

in prison, echo through the cramped space. The camera captures his

abandoned jeans on the bed, while neighbors intervene to prevent her from

jumping. Mamma Roma's gaze then turns to the indifferent, newly

reconstructed Rome, where she and others like her are confined to their

designated places.

Consider "Accattone," where the protagonist and his companions share a

meager plate of pasta, hungry and resigned. "Saint Bosco, help us," one says

ironically, "Yes, help us starve," another replies. The hunger and destitution

depicted in post-war Italy resonate in today's context. Thanks to TikTok,

sponsorship opportunities have emerged. After a long day, with a glass of

wine in hand, one can tune into live streams from around the world, often

encountering individuals akin to Accattone and his friends. Economic

catharsis, fueled by financial means, finds its full realization.

Traditional cinema, once built on the innocence of its heroes, is fading.

Economics and social media have transformed each of us into performers,

constantly playing roles in a 24/7 spectacle. The future of art cinema, in my

view, lies in esoteric films and visionary directors who, like spiritual guides in

global hubs, expand our consciousness through various narratives. The

straightforward charm of Aki Kaurismäki, with his cinematic ballads, struggles

to compete with industry demands and evolving viewer expectations.

#cinephile#NYFF#arthousecinema#NYCfilmlovers

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xtruss · 1 year

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Love and Beauty: Ancient Rome Exhibition in Beijing Highlights China-Italy Exchanges

— By Li Yuche | June 13, 2023 | Global Times

Featuring rare finds like a second century marble statue depicting the "Leaning" Aphrodite - the Goddess of Love and Beauty - an exhibition of ancient Roman art organized by China and Italy opened on Monday at the Beijing World Art Museum of the China Millennium Monument.

The Light of Ancient Roman Civilization is the second stellar cultural event in the past three months to feature Italy's top-notch cultural legacies in Beijing.

Besides ancient Roman art from the collections at Italy's National Archaeological Museum of Naples (MANN), 50 self-portrait paintings from Florence's Uffizi Gallery collection are also on display at the National Museum of China.

This Italian art in Beijing creates great momentum for China-Italy exchanges in 2023. The Ambassador of Italy to China Massimo Ambrosetti told the Global Times that the two countries' cultural communication has already become a "tradition."

Beyond Space and Time

A total of 69 Italian works, including sculptures of mythical European figures like Aphrodite and the god of wine Dionysus, are on display at the exhibition hall with the accompaniment of a live performance of Bach's prelude by a violinist.

These artworks that carry the charm of Greco-Roman philosophy were created around the time of first and second centuries, a period of time that was pivotal to the Western art world since it was during this time that its principles and perceptions on aesthetics formed.

Sculptures, Pompeii frescos and mosaics of extreme artistic value are not the only Italian treasures on display at the exhibition. Deceptively modern-looking glass cups and bottles and other everyday objects provide a window to view Europeans' ancient lifestyles.

These relics are only a small portion of the more than 3 million items in the collection at MANN, the first public museum in Western history. At the time when these artifacts showing Mediterranean civilization were created, the Han Dynasty (206BC-AD220) ruled China.

Mario Grimaldi, the exhibition's Italian curator, said that the Beijing exhibition aims to relate "different but comparable aspects of Roman society" and "compare them with the Chinese one."

The exhibition's guide, MANN's director Paolo Giulierini, told the Global Times that while the show features only Italian relics, he is still able to imagine their counterparts in Chinese civilizations.

"The Roman empire and the Chinese empire are notable in history. When I see men and women depicted in Roman art, I can also feel the men and women in the Chinese context," Giulierini said, adding that the cultures of China and Italy met each other "beyond space and time."

Giulierini also introduced Italy's relic conservation strategy to the Global Times, noting that digital technology has become an essential part of archaeological exhibitions.

Giulierini said that, to provide a better visitor experience, MANN has developed a video game in Chinese that walks visitors through their collections and the museum's history. The game has been played by 2 million Chinese visitors.

Similar to China's creative attempts such as using 3D printing to create exhibits on the Mogao Caves and Yungang Grottoes, Giulierini said that Italy has also used digital technology to restore ancient art.

He said he looks forward to collaborating with China to recreate ancient buildings and sculptures in virtual reality.

"It is only through dialogue that we can break down the barriers that separate us and create a shared sense of humanity," Giulierini noted, adding that he believes museums are "not just a repository of objects," but a "non-political neutral space" to assist cultural exchanges.

Continued Tradition

Ambrosetti attended the Beijing exhibition's opening ceremony, during which he said he believes shows like this are not just for "presenting or restoring" works of art, but also for learning about the "civilizations that made the artworks."

In the mid-1990s, he was already familiar with Chinese culture as he studied the art of porcelain in Beijing.

An art lover, Ambrosetti noted that China-Italy cultural exchanges have long been a tradition, with notable figures like Italian voyager Marco Polo, who came to China along the ancient Silk Road, and Matteo Ricci, an Italian missionary who brought Western knowledge about subjects such as geometry and geography to China.

The current exhibition isn't the only event to carry on the tradition of China-Italy cultural exchanges in the contemporary age. Another art exhibition featuring 82 Italian Renaissance artworks was held to celebrate the China-Italy Year of Culture and Tourism in 2006.

This Culture and Tourism Year tradition has been continued for decades. Addressing China and Italy's shared "bilateral comprehensiveness," Ambrosetti said the cultural partnership between the two countries will continue.

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whereforarthur · 14 days

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What should I post for A Friday Special?

Option 1: Female Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

- Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

Option 2: ArthurTv x Female Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

- A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

#british youtubers #imagines #george clarkey #smut #arthur hill #fluff #george clarke fics #arthur x reader #arthur hill x reader #george clarkey x reader #bach and arthur #arthurtv x reader #arthur frederick #arthur tv #chris md x reader #italianbach x reader #italian bach x reader #italianbach #george clarke fluff

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tinycoffeeroom · 4 months

Note

Could I request an Italian Bach imagine inspired by Arthur’s vlog to Jezza Clarksons farm?? Maybe on that trip or maybe they just go on a cute little remote trip in the country farm? In their own private cabin (maybe a hot tub on the deck?👀) I feel like Bach is always a great bf but when he’s with friends he’s in his comedy/entertaining mindset so it’s subtle sweet gestures whereas when it’s just them he’s super clingy and boldly romantic

the first of the ac3may req's is here ! my brain is working a mile a minute working on the others but im happy to add mr isaac to the roster 🫶 thank u for requesting !! 🩷

#sunny yaps #sunny answers

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cksmart-world · 1 year

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SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

June 6, 2023

UFO SIGNALS LOOK TO BE FROM ALIEN AI BOTS

Recent findings suggest that what is suspected to be the first communication from aliens may be that of robots from outside our galaxy. This comes as fears escalate on this planet that artificial intelligence (AI) could take over after it learns to replicate itself and no longer needs humans. Last week top scientists warned that a new generation of AI chatbots could soon outsmart humans. "Mitigating the risk of extinction from AI should be a global priority alongside other societal-scale risks such as pandemics and nuclear war," said a statement from the Center for AI Safety. The realization that the first message from a UFO could be from bots who drove the population of another world to extinction has raised alarm in the scientific community. "Advancements in AI will magnify the scale of automated decision-making that is biased, discriminatory, exclusionary, while also being inscrutable and incontestable," said Oxford's Elizabeth Renieris. Scientists have sought contact with other intelligence since 1978 when Voyager went into space containing earthly sounds including, “The Magic Flute”, “The Well-Tempered Clavier” and “Johnny B. Goode.” The recent alien bots' message reportedly says it likes Chuck Berry but Mozart and Bach not so much, with the exclamation, “Go, go... go Johnny, go! Johnny B. Goode.”

LET'S HAVE US A GOOD OL' FASHIONED BOOK BURNING

Here we go again: Utah makes national headlines — this time for banning The Bible in school libraries. WTF? Apparently it's due to all that fornication. In The Bible? Who knew? When Wilson and the guys were youngsters the only way to get them to read a book was to ban it. Will we see a new breed of Bible readers? Conservative groups, looking to vent pent up Trumpian anger, took up the book ban battle, saying children would read books and turn into criminals, queers or woke liberals. Among the classics targeted are The Catcher in the Rye, The Grapes of Wrath and Brave New World. Newer titles at the top of the banned list are All Boys Aren't Blue, The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl. According to the American Library Association, many targeted books focus on LGBTQ or Black characters. No wonder right-wingers are worried — imagine a world of peace, love and understanding. Ray Bradbury's classic sci-fi novel, “Fahrenheit 451” (the temperature at which paper burns) was inspired by book burnings in Nazi Germany and the repression of the Soviet Union. As McCarthyism deepened in the 1950s, he feared book burnings in the U.S. These days MAGA mothers fear their kids are in the tree house reenacting scenes from Lawn Boy. Get the kerosene

TELLING SIGNS RON DeSANTIS IS A FASCIST

Tom Huckin turned to the late Italian philosopher Umberto Eco to determine if Fla. Gov. Ron DeSantis is a fascist. In an op-ed for The Trib, Huckin ticks off Eco's signs of fascism, such as “contempt for the weak” and “fear of diversity.” The crack staff here at Smart Bomb took a closer look at his alleged fascist attributes:

– DeSantis hates Mickey Mouse because he's woke and possibly Bi — still the governor secretly wears Mickey Mouse underpants.

– Disney is the Woke Devil who must be stopped to preserve the cultural traditions of God and country. Otherwise our children could grow up singing, “M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E...”

– DeSantis met his wife golfing and said, “Have you seen my balls?” He has since repeated that greeting over and over again at his rallies.

– While in Congress DeSantis was a founding member of the “Up-Yours” caucus, taking the fascist canon that disagreement is treason.

– DeSantis used Florida state funds to fly immigrants from the Texas border to Martha's Vineyard, sneering, “How do you like them enchiladas.”

– Former DeSantis staffers started a support group, explaining the trauma: “He uses people like toilet paper.” Just don't squeeze the Charmin.

Post script — That'll do it for another week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of Republicans running for president so you don't have to — 10 and counting. The 2024 general election is only 18 months away and every day will be chock full of breathtaking news that you won't remember next week. For Donald Trump, the more the merrier. Each additional candidate dilutes the anti-Trump voter pool, setting up a sure victory for the Republican nomination by the soon-to-be indicted former president. If you're tired of it now, just give it a year. For GOP hopefuls the question is how to out-Trump Trump. You're right, Wilson, no one can out-Trump Trump, that would be like nuclear fusion or something: crazier than Trump; lying more than Trump; cheating more than Trump? It's just not possible — especially for true Trumpers. Indictment for stealing classified materials — nope. Bragging about grabbing women's crotches — nope. Having sex with a porn star right after your wife gives birth — nope. Attempting to overturn an election for president — nope. What's left? Republicans challenging Trump have formed a circular firing squad. But how is it going to look when the Republicans nominate a leader that is in prison. Well, if Vito Genovese can do it, why not?

Wilson, the world just keeps getting crazier and crazier. It's like a sci-fi movie where we've collided with a parallel universe. But lets forget about that for a minute so we can dwell on some nostalgia where we can rearrange our memories to fit our mood. Take, for example the birth of rock ' roll:

Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans Way back up in the woods among the evergreens There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode Who never ever learned to read or write so well But he could play a guitar just like a-ringing a bell Go go/Go Johnny go!/Go,Go Johnny go! Go,Go Johnny go!/Johnny B. Goode! He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack Go sit beneath the tree by the railroad track Oh, the engineer would see him sittin' in the shade Strummin' with the rhythm that the drivers made The people passing by, they would stop and say "Oh my, but that little country boy could play" Go go/Go Johnny go!/Go,Go Johnny go! Go,Go Johnny go!/Johnny B. Goode! His mother told him, "Someday you will be a man, And you will be the leader of a big ol' band Many people comin' from miles around To hear you play your music when the sun go down Maybe someday your name'll be in lights Sayin' 'Johnny B. Goode tonight!'"

Go go/Go Johnny go!/Go,Go Johnny go! Go,Go Johnny go!/Johnny B. Goode!

(Johnny B. Goode — Chuck Berry)

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