#the outsiders as orchestra players

[dally-cola-aka-money]

The outsiders as orchestra players (coming from a cello player)

FEATURINGGG PONYBOY, JOHNNY, AND DALLAS 💥💥

Dallas - cello

Johnny - violin

Ponyboy - viola

[rememberthelaughtermp3]

Probably should go and practice since I have a gig with my band in a week and I still don’t really know my parts for some of our songs. We’ve played gigs with over 100 people before but this is our first time with such a long set so there’s a lot more to learn and prepare

[supercantaloupe]

just occurred to me this morning as i woke up this morning why i'm (probably) so taken aback by people in orchestra being So Nice to me cause i saw some photos on social media posted by ppl i traveled to [redacted] with, people who only stood to even have a conversation with me as a last resort kind of social option. i have literally Never gotten along with groups of people, Ever, unless that group of people was also orchestra people. seriously

[kosmikowboj]

you know now knowing that as kids shawn played bassoon and gus played clarinet it’s truly criminal there was never an episode involving a local symphony orchestra. like, one of the principal musicians dies—call it the principal flutist—and foul play is suspected, so shawn convinces the chief to let them go undercover. gus is still using his old clarinet, but henry got rid of shawn’s bassoon like ten years ago so shawn makes the department rent him a really nice one. lassiter’s huge qualm this episode is that he thinks shawn and gus are making a mockery of the beauty that is classical music. shawn actually feels very strongly about the case because one of the pieces they’re performing has a majestic bassoon solo that he was supposed to play in the eighth grade until he got stiffed for first chair. gus and jules are the only ones being normal.

lassie and jules end up arresting the second chair flute player because it seems like a jealousy case, but shawn isn’t convinced. he goes down the rabbit hole and uncovers this crazy romance subplot about how the principal bassoonist and the principal flutist were sleeping together, but then the flutist slept with someone else in the orchestra—call it a percussionist (they’re always doing that)—and so he killed her. shawn claims he learned this through the instruments speaking to him. the high stakes moment of the episode is when the bassoonist tries to kill the percussionist, but our fave crew end up saving the day.

the episode ends with shawn and gus playing in the concert and shawn doing the bassoon solo since the principal was arrested for murder. biggest plot twist of all is that he actually sounds pretty good.

another random note is that lassie has it out for the second chair flute because he used to play oboe when he was younger and got relentlessly bullied by the flutes. shawn finds this out and forces bonding between the two of them by sharing his bassoon trauma. lassie does not seem to care. because the percussionist gets injured in the scuffle near the end of the episode, shawn convinces the orchestra director to let lassie play the triangle in the concert. later on in the series, there’s a throwaway line about how shawn can’t get ice cream with gus after a case because he’s busy. there’s a honk outside the psych office and shawn jogs out, gets in lassie’s car, and they go to community orchestra together.

oh also the henry subplot of the episode is that he and the director of the orchestra go way back for some reason and that’s the only reason that shawn and gus are allowed to go undercover. shawn is pissed at henry for getting rid of his bassoon and henry tries to turn it into a lesson about responsibility that is immediately undermined by the department renting one for him.

do you see my vision

[httyd-art-requests]

Ex Altiora

Coloquially known as "shrieking stars" among locals, this phenomenon is entirely unique to the town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, for reasons currently outside of my understanding.

They would be rather easy to miss by one who is not actively looking for them- if not for the ear splitting, whistling shriek which accompanies their swift descent from the sky. During meteor showers, one might compare the sound to that of a firework show, or perhaps an orchestra of particularly cacaphonous slide whistle players.

I have attempted numerous times the recovery of the meteorite debris for further research, but the impact craters continue to elude me. It is highly likely that the "stars" simply burn up on their way through the atmosphere before they could ever reach the Earth, as is commonplace with regular shooting stars. Still, I would very much like to study their remains for potential extraterrestial materia for prosperity's sake.

[ID in alt text]

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4 1/2) (Part 4 2/2)

No text version under the cut! Plus a little secret :)

No-text version:

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[okasuka]

Bruce wayne x readerrr

a/n - i’m bored soooo…..basically bruce is a jealous hoe!!! 🙏🏽🙏🏽 man whore bruce is real

Part 1: Setting the Stage

The Wayne Foundation gala was a grand affair, hosted in one of Gotham’s most opulent hotels. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, reflecting the warm, golden light that bathed the room. Waiters moved seamlessly through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres, while the murmur of polite conversation mingled with the soft strains of a live orchestra.

You found yourself at the edge of the ballroom, observing the throngs of Gotham’s elite. Socialites, CEOs, and politicians mingled, their designer outfits and glimmering jewelry a testament to their wealth. You couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place among them, though you had to admit you looked stunning in the gown Bruce had chosen for you—a sleek, floor-length piece that hugged your figure perfectly.

Bruce was in his element, weaving through the crowd with the kind of ease that only someone born into Gotham’s upper crust could manage. He looked devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair swept back and his piercing eyes scanning the room. You were acutely aware of his hand resting on the small of your back, a subtle but deliberate gesture that spoke volumes.

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning in close so that only you could hear him. His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine. “You look like you’re planning your escape.”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, giving him a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “You’re doing fine. Just stick with me, and you’ll survive.”

“I don’t know how you do this,” you admitted, gesturing subtly to the room full of power players. “All this… posturing.”

“It’s part of the job,” he said simply, his expression unreadable. “But having you here makes it bearable.”

Before you could respond, a group of older men approached, all of them clearly eager to speak with Bruce. You stepped back slightly, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. Bruce’s hand lingered on your back for a moment before he reluctantly let you go.

“Don’t wander too far,” he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“I won’t,” you promised, though you weren’t entirely sure where else you’d go.

Part 2: The Invitation

As Bruce began speaking with the group, you drifted toward a quieter corner of the room, your eyes scanning the crowd. You spotted familiar faces here and there—prominent Gothamites whose names were splashed across the society pages. It was a world Bruce belonged to by birthright, but you still felt like an outsider looking in.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a striking blonde woman made her way toward Bruce. She was tall and elegant, her shimmering gown clinging to her figure in a way that left little to the imagination. You watched as she approached him with a confidence that only someone used to getting their way could muster.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said, her voice honeyed and smooth. She placed a hand lightly on his arm, her red lips curving into a practiced smile. “I’ve been hoping to get a moment of your time all evening.”

Bruce turned to her, his expression polite but distant. “Miss…?”

“Charlotte Sterling,” she supplied, her smile widening. “We met at the Metropolis Gala last year. I doubt you’d remember—there were so many people there.”

Bruce inclined his head slightly, a noncommittal acknowledgment. “Of course. Nice to see you again.”

“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” she asked, her hand lingering on his arm. Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes made her intentions clear.

You couldn’t hear Bruce’s response over the noise of the crowd, but you saw the subtle way his body shifted, a polite yet firm rejection in the making. However, Charlotte wasn’t easily deterred. She leaned in closer, her smile turning coquettish as she said something that made Bruce’s jaw tighten.

Your chest tightened as you watched the interaction, jealousy stirring in your gut. You told yourself you had no reason to feel that way—Bruce was here with you, after all. But the sight of the blonde so blatantly vying for his attention made your insecurities bubble to the surface.

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward. “It’s just a dance,” you said lightly, drawing both their attention. Your tone was calm, but there was a subtle challenge in your gaze as you looked at Bruce. “Go ahead.”

Bruce’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his expression shifted, and he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“If you insist,” he said, though his voice held a note of reluctance.

Charlotte beamed, clearly pleased with her victory, and led Bruce onto the dance floor. You watched as they moved together, the blonde pressing herself far closer to him than was strictly appropriate. Bruce, for his part, kept his posture rigid, his movements controlled and detached. But the sight still stung.

Part 3: An Unwelcome Distraction

You turned away, determined not to let it bother you. Bruce had made it clear that his interest was in you, not her. But the sight of them together lingered in your mind, feeding your doubts.

“Rough night?” a voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You glanced to your right and saw a man standing beside you, a drink in hand. He was handsome in a polished, generic sort of way, his dark suit tailored to perfection. His smile was charming, but there was an edge of smugness to it that immediately put you on guard.

“Not particularly,” you said coolly, taking a sip of your champagne.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his gaze lingering on you in a way that felt far too familiar. “You looked like you could use a distraction.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said, your tone dismissive. But he didn’t take the hint.

“Come on,” he said, his smile widening. “Let me buy you a drink. It’s a party, isn’t it?”

You hesitated, glancing back at the dance floor. Bruce and Charlotte were still dancing, though his attention seemed to be anywhere but on his partner. The man beside you followed your gaze, his smile turning sly.

“Let me guess,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Your date ditched you for someone else?”

“That’s not what happened,” you said sharply, your irritation flaring.

“Hey, no judgment,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “His loss, if you ask me.”

You frowned, debating whether to walk away, but the bartender chose that moment to appear, and the man seized the opportunity.

“Two glasses of champagne,” he said smoothly, sliding a bill across the counter.

You sighed, deciding that humoring him for a moment was the easiest way to get rid of him. “Thanks,” you said flatly as he handed you the glass.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, leaning against the bar as he watched you.

“Not interested,” you said, your patience wearing thin.

“Come on,” he said, his smile unfaltering. “No need to play hard to get.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dangerous. “She’s with me.”

Part 4: The Confrontation

You turned at the sound of Bruce’s voice, your breath catching at the sight of him. He stood a few feet away, his imposing presence enough to send a ripple through the surrounding crowd. His expression was stony, his dark eyes fixed on the man beside you with a glare that could cut steel. The easygoing charm Bruce often displayed in public was gone, replaced by a simmering intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

The man beside you blinked in surprise but recovered quickly, his confidence undeterred. “Oh, I didn’t realize,” he said smoothly, though there was a slight edge to his tone. “She didn’t mention she was taken.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to you for a brief moment before returning to the man. “She shouldn’t have to,” he said coldly. “Now, I suggest you walk away.”

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Bruce. You could see the calculation in his gaze, weighing his options. Eventually, he shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. No harm done.” He smirked at you, his tone turning smug. “Enjoy your night.”

As he walked away, Bruce stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you. His hand found your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now but still laced with tension.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your heart was still racing. “He was just being annoying.”

Bruce’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to gauge whether you were telling the truth. Satisfied, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But his hand remained on your arm, grounding you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That won’t happen again.”

You frowned, sensing the guilt behind his words. “Bruce, it’s not your fault. I’m not some helpless damsel. I can handle myself.”

His lips quirked up in a faint smile, but there was no humor in it. “I know you can,” he said quietly. “But I don’t like seeing other men trying to take what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone made your cheeks flush, though you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or something else entirely. “I’m not a possession, Bruce,” you said, your voice firm.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his brows furrowing. “I just—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he shook his head. “Forget it.”

You sighed, your irritation fading as you saw the vulnerability beneath his carefully controlled exterior. “It’s okay,” you said gently, placing a hand on his chest. “I get it.”

He covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. For a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. But then a voice broke the spell.

“Bruce,” Charlotte said, appearing at his side with a curious expression. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

You stiffened, your hand dropping from Bruce’s chest as Charlotte’s sharp gaze flicked to you. She didn’t bother hiding her disdain, her red lips curving into a thin smile. “I see you found your… companion.”

“Charlotte,” Bruce said curtly, his tone clipped. “Excuse us.”

But she didn’t budge, her smile widening. “Don’t be rude, Bruce. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you glanced at Bruce, wondering how he would handle this. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding.

“This is Y/N,” he said, his voice steady. “She’s with me.”

The simplicity of his statement shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but the way he said it—firm, unwavering—sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

Charlotte raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I see,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, Y/N. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high. You exhaled quietly, relieved to see her go.

“Sorry about that,” Bruce said, his hand finding the small of your back once more. “She’s… persistent.”

“You don’t say,” you replied dryly, earning a faint smirk from him.

Part 5: The Dance Floor

“Come on,” Bruce said suddenly, taking your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You blinked up at him in surprise. “You hate dancing.”

“I’ll make an exception,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could protest, he was leading you onto the dance floor. The orchestra was playing a slow, romantic melody, and couples swayed gracefully around you. Bruce pulled you close, his hand settling on your waist while the other clasped yours.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze.

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his voice low. “I needed to remind everyone who you’re here with.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

His lips quirked up in response. “And yet, here you are.”

The two of you moved in sync, his steps smooth and confident despite his earlier claim of hating to dance. His grip on you was firm but gentle, and you felt yourself relax in his arms. For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

His gaze softened, and his voice dropped even lower. “You’re the only one I care about in this room. You know that, right?”

The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and you felt your heart swell. “I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I feel the same way.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. “Good.”

Part 6: The Public Declaration

As the song came to an end, you noticed people staring—not just at you and Bruce, but at something behind you. Turning your head slightly, you saw the man from earlier standing at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes fixed on you with a look that could only be described as smug.

Bruce followed your gaze, and his expression darkened instantly. Without a word, he released your hand and strode toward the man, his movements deliberate and controlled.

“Bruce,” you called after him, but he didn’t stop.

The man noticed Bruce approaching and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Can I help you?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

“You’re done here,” Bruce said coldly, his voice low enough that only those nearby could hear.

The man smirked, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Relax, Wayne. It’s a free country. I’m just having a good time.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might throw a punch. But instead, he turned back to you, his dark eyes burning with determination. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, and before you could say a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

The kiss was intense, possessive, and left no room for doubt. You felt the heat of his lips, the press of his body against yours, and the undeniable message he was sending to everyone in the room. When he finally pulled back, the room was silent, all eyes on the two of you.

“She’s mine,” Bruce said firmly, his voice carrying across the room. “And that’s not going to change.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but him.

Part 7: The Aftermath

A stunned silence hung over the ballroom. The weight of Bruce’s words—and his public display of affection—seemed to freeze everyone in place. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, whispers beginning to ripple through the crowd like an electric current.

Bruce, however, seemed entirely unbothered. His hand found yours again, his grip firm and possessive as he led you off the dance floor without a second glance at the stunned onlookers. The man who had been hitting on you earlier had disappeared, likely realizing there was no room for negotiation.

“Bruce,” you hissed under your breath, your heart still racing. “What was that?”

He didn’t answer until you were out of earshot of most of the crowd, pulling you into a quieter corner near the tall, gilded windows that overlooked Gotham’s skyline. Even then, his gaze remained fixed on you, dark and intense.

“What was what?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“You know what I mean,” you shot back, gesturing toward the dance floor. “That kiss! The whole ‘she’s mine’ thing! Everyone saw.”

“Good,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let them see.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and flustered. “Bruce, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. “It’s not about proving anything,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “It’s about making it clear. I won’t have anyone thinking they can come between us. Not him, not Charlotte, not anyone.”

You searched his face, trying to read the emotions swirling beneath his carefully controlled exterior. There was jealousy there, yes, but also something deeper—fear, perhaps? The idea that he could lose you seemed to unnerve him more than he was willing to admit.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly, your tone gentler now. “I already chose you, Bruce. I always will.”

His expression softened slightly, though the tension in his jaw remained. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve lost too many people I care about. I can’t lose you, too.”

Your chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in his words. You reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. “You’re not going to lose me,” you said firmly. “But you have to trust me, Bruce. I can handle myself.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from you. “I do trust you,” he murmured. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I noticed.”

Part 8: The Gossip and the Retreat

Before Bruce could respond, a familiar figure approached—the head of the Wayne Foundation, a sharp-eyed woman named Evelyn who always seemed to be juggling a thousand tasks at once. Her expression was carefully neutral, though you could see the curiosity lurking behind her professional demeanor.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said politely, her gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before returning to him. “I hate to interrupt, but the press is starting to ask questions.”

Bruce straightened, his businesslike mask sliding into place with practiced ease. “Let them ask,” he said coolly. “They’ll get the same answer as everyone else.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Understood. Shall I handle the follow-up?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes. Make it clear this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Of course,” Evelyn said smoothly before turning to leave, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

You exhaled, glancing around the room. The whispers hadn’t stopped, and you could feel the weight of countless stares on your back. “We’re going to be the talk of Gotham by morning,” you muttered.

Bruce’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Let them talk.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.

“And yet, here you are,” he said, echoing your earlier words with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “Let’s get out of here,” you said. “I’ve had enough of being a spectacle for one night.”

Bruce didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

Part 9: The Car Ride

The car ride back to Wayne Manor was quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft rustle of the city outside the only sounds. You sat beside Bruce in the backseat, the close confines of the car making his presence feel even more intense. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you left the gala, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin.

“Are you mad?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, startled by the question. “What?”

“About what I did back there,” he clarified, his tone unusually uncertain. “If I embarrassed you—”

“You didn’t embarrass me,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “I was surprised, sure, but… I wasn’t mad.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Good.”

“Bruce,” you said softly, leaning closer. “You don’t have to be so afraid of losing me. I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “It’s hard for me to believe that sometimes,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “When you care about someone, it feels like you’re just waiting for the moment they’ll be taken away.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice. You knew he wasn’t just talking about you—he was thinking about his parents, about everyone he’d lost over the years. You reached up to touch his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated firmly. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Bruce. I’m here, and I’m staying.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his dark eyes searching yours. Then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You could feel the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as he buried his face in your hair.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“You deserve more than you think,” you whispered back, your arms wrapping around him.

The car pulled up to Wayne Manor, but neither of you moved to get out right away. For the first time that night, the world outside felt distant and unimportant. All that mattered was the two of you, together in the quiet of the moment.

Part 10: Arrival at Wayne Manor

The grand gates of Wayne Manor opened slowly, the sleek black car gliding up the winding driveway. The tension from the night had eased, but there was still a quiet intensity in the air between you and Bruce. He held the door open for you as you stepped out, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you inside.

Alfred was waiting in the foyer, his ever-composed expression giving way to a subtle smirk as he took in your intertwined hands. “Ah, Master Wayne, Miss Y/N,” he greeted warmly. “I trust the gala was… eventful?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but you beat him to it, flashing Alfred a weary smile. “You could say that,” you said, shrugging off your coat. “Let’s just say we made a bit of an impression.”

Alfred’s gaze flicked to Bruce, his eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “I take it the city’s socialites will have plenty to discuss over breakfast tomorrow?”

Bruce grunted noncommittally, steering you toward the living room. “Good night, Alfred.”

“Good night, sir. Miss Y/N.” Alfred’s voice carried the faintest hint of teasing as he disappeared down the hall.

Part 11: Unspoken Tensions

You sank onto the plush sofa, kicking off your heels and leaning back with a sigh. Bruce stood nearby, his arms crossed as he watched you. His tuxedo jacket was gone, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, making him look less like Gotham’s billionaire playboy and more like the man you knew beneath the mask.

“You’re still brooding,” you pointed out, breaking the silence.

“I don’t brood,” he said automatically, but the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed him.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re practically radiating brood, Bruce.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. Instead, he moved to sit beside you, his gaze searching your face. “Did I cross a line tonight?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Why are you so worried about that?”

“Because I don’t want to push you away,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—” He paused, his hands flexing in his lap as if he wasn’t used to saying these kinds of things. “I don’t always know where the line is with you. I’m not used to… this.”

Your expression softened, and you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Bruce,” you said gently, “you didn’t cross a line. I was surprised, sure, but not upset. I know why you did it.”

His eyes darkened. “That doesn’t make it right.”

You sighed, shifting closer. “Look, I get it. You’ve been through so much, and I know it’s hard for you to let people in. But you don’t have to protect me from everything, Bruce. I’m not going to disappear because of some overconfident guy at a gala.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. Finally, he said, “You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this.”

“Like what?” you prompted, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Like I can breathe,” he said simply. “Like I’m not alone.”

The raw honesty in his words took your breath away. You leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re not alone,” you said firmly. “Not anymore.”

Part 12: The Kiss Revisited

Bruce’s eyes flicked to your lips, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he closed the distance between you, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. It wasn’t like the kiss at the gala, which had been about making a statement. This was different—deeper, slower, and meant only for you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. You could feel the tension in his body, the restrained intensity that always simmered beneath the surface. But there was something else, too—a vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re really bad at subtlety, you know that?”

Bruce chuckled softly, a rare sound that made your heart flutter. “I never claimed to be subtle.”

“No kidding,” you teased, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But I guess I like that about you.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Because I don’t plan on changing.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, echoing your earlier words with a smirk.

Part 13: A Quiet Moment

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other as the events of the night faded into the background. The crackling fireplace cast a warm glow over the room, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely at ease.

Part 13: A Quiet Moment (Continued)

Bruce’s arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You know I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice soft. “But you don’t have to carry that weight alone. You’re allowed to lean on me too, Bruce.”

He was silent for a moment, as though letting your words sink in. “I’m not used to that,” he admitted. “Depending on someone else.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m stubborn,” you said with a small smile. “Because I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to scare me off.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased lightly, your tone taking the sting out of the words. “But seriously, Bruce. I know you’ve lost a lot. And I know that makes it hard for you to believe that someone might actually stay. But you don’t have to fight so hard to protect me from everything. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I know you are,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

You blinked, surprised by the rare compliment. “Bruce Wayne, are you getting sentimental on me?”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” you said with a grin, leaning up to kiss him again.

Part 14: The Morning After

The next morning, you woke to the soft light of dawn streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bruce’s bedroom. You stretched lazily, the events of the previous night coming back to you in a rush. The gala, the drama, Bruce’s possessiveness—it all felt like something out of a dream.

You turned to find him already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you. He was shirtless, his broad shoulders bathed in the golden morning light. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice still heavy with sleep.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his expression softening. “Good morning.”

“You’re up early,” you noted, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head slightly. “Too much on my mind.”

You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “The way I acted last night… it’s been bothering me.”

You frowned, your arms tightening around him. “Bruce, we’ve already talked about this. I wasn’t upset.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I can’t stop thinking about how I handled it. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against his warm skin. “You’re allowed to feel things, Bruce. You’re not a machine.”

He sighed, his hand covering yours where it rested against his chest. “I just don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. Because I do.”

“I know you do,” you said gently. “And I trust you too. But we’re going to have to work on this together. You can’t keep trying to shield me from everything.”

He turned slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I’m not used to having someone like you in my life,” he admitted. “Someone I care about this much.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re not alone anymore, Bruce,” you said softly. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted with a small smile. “But it’s worth it.”

Part 15: Moving Forward

The two of you spent the rest of the morning in quiet companionship, the heavy emotions of the night before slowly giving way to something lighter. Bruce seemed more at ease, his usual guarded demeanor softening in your presence.

Over breakfast, Alfred couldn’t resist making a few dry remarks about the spectacle at the gala, but even he seemed pleased to see Bruce in better spirits.

“You know, sir,” Alfred said as he cleared the dishes, “it’s not every day you publicly declare your affection for someone in front of half of Gotham’s elite. Quite the statement.”

Bruce shot him a withering look, but you just laughed. “I think the headlines are going to have a field day with it.”

“Let them,” Bruce said, his tone resolute. “I don’t care what they say, as long as you know how I feel.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached across the table to take his hand. “I do,” you said softly. “And I feel the same way.”

For the first time, Bruce smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his usually stoic face. It was a rare sight, but one that you cherished deeply.

As the day went on, you found yourselves falling into an easy rhythm. Bruce still had his walls, his brooding tendencies, and his fierce protectiveness, but there was a newfound openness in him that gave you hope for the future.

You knew it wouldn’t always be easy. There would be challenges, misunderstandings, and moments of doubt. But as you stood by his side, you couldn’t help but feel that together, you could face anything.

After all, Bruce Wayne wasn’t just the man you loved—he was your partner, your equal, and the person who made you feel like you could take on the world.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same way about you.

A/N - sorry this was ass guys 😢

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Birdie's Boys

Platonic Stobin + Eddie || wc: 2.3k || rating: G || tags: platonic love, platonic fic, platonic stobie (steddin?), tooth-rotting fluff, humor || Robin's worried the boys have some shenanigans planned for her Spring Band Concert... and she's right

~~~

If Eddie Munson had just watched Steve’s basketball game like a normal person, instead of a nonconformist lunatic, everything would’ve been just fine. Robin really should’ve known better, shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up carrying a giant sign with Steve’s name and player number on it that read ‘best ball shooter’ with a little devil on it. 

Whenever Steve had the ball, Eddie screamed louder than the most obnoxious dads. At some point, the man pulled a damn kazoo out of his pocket along with those stupid, plastic hand clappers to celebrate Steve’s first three-pointer. 

Everyone was staring, the boys on the bench turning to sneer at him. She could feel the people around them slowly scooching away and her face burned with embarrassment. Finally, after two rounds of the Star Spangled Banner via kazoo, she turned to beg him to sit down only to then catch Steve wave out of the corner of her eye. 

She could see the blush across his face, not from exertion, but from a smile so wide that it glistened in his eyes. Eddie waved, face on fire. Robin gave him a scathing side eye when he’d turned to her and said “What, I just wanted him to notice me,” with a mischievous glint to his smile.

Robin had assumed Steve would be the bigger person and move on. He never said anything after the game, only smiling ear to ear like a puppy dog after doing a particularly impressive trick. However, she greatly underestimated her soulmate’s ability to be an absolute shit head.

Which is how a typically casual Friday night at the Hideout for Eddie’s gig turned out to be exceptionally uncasual and supremely atypical. 

She was clad in head-to-toe pastels. Nancy hadn’t agreed to come to the show, but she allowed Robin to rummage through her closet, fully on board with her and Steve’s shenanigans. Robin had picked out a pair of white heels, lavender stockings, a frilly, pink dress, and– her piece de resistance– a white cowboy hat. 

Steve’s outfit was made up of his own clothes, just taken to new heights. He wore not one, but two polo shirts, the white collar underneath popped up over his pale pink polo on the outside. His acid washed jeans looked tighter than normal, and he’d paired them with shiny, white, Adidas high-tops. Robin had laughed as she dug through his glove box on the ride over, pulling out her favorite electric blue sunglasses for him to wear. They tied the entire outfit together.

Steve had suggested making signs, “In case he can’t hear us when he’s on stage,” and definitely not as payback. All in all, they were pretty impressive. Each one dripped glitter over the sticky bar floor, although the pink puff-paint held together nicely. Robin was particularly proud of her own sign, ‘rock and roll is for sinners and winners’. She was, however, surprised when she read Steve’s ‘I’ve got the devil in me’ sign. They’d made a bit of a spectacle of themselves, waving them high above their heads as they screamed along to the few lyrics they actually knew.

The band razzed Eddie about it, but none of it mattered in the long run. Robin remembers the embarrassed flush scrawled across Eddie’s face when he caught sight of them. He’d strutted across the stage, trying to move as far from them as possible. Much like the small crowd of confused regulars creating a wide, empty space around them. In the end, Eddie always came back, smile wide and genuine and full of love.

So here Robin sits, stewing with anxiety while trying to think of what they’ve got planned now that it’s her turn. She fiddles with the trumpet in her lap as she waits for the Spring Band and Orchestra Concert to start. Her black slacks from last year are uncomfortably tight around her hips, and the white blouse her mom picked out keeps snagging on the back of the too small plastic chair she’s perched on. The garbled mess of voices ringing through the gymnasium matches the zinging swarm of bees in her stomach.

She frantically scans the crowd in front of her, but doesn’t spot them anywhere. Robin’s parents and grandparents are going to be here and she knows the boys will have something obnoxious planned. They’ve been suspiciously nonchalant all week, almost sickeningly nice.

But when the freshman band starts playing, she still can’t find them, surprised they’re not sitting up front. She tries to look around but can’t find them in the crowd. Disappointed, she starts to wonder if they actually forgot. Robin did her best to bring up the concert as little as possible, not wanting to give them time to plan anything extravagant. She wonders now if that was a mistake.

When it’s finally time for the upperclassmen’s turn, she’s forced to give up her search. She plays her melodies, counts her bars, and tries to forget about how her boys aren’t here, knowing there must be a hell of a reason to miss it. 

The brass section dwindles down to the woodwinds. The notes fade out completely, leaving a one beat pause before the flutes are supposed to take off in a frenzy. Robin hates playing songs like this. It feels like a cheap trick, some kind of gimmick her music teacher comes up with to see if he can pull one over on unsuspecting families who think the song has finished. 

It works, like it always does. Soft, scattered applause breaks out in the crowd. Her teacher’s smug smile is wiped from his face as loud, obnoxious clapping echoes off the gymnasium walls. The kids are failing to contain faint giggles and snorts of laughter. Even though this happens almost every year, it’s definitely never this damn dramatic.

Robin sits up just a little bit higher to peek over the winds section and, sure enough, in the dead center of the crowd, there’s a head of frizzy, curly hair standing tall and proud. Aside from the outburst, Robin’s actually impressed Eddie managed to dress up a bit. He’s wearing what has to be one of Steve’s navy button down shirts along with his nicest pair of black skinny jeans, sans rips and holes.

Apparently being in a band doesn’t translate to understanding when a song is actually over. He glances around, red bursting over his cheeks as everyone stares back at him. Robin has to stand slightly to catch a glimpse of Steve sitting next to him. Her best friend is slowly sinking down into his chair in a fruitless attempt to hide. He’s wearing a light blue button up, most likely with his beige slacks. Steve’s flush is somehow an even brighter shade of red than Eddie’s. He’s hiding an awkward laugh behind his fist, and Robin can’t help but smile wide and unguarded at the mirth shining in his eyes. 

These two absolute idiots.

Eddie opens his mouth, but thankfully whatever he’s about to say is cut short by Steve grabbing a hold of his shirt sleeve and yanking him back down into his seat. Robin manages to catch Steve’s eye, and he breaks out into a stupid, adorable puppy-dog grin. He does his signature little finger wave. She snorts, matching his gesture.

Eddie leans in front of Steve’s face to look at her between rows of heads and waves manically back and forth. Robin’s fully laughing now as she waves back. There’s an elbow in her side and before she can snarl at the guy next to her, he nods towards where the conductor stands glaring at her, hands hanging in the air waiting to continue the piece. 

The flutes start up, but it’s still a few bars before her first note. So of course her eyes stray to the clarinets. Vickie’s already looking at her, smiling small but genuine. Beautiful and divine. Vickie rolls her eyes fondly and Robin only replies with a half-hearted shrug. 

The boys manage to make it through the rest of the concert without causing another scene. The conductor prompts the band to rise for a bow, and polite applause breaks out throughout the crowd once more. That’s when she hears it– hell, everyone in the school probably hears it. 

Eddie and Steve wolf whistle at the same time. It’s followed by an eruption of plastic clapper applause and shouts of ‘Go, Buck!’ and ‘Hell yeah that’s my Birdie!’ Robin can’t contain the bubbles of happiness bursting in her chest, leaving her light as air. 

She looks out and sees Steve holding another homemade sign covered in glitter that reads ‘Buckley blows the best horn’. Just as Eddie explodes a confetti popper– what Robin assumes is the first of many he has stashed in his pockets– the principal appears out of thin air to scruff them both by the neck and drag them out into the hallway. She can’t read his lips from this far away, but she can see Eddie yapping away, completely unbothered. 

Fuck, Robin truly loves these boys. Her goons, her dinguses, her schmucks.

The band leaves through the side door, heading straight to the music room to store their instruments before meeting their loved ones in the cafeteria. 

“Hey,” Vickie says, out of breath from jogging to catch up, “you did a really good job.” Robin doesn’t think Vickie could specifically pick her out from the rest of trumpets–at least hopefully not– but she takes the compliment anyway. 

“Thanks,” she shouts, a little too excited. And in typical Robin fashion, has zero follow up comments. So they walk down the hall together in silence, students around them buzzing with excitement. 

Vickie clears her throat, and bumps her shoulder against Robin’s. “It’s really nice your boyfriend came to watch you play.” Vickie sighs, deflating, “Wish mine had, anyways.” 

Robin doesn’t even process Vickie’s second statement before screeching, “I’m not dating Eddie Munson! We’re just friends.” 

“Oh,” Vickie smiles, emerald eyes wide and beautiful at Robin’s little outburst, “I guess I meant Steve Harrington. Everyone knows you’re dating. And, I mean, I see you two together in the morning sometimes– not that I’m stalking you or anything,” but her adorable stumbling doesn’t matter in the face of Robin’s blatant disgust. 

“Ugh gross absolutely not, he’s like my brother. My dingus, my very platonic soulmate. Like a long-lost twin separated at birth kind of thing, but also way more annoying.” 

“Oh good,” Vickie answers. Her eyes grow large, mouth falling open in shock as she stutters, “I’m sorry, I mean… It's not good. But it’s not, not good. You know?” 

Robin actually doesn’t know, so she just smiles, bumping shoulders again because the spot where their shoulders touched before is still tingling and she wants more. Vickie relaxes next to her. They’re quiet after that, but it’s a good quiet, filled with stolen glances and hidden smiles. It’s not until they’re both headed back towards the cafeteria when Robin finally realizes what Vickie said. 

“I’m sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it,” Robin placates, hopefully drawing up enough of a fake smile to make it seem real. She does feel bad for Vickie, but she’s not sad about it. 

Vickie pulls her lips between her teeth into a thin, angry line. She groans in annoyance, and it’s the most Robin’s ever seen her complain, almost always a bubbly ray of sunshine. It reminds her of when Steve gets bitchy, and she love it. “He could’ve made it if he actually wanted to be here,” she huffs. “Apparently going to a party with his friends is a better way to spend his Saturday night.” 

Robin’s eyebrows are raised when Vickie turns to look at her, causing her to scoff out a laugh. “I know, I shouldn’t complain,” Vickie says, obviously not meaning a single word, “but the person you’re dating is supposed to watch your crappy, high school band concert, right?” 

Person. 

Vickie didn’t say boyfriend, she said ‘person’ you’re dating. It probably doesn’t mean anything… definitely, for sure doesn’t. It still doesn’t stop Robin from blushing like one of the hundreds of women Steve hits on every day at work. Fuck, she’s no better than one of Harrington’s bimbos. 

“They should definitely be here.” Robin smiles at her sympathetically, and Vickie thanks her before they walk into the noisy cafeteria. “I’ll see you Monday?” Vickie asks, heading off to visit her family. Robin nods, feeling the dark blush blossom on her cheeks as Vickie smiles, eyes shining with delight.

Robin finally spots her own family, and it’s standard procedure. Congratulations from her parents, telling her ‘Nice job’ and ‘You all sounded so good’ but it’s the comment from her grandmother, whispered in her ear in a tight hug, which catches her off guard.

“Your boy’s waiting for you,” she nods over Robin’s shoulder. She turns to find Steve grinning his dopey I love you smile at her. It’s her favorite, something special just for her. Lost in her soulmate’s gaze, her grandma gives Robin a soft elbow to the stomach to grab her attention. “I think you found yourself a good one.”

And honestly, Robin can’t find it in herself to spout her usual arguments of ‘he’s not my boy,’ because Steve is hers. He’ll always be hers just like she’ll always be his. They still love each other, still plan to spend the rest of their lives together. It’s just not the kind of love most people expect. 

It’s a kind of love that’s theirs, and theirs alone. 

Well, and Eddie’s too, of course.

Robin smiles back at her grandmother, a wet sheen to her eyes. “Yeah, I really did, didn’t I?”

[ethereal-nightingale]

batfam as band kids. walk with me here...

dick is a trombonist- he was pretty bad at when he first started out because his arms were too short to fully extend the slide lmfao,,,,,, it was never really one of his passions but he got quite good and still enjoys playing now and then

jason played trumpet. enough said (but seriously there's no other option- although i think he had a tendency to rage quit his practice sessions, and probably dropped out of band after grade 10. HOWEVER I could totally see him playing guitar as well and maybe joining jazz?)

tim is probably a flautist and made his brothers scare off anyone who bullied him for it,,,,,, maybe he would also learn to beatbox with it or smth cool like that. i think he's actually REALLY good and has even made it to top chairs district/state honor bands before. (not exactly sure how competitive njmea is though someone help me out pls)

damian is......okay damian might be the outlier and end up taking orchestra. it's okay though they forgive him for it. although i think it would be really funny if he tried clarinet, literally couldn't make a single sound, and immediately demanded that Bruce switch him over after one (1) day of trying

cass is a double threat i think she plays keyboard in jazz band (to an insane level) but she also plays flute. however she has a grudge against concert band (particularly marches) and (to the annoyance of her band director) prefers to improvise her parts

duke plays sax- mainly alto, but his favorite is bari. he wishes there were more cooler bari parts in traditional concert band rep (he's tired of upbeats, okay?!). surprisingly he's not in jazz with cass at school (couldn't fit it into his schedule), but he does play in a jazz-contemporary band outside of school.

steph is a casual euphonium player- she did her first year of band to fulfill the requirement for one year of a music elective, and only stayed in it because she knew a lot of people in the class. she also likes bass clarinet, but is NOT a fan of treble clef, so she's slowly learning it on the side.

(bonus: bruce was raised to play classical piano, but quit after his parents died. his kids are slowly helping him find his love for music again, and recently alfred heard him take 'clair de lune' (you KNOW he still knows it by heart) back out again.)

notice I didn't put anyone on clarinet...i think i have very high standards for clarinet player vibes, and none of them really stood out to me.

anyway they all have family jam sessions semi-regularly and maybe sometimes publish original music under pseudonyms

[pjomakesyourkidsgay]

one man orchestra | p. jackson

synopsis: you have an unexpected audience apart from your bunk and your dirty laundry.

warnings: fem!reader, persephone!reader, violin player!reader, bf!percy

wc: 618

being a demigod is hard.

it's not just the supernatural stuff, like monsters, godly feuds, prophecies and unwelcome dreams. there's the fact that you're just different from many kids your age when you're outside camp — you have to deal with studying through your dyslexia, seeing stuff that no one else would believe was real if you'd told them, fighting off beasts that seem to sense you no matter where you were.

although, to be honest, being in camp wasn't any easier.

just being the daughter of persephone, a virgin goddess, set you aside from the other campers. it's too time-consuming to explain your origins, so you end up just distancing yourself from every one else.

nobody reached out, nobody bothered you. so you find solace in a hobby that kept you indoors. you stand in your cabin, hands on your hips as you glare at the pile of burned or shredded clothes on the floor. weeks ago you'd agreed to reuse them with the demeter and aphrodite cabins, perhaps remake new items like bags or hats, but the smell of the burned material was stinking up your whole room!

you decide that it's not suitable for human use, ever, not even any other living organism, so you threw it out into the overflowing camp trash bin, already full of broken arrows and bent swords.

looking around at your empty cabin, no boyfriend or siblings or friends resting inside, you take out the battered case from beneath your bed. not battered because of misuse, no. battered because of age.

your precious violin lies inside in velvet lining, like a corpse waiting for you to take it out to see sunlight once more. you take it gently in your hands, handling it like an infant before assuming a comfortable position and gliding the bow against the strings.

eventually you lose yourself in the melody and rhythm of your own, fingers moving on their own as you play a song you've memorized by heart. eyes closed, your ears take in the music as your lungs take in air, as if it were part of you now, necessary to keep living.

if flowers were not in your veins, you would've been certain that sunlight ran through it.

you go on playing for a time that felt so long but so short, and as you let the last note ring, a different sound grabs your attention.

"you never told me you played."

the smooth sound of your boyfriend's voice wraps around you, flesh hitting flesh in an action of praise. a slight blush in embarrassment of being caught spread out on your cheeks.

percy's clapping draws to a close. he walks forward to you and sits down by your side, grinning. "were you just escaping from playing for me?"

you roll your eyes, bumping him softly with your shoulder. "no, silly. i just wasn't sure i could play in front of an audience."

"why? you're amazing at it."

"i don't know." you shrug. "nerves. anxiety. that i might mess it up."

percy puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into the cloth of your shirt. "well, i'm hoping i can be an exception. i'm a great hype man, you know."

that brings a smile to your lips. "yes, i know you are."

"you wanna grab something to eat?" he asks, offering a hand as he stands. you follow suit, interlacing your hands with his. "and then you can teach me how to play."

you smirk. "you sure you're up for violin, jackson?"

"as long as you're the teacher," he grins, pulling you out and close to him.

a fist hits his chest soon after. "great hype man but horrible flirt."

"hey!"

[mysteriesmuse]

MusicStudent Katsuki Bakugou who’s the same grade and is a member of the ensemble you’re in this semester. As a percussionist he has a lot of spare time in his hands in orchestra and even more at a fantastic vantage point. There’s the barrier of percussion instruments that separates them onto their own little world — the set up spanning across the entire back of the rehearsal room as they all fly back and forth past each other to get to their multiple part assignments. — he’s got a lot of accessory assignments for this semester; and the fact of holding claves, triangles, swiping chimes, and slamming car engines means he’s relatively on the move. However, it also means he’s not assigned to anything during part of rehearsal — that means he can leave early at times. Which coincidentally happens to align with some of the pieces that you’re not assigned on. Not that you couldn’t perform them, but rather there’s no need for you to be there since they cut down on parts for this one piece in particular. But when you are both playing Katsuki tends to rely on his sense of time as his gaze wanders from the conductor to your chair. As he sits in the throne behind the timpani he gets the perfect view of you and your side profile. The perfect spot to overhear your light chatter - to read your micro expressions - to see the way you’ve dressed and the way you slightly mark your music. Katsuki snickers at the way you make haste to make an accusing face at the trombone players for wrong notes or overblasting tone. Katsuki twitches when he hears you frack a note waiting for the flashes of second hand embarrassment to touch your ears, but you pout and sheepishly shrug it away the only tinges of red as tingly thing in his chest. Katsuki who watches you pout your lips and talk as you slather in chapstick during the break and crack open an electrolyte powder into your water bottle and shake it up as the start of every rehearsal.

And you cradle that water bottle with you out into the hallway when you’re not needed and the two of you stand outside in the hallway together — that’s where he learned what you like to eat and drink and how you liked your boba order. And it’s on one day where the schedule declares that you’re on duty for the entire rehearsal and he isn’t that he decides to talk a walk; opening his notes app to make sure he gets your order right, your favorite flavor. And he stops at the boba truck that’s permanently parked on the right side of campus every afternoon and orders you both one. Walking back with the spring sunshine on his face and a black baseball cap sporting the university logo on it with two bobas in hand. The sweet cool breeze mingle with the chill sugary boba on his lips. The jelly tapioca pearls a familiar serotonin inviting sensation in his mouth. The calloused skin on his fingertips getting damp with the condensation - except it’s all more than worth it when he greats you after rehearsal in the room. Katsuki catches you as your packing up a red eye watching your form as the everything gets packed away into the gig bag. He waits until you’re ready and have turned for the door that he calls for you, “Oi’ I got you something,” shaking the second boba in the air. The slow and steady tortoise like walk you has speeds up as you dodge the playful fleeting fist bumps and voices of your cello and trombone friends. You flutter to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “No way, thank you ‘tsuki!”

He grins with a shrug, “You were talking about it before rehearsal and I had some off-time today. S’ no biggy.” The grin you have and the contact of your grabby hands against his has him laughing as you place your lips around the straw like a toddler. “I know you’re a purest about the instrument food thing.” After your enthuastic sip he adds, “Wanna pack up and walk around campus for a while to enjoy these?” He notes you’re dressed for it. In your cute tank top and breezy collared crochet button shirt — you worked on it all last semester and have been loathe to be found without it now that the real nice spring weather has arrived. “Yeah totally, let me put this away first and we can go!” And Katsuki watches you disappear for a few minute before you reappear and playfully knock shoulders with him as he holds the door open for you on the way out into the glorious March sunshine.

[pedripics]

Pedri: ‘Now I feel much relaxed’.

Mundo Deportivo (September 04, 2024)

In terms of confidence, Flick has given you the baton of the team. You are a bit of an orchestra conductor for Barça. Tell me how you feel, but I see you as very liberated.

“Yes, I feel that way, liberated. I think Flick has also passed it on to me like that, to play without pressure, to do what I know how to do and I feel much more relaxed. Physically you can also see that I'm much better at being able to do different things. Flick is very good at that, giving us confidence.”

Physically, you say you are much better, what has changed?

“At the club, we work a lot harder than before. I think the physical trainers that have come in are doing us a lot of good. We work very hard and you can see that in the match. The team doesn't drop off after 70 or 80 minutes, but maintains the physical level.”

Tell us a bit more about this change in physical work, which we don't know much about from the outside.

“Yes, especially since we arrived. It's true that I arrived later, but with those I was talking about who did the pre-season, they did a lot of hard work. A lot of strength, a lot of physical exercises. And when we arrived, they gave us a final push until the games started. Now with the competition, it's different.”

And what is Hansi Flick like?

“Well, above all, he's very friendly, he's a guy who likes to talk to the players. Apart from being serious, he also jokes, he's not always as serious as he looks. He helps us young players a lot. He's always attentive to what you need and that’s appreciated.”

Is it true that he also has that sergeant’s touch?

“Yes, it's clear that when he has to take things seriously, he takes everything seriously. He has that sergeant's touch, but also that little piece of bread when he talks to the players.”

It's true that you've started the season like a rocket. In terms of confidence, what does this start to the season mean for the group, with 4 out of 4 and leaders?

“A lot. I think it was important for us to start like this. I think the team deserves to be like this, the confidence that all the players have. And now we have to keep going. It's clear that it's only four games, but to start like this is what we need.”

It's your turn to be in charge in the dressing room this year. You are one of the captains.

“A little bit, a little bit. Especially to the youngsters, of which there are many. I try to help them as much as I can. It's true that I'm the fifth captain and I try to help.”

Now that you mention young players. Barça has not reinforced the pivot position that had been talked about so much during the summer. Flick opted for the youngsters. First Marc Bernal, who is injured, and also Marc Casadó, who played a very good game the other day. What do you think of them?

“Playing with the youngsters is quite easy because apart from the fact that they have that spirit of wanting to win, to run, to work... they already know what Barça football is like and they are adapted to how the game is played here. Bernal’s injury was a shame for us because he’s a player who could bring a lot to us, who has a lot of quality. Above all, he plays forwards and that’s sometimes difficult for a ‘6’ when you’re so young. I send him a lot of encouragement and I’m sure he’ll be back soon and strong. He has the quality for that and more.”

And what about Casadó?

“It's very easy to play alongside him. He's a whirlwind, he doesn't give a ball away. He has also been with Barça for many years and understands football very well.”

You know the club very well, you’ve been in Barcelona for years, you’ve been a lifelong Culé. You know that the club and the environment are an emotional rollercoaster. Now, all of a sudden, Barça is a candidate for everything again. And you, from the inside, are balancing ambition and prudence.

“Yes, I've also heard Raphinha saying that Barça have to go out and win everything, which is what we have to have in mind, but one day we're not the best in the world and the next day we're not the worst. I think we have to maintain the level we have, have confidence in what we are doing, which is giving us results so far. We have to keep working, but we have to go for everything.”

You are connected despite being in Las Rozas, eh? Even listening to Raphinha's interview this Monday.

“Yes, it just came up on TikTok, that's why I saw it.”

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

00 guidepost. where it all begins

>> 01 clear skies. | << the collection >>

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: my first writing in a loooong while, hope you enjoy! word count: 650 warnings: none... yet

may, first year

as a musician, you hear the lilting melodies in little everyday activities. the rhythm of volleyballs hitting the ground as the team warms up, the clicking of mechanical pencils in a quiet exam hall, the birds chirping outside as you sit in class listening to the teacher. you don’t find it particularly useful nor distracting, it just is. just as you are.

since joining shiratorizawa’s symphony orchestra, you found yourself immersed in your new afterschool activity instead of staying on at the gym waiting for your brother to finish up practice. not that it was bothersome, you used the time to do your homework before you get home anyway. unlike your brother’s club, orchestra almost always ends on time, and you still find yourself back at the gym, tapping out the melody that you have been practicing in the orchestra. 

with two years between you and your brother, he is already in his third year while you just started the school year as a first year. he is the official setter for the boys’ volleyball team since his second year, which you supposed made him one of the best setters in the region since shiratorizawa is in itself a powerhouse school for volleyball. 

semi eita, heir apparent to your brother, spies you watching from the railing and waves to you as he runs back from retrieving the ball. you wave back at him shyly, wondering if his fans would be coming after you. you have known him for more than a month, in that short time, he has garnered a sizable amount of fans despite not being a starter for the team. the whole laying low in high school plan is not happening, it seems. despite being his friend, it’s not like you’re fully immune to his boyish charms either. though you suppose that his fans have it worse than you do.

your brother had introduced the two of you after their first practice of the new school year. you had peeked into the gym half an hour after the supposed practice end time, thinking it was probably safe enough as most of the players should have left by then, only to find him giving some pointers to semi on setting. 

by then they had already noticed your presence. “come in, y/n, there’s someone i’d like you to meet. this is semi eita, i think he is in your class,” and so you became friends with an otherwise popular, untouchable boy. 

your attention turns to the other first year playing on the court. 

you distinctly remember him running up the stairs to retrieve the stray balls that happened to bounce up to the second floor, and you were caught like a deer in headlights. although your brother told you it was fine to watch from there, you were not sure if it was actually allowed. 

“sorry! my brother told me it was fine to be here.” you had bowed to him before passing the balls that you had collected. 

he had looked at you with the most puzzled expression before asking in a gruff voice “who are you?” at that question, you had immediately apologized again, unsure of whether you were about to be reprimanded for being where you should not be, left only your first name, and ran out. 

later on, when you were walking home with your brother, he had laughed at you and called you stupid after you told him the whole thing that happened. but you were intrigued by the unnamed boy, by his olive-mud colored eyes that reminded you of your favorite hojicha drink, by his voice that left this strange tangled mess of melody in your chest. 

“onii-chan, who is he anyway?” you pouted at your older brother, and turns out, he is also in your year. you had thought that he was in his second or third year, judging by his large build and the strength that sent the volleyball ricocheting up to the second floor. “ushijima wakatoshi. it looks like he will be our next ace.” 

ushijima wakatoshi. even his name has a sense of steady strength that left you admiring the way it rolls off your tongue. 

and so that tangled seed of song silently takes root in you. 

looking for more? browse the collection

let me know what you think in the replies! i would love to hear your thoughts :)

[inistellan]

November DWC 2024 Day 5 - Skill

Rumors say if you mark your door with a red stripe, you will beckon The Chameleon to appear the next night. The name of the target is all that he needs, the desires you speak shall always succeed.

Beware thoughts of betrayal, he shall see through your sin, The Chameleon adapts and always blends in. You won’t know his name, you won’t see his face, unless you seek death, stay in his good grace.

The price may be steep, but you will not regret, despite what you see, you are of no threat. The job will be done with much time to spare, The Chameleon’s craft is beyond compare.

Inistellan Volanthus is a man of many skills, the greatest of which is lying. He had been lying to everyone he had ever met ever since he could remember when his father, Lord Fin’endal, told him that he was to become the next Chameleon. The Chameleon was a figure whispered about only in shadows, one of the greatest assassins that seemed to transcend time itself. The Chameleon had been around for millenia, and in some circles anytime anyone of importance died in a suspicious manner, it was assumed to have been the work of the famed assassin. No one knew that there had been multiple versions of The Chameleon, except for the Fin’endal’s since it was, essentially, the family business.

Not that Stellan uses that name anymore. After passing on the title and parting ways with the moniker, it was typical for the retired Chameleon to take on a completely new life. That is exactly what he had done, multiple times in fact. Inistellan Volanthus was the fourth name and face that Cazmilan Fin’endal Senior had chosen, and quite possibly his last.

It had at first been a burden to him, having been taught and molded from a young age that this was to be his life. He ended up resenting his father in the end only to take the older man’s life while still accepting the family title. The world needed and still needs people like The Chameleon, at least in his opinion. Eventually, he grew to enjoy it. He still participated in everything he otherwise would have and held a completely ‘normal’ life outside of his secret life: Marriage, children, friendships, lovers, hobbies, routine. It had always felt as if he were two different people forced inside of one body, but perhaps that was just a part of the ‘family trait’.

Every Chameleon was meant to have a public face of great renown. His father before him had been a notable Magister, and his son who now carries the title is a principal dancer in the Royal Ballet of Silvermoon. Stellan himself was the piano player for the Silvermoon Orchestra during his first life until he ‘died’. That was one skill he still enjoys quite a bit to this day, practicing often on his own grand piano in his humble apartment.

His second life had him see work as a boatswain on an at-the-time well-known pirate ship. Othikess Starfall had always been good with his hands, excellent at carpentry and had a knack for melee combat. The open seas were so peaceful and calming after a lifetime of constant practicing and having to be perfect.

Vethan Sunsong was his third life, a vagabond who had oftentimes volunteered as a farmhand in return for a meal and a bed to sleep in for a night before moving on. Traveling everywhere, he learned about various cultures and struggles all over Azeroth and picked up new languages along the way. A favorite, if not for his desire for the finer things in life.

Every version of himself had taught him a lifetime's worth of skills, bringing him to the man he is today. Inistellan Volanthus was a Farstrider for some time before eventually retiring into mercenary and security work. It isn’t as fast-paced as some of his other lives, but he is getting older now and slowing down is natural. He still surprises many, especially in the sparring ring. It’s difficult to trick a man who had spent his life tricking others, not to mention a man that had been trained at his level. But they will never know.

For now, he is content and comfortable. His children thrive in ways he never did: Cazmilan Junior with his ballet and expertise as the Chameleon, and Vixannya Ana'diel with her macabre art. He has friends, beautiful lovers, a home, wealth, and security. Perhaps Inistellan Volanthus is truly the classy gentleman he was meant to be all along.

@cazthechameleon @cazmilan @vixannya @themercenaries

@daily-writing-challenge

[cha-melodius]

No Sentences Sunday

Basically I haven't written anything I like in at least a week (I know this isn't that long but I feel very adrift so there you go) and I'm having decision paralysis. So I've decided to get outside input for this Seven Sentence Sunday.

For more intel on these see: pro-pool players, noir au, spy soulmate au, conductor/pianist, Jurassic Park au, stuntman/director rbb fic. (Lokius and Napollya folks: the parole AU and the art thief/gallery owner AU are gonna get sprinkled in here already, so that's why they don't appear, but I do intend on working on them!)

Thanks for the tags today @kiwiana-writes, @orchidscript and @thesleepyskipper, and also for the tags for inspiration weekend plus @welcometololaland. Putting all my tags below the cut because of tumblr shenanigans, but also please take the open tag if you want it!

@clottedcreamfudge, @dumbpeachjuice, @three-drink-amy, @rmd-writes, @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@cricketnationrise, @eusuntgratie, @bigassbowlingballhead, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @getmehighonmagic

@magicandarchery, @wordsofhoneydew, @cactusdragon517, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @firenati0n

@sparklepocalypse, @leaves-of-laurelin, @14carrotghoul, @sherryvalli, @inexplicablymine

@indestructibleheart, @oxfordslutphase, @ninzied, @iboatedhere, @nontoxic-writes

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd, @adreamareads

@pippinoftheshire, @anincompletelist, @onthewaytosomewhere

[celticcrossanon]

Australian Tour

Tuesday the 22nd of October

The King and Queen were in Sydney today.

Under a cut again due to length

The King went to the National Centre for Indigenous Excellence in Redfern (a suburb known for its poor indigenous inhabitants), where the event began with a traditional Welcome to Country and Smoking ceremony before The King meet a range of community representatives and local Elders.

While The King was in Redfern, The Queen visited  Refettorio OzHarvest in nearby Surry Hills (OzHarvest is a charity that collects food from restaurants etc that would otherwise throw it out and delivers it to charities that feed people - https://www.ozharvest.org/). She helped prepare the lunch being served in the restaurant and then spoke to the people who had gathered outside to see her.

After visiting OzHarvest, the Queen  visited the Green Square Library in the suburb of Zetland for a writing workshop, where she met schoolchildren taking part in workshops with local authors. She also met past participants of The Queen's Commonwealth Essay Competition and presented 4 certificates, and met with authors Liane Moriarty and Thomas Keneally.

The King and Queen then attended a BBQ at Parramatta Park, hosted by the NSW Premier. The BBQ was by invitation only and guests included  around 500 community leaders, volunteers and sports officials. There was a variety of entertainment on offer, including sheepdog trials and backyard cricket. While they took the tongs at the BBQ, it was only for a few seconds, as they spent most of the time meeting people.

Following the community barbecue, His Majesty attended The King’s Foundation Reception at Admiralty House in Kirribilli, where he met Hillview Foundation Australia chair Dominic Richards and The King’s Foundation chief executive officer Mrs Kristina Murrin and unveiled a plaque.

In the afternoon, The King toured the Melanoma Institute Australia in Wollstonecraft and met current patients. He also met Australians of the Year, Professor Georgina Long and Professor Richard Scolyer and heard about their cancer research and treatment.

The last event was at the Sydney Opera house. The King and Queen waved as they drove slowly through the crowds up to the Opera House, with the Queen wearing a new outfit. They were greeted by the NSW Premier and his wife and met 6 special guests, British actor Dame Joanna Lumley, actor Heather Mitchell, acrobat and dancer Lucia Richardson, singer Jin Tea Kim, artistic director of Bangarra Dance Theatre Francis Rings and Sydney Symphony orchestra principal bass clarinet player Alexander Morris. They signed the guest book and posed for photos before walking through the crowd before leaving for the fleet review.

The King and Queen boarded Admiral Hudson, a Kingfisher 54 cruiser, to watch Fleet Review of the Royal Australian Navy and a flypast by the Royal Australian Air Force, The Royal Australian Army was also involved. It was the fourth fleet review in Australian history.

The King and Queen now leave Australia for CHOGM in Samoa, which runs from the 21st ro the 26th of October.

Edit: The King is going to CHOGM; I'm not sure what The Queen is doing.

[yuripides]

Augh fuck ok so, I was just listening to Want You Gone and I realized something. There’s a very real possibility that GLaDOS isn’t in denial about liking Chell and caring about her and her act of sending Chell away could be out of that very care.

So throughout the song GLaDOS does say stuff like “go make some new disaster, you’re someone else’s problem now” and of course “now I only want you gone” and all this time we’ve been quite logically reading “I used to want you dead but now I only want you gone” as an “I don’t hate you as much anymore and killing you is basically impossible and you cause too much trouble for me to try anymore” but… GLaDOS still pulls back Chell at the end of Portal 2. She doesn’t let Chell die. Sure we can say that that was Caroline because the facility deletes Caroline later, but in the ending song GLaDOS says “now little Caroline lives in me too”, so she’s clearly still in there somewhere and makes up a fundamental part of who GLaDOS is.

Now I mentioned all that to segue into this next part. Do you think if GLaDOS just “hated Chell less” she would have organized an entire choir and orchestra out of turrets for her to listen to as she left the facility? Do you think she would have given her a companion cube, the thing that’s been a symbol for the human emotion of caring throughout the series with even players being attached to it sometimes?

Let that sit on your mind for a second.

Portal 2 has a second story-driven gamemode. The co-op. In the co-op you play as Atlas and P-body, two robots who GLaDOS put in place for testing in the absence of Chell. Now we see that these robots can’t really die, possibly in-canon as they respawn in the co-op as long as one of them is still alive. Unlike humans, these robots can’t come to permanent harm.

At the end of the coop, the two robots find the room where the crow’s made a nest. They manage to get the crow out of the facility, but find the eggs it’s laid. At first GLaDOS is horrified but then decides to take the eggs and raise the chicks herself. Of course she does this in her own way of trying to see them as dangerous “killing machines” but before she switches to that, she even names two of them “Marshmallow” and “Mr. Chubbybeak”. As dangerous as she is GLaDOS has a heart and some kind of caring instinct.

That’s not the only thing those two find at the end of the coop. They also find an entire untouched wing full of humans in cryosleep. GLaDOS wakes them up, puts them to testing.. and “depletes” the entire test subject supply in a few days.

Now, as we know by this point this isn’t exactly her fault. It’s the facility that instills “the itch”, the drive to test and experiment regardless of the consequences, as long as the facility itself is intact. And she knows that very well.

And in the end, I think that’s why she sends Chell away. Not out of hate, but out of care and love. In that brief time of freedom from the facility and the itch she gets, she realizes she does care. “I used to want you dead but now I only want you gone.” GLaDOS wants Chell gone because she knows that despite how much she wants Chell to stay with her, Chell will be happier in the outside world, and if she stays in the facility she will eventually come to harm.

“Want You Gone” is GLaDOS trying to intentionally deny that she cares so she doesn’t get hurt. In her own words,

“Goodbye my only friend…

Oh did you think I meant you?

That would be funny,

If it weren’t so sad.

Well, you have been replaced.

I don’t need anyone now!

When I delete you

Maybe I’ll stop feeling so bad…”