#music teacher

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in my high school, but it was more like college dorm and there was a murderer about and when the cop, who was also my old music teacher, caught him I called the killer cringe.

[foulwitchknight]

Steve is the school nurse and Eddie is the clumsy music teacher which means he frequently visits Steve. Every time Steve applies a bandaid to Eddie’s many scraps and bruises they like each other a little bit more. Eddie finally works up the courage to ask Steve out on the last day before Winter break. When they come back they are officially dating and Eddie finds that kissing it better is a whole lot more effective first aid.

[the-words-we-sung]

Simon + touch - [part 9: s2e3] [part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5] - [part 6] [part 7] - [part 8]

[ironwoman359]

i saw your tag about how in 500 years we WON'T be calling britney spears' "toxic" classical music, and i am willing and able to hear this rant if you so wish to expand upon it :3c

You know what, it's been over six months, so sure, why not, let's pick today to have this rant/lesson!

To establish my credentials for those unfamiliar Hi my name's Taylor I was a music teacher up until last year when the crushing realities of the American Education SystemTM led me to quit classroom work and become a library clerk instead. But said music teaching means that I have 4+ years of professional classical training in performance and education, and while I'm by no means a historian, I know my way around the history of (european) music.

So, now that you know that I'm not just some rando, but a musical rando, let me tell you why we won't be calling Britney Spears or [insert modern musician(s) that'd be especially humorous to today's audience to call classical] "classical music."

The simple answer is that "Old music =/= Classical music," which is usually the joke being made when you see this joke in the first place.

As funny as this joke can be when executed well (this is one of my favorite versions of said joke, especially since this is a future world where there's very little accurate surviving info about the culture from the 21st century), there is VERY little likely of this actually being how music from today is referred to in the future, because, again, music being OLD does not automatically make music CLASSICAL.

If you'd indulge me a moment, have a look at these three pieces from the early 1900s, which is now over 100 years ago. That's pretty old! You don't have to listen to the whole of all of them if you don't want to, but give each around 30 seconds or so of listening.

All three pieces are over 100 years old, but would you call "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" classical? Or "The Entertainer?" Most likely not. You'd probably call these songs "old timey" and you may even be savvy enough to call "The Entertainer" by it's actual genre name, ragtime. But if either of these songs came on the radio, you wouldn't really call them classical, would you? They're just old.

Whereas Mahler's Symphony No. 5, now that sounds like classical music to you, doesn't it? It's got trumpets, violins, a conductor, it's being played by a philharmonic! That's a classical musicy word!

The short answer of why we in the real, nonfictional world won't be calling Britney Spears's "Toxic" classical music in 100 years is it simply doesn't sound like classical music.

.....and the long answer is that Mahler's Symphony No. 5 isn't actually classical either.

See, music, just like everything in culture from dress to art to architecture changed with the times, and therefore 'classical music' is technically (although not colloquially) only one of about four to five musical periods/styles you're likely to hear on one of those "classical music tunes to study to" playlists.

Our dear friend Mahler up there was not a classical composer, he was a composer of the late romantic era.

So now, because I have you hostage in my post (just kidding please don't scroll away I had a lot of fun writing this but it took me nearly 3 hours) I'm going to show you the difference between Classical music and the other musical eras.

These are the movements we'll be dealing with, along with the general dates that define them (remembering of course that history is complicated and the Baroque Period didn't magically begin on January 1st, 1600, or end the moment Bach died) :

The Baroque Period (1600-1750)

The Classical Period (1750-1820)

The Romantic Period (1820-1910)

The Impressionist Movement (1890-1920)

You'll notice that as time goes on, the periods themselves grow shorter, and there starts to become some overlap in the late 19th to early 20th century. The world was moving faster, changing faster, and music and art began changing faster as well. Around the beginning of the 20th century music historians quit assigning One Major style to an entire era of history and just started studying those movements themselves, especially since around the 20th century we were getting much more experimentation and unique ideas being explored in the mainstream.

Even the end of the classical to the beginning of the romantic period can get kind of fuzzy, with Beethoven, arguably one of the most famous classical (and yes he was actually classical) composers in history toeing the line between classical and romantic in his later years. The final movement of his 9th symphony, known as Ode to Joy, far more resembles a romantic work than a classical one.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

To oversimplify somewhat, here are the main characteristics of said movements:

The Baroque Period (1600-1750)

Music was very technical and heavily ornamented. This coincided with a very "fancy" style of dress and decoration (the rococo style became popular towards the latter half of this period). The orchestras were far smaller than we are used to seeing in concert halls today, and many instruments we consider essential would not have been present, such as the french horn, a substantial percussion section, or even the piano*. Notable composers include Vivaldi (of the Four Seasons fame), Handel (of the Messiah fame) and Bach:

*the piano as we know it today, initially called the pianoforte due to its ability to play both softly (piano) and loudly (forte) in contrast to the harpsichord, which could only play at one dynamic level, was actually invented around 1700, but didn't initially gain popularity until much later. This Bach Concerto would have traditionally been played on a harpsichord rather than a piano, but the piano really does have such a far greater expressive ability that unless a group is going for Historical Accuracy, you'll usually see a piano used in performances of baroque work today.

The Classical Period (1750-1820)

In the classical period, music became more "ordered," not just metaphorically but literally. The music was carefully structured, phrases balanced evenly in a sort of call and response manner. Think of twinkle twinkle little star's extremely balanced phrasing, itself a tune that Mozart took and applied 12 classical variations to, cementing it in popularity. And speaking of twinkle twinkle, memorable melody became more important to the composition than ornamentation, and many of our most universally known melodies in the west come from this period. The orchestra also grew bigger, adding more players of all kinds as now we didn't have to worry about overpowering the single-volume harpsichord, and additional instruments like more brass and woodwinds were added. Notable composers include Haydn (of The Surprise Symphony fame) Beethoven (of, well, Fame), and Mozart:

Pay attention to the size of the orchestra here, then go back to the Bach concerto. Notice how in that very typical Baroque setting, the orchestra sits at maybe 20 people, and that here in a Classical setting, there's nearly two times that!

The Romantic Period (1820-1910)

In the romantic period, it was all about BIG FEELINGS, MAN. It was about the DRAMA. Orchestras got even bigger than before, the music focused less on balance and became more dramatic, and there was a big focus on emotions, individualism, and nationalism. Discerning listeners will notice a lot of similarities between romantic symphonies and modern film scores; John Williams in particular is very clearly influenced by this era, any time I'd play the famous Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner in a class, the kids would remark that it sounds like it should be in Star Wars. A lot of romantic composers were German, including Beethoven, if you want to call his later works romantic (which I and many others argue you can, again, compare Ode to Joy to one of his earlier works and you can hear and see the difference), but you also have the Hungarian Liszt (of the Hungarian Rhapsodies fame), the Russian Tchaikovsky (of the Nutcracker and 1812 Overture fame), and the Czech Dvořák:

See how this orchestra is even bigger still? Modern orchestras tend to vary in size depending on what pieces they are playing, but the standard is much closer to this large, romantic size, and it's far less typical to see a small, intimate Baroque setting unless specifically attending a Baroque focused concert. Also I know I embedded Dvořák because Symphony From a New World slaps but please also listen to Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No.2 it's one of my all time favorite pieces and NOT just because of the Tom and Jerry cartoon, alright? Alright.

The Impressionist Movement (1890-1920)

A bit after it began but definitely still during the romantic period, a counter movement began in France that turned away from the emotional excess of romanticism and focused less on standard chord progression and explored more unconventional scales. This music was less worried about how it 'should' sound and was more concerned with evoking a certain emotion or image, giving you an "impression" of an idea. Debussy is by far the most well known name in this movement, even though he personally hated the term 'impressionism,' lol.

Notice the way the periods build on each other naturally, literally, physically builds on the orchestras that came before, evolving in style and structure until you get to the late 19th and early 20th century when things were built up so big that a response to that excess started to develop, first in the impressionist movement, and then into 20th century music in general, which got much more experimental and, as we say, "weird." (frickin 12 tone scales, man)* *i do not actually dislike the sound of 12 tone, it's interesting and unique, but it is HELL to analyze in music theory, which is unfortunately when a lot of us classical musicians are first introduced to it, therefore tarnishing our relationship to the genre as we cannot separate it from our own undergrad anguish

Even if you're not a super active listener and you have a harder time discerning the difference between, say, late baroque and early classical, you cannot deny that the first piece I've linked by Bach and the last piece I've linked by Debussy sound completely different. They're both orchestral pieces (I intentionally chose all orchestral pieces as my examples here, getting into solo works, opera, and chamber ensembles would take too long), but other than that, they couldn't be more different.

Wait, so what are we talking about again?

Classical Music is first a period of music, a specific artistic movement with music typically written in Europe between 1750 and 1820 with a specific sound that is distinct from these other styles I've outlined here.

And Classical Music is second a genre. Because while academically and historically Baroque music is not classical, and Romantic music is not classical...colloquially it is. They sound similar enough that it makes sense to put them on the same playlists, the same radio stations, the same 'beats to study to' youtube compilation videos. While individuals may have favorites and preferences, it's not far fetched to say that if you like listening to one of these styles, you'll at least like one of the others.

But whether you're being broad and referring to our modern idea of the classical genre, or you're being pedantic like me and referring to a specific period of musical history (or modern compositions emulating that style, because yeah, modern compositions of all of theses styles do exist), I think we can all agree that, as much as it slaps, "Toxic" by Britney Spears is not classical music, and 500 years is unlikely to change our perspective of that.

A Traditional Ballad though?

Yeah, I can see us calling it that in 5 billion years.

(the full version of this scene is age restricted for some reason, but you can watch it here)

Anyway, thanks for reading y'all, have a good one!

[queerfanfiction]

Love Notes (Ch. 6)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader Thank you for being so supportive, even though it has been literal months since I have updated!! I will try to post a bit more regularly (but also who knows because depression is a bitch).

AO3 link

You decide to hop up and shower after Enid’s inadvertent pep talk, feeling more hopeful now than you have in days. After getting dressed and stocking the bathroom for recently arrived students, you head to Jericho. It’s time to finalize scavenger hunt plans. You don’t want to wait weeks and drag out the process through secret codes in your mixes.

Flowers were taken care of, thanks to your new acquaintance James. You had also created a few other clues but needed to access a few places, like the bookstore, in town to complete them. You try to push your latest trip with Larissa to Jericho from your mind as you begin jogging the wooded path from Nevermore grounds to the town square. The crisp spring air was welcomed, and hopefully you could use this time to clear your head. Besides, you didn’t want to check-out any vehicles to drive in case Larissa was nearby. Her quarters were right above the school’s scheduling office, and you weren’t ready to face her just yet.

Once you’re severely out of breath and think the pain in your side will topple you, you finally reach the outskirts of Jericho. Your pace slows, and you begin to map out a to-do list in your head. At the bookstore, you’ll need magazines and the clerk’s cooperation on the day of the scavenger hunt. At the flower shop, you’ll need to ensure James was able to secure lilies and might lend his labor in planting and arranging them. At the Weathervane, you will need to clue the new barista in on your plan. Since Tyler is now a guest of the state after everything went down a couple months ago, a new barista was hired. You two are friendly due to your aggressive kindness when they would accidentally make mistakes during training. You hated that people in town weren’t understanding of the realities of service work. Finally, you will need to visit city hall to ensure you don’t need a permit to occupy the public space around the fountain in the middle of the square.

As you check things off your list, you realize you still need a way to ensure Larissa makes it to the book store once in Jericho. You ponder this as you head back to Nevermore—this time at a reasonable pace. Once on the grounds, you cross through the courtyard to the dorms and see Enid giggling with Yoko. You smile softly at their carefree banter. It’s at this moment you have the idea to loop Enid into the scavenger hunt, especially since she had helped you put things into perspective when you were secluded away in your room. It’s also at this time that you know it would probably be a terrible idea to entrust Nevermore’s gossip queen with a secret regarding the school’s principal. Stumped at this conundrum, you trek up to your room to leaf through the magazines from the bookstore you bought.

You get to work creating the aspects needed to complete the scavenger hunt—a new mix CD, cut out letters, a fake newspaper crossword, and so on. After an hour or two, your energy and attention span begin to falter without food. Your eyes wander to the clock; with students back on the school’s campus, you could catch dinner before the cafeteria closes if you leave now. You toss on an oversized maroon cardigan and head downstairs.

As you wander, you wonder if Larissa will be tucked away in her office with dinner and wine like she usually is. You desperately missed the time you two would spend together. You also speculate about whether or not you two would stay friends if she rejected you. You think too highly of her to be sour if her heart does not feel the same magnetic tug that yours does.

—

The same morning as your talk with Enid, Larissa awoke in sweats. She normally regulated her body temperature well and wasn’t terribly affected by nightmares. She’d lived through enough monsters to not be effected by them in dreams. Recently, however, she had been agitated…fitful. She knew why, even though she tried to rationalize it away.

She didn’t have a lot of friendships, let alone close ones. Shapeshifters never do. That’s why she constantly worked so hard to change the perceptions of outcasts—both within and outside the community. Whatever she had with you, Larissa feared she had ruined it. At the beginning of her relationship with you, there was a feeling between you of treading carefully, of testing boundaries. When could you be silly or drop the professional façade? That hesitance quickly dissipated and was replaced with comfort and familiarity. Unfortunately, Larissa had learned to rely on it. She craved it. It balanced her. Letting others in didn’t come easily, yet it felt like you were meant to know her.

After giving it more thought, Larissa isn’t completely sure if seeing you flirt with someone made her lash out or if it was about being confronted with her own feelings for you. Regardless, the underlying fear came true—damaging her relationship with you.

Once her breathing steadied after waking, she peered around her room. Her living quarters used to feel so luxurious and private, something completely hers in a boarding school that constantly pulled her in so many directions. Now, though, all she can sense is emptiness in the space. Bitter echoes of joyous moments she had with you throughout the room lingered.

Not only did you vanish from her room and office, but she hadn’t visibly seen you since that day at the Weathervane. You were no where to be found these last couple weeks. Instead of regularly creating music in the orchestra room and popping into her office, the library, the conservatory, and student dorms, you had hidden away. She knows this, because she had asked around about you to various faculty (and even some students). Larissa’s schedule often took her throughout Nevermore, and she ached to catch a glimpse of you—check in on you in some way. It wasn’t until she stepped away from answering emails to drink tea on her balcony for a moment that she saw you. You were outside in the spring air, heading away from the school.

Larissa had never seen you in athletic clothing…mainly because you two had joked about running being a punishment, that it was often a mutually constituted performance by people who bought into traditional, often limited ideas of health. Of course, that’s not why seeing you stunned her.

Rather, her heart ached. She felt panicked, as if she should make a decision about what to do right then and there before you ran completely out of sight. With a deep, slow breath to hinder acting impulsively, Larissa began to consider her options. Is it better to swallow the hurt and try to salvage the friendship? Surely, only a friendship with you is better than being without you completely. Or would doing that and being close with no hope for a future together hurt worse? Could she handle seeing you with the florist all the time? Larissa sat her teacup down to rub her temples.

A distant knock at the door to her office pulled her away from her thoughts. She stepped inside and called for the visitor to enter. There was work to do, meetings to be held. Quickly and neatly compartmentalizing her thoughts and emotions, Larissa moved forward to greet the mayor.

—

You were in the orchestra room, arranging a new composition in preparation for the scavenger hunt. You couldn’t sleep now that you had decided on a course of action, so you decided to make use of the extra energy swirling in your stomach and radiating out through your arms and legs. Thankfully the dormitories were on the other side of Nevermore’s campus, meaning students could not overhear or be disturbed by your work. You don’t quite remember how you got across the grounds or what time you left your room. All you knew was that this was your time, your safe space.

All of the sudden you hear heels from down the corridor and know that it must be Larissa. Who else would it be? Sure enough, Larissa comes in. No hesitation in her approach. Your stomach flips, and you’re surprised she seems so confident and determined. No silk pajamas; she’s still in a work outfit. You can’t remember if you’ve seen it before. Her sense of purpose impelled you to lean the cello in your arms to it’s stand instead.

Her lips are on yours before logic can catch up with you, her hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy and sacred. You let out a surprised “mmph” but return the kiss eagerly, wrapping your arms around Larissa and inviting her closer. When your lips part ever so slightly, she deepens the kiss without delay. Her hands drift downward from your face to your neck to your arms to your outer thighs. You feel as if your heart is going to beat so quickly and become so enlarged that it will begin to break through your ribcage. Still, you wouldn’t stop this long-awaited union for anything.

Larissa’s swift hands had begun to pull you up into her arms, urging you to wrap your legs around her torso. You couldn’t bother with whether or not the cello was okay. After feeling her warmth against you, knowing she could feel the heat radiating from you too, both of your movements turned frantic. Your breath mimicked the raggedness it had from your run the other day.

“I want you. I want you. I need you.” Breathy declarations from Larissa ring out and ring throughout the room. In response, you bring her hand from the small of your back to your front, just under the edge of your shirt. The encouragement makes the taller woman whimper in between fervent kisses.

Suddenly, a deafening, reverberating crash sounds out.

Heart racing, sweaty, you jolt awake in your office chair in the orchestra room. Looking around anxiously, you see the cello you were playing on the ground, still vibrating. You must have was accidentally kicked it over in your sleep. The reddest blush plasters itself onto your cheeks. You were no stranger to dreaming of Larissa, but this is the first suggestive dream since she left you in the Weathervane. You didn’t even know someone could feel this embarrassed with no one else present. You’re alone and unsure of what time it is or what time you fell asleep after traipsing across campus. Only the quiet singing of birds outside indicated it was early morning. You normally frowned upon clocks in the classroom, but maybe you’ll rethink that now.

You look to the sheet music stand near you and find your phone. It’s dead. With a deep sigh, you gather your items and make your way to your living quarters. You need to confirm what time it is and change your clothes. Today is the day that you’re putting your scavenger hunt into motion.

—

Outside of Larissa’s office is a corkboard for Nevermore news, flyers, events, and so on that she checks daily. You post the anonymous note that serves as your first clue and fade into the stone wall behind you just as her office doors open and she steps out.

Larissa moved towards the board, not suspecting any terribly special memos pinned on a Saturday morning. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the pasted together instructions. Larissa knew the mismatched lettering had to belong to whoever was gifting her the elaborate playlists. It was finally time to uncover the truth that she so desperately desired. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone was watching or leaving the area. …No one.

The patchwork note from cut-out magazine letters read, “Alas, it’s time to confess who I am. Come and find me if you can. I can skip but can’t walk. I’d rather sing than talk.”

A wild goose chase? Larissa considered. Truly, what can come of this? Just another CD with no confirmation of who this is? Even with her skepticism, Larissa was intrigued. She enjoyed conquering puzzles. There was something so satisfying about hunting down information and excavating the truth. With everything going on with you, Larissa welcomed a distraction, especially from someone who she considered herself to have a certain bond or connection with.

Snatching the clue from the board, Larissa retreated back to her office, abandoning her morning plans to roam among the grounds. I can skip but can’t walk…sing rather than talk…hm… Larissa mulled over the riddle. After a few moments, she can’t believe it took her this long to realize: CDs. Of course, it’s telling her to go back to the CDs. It’s where this all started. She walked over to her media player where one was already in place and started from track 1. Larissa felt as if she had committed the sounds and occasional lyrics to memory. How is there a clue here?

Pacing in front of her lit fireplace, Larissa fumbled haphazardly with the CD case in her hands as she listened with new intent. On the third turn around, her hand accidentally brushed off a sticky note that was placed on the back cover. “Wha-” she began while bending over to pick up the small piece of paper on the floor.

“Finish” she saw written on it. Finish what? A bit frustrated that she can’t make sense of the notation, she went to her desk to examine the other gifts. Sure enough, there were post-its on the backs of them as well. When read all together, they directed her to finish the newspaper crossword. Okay, so whoever this was definitely knew her routine. That’s not exactly breaking news, though. Larissa stepped out onto her balcony where she laid the newspaper next to her finished cup of tea. Flipping through to the crossword section, she saw a custom crossword tucked into the paper. In all honesty, she admired the dedication and thought that went into these clues.

Once she completed the crossword, it very obviously did not read out her admirer’s name like she had hoped. Rather, the answers prompted her to go to Jericho. Larissa pursed her lips, attempting to win against a budding smile as she shook her head. This is ridiculous. The final part of this clue spelling out Jericho also mentioned finding an outcast and a normie laughing together. Larissa didn’t know if she hated or loved that prospect, seeing as many Nevermore students had passes to Jericho this weekend. How many will be hanging out with a local, though? she asked herself while grabbing her overcoat and heading out the door.

—

“Alright, and what’s the plan?” you quizzed Enid on the ride over to Jericho.

In the passenger seat sat a wiggly werewolf who bounced her legs with excitement. In a singsong voice, she responded,“Hey now, give me some credit. I’m the one who suggested Lucas and I could give Principal Weems the next clue!”

“What if she asks who is orchestrating the scavenger hunt? How do I know you won’t crack under her prodding?” You narrow your eyes at her briefly before returning them to the road. You try to keep the tone light while still voicing your concerns.

With a small scoff, Enid confidently replies, “Please, one time Thing accidentally spilled nail polish on Wednesday’s typewriter, and I was an iron trap. If I can handle Wednesday Addams, I think I can handle Weems.” She ends the statement with her arms crossed, seemingly very proud of herself. To be fair, that was impressive. “Besides, I’m on the side of true love. This idea is so romantic!” Oh my god was all you could think to yourself at that statement. Once parked, you and Enid walk into the center of the square to wait for the normie component of this clue.

“What are we doing here again?” Lucas, the mayor’s son, questioned once he was in front of Enid. She sheepishly glanced at you and back to Lucas and then swiftly elbowed him in the side. It was kind of cute how seriously she was taking this.

You’ve done all you can do, so all you can do now is hope for the best. You put your hand on Enid’s shoulder and reassure her, “If you need anything, just give me a signal and excuse yourself. I’ll be watching from the Weathervane.” Well, mainly you’re reassuring yourself.

—

Once in Jericho, Larissa felt it an insurmountable task to search every store and outdoor area for the right outcast and normie. It didn’t help that she automatically parked in her usual spot, which happened to be by the flower shop. Getting out of her car, Larissa saw that very florist outside, pruning and watering plants. He noticed her and waved. She could feel a scowl on her lips, so she looked away, pretending to not have seen his friendly gesture. At least that’s one person that the admirer couldn’t be…

Having walked past the flower shop, Larissa cups her hands over her eyes to look inside Uriah’s Heap. She can’t imagine a normie having fun in the morbid antique shop, but she’s nothing if not thorough. After being satisfied that Uriah’s Heap did not contain her next clue, Larissa turned around to consider where to search next.

Before she can decide to go into another store, she sees Enid. Actually, she sees multiple Nevermore students. It’s a beautiful day, and many students want to make the most of their time before classes officially begin. Curiously, though, all of the other students are with Nevermore peers, and here is Enid with the mayor’s son. Larissa wouldn’t have pegged them to be friends.

Attempting to take control of the situation, Larissa came straight up to them. “Enid? Young Mr. Walker?”

“Principal Weems! Wow. Hi!”

For a brief moment, Larissa considered if running into them was a red herring. There was always a possibility that at a boarding school, the person sending her gifts and love notes could be a student with a harmless crush. Could Enid be the admirer? Larissa had always considered Enid to be like a daughter or menteé. She had felt protective of her, especially when Enid’s own mother made some questionable choices at the last parents’ weekend. Larissa pushed the thought to the furthest recesses of her mind; the person from those letters had a connection with her that no one else compared to. Well, almost no one else.

“What are you-” Larissa began but was cut off by Enid’s excited voice. “You should try to find the building with the most stories!”

“I assume this is the next clue?” Larissa stood in the familiar pose she often used to command attention. Combined with her height and immaculate dress, it simply wasn’t hard. “Enid, I’m terribly busy with finalizing spring semester contracts, schedules, and arrangements. I need to know who has enlisted your help. I know you know more than you are letting on.”

In an effort to be defiant, Enid asked, “What do you mean, Principal Weems? What help?” Her face gave her away, though. Her lips were pressed together firmly, as if she was attempting to hold back a grin.

Larissa considered escalating, but before she could, the young girl interrupted again with a determined look, “Remember, find the building with the most stories.” With that, she grabbed Lucas’s wrist and skipped off, pulling him behind her. All Larissa heard was next was a distant, “Byeeeeee, Principal Weems!”

Larissa is a bit surprised Enid could hold out, but the young werewolf’s evasiveness helped in that regard. Sitting underneath her gaze made Enid uncomfortable. Larissa remembers a time when she pressed the girl on Wednesday’s whereabouts the night Crackstone’s crypt flooded and the water was dyed red. Enid promptly confessed after Larissa put on a semi-firm voice and a stern look of disappointment.

Back to this never ending task of uncovering the identity of her secret admirer, Larissa thought. Bars have quite a lot of stories… The only bar in Jericho is the Rabbit’s Foot Tavern, and the only tales it holds are repetitive small town musings and desires to leave the town behind.

Though it seems like a long shot, it’s her only lead. As Larissa headed in the direction of the bar, she began to pass the bookstore. She only made it two more feet before she stopped in her tracks. There are thousands of stories there!

Feeling pleased with herself, she steps inside only to be met with a tired clerk that is paid too little to care about town shenanigans. The worker behind the counter gives Larissa a sticky note with specific numbers from the Dewey Decimal System. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. Larissa blinks slowly and gestures appreciatively before she heads to the 700s, somewhere in Arts & Recreation.

The “book” that she finds at the detailed location is actually a mix CD on the shelf disguised as a musicology textbook. Torn between feeling excited to have a new playlist and determined the find the next clue, Larissa pushes herself to continue and try to examine the cover, rather than only appreciating it. The track listing is unlike the previous CDs, so she begins to break down what she assumes is a code. Finally, Larissa cracks it: “Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.”

—

Once you watch Larissa disappear inside the bookstore, you leap into action. Hopefully you’ll have enough time to sit out all the lilies before she figures out the next clue. Thankfully, Enid offers to help (and makes Lucas assist). Even James briskly walks over with an armful of lilies. You appreciate the kind gestures and make a mental note to send everyone thank you after this is all over. You’re not sure how long it takes, but your calves and lower back ache from the manual labor. You all successfully sit out hundreds of lilies planted in recycled Weathervane cups. Thank goodness the new barista, Emily, was on board to save as many used paper cups as she could throughout her shifts over the week.

When Larissa makes her way to the town square fountain from the bookstore, you are safely back inside the Weathervane, becoming more and more anxious as you realize she is so close to finding out you’re completely smitten with her and have been keeping it from her. However, she stands at the fountain, unmoving, for much longer than anticipated.

Larissa did not expect this—the humble lily of the valley, her favorite flower. She had never been gifted them. When she was younger and pining after Morticia, Larissa remembered getting the other woman an entire slew of flowers. Dark, moody flowers. Orchids. Carnivorous plants. Anything she thought Morticia would like. In return, when Morticia asked about Larissa’s favorite flower, she ended up giving her lilies. Larissa thought lilies were beautiful, but she had always adored lily of the valley. It hurt that Morticia did not care enough to get her the correct flowers, because it symbolized so much more when it came to their relationship.

The lily of the valley is always overlooked, considered modest and unimposing. Of all people Larissa thought Morticia would appreciate that every single aspect of the flower is poisonous. Now Larissa is at a loss for who arranged this scavenger hunt, because she hasn’t told a soul about what this flower means to her in years. Before she can intervene, tears begin to fall from Larissa’s eyes, staining her face. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, surrounded by hundreds of lily of the valley, Larissa takes a few minutes to appreciate the flowers, almost as if she is mending her relationship to them.

After awhile, Larissa stands, smooths out the creases in the front of her clothes and takes a deep, filling breath in. As she can infer from the cups, the next stop is the Weathervane.

At the Weathervane, Larissa takes notice that it is unusually empty for a Saturday. She strolls around the counter and then the seating areas, examining the area for any clues. Her eyes glance quite a bit to the booth she normally shares with you. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary except for the much smaller amount of people she would expect.

When Larissa internally questions if this is the wrong destination, the barista calls out “Larissa” and sits a mug in the “pick-up” area before going back to make the rest of the drinks in the queue. Scrawled on the cup are the words “sit where you are most comfortable.” That doesn’t seem like much of a clue, she surmises incredulously.

The task at hand proves to be more difficult than expected. Larissa looks to her regular booth, the one you two often shared. Is that where I am most comfortable? She wants to face the door, to surveil the inside of the café for any changes. However, she normally lets you sit in that direction; Larissa liked to have her focus on you instead of the bustling environment. Longing for that familiarity wins out, and Larissa takes a seat facing the back of the Weathervane.

No more clues. You knew that was the last one. Once Larissa sits in her usual spot, you phase through the back wall near the bulletin board. Astonished, the taller woman steps up and out of the seat with a slight gasp.

Before preparing to explain the past several months and your previously concealed ability, you proclaim, in what you hope is the most impressive way possible, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but you owe me a hot chocolate date.”

You slide into the booth opposite to Larissa, waiting for her to sit back down.

—

Tagging: @lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @aster-loves-gwen, @justcallmelittleone, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @lvinhs, @one-pining-queer, @kimiinou, @bobia13, @gwendolinechristieiscute, @kay-liah-scope, @readingtheentrails, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @weemssapphic, @ctrlamira, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @winterfireblond, @gwendolinechristiesnumberonegirl. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged or have your tag taken off future posts. :)

[unforgivenemo]

Started a new job last week 🖤 it feels weird going out and meeting people after staying home for 2 years

[ask-player-baldi]

YIPPEE NEW TEACHER‼️🤯😆😆

[rhymeswithfart]

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This campaign is vetted! (Link)

I'm so sorry I took so long to reply. I'll add pictures for tags:

[infatuatedlilbitch]

I'd feel in trouble everywhere I went as a kid but never at my piano teacher's house at piano lessons

[thatnerdyqueer]

can we get some more love for teachers please. Because we don't talk enough about how much they change your fucking life.

I could talk for hours about the things my music or drama teachers have said to me, things that have fundamentally changed the way I view myself for the better

Sure, the passion I have for performing and creating is mine, but I swear it would have died if they didn't make sure it lived on

[justmusicianquotes]

One of my guitar students very loudly and confidently read out Debussy's name on the sheet music as "D-bus-ee". I was so confused at what they were talking about and then started choking when I realized what was going on.

[dumbshitmusicianssay]

Hullo musician friends!! Id love some insight! I’m writing up some “tips and tricks” sheets for some of my tutoring students and the current one I’m working on is for sight-reading. 

Other than just practicing sight-reading I’ve tried explaining that what helps me is thinking about an order of importance when you are handed a piece of music and told “play now” because my brain tends to overcomplicate things. For example I make sure to check the key/time signature and the end (D.S/D.C/tag/rit/etc) then my order of importance (TO ME) is the rhythm, the actual notes (minus accidentals (again this is just me but I have to simplify my brain down to “just read the dots” sometimes)), expression marks, dynamics, then everything else if I can think of it. 

BUT I don’t wanna be sharing this with students if it’s a skewed idea of what the majority would rank. 

I know I wanna keep rhythm first because I think it shows a lot of promise if you can hit the rhythms on a first play through. But if anyone has any insight into how you would order the importance of other performance aspects while sight reading (eg. pitch, dynamics, expression marks(articulation/ornamentation/etc), musicality, phrasing, even breath support or tone and shit). Im a brass player but if any non mouth instrument players have rankings like bowing or use of the pedal that would be good to know too. Thanks lads!

[weemsgay]

Love Notes (Ch. 3)

Another playlist included for these lovestruck dummies. Also, @coffeemelko had a great idea to have Larissa know the hospital staff had been calling Reader her partner, hehe. Thank you for letting me write that in! :)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader

AO3 link

Spotify link

Getting Larissa inside and settled proved a harder task than it would seem. She kept demanding to stop and confirm everything was in order after being away from the academy to recover. She tried to inspect the grounds and interrupt the groundskeeper. She was stopped by several students who she confirmed were okay and didn’t need anything. Larissa even attempted to gather faculty for a meeting.

Oh, you felt like a tired mom who's toddler kept grabbing at all manner of items in the store only for you to sit it back down and try again. Once in her office, she continued the behavior, striving to call the mayor. Finally, having enough of this, you say agitatedly, “Shhh, Larissa. Enough. Just let me take care of you.”

Larissa seems to take the hint and quiets down considerably.

“How about I start to get you settled in the bedroom while you peruse your email. Only peruse, okay? And just until I’m finished.”

Walking into Larissa’s bedroom to turn down her sheets and prepare the space, your thoughts wander to the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. With the abundance of time spent with Larissa over the weeks, you began to pick up on the various genres that she likes—from 80’s power ballads to modern classical arrangements of pop songs to elegant classical music.

What started out as an effort to fill Larissa’s day with music while she recovered turned into a desperate attempt to disclose your feelings for the woman. The next mix CD you already started to create began to expose how much you cherished the principal-turned-friend. Though…the idea of only friendship was the furthest thing from your mind. You considered the assortment of music you had planned for Larissa’s next surprise. Desire. Affection. Appreciation. Yearning. These emotions undoubtedly flickered throughout the collection, tying each song together. If only you could pick up the courage to sign your name to these love notes.

Is it too late? you ponder warily.

Stepping back into the office, you hear Larissa typing frantically. With a sigh, you march over to where you left her at her desk. You reach out to slowly close her laptop until both of your eyes lock. “Hello,” You utter softly. “Ready?”

Larissa couldn’t help but feel secure and thankful for someone to be taking care of her for a change. Normally, she would resent the charity or pity, but from you, it didn’t read as those things. She can’t even be frustrated to be pulled away from her laptop. Instead, she replied definitively, “Ready.”

—

You and Larissa gather on the bed with wine after you tuck her in (quite literally). You can’t remember the last time you slipped blankets around someone’s feet and sides to make them feel snug. She just seemed so carefree for a moment at the action, wiggling her feet back and forth once she was bundled. You couldn’t help but feel a wave of adoration for the woman, as well as gratitude to be one of the select few who has seen her guard down.

“Oh gods, how I have missed red wine,” moaned the silver-haired blonde, downing a glass before you were even able to get one yourself and accompany her in the bed. “Excuse you,” you gasped. “Save some for the rest of us!”

“You didn’t have to give up wine,” she emphasized, teasing you. Regardless, you refill her glass and decide to bring the bottle bedside instead.

“And you are lucky that I’m letting you drink at all your first night out of the hospital.”

Larissa feigned astonishment with wide eyes. Revealing some of her typical poise and filter weakening, she returns, “You’re not in charge of me, you know.” With a gentle roll of your eyes, you mutter a bit under your breath, “Tell that to the staff.”

Perplexed, as if she is trying to catch up, Larissa questions, “What was that?” She turns her body to face you—to try to focus her eyes on your expression.

You giggle and steady her hand that almost spills some of her wine on the pristine duvet below.

“Oh, nothing.” Larissa feels a bubbling desire to press you for more information. However, she is suddenly struck by how heavy her arms and body are. How comfy the sheets feel. How warm her cheeks are. How can someone’s tolerance plummet this quickly after not drinking? she wonders as her head spins.

When Larissa lays flat on her back to still her spinning head, you roll onto your side towards her and tenderly stroke her forehead and hairline to provide her some comfort. The soothing motion feels right…feels natural. Her shoulders relax a bit and her breathing begins to even out. You wonder if she has already fallen asleep.

A few minutes pass. Eventually, you hear a soft proclamation, “I didn’t correct them.” The sleepy voice continues, “It felt nice, and I thought it was you.”

Your mind races. Does she mean she didn’t correct the staff? Does this mean she knew the doctors and nurses thought you were her partner? That the idea of you being her partner felt nice? Or just having someone there for her at all felt nice? What does she mean that she thought it was me? The mix CD? It had to be that… After another moment, with a nervous and fluttering heart, you question, “How would you feel if it was me?”

To that, you receive silence. No response, only steady breathing. Asleep, it seems.

You continue petting Larissa’s head, not wanting to rescind your touch. Her skin was warm from the wine and soft under your caress. You two didn’t discuss sleeping over, and you’re nervous to overstep or make her feel uncomfortable. Maybe you could get away with a few hours of blissful sleep next to the other woman?

You wake slightly at Larissa’s shifting body flinging an arm over your waist and pulling you close. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if you can get back to sleep. You lie in Larissa’s bed syncing your breaths to hers and trying to commit the feeling of her body next to you to memory.

Once the morning light started to trickle in through a crack in Larissa’s green velvet curtains, you decided it was time to untangle yourself from her and take your leave. You quietly grabbed a few of your things and exited the principal’s living quarters and office, heading toward the faculty showers. Hot water against your skin might ease the ache you felt from Larissa’s absence.

—

You attempt to sleep but can’t, so you make some buttered toast to munch on while you work in the orchestra room, knowing no students will be up to bother you. Last night strengthened so many of the feelings you knew you had for Larissa. What if that’s the first and last time I share her bed? The intrusive thoughts threaten your sanity, and you attempt to replace them with selecting songs for her next mix CD.

After an hour of immersing yourself in how to convey your emotions perfectly, you feel sleepiness begin to take you. Satisfied, you drag your feet to your own bed and plop down to rest.

Many hours later, you are jolted awake by an excited knock at your door. You glance at your clock to see that it’s noon. Confused, you stand up and put your father’s old robe on. It’s always been a comfort item for you—the way it was slightly oversized and could be wrapped around you tightly. You make your way to the door.

“Enid? What’s wrong?” You implore with concern as you swing open the door and are met with eager eyes and a slight bouncing up and down. You glimpse behind her to see Wednesday standing idly by, exuding mostly nonchalance but with an edge of analysis.

“Nothing is wrong. Sorry. It’s just that Principal Weems wants to see you in her office. Isn’t it great she’s back? I can’t believe Ms. Thornhill turned out to not be Ms. Thornhill and that she poison-“ you begin to interrupt the sweet, rambling young werewolf. “Thank you, sweetie, for letting me know. If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed.” Understanding, even though she wants nothing more than to keep talking and ask about the time you and Principal Weems have been spending together, Enid steps back. “Okay, see ya!” Enid assures, turning around to slip her arm around Wednesday’s to attempt to skip off. You stare after the unlikely couple for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and closing the door.

You drag your feet getting ready; you’re not sure why you are so nervous to see Larissa. Okay, yes, you do. You can’t help but think, What if she is upset with me?

You push the thoughts from your head and travel downstairs. Standing outside her office, you take a breath to prepare and knock.

“Come in!”

You receive a rather large smile from Larissa as you enter her office. To your dismay, she is in her work chair behind the desk. Are you seriously trying to do work right now? You mull over voicing your thoughts. She interrupts, “Where did you go?” Almost all anxiety around overstepping last night had left your body as you saw Larissa choosing to not rest.

“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up at your desk?”

“As usual Wednesday’s assimilation is once again rocky. I just got off the phone with the temporary replacement therapist in Jericho. I need to repost the job advertisement…” Guilt overwhelms you. Rather than trying to scold her, you should be understanding. You move to stand by her and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.

You hear her out and strategize a plan forward. After posting on a few education and counseling job boards, you stand and stretch—letting out a bigger yawn than anticipated. “Is that all?” you ask sympathetically.

“Oh, I didn’t want to see you for this. I wanted to apologize for falling asleep on you.” You blush a bit, disclosing, “No, no, not a problem. A cuddle was nice.”

It was the blonde’s turn to react puzzled. “Cuddle? I rather meant falling asleep early. Did we cuddle?” Larissa seemed to tease and had a lilt to her voice.

Mortified, you backtrack and stutter, “I-I’m not sure. Y-your comforter was heavenly, though. You’re lucky I don’t steal it as compensation for taking care of you.” A deep, throaty laugh sounds from Larissa. You two banter a bit before you retreat to her restroom attached to her living quarters.

Okay, so using the restroom was a ruse for slipping out and delivering her new mix and letter. This time you included a poem special to your heart.

You quickly lock the door and phase into the adjoining classroom on the other side of the wall. Making sure no one is watching, you slip out of the room towards the principal’s office door. Your knuckles rapt against the door three times before you slid the gift underneath and to the other side. You begin to hear heels coming closer in determination.

The door opens quickly, Larissa’s torso peering out, inspecting the hallways to find no one. You had immediately disappeared into the wall to return to the bathroom before Larissa could suspect you were missing. Her mind reviewed the many possibilities, It’s almost impossible to vanish that quickly with no trace. Vampires could not transfigure into bat form that abruptly. No ghosts were enrolled or employed. Powers of invisibility were rare and difficult to control… She turns, closes the door, and heads into the bedroom.

Coming out of the bathroom, you hear Larissa, “Look what I found.” “Oh, shit. Another mix CD? Who is it?”

The taller woman sits on the bed, perplexed. “I confess I don’t know.” Larissa’s disappointment shines through, only you don’t notice that it is due to your alibi and not the impending mystery.

—

After you make Larissa promise to stop working on emails and paperwork for the rest of the day, you depart for your own room.

As soon as you are out the door, Larissa is rummaging through files on everyone associated with Nevermore. All faculty, staff, and students self-disclosed their outcast status and abilities annually. Things are bound to develop and change as powers evolve, but there is no mention of any power that could reasonably explain the mix CD’s presence in the absence of its creator or deliverer.

Her hands wander over your file. You were an obvious choice for the open music position when Mr. Altone, your predecessor, retired. Your ability to manipulate sound and generate music was unparalleled, and you could even compose according to specific emotions or mental states. Before you applied to Nevermore, you were a successful composer and closeted outcast, somewhat of a musical theater sensation. Nothing listed here that would explain the delivery of the CD, but plenty to incriminate you in its very creation.

Resigned for the night after another hour of scouring the internet and her book collection for an explanation, Larissa decided to put on the new playlist. She had almost melted the first one from playing it on repeat until her CD player was hot to the touch.

Larissa pulled a chair towards her magnificent fireplace and waited for the music to envelope her. A sweet melody begins to play, and she is transported into a warm, dream-like state. Behind her eyelids, swirls of purples, blues, pinks, and reds dance and convey the emotions behind the carefully curated songs. Her heart swells. Larissa still has doubts about who is behind the mix CDs, but when the music fills her up, she imagines you. She hopes for you.

@lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @asterlovesgwen. Let me know if any of you don't want tagged anymore! :)

[bcbdrums]

Fave character from an oldy show / fave line from Soul Eater / how would u handle it if u were the Tweebs' music teacher?

i see you.... heheh thank you for the ask.

How does one choose...between their children... No seriously this is hard. Top choices I'm stuck between are Adam Cartwright from Bonanza, Al Calavicci from Quantum Leap, H.M. Murdock from The A-Team, or Spock from Star Trek. I love them ALL for very different reasons, but they all have things in common. Dark and angsty characters with difficult lives (in different ways) who struggle to overcome things and never quite achieve their peace... And...while the character I've spent the most time on is probably Spock, I think ultimately I have to go with Adam. I suppose I relate the most closely to him, because his struggle is so human and relatable to many. A good upbringing not without challenge, a steady adulthood offered to him...but he simply is never satisfied. And we never get an ending for him in canon! So he appeals to me and my creative side, both as an exploration of himself and as a way to process through some things of my own. Al, Murdock, and Spock all a semblance of peace in the end or at least we're told they get it (some more than others/in unique ways) but Adam just...vanishes, and we never truly know. So I guess he'd be the fave pick. (But how can one choose a favorite child, heheh.)

I chose from the anime because I need to re-read the manga (even tho I do have a favorite manga moment). And I must give must preamble to this... So you know how from Death the Kid's very first introduction he's falling on the ground and having fits about possibly having done something wrong, leaving something asymmetrical (which...symmetry for him is symbolic of the balance between good and evil, which he as a Reaper must uphold), and in these fits he has he calls himself worthless garbage and he's basically given up in all of these situations and his weapons have to talk him out of it and it takes a lot of effort? And these moments are always played comedically right up until one moment... His final moment of development in the anime, right before facing down against Asura... After first he thinks he can't help, then Lord Death is defeated, and so he resolves to protect the world. He has one more of these self-deprecating rants, but...this time it's spoken to this dad, who he thinks could be dead. This time it's not calling himself worthless for a lack of symmetry, but not worthy to be his father's son... You really feel the weight of everything he's been going through up to this moment. BUT...this time... Instead of declaring himself worthless and that's the end of it, Kid says, "Maybe I don't have what it takes to do this... But... I can try!" That's my favorite line from Soul Eater.

I'm thinking of them at their age in the beginning, as ten year olds. So first of all they'd be percussionists in the 5th grade band cuz they'd get to do a variety of things. Since that wouldn't be enough, I'd give them extra (optional of course) challenges to learn some solo pieces for percussion. And knowing they'd wanna take everything apart and make new things, I'd also hang around with them after school to show them instrument maintenance on all types, explain how all the things work. And if I had some instruments broken beyond repair (we often do and keep them for spare parts) I'd let them play with those in whatever way pleased them. Lol they'd likely make their own frankenstein'd instrument... Or do chemical experiments on the brass since there's some toxicity risks.... Yeah. And that's just band (but I'm tired now so that's what you get lol). Meanwhile, I'm operating on the assumption that they are good, well-behaved kids at school unless they're either bored out of their minds or the teacher is lousy.

[classicalsqueak]

Hello! I made this little zine called Music Theory: A Small Guide of Reminders.

These are shorthand notes, charts, and drawings that I used when I was studying music theory that I now teach my students, approached from the pianist’s perspective. From beginner to advanced, all compact to fit in a pocket or pencil case.

It is one page of notes in the front, with optional second side that includes manuscript paper and an extra keyboard.

This video includes a flip through, instructions on how to fold the guide, and explanations for all the notes: https://youtu.be/mUSc3k4z9qM

Links to download are in the description of the video :)

- For more videos: YouTube (classicalsqueak) / Video Index

For sheet music: Ko-fi (classicalsqueak) or SMP* (published by Ylan Chu)

[queerfanfiction]

Love Notes (Ch. 5)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader We have an angsty chapter here, oops. Also, thank you all for being patient as I got back to writing! It took getting pneumonia to unblock writer's block somehow? Idk. Make it make sense.

AO3 link

In between moments not with Larissa, you worked on orchestrating the big reveal and scavenger hunt. There were a lot of moving parts to your plan, and it would take some secrecy to enact, because you were pretty sure you’d have to involve other people. The question remained of who you could trust to involve…

Eventually you and Larissa go into Jericho together. It felt like the most normal outing, the two of you laughing about something in the car ride over and planning how to continue your adventures and treats into the new semester. Spending time with Larissa came so naturally. Sure, you still felt killer butterflies when she stole a glance at you, but it felt right. That’s the only way you knew how to describe it.

While she briefly meets with the mayor and does a follow up interview with a new affiliate therapist for Nevermore, you planned to check out the florist shop for her favorite flowers. Even though you’re a few weeks out from your ideal time to unveil the mystery, you’re not sure if securing lilies would be possible so early in the spring.

Through the windows of the town hall, Larissa sees you chatting outside with the local florist. A man with an apron on and the kind of scruffy looking beard that seemed like it was naturally charming but actually took work to achieve. Larissa knew almost everyone in Jericho personally by now, but all she had known about him is that many of the women around town fancied him.

At that moment, you had casually touched his arm, like he was an old friend. What was that? she mused, oblivious that the therapist in front of her had finished answering her question. Her mind wandered to whether or not you fancied him.

“Larissa?” The voice brought you out of your pondering.

“Apologies! I was simply considering how wonderful it will be for students to be able to confide in someone again, especially after the year they’ve had.” Larissa’s scrambling to save her indiscretion was believable, so believable that her conversation partner smiled wide and thanked her for her consideration and support in their employment.

Placated and wrapping up the meeting, Larissa resumed pilling through her memories to discern if you had ever mentioned the florist before. She was certain you hadn’t. An ache began to creep into her heart when she considered, Is this why you pushed to come to Jericho?

After finishing her conversation with the mayor, Larissa waits in the foyer of the town hall to watch your interaction with the man before heading to the Weathervane. Larissa began to get lost in thought again, Why do I care? I’m not involved. In fact, you owed me nothing. You’re not mine. I mean, no one has a claim over anyone. That notion is an archaic and patriarchal way of thinking—one that doesn’t value consent and agency. Larissa sighed and pushed open the heavy wooden door to leave.

Not knowing Larissa had been watching you, you chatted with James, the florist you had just met. While you didn’t offer the identity of the person, you let him in on your entire plan and hopes for the flowers in the scavenger hunt.

At first you thought he would be more rugged and standoffish, but his eyes lit up at the mention of using his flowers in a surprise. He promised he would have as many lilies available that I needed and that he could help arrange anything else for the reveal.

“A hopeless romantic, huh?” you gleamed at him, not knowing how to explain what his kindness and support meant to you. James blushed a bit and peered at you between strands of hair falling in his eyes. He finally confessed, “I suppose so” accompanied by a massive grin.

It felt nice to be able to plan with someone. You’ve been holding your feelings close to your chest around others; you weren’t sure if Larissa felt similarly or if she would be guarded against public acknowledgement being the head of the academy. Overwhelmed with gratitude, you risked holding out your arms for a hug while muttering a quick “thank you” that was warmly received. 

You meet Larissa in the Weathervane about 15 minutes later after getting James’s number to coordinate for later. You practically skip in and kiss her on the cheek, having been so excited to have set a plan in motion for the scavenger hunt.

“Hello!” Peck. “How was the interview?”

“Productive,” Larissa gives in a slightly standoffish tone. You wonder if she is angry you kept her waiting. She had just finished ordering when you came in from the flower shop, possibly growing frustrated of sitting around waiting.

Worry nestles in your chest when you hear her respond to the barista that her drink is to go. You and Larissa had planned to drink your beverages in a booth to chat and then stroll around town before heading over to the local book shop together. When Larissa ordered the drink to go, it felt like confirmation that you had done something to upset her.

Larissa didn’t have a lot of experience with the feeling that she could only consider jealousy. She would normally be over the moon to have been gifted a cheek kiss by you. Instead, Larissa could feel herself shifting into irritable bitch mode due to not knowing what to make of your flirting with the florist. She felt powerless to stop the mood change. A million thoughts run through Larissa’s mind, but she’s not in the mood for talking—she feels too vulnerable.

“Are you okay, Larissa?” Your voice rings out, marked with concern, when Larissa didn’t turn to you or explain more about her meeting.

“Yes, why?”

Her curt response made you feel hopeless, made you question whether or not you were being too sensitive to the difference in her demeanor. “I thought we were going to stay and drink our hot chocolates here.” You aimed for a hopeful tone, not knowing if you succeeded.

Still not meeting your gaze, Larissa answered exasperatedly, “I have too much work to do after the meeting with the mayor. I can’t waste time with you anymore. I need to get back to Nevermore; would you like a ride?”

You looked as though you were just slapped across the face. Waste time? Where was this coming from? You were a waste of time to her? Thoughts engulfed you, and you felt a knob begin to form in your throat. Has Larissa been biding the time until students return and save her from spending time with you? You couldn’t speak; you knew your voice would betray you. Your eyes were beginning to sting.

All you could muster in response to Larissa’s question was a vigorous head shake and a “mmm-mm” to signal that no ride was needed. You couldn’t sit through the ride back to Nevermore with her and be detached to your emotions bubbling up right now.

You decided to risk a glance at Larissa to study her face. Maybe you were imagining this? Her features were hardened with no legible expression as she waited to receive her hot chocolate.

The seconds that you two stood there in silence seemed to drag on. The certitude of her statement and following question made you feel like you were expected to leave her side or sit back down unaffected. You’ve had moments where you were sheepish or awkward around the woman in front of you, but none of those times could compare to the thick, uncomfortable quality that surrounded you now.

When the worker behind the counter called out that a hot chocolate was ready, Larissa surged forward to seize the drink and turn on her heels in departure. No goodbye, just the fading clicks of her shoes against the floor tiles.

You watched her go, suddenly not craving the drink you were excited to imbibe minutes before. The ease and comfort you felt and championed in her presence shrank away. Confusion and hurt took its place. You shuffle to another booth than the usual one you and Larissa sat at. It felt too fragile to slide into the familiar space, as if it would flake away and crumble the memories you had there.

Taking a few moments to process, you turned to watching people come in and out of the Weathervane. A few families, teens, surprisingly more people in business suits than you’ve ever seen before. You had hoped to feel comforted by sharing space out in the world instead of retreating, but loneliness still gnawed at you—invaded you.

After about 20 minutes of waiting for the sadness to pass, you resigned to going back to campus grounds. You made your way home from the cafe, luckily giving Larissa enough time to drive back and get settled, which ensured you wouldn’t run into her when you arrived. You didn’t know if you could handle that.

Finally shuffling into your living quarters, you collapsed on the bed, not bothering to change or remove your boots. Your hands made their way to your scrunched up, wet face but not before pulling the covers far up around your head as they could go.

—

Larissa felt regret seep up her chest immediately. Her jaw locked as she waited for her drink, sensing how absurd her behavior was. She bit down on the flesh of her cheek inside her mouth in an attempt to silence her racing thoughts. When her drink was ready, she snatched it and fled. She couldn’t bear to look into your eyes or see the hurt or confusion on your face that she knew would be there.

Once in the vehicle and driving out of the town square, she reviewed her tone, the coldness she used with you. How could she explain that it was a front—a scramble for control? How could she repair the damage without addressing why she lashed out in the first place? Did she just ruin the most consistent source of joy and support she’s ever had in her life?

The questions in her head became too much, and she had to pull off the road to steady her ragged breathing. Her grip on the steering wheel showcased the whitest knuckles she’d ever seen. She felt like she had to escape but no amount of distance was enough.

Memories of your time together over the last few weeks darted behind her eyelids. She had grown so close to you, never considering that she was falling into old patterns. Getting over Morticia almost broke her. If she came unraveled by losing a high school love, what chance did she have of making it out of whatever she had for you? Seeing how close you and the florist were evoked a reaction that she couldn’t have anticipated.

Rather, your utter endearing nature with her after witnessing you with the florist is what solidified her outburst. It felt tragic and unfair to be in such close proximity to what she desired yet completely out of reach. To make it back to Nevermore, she had to dissociate—give herself over to some sort of autopilot. Once she arrived, Larissa rushed inside the large wooden doors to her office and leaned exhaustedly against the door, finally giving herself over to her emotions now that she was in the safety and seclusion of her office.

For the first time in nights, you both occupied your respective rooms, crawling into otherwise empty beds.

—

The following morning, you feel how tight and raw your eyes are from crying through the night. Leaving the bed doesn’t seem in the cards today. Instead, you curl up trying to keep warm now that you don’t have Larissa’s body heat to wake up to.

Knowing its a bad idea, you roll over and let your mind think of yesterday. Maybe she was just using you to distract herself while she recovered. She’s not exactly spoiled for choice with everyone gone for winter break. You probably haven’t meant as much to her as she has meant to you. …Would coming clean about authoring the mix CDs be ill advised then? Or should you still put the mystery to rest, allowing closure for you both? As your mind went back and forth, you couldn’t help but consider how authentic Larissa seemed when you two spent time together. You wanted to hold onto that.

Time passed so slowly laying there. You were scared to leave your room to shower, to eat, to go to the orchestra room. Of course you didn’t want to see the object of your pain and hurt, but you also couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything—even within the confines of your living space.

Days went by until you finally had to get up to shower and do laundry. Your room was starting to stink and you didn’t want students coming back to campus to suspect anything is remiss. You gathered your things and tiptoed to the faculty showers. Thankfully it was empty for you to slip into the farthest stall away with a half crescent stained glass window.

You stand in the corner of the stall to turn on the water and wait for it to warm up. Once you deemed the water hot enough, you stepped into the stream and closed your eyes, rolling your neck in and out of the water. For a few minutes you stood still, letting the the water run down your back, scorching the skin. Steam rose to caress the stained glass above you.

Meanwhile, what you didn’t know was that Larissa treaded carefully too. She had tried not to seek you out, yet she was wary of and half expected to see you everywhere she went. She took tabs of where you might be, and you weren’t in the faculty lounge, the library, the courtyard, the entrance hall, or even the shared dorm spaces when she was there. Larissa even found herself walking past the orchestra room only to be met with silence.

—

About a week after the incident at the Weathervane and a couple days after your shower and laundry excursion, you decide to attempt to leave your room again.   With students arriving back on campus and a new semester rapidly approaching, you needed to figure out your syllabus and compositions. You slid on a blazer over a crisp white button up and slowly headed to your once familiar safe haven—the music room.

Once inside the space, you immediately feel terrible for being away from it for so long. There it was waiting patiently to comfort you and build new soundscapes with you. Your hands wander across the various instruments set out about the space. Your fingers touch piano keys, guitar strings, wooden reeds, metal valves, cherishing the notes that emitted from them as you skimmed past each collection.

You attempted to hold back your flurry of emotions and focus on various scores and arrangements for your syllabus, but each note made your heart ache for what catharsis could be spilling from you instead.

It wasn’t long until the music shifted from pointed instruction that corresponded to specific weeks within the semester to raw, unruly emotion. You began to sob while composing soft, slow tunes that built into delicate and resonant peaks. The instruments you commanded had a measured grace about them that filled the room with its rich melody.

As the music pouring from you continued, it burned slowly, not unlike a campfire that blazes one moment and crackles with reverb the next. Rhythm rang out and orchestral layers began to pile up, transporting the song to cinematic heights full of fragility and a holy, spiritual quality that you’ve never heard before from your own music.

Making her daily rounds across the academy grounds, Larissa notices the emotional tune emitting from the music room that has been vacant up until this point. Her heart catches in her throat as the music pulls indecipherable feelings from her core. A air of melancholy and longing overwhelms Larissa. She had hoped to see you, but she wasn’t expecting this. The song radiating from the room to her eardrums had stopped Larissa in her tracks. The showcase of gentle tones that blossomed into shimmering instrumental passages had brought tears to her eyes. 

Larissa had lingered here many times before, stealing away compositions from the hall outside your domain. However, this time she wanted to burst through the doors and apologize. She wanted to usher in a vibrant symphony rather than the lonesome notes currently leaking out of the room. She could overhear this change in you. It was apparent, and Larissa knew she was the cause.

—

Eventually, students began to return. You had attempted to stay a recluse in your room for as long as you could. That is, until a day swiftly came when you heard excited knocks rapt against the door to your living space.

With a knowing sigh, you heaved yourself from your desk towards the door. You knew the pink cheeks and bouncing hair that would open up before you beyond the door. Enid had come to say hello after returning from break.

“Professor!”

“Hello there, Enid.” You mustered up the sweetest smile you could for the girl, even though you still felt lackluster. “How was your break?”

“Oh, it was so good! Well, it was kind of kooky staying with Wednesday and her family. They’re so different from my family. My brothers are sure to tackle each other to the ground as soon as possible, but Wednesday and Pugsley hardly touch! You can still tell she has a soft spot for him, though. They ha-”

You let Enid ramble on about her winter break and the things she and the Addams’s got up to. To be honest, the lack of effort needed to continue the conversation was nice; you weren’t sure you had it in you for explaining elaborate stories or… any details right now.

“Um, anyway, I wanted to ask you a question, actually.” Her forthcoming demeanor slowed, and you could tell she was nervous.

“Anything for my favorite resident.” Your words were enough to melt the young werewolf’s fears. Her shoulders relax, and she happily pushes her way into your room.

Slightly taken aback at the gesture, you leave the door ajar and take a seat in one of the armchairs across from where she has elected to sit. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s kind of about Wednesday.” You stay quiet, letting Enid know she has the floor and that you won’t rush her.

“We had a really good break. I mean, we got on each others’ nerves a lot. She always scoffs like she is better off alone and is annoyed, but I could tell she liked having me there.”

You nod, willing yourself to have empathetic eyes that signal for her to continue.

She finally blurts out, “We almost kissed, and now Wednesday won’t talk to me.” Enid seems panicked and almost in tears at this revelation.

“Hey, hey.” You rise from your chair to place a comforting hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Take some deep breaths. You’re okay, and we’re going to talk about it. It’s okay.”

Enid wipes her eyes, and you continue supportively, “I know being vulnerable is hard, especially when you can’t control how other people react or feel. Is that how you are feeling?”

“Yeah. Wednesday is so hard to read and gives me mixed signals. She goes back and forth between being standoffish and blunt but also charming and kind of open to being close. Sometimes it seems like she won’t let herself be happy,” Enid ends with a frown.

“I see how conflicted you feel, and I’m sorry you are going through this. What I will say is that you are more likely to regret not honoring your own feelings than communicating your needs. Nothing good ever happened from shrinking away from what you truly wanted.”

“Wow, that’s so deep.” Enid takes a moment. “So even if things don’t work out the way I hope, I know I did what I could to be true to myself?”

“Exactly. That’s all we can do sometimes. Yes, it could be hard to not have feelings reciprocated, but you’re not happy not knowing either.”

“Okay, I think I know what I’m gonna do. Thank you!” Enid is standing and reaching out to you in a firm embrace now. You reciprocate, hoping the best for the young girl. You knew how close she and Wednesday were, even if Wednesday puts on a front.

A few moments pass, and Enid is over by your desk now, picking up everything in sight and inspecting it. “So, what’s wrong with you and Principal Weems?” Enid’s nosy, chipper demeanor is back.

A puzzled look appears on your face. “What do you mean? Principal Weems and I haven’t seen each other?”

“You two were always together before we all left for break.” She shrugs and raises her eyes, playing with your pens before moving onto your swinging, metal pendulum.

Geez, students could not be fooled. They are far more perceptive than other faculty give them credit for. Your head swam, and you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what you could say, given that Larissa was the principal and would likely not support students gossiping about her personal life. At your long pause, Enid continued.

“Now you two both seem sad. I could tell when you opened the door since almost the whole dorm is back and hasn’t seen you. And Principal Weems is way more irritable than normal. Ajax, Yoko, and I were throwing around a ball in the courtyard and almost hit one of the gargoyles. Principal Weems confiscated the ball and gave us a lecture on the history of the gargoyles at Nevermore. Something about them being 1,300 year old hand-crafted stone?”

“Oh, Enid, I’m not sure…” It was all you could think to say to both Enid’s original and follow up question.

“Like you said, nothing good will happen from shrinking away from what you want. Your words.” Enid states this as if she is wielding a giant philosophical answer. You can’t help but feel pride in her quick use of the same line. Okay, why did you have to give such great advice?

The earnest nature of the young werewolf was admirable and made your weak heart grow. Enid begins to walk out of your room muttering a combination of “just saying” and “thanks again!”

As the door closes, you slump into your chair, deep in thought. Maybe you should put it all out there. What is the worst that could happen? It’s the least you could do for yourself. Otherwise, you’re back to where you started. Your discussion with Enid inadvertently encourages you to step up and continue the scavenger hunt.

—

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