#string quartet no. 4

[caviarsonoro]

Pēteris Vasks (Kronos Quartet): String Quartet No. 4: V. Meditation

In Meditation, the fifth movement of String Quartet No. 4 by Pēteris Vasks, the music unfolds as a sonic introspection of deep emotional weight. The Kronos Quartet’s interpretation accentuates the contemplative nature of the piece, with delicate phrasing that highlights the Latvian composer’s spiritual sensitivity. From the very first notes, the music progresses with an almost ethereal subtlety, weaving an atmosphere where time seems to suspend itself in a space of meditation and reflection.

The use of textural minimalism and extended melodic lines evokes a sense of longing and vulnerability. The sustained high-register violin notes create a fragile effect, while the cello provides a warm, resonant foundation. The Kronos Quartet masterfully controls the dynamics, alternating between restrained tension and moments of release, allowing the piece to breathe organically and evolve without losing its contemplative essence.

Vasks, known for his ability to translate the sonic landscape of Latvia into universal emotions, achieves in Meditation an almost liturgical expression of time and memory. His writing for string quartet does not seek virtuosity but transcendence. The Kronos Quartet underscores this aspect, delivering a performance that prioritizes expressiveness over technical display. Each note feels imbued with meaning, and the silence between them takes on a narrative weight, becoming an essential element of the musical discourse.

The result is a piece that not only invites introspection but also establishes a dialogue with the listener, appealing to their deepest sensitivity.

[freakinflipflop]

I imagine Kristoph Gavin was a 2nd violin in a string quartet when he was in college. He's absolutely the kind of guy to have played violin, and I would imagine he LOVED like. Haydn. But he's not showy enough to want the first violin position. And he gets SO perfectionist about the whole thing that the quartet ends up falling apart after 6 months.

So when his little brother is the lead musician in a successful band? AND has passed the bar and is about to debut as a lawyer? It makes Kristoph So Fucking Mad. Why does Klavier get to have everything Kristoph has strived to have. Why can Klavier do what Kristoph couldn't.

Kristoph doesn't know that behind the scenes Klavier is just as much of a control freak with his music as Kristoph was- Klavier is just able to keep his relationships based in kindness enough that it doesn't all fall apart.

[journalofanobody]

Mozart: String Quartet No. 4 in C, K.157 - 2. Andante

[kinsey3furry300]

An extremely dumb guid to “Which famous 60’s/70's Jazz man is that?”

1, Is it Piano lead or Brass lead? If piano go to question two. If brass question three.

2, Does the Pianist sound like he’s taken all the acid, or is there a guy making love to a clarinet?

Oh yeah: he’s taken all the acid alight. Is… is he okay? Thelonious Monk.

Oh yeah, some guy is going ham on a clarinet. Dave Burkbeck Quartet.

Neither of the above: Duke Ellington.

3, If brass lead: is it Louis Armstrong? If Yes, it’s Louis Armstrong. If no, question four.

4, Does the Trumpet player make you feel sad? Even, dare I say, Blue?

Almost? Chet Barker

Kind of? Miles Davies.

If no, question five.

5, Is the trumpet player trying to blow your face clean off? Like, actively trying to kill the first row of the audience? Dizzy Gillespie.

It’s brass led, but Sax not Trumpet.  

Okay, technically thats a woodwind but moving on, question 6, isolate the strings: is Charles Mingus doing what he’s actually paid to do in the back of the ensemble, or is he dicking around and seeing how far a man can take a double bass before his band-mates kill him?

Seems to be playing normally: Charlie Parker

He’s fucking around in F minor, and also that Bari sax is filthy! The Mingus Big band, with Ronnie Cuber on the Sax.

[himewonu]

STRAWBERRY SCENTED STRINGS ౨ৎ kim mingyu

౨ৎ mingyu loves sweets. what wasn’t sweet, though, was the cellist from his rival band. your aloof and irascible attitude toward his band always left them in a bad mood. somehow, you and mingyu can only get along through your love for desserts.

starring bassist! mingyu x cellist! f reader

word count 16k (thanks 4 betareading soph and alya >_<) | playlist

genre fluff, humour, rivals to lovers (?), band au, suggestive

contains profanities, food, alcohol, petnames, mentions of sex, they makeout once (not really), idk anything abt the bass or cello or being a professional musician, ambiguous ending

from rhin, this was heavily inspired by mingyu shredding the guitar during their clap performance. i’ve been itching to release this since dec 2023 but i have been inconsistent with writing it so i’m leaving it halfway finished!!

please support by reblogging and feedbacks ♡

TRACK_001_SWANSONG

Just as your quartet is finishing the first movement of the piece, you hear a soft guitar riff lingering from the practice room next to yours. It interrupts the practice and causes someone to make a mistake. Given how painfully obvious a cello is compared to any other instrument in the violin family, it was unquestionably yours. They began to glance at each other until they finally turned to face you, who was attempting to reprise the bar—this time, correctly. 

Swearing under your breath, you carefully set down your cello, trying not to let your rage get the better of you and throw the instrument across the room. You left the practice room, slamming the door behind you. The other musicians in the corridor noticed your little outburst and walked away when you gave them a stern look. 

If there was one thing you hated more than making mistakes, it would be rock music. Whether it was the genre or the people indulging in it, it was the bane of your existence. The hardcore melody and the blaring noise the instruments made, especially when they were all playing at once, were too much for your ears to handle. The genre is what you would call offensive to you. 

The people who participated in that genre weren’t any better. The majority of rock bands you’ve encountered were merely conceited and brash rebels. The thought of having your worlds clash was like another war, and you might prefer to switch back to the viola than subject yourself to those monstrous pieces of work. 

Since rock bands make up the majority of the bands playing at the festival, your quartet is starting to doubt their ability to perform well. You sharing a stage with them was already hell enough. In fact, you should be intimidating to them rather than afraid of them. They serve only as a distraction from the masterpiece that your quartet is about to unveil. 

Half applauded for your quartet's performance, but their enthusiasm wasn’t meeting your expectations. Your quartet played flawlessly with no delay or off-key parts that could show a lack of praise from the audience. They mostly consisted of teenagers who were cheering for rock bands and probably new to your performance, hence why the crowd felt muted. Of course, they only like bands. 

When the emcee introduced the following band as you were leaving the stage, the audience was cheering far louder and more enthusiastically than they had for your group even before they had taken the stage. Their height blocked your view as they made their way to the stage, making you promptly move aside since you were in the way. 

Cherry Bass. The audience appeared to really enjoy them; some were yelling nonstop, which makes them seem popular. They stood out from the majority of bands in the area for a few reasons. Their concept suited their name—the outfits and height were pointed out. 

They are somewhat alike and both formal and informal. Their performance is meticulous, and they remain still rather than circling the stage. Not only are their lyrics poetic, but their music is also non-aggressive and loud. Rather than being a typical song about heartbreak, it's more about friendship and fun. 

It’s no wonder the audience likes them. 

The way their cherry red leather outfits complemented their physical structure, combined with the lack of awkwardness when staying still and somehow nonchalantly engaging with the audience. Whenever they play their instrument, they give off a cool, edgy vibe and appear more like a bunch of friends who are simply excited to perform in front of an audience than like they are trying to prove they're the greatest band in the world. Despite their lack of professionalism, they give off the impression of having some band experience. 

Still, they’re a distraction.

The realization finally dawned on you as the hot air of summer was draining out your energy and killing your ego. "We should go." You uttered. Your group trailed behind you as you made your way out of the alluring scenery before your pride could die.

TRACK_002_ESPRESSO

Mingyu doubts his place in the band. There are some songs where people can barely hear the bass in their extended plays, and he sometimes can’t even hear himself during practices when his bandmates are loud. Whenever he notices that he made a mistake, he doesn’t bother redoing that bar since it’s so quiet that not even the others can hear it. 

He mainly relies on the feeling of friction between his fingers and the strings to play along. 

During practice, a certain sound caught his attention that was definitely not his bass or any other instrument. Its subtle taps or thuds resonate in his ears. It’s not in the room, and it sounds like it's coming from outside. As they wrap up their practice, Mingyu decides to investigate as he puts his bass down and strolls towards the door. Slowly opening it, he peeks his head out to meet with the sight of movers holding boxes. They drop them inside the room in front of theirs. 

“We have new neighbours,” he announces to his bandmates. 

“And they’re most likely gonna move out. Everyone hates using that practice room since we’re loud,” Vernon mocks, pulling out the cable from his guitar. 

Just like every other neighbour they had, everyone kept moving out due to their infamous noise. They all tried to get them kicked out, but it was impossible since the landlord of Choi’s Music Store and Apartments for Musicians was their leader’s dad. Since then, all he could do was talk his way out of not mentioning that room. 

The landlord mentioned how he didn’t recommend renting your room, as the room in front of yours was going to be noisy. But that didn’t stop your quartet from using it; it doubles as a practice room and an apartment, and you all needed to move out of your brother’s basement as a practice room. The only con is that it's downtown. 

This was one of those times when your ensemble was willing to be nice to rock bands—except you. You refused to cooperate with them since your excuse was that you didn’t want to see their faces. 

Ryuwon had to go build your bed frames and told you to bake muffins for your neighbours, hence why the three of you had to be nice. 

“She better be joking when she wants us to bake for them,” you scowled. 

“Let’s just do it in her favour. After all, we should let them know they have new neighbours,” the violinist proposed. “I don’t want to deliver, though.”

“Not it,” Yoonhee utters, quickly touching her nose as the other does the same, leaving you with the responsibility. 

“What the hell! I didn’t even agree to this!” You grumble as you all head to the kitchen.

Meeting them was a questionable encounter. You urged them that you really didn’t want to give them the muffins, but they were insisting on it to the point where they pushed you out of the apartment, giving you the container of muffins. You were banging on the door, yelling at them to let you in. They didn’t answer, and you just so happened to give in, asking them what you should even say. Their response to you was to just come up with something from the top of your head.

You were finally facing their door, knocking rapidly until someone opened the door. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of you holding muffins in your hands. His tall figure was practically towering over you, making him seem intimidating. But the only intimidating thing between you was your mad expression and how you looked like you didn’t want to be there. 

“Hi, not sure if you know, but we’re your new neighbours,” you greet, still retaining the muffins in his face. 

He scratches his head. “Uhh, what are the muffins for?”

You didn’t reply right away, as you were trying to come up with an answer. "Think of it more as an advance apology. We practice loudly, so hopefully you and your band can handle that," you sarcastically remark.

He scoffs as he takes the container. "Oh, we’ll be much louder than you,” he brags before shutting the door on you. 

You wonder why you would even agree to live next door to a rock band. But he looked awfully familiar to you. How he held onto his bass and the way he was towering over you. The band was undoubtedly one you have seen before, even though the landlord didn’t mention their name. 

He takes the lid off and gazes at the freshly baked muffins. “What’s that?” Vernon proceeds to ask Mingyu. “Not for you!” he retaliates. Vernon rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the music sheet, while Mingyu pulls out a muffin and begins to bite into it. He hums in pleasure. 

Strawberry banana—his favourite. 

Your quartet decided to establish a rivalry with the band next door. It all began two days after you moved in, at five in the morning, when they practiced, more specifically, by clashing their instruments together to aggravate you four. 

The following day, you practiced more loudly than you usually would, and you practiced for hours on end until they started banging on your door to beg you to stop. That day, they found it amusing since you were their opposing genre, especially being that quartet they saw at the summer music festival. 

Since then, the eight of you have always found a way to piss each other off—everywhere, every day, and every time. 

Everyone in your quartet likes to disappear off to their own places when the group isn't practicing, leaving you alone. You’d either be at work or out in public, because there’s absolutely nothing you could possibly do at home except practice, write songs, or bake. You want to ensure that your day is peaceful and that you’re not being disturbed during your alone time. Whenever you see someone from that band approaching you, you usually scare them off with your words, or if you don’t feel like losing your voice, you just give them a death glare. 

For someone who’s so graceful, you sure can be frightening. 

“Why are you so sour?” A voice utters before you. Lifting your gaze from your journal, you see the man you gave muffins to. You were at a nearby cafe, quietly penning some lyrics for yourself. He puts his coffee down on the table and sits in front of you, attempting to strike up a conversation.

His words cause you to furrow your brows before you snap back. “Excuse me? I didn’t even ask you to sit with me!” 

“You sure look like you need someone to sit with,” he mumbles against the rim of his coffee cup. 

"Maybe you can't tell, but everyone here knows that I prefer to be by myself, except for you and your stupid ass!" He doesn’t leave; rather, he stays in his seat, still drinking the coffee. You ignore the fact that he isn’t going to leave you alone and glance down at your journal once more. You continue to write a line on the current song you’re working on. 

He sets his coffee back on the table and leans in so that his face is just inches from yours. You try to pay attention to the burning sensation that’s growing on your cheeks from the proximity. You’re still writing and not even trying to look at him. He pulls his arm out and reaches in to quickly grab your journal. 

“What’s even in here?” He questions, holding it with both hands as he looks at the page of lyrics. “Flash Forward,” he mutters as he reads the title of the song. Before he can take another look, you snatch it back from him and stuff it into your bag. “That’s none of your business,” you retort as you get up from your seat and walk away.

There was nobody home when you returned to the apartment. You run to your bedroom and lie on your bed as you stare at the ceiling. The light was shining on your eyes, making you get up and realize that you still haven’t finished writing the song. You grab your journal out of your bag and open it to the unfinished page.

The moment the tip of your pencil touches the paper, your mind goes blank. Nothing comes to mind for the next few lines. All you can think about is what the man from earlier said about you. 

“Sour? What does he know about being sour? I’m anything but sour!” You quietly complain to yourself. 

You were writing down exactly what you had said before you even realized it. After continuing to stare at the words, it finally dawned on you. You turned the page to an empty space and began to write a heading. 

‘Sour Grapes’

Other than writing lyrics, you like to bake in your free time. You would have been a baker without a doubt if you had not been a musician. Since you were a child, you have always enjoyed baking. Always trying out how to bake different kinds of pastries and other desserts. Your family never brought desserts home, except for birthday cakes, and no one really taught you how. 

All you remember is how it all started, when your brother was watching a food channel and the show that was airing was about young bakers. It was kind of annoying to watch them fail at their recipes so often. You recalled remarking that even you, a seven-year-old, could accomplish it because it was so simple. Joshua wanted you to give it a try, but he said it was not easy.

For one thing, he was a little stupid to encourage his younger sister to go into the kitchen and possibly set the house on fire. Either way, you proved him wrong in a way. You followed a recipe that you remembered seeing on the screen. You weren’t precise with the measurements since you eyeballed it. However, the outcomes were better than shown on the show. Joshua seemed to like it and mentioned that you should try baking when you’re much older.

That's how your interest in baking began. You don’t really bake for yourself. Usually, you just serve your friends or family whatever dessert you make. Their constant approval encouraged you to bake more and more. 

Here you are, by yourself, in the kitchen. Since it's less disruptive and you get to surprise them when they get home, you actually prefer to bake when no one else is home. On days like these in September, people would be craving autumn-related baked goods. Unlike them, you’ve been craving anything with strawberries lately, and this was going to be one of those times where you bake for yourself.

Baking is the only hobby you have where you don’t have to stress. It’s funny because baking requires you to be meticulous at every step. As long as you have the basics, you just grab everything from the refrigerator and cabinets and toss it all together.  

Loaded with all the essentials and a pack of fresh strawberries on the counter, you took your phone out and looked up strawberry dessert recipes. The most common pastry to ever exist, Strawberry Shortcake, appears first, and surprisingly, you’ve never tried to make one. 

Doing it on the first try was nothing. You could probably open a bakery knowing how good you are, because it was undoubtedly one of the easiest desserts you’ve ever made. It smells delicious, and by looking at it, it was pleasing. 

Since you haven’t shared anything on social media in months, this was your chance to showcase your accomplishments. The majority of your pages are composed of scenery, which makes them visually appealing. 

As you opened the camera app, you noticed how the kitchen in the background was ugly to look at. You looked around the apartment for a spot, but nothing seemed to fit the mood. The sky was still blue, and all of a sudden, you recalled that the rooftop had a patio. You put your phone in your pocket and picked up the plate with the cake on it. 

You ran into a familiar face as soon as you opened the door and stepped outside, and it was not just your eyes that met him. It just so happens that his bass pickups are now covered in whipped cream, and your strawberry shortcake was lying on the ground when you dropped it. You’re so glad the plate was plastic, because if it were ceramic and shattered, it would’ve made this situation really painful. 

Your gaze soon shifted to the guitar, which was now drenched in whipped cream. Your initial reaction, if you were looking at a guitar, was probably to yell at him for running into you. Though slightly different, this scenario is exactly like the one you had in mind. 

You would’ve definitely scared him away if his bass had not gotten in the way. If he wasn’t wearing that same black t-shirt he always wears, again, you would’ve scared him off. The scenario can go in a million different directions, but they all come to the same conclusion—you get upset at him. So why is it that pity comes out of your mouth?

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You blurted as you tried wiping off the mess on his bass. Other than opening his eyes wide and staring at you, he remains motionless. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or sorry too, but he was in full panic mode.

“I-It’s fine!” He huffed, backing up to get your hands away from him. He returned to his apartment, leaving you by yourself in the hallway. You stood there, looking at the mess on the floor and realizing that you just pitied a bassist. 

TRACK_003_RUNAWAYBABY

“Enjoy!” You exclaim as you hand a cup of Americano to the customer before they leave. As usual, your quartet ran off. Fortunately, you were working a shift at your part-time job, so you wouldn’t be by yourself this time. Although you don’t see the band on your shift, you always end the day annoyed because of how aggravating your co-workers are. 

Being a barista isn’t entirely bad, but you wish you had another music-related job. After college, you thought of pursuing songwriting as a side job, but no agency would hire you, and they weren’t entirely convinced by a music degree either. So you stuck with being a musician with your friends and performing for fancy birthday parties and whatnot. It doesn’t really work in your favour since you can’t entirely write songs for a genre that doesn’t need lyrics, but at least you get to flex that you were the only one out of the four who went to college for music. 

Since the customer was the last in line, you turned away when they departed. After hastily adjusting your apron, you turned to face the tall man you have always seen. “Oh, fuck, not you again,” you mutter. You raise an eyebrow before uttering in a sulky tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question. What are you doing here?” He retaliates. 

“It’s called a job, something I’d doubt you would have.”

He scoffs. “I have a job, and it’s better than your miserable coffee-making job.” You don’t fight back since he’s right; it is miserable, and you would do anything to get you out of there. The only good part is that it pays better than other part-time jobs you worked for, and you work once a week.

“Are you here to waste my time, or are you actually going to order something?” You provoke as you cross your arms and rest them on the counter. 

“Got anything cold?”

You tilt your head up, indicating the menu on the screen above you. “Refreshers, iced tea, smoothies, cold brew coffee—we have a ton,” you add. He looks up at the menu, contemplating the choices to pick from.

To be honest, he never came here for a drink to begin with. He found it amusing that you were behind the counter wearing an apron. He entered merely to cause you trouble, particularly in light of the incident; he’ll make sure that this isn’t the last time you see him. An arrogant expression appeared on his face as one of the menu's distinctive images highlighted a specialty.

“I’ll have a medium strawberry refresher, pretty girl,” he decides, putting a lot of emphasis on the fruit and making your eye twitch as the pet name rolls off his tongue. When you nod and inquire if he needs anything more, he simply shakes his head and makes the payment. Making his drink was fairly simple; all you had to do was fill a cup with ice, then add ginger ale and strawberry syrup, and finally garnish with a fresh strawberry slice. 

You gave him the drink and thought he would at least walk out of the cafe, much less with you. With the counter separating you both, he remained exactly where he was—in front of you. He takes a sip of the beverage and stares at you. He’s testing your patience, and it’s infuriating you, but you’re not willing to give in. The tension relaxed when he spoke up. 

“So when do you plan on paying for my pickup replacement?” He asks, swirling the drink. He confused you for a moment because he didn’t provide any context, but based on the keywords he used, he implied that you owed him for damaging his bass.

“How much do they cost? Fifty dollars?”

"Double," he corrects, smiling from ear to ear. 

You shudder at his response. “Don’t you have another bass for emergencies?”

“Don’t you have another cello?”

“Right… We can go to the bank after my shift.”

“Which is in…?”

You check the clock on the monitor. It won’t take you that long for him to wait. "In half an hour, but I have to clean up, so I guess around forty minutes?"

He nods and heads over to an empty table near the entrance of the building. He waits by scrolling through his phone, checking unanswered texts, and stalking accounts on social media. It wasn’t long before he began to doze off, only to be jolted awake by a nudge. He raises his head and rubs his eyes, looking at you, who is already out of uniform and waiting for him.

“So do you still want that replacement or not?” You ask after vigorously tapping his shoulder. He shifts his gaze to the table, where the ice in his refresher has completely melted and his phone has already reached twenty percent. Has he been asleep for so long? He returns your gaze and immediately stands up, pushing the chair into place. 

“Hell yeah, I do!” he exclaims. He exits the cafe while you trail behind. Just as he turns in the direction of where he parked his car and heads over there, you turn the opposite way. He looks back and notices you walking away from him. “Where are you going?” he yells. You pause in your steps and turn around.

“The train station?” You answer, puzzled by his question.

“And let you sit between sweaty middle-aged men on the way? No way, pretty girl!” 

You grumbled at his response and began walking toward him. “I’ll stay with you if you stop calling me that!” you protest. 

He opens the passenger door and motions for you to enter the car, which you do after slapping his hand away. He gets in the car and fastens his seatbelt before chuckling. He moves his hand to the side and presses a button, followed by a clicking noise. 

"I can’t make any promises," he smirks, placing one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding the keys as he starts the car.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," you mutter, buckling your seatbelt as he begins driving. He remained silent for the first few minutes of the drive, with the music filling the void between you two. 

"You know, I just realized we don’t know each other's names, and this is the fourth time I’ve run into you," he remarks, quickly shifting his gaze to you and back to the road. You’re staring into nowhere at the window as your fingers tap your thigh to the rhythm of the song. “It’s my band’s song,” he pointed out, causing your fingers to stop going along.

“You like to run your mouth, don’t you?” You scoffed as you turned your head to look at him.

“If you tell me your name, I’ll be quiet,” he bargained.

“Why would I tell you that?”

He hummed. “So I can sabotage your quartet and blame the conceited cellist.”

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who wants to ruin their opponent’s image.”

Following that, you both remain completely silent. He silently questions why you’re not saying anything like he had expected. “Aren’t you gonna ask for my name in return?” He asks.

“Why would I want to know your name?”

“‘Cause I’m sexy and rich, and if everyone heard my name come out of your mouth, society would shake.”

“What an exaggerated way to say, ‘I’m better than you if you knew my name.’”

“I wouldn’t say better, but I am cooler.”

"And annoying," you mumble, causing him to quickly turn his head to you and raise an eyebrow before returning his attention to the road.

"The offer is still open," he adds.

You let out a heavy sigh. “(Name).”

When you finally arrive at the parking lot, he parks in front of the bank, and the silence lingers. You step out of the car without uttering a word, feeling the breeze of the air hitting your face. His eyes follow your figure as the car door slams shut, the sound resonating in the quiet atmosphere. He watches you enter the bank, the neon sign flickering and dancing to the beat of your steps. 

Your name echoes in his head like a melody. It’s a perfect name for a cellist. The music still plays, and his fingers tap on the steering wheel to the rhythm. The door of the bank swings as you come back running to the car with a small stack of cash clutched in   your hand. Without exchanging a glance, you shove the money into his hand. You fastened your seatbelt and gestured to him to start the car.

He turns the keys and starts driving back to the practice building, which was only a few minutes away. You closed your eyes and sat a bit too comfortably in the seat. You listen to the music. Is this really his band’s song? 

It was too good to be true; it’s too sensual to be a song from a rock band. You didn’t even notice you were slowly bobbing your head until he mentioned it, making you scowl and sit up straight. Before you know it, the car comes to a halt, and you open your eyes to the parking lot of the studio. 

You got out, and he trailed behind, catching up to you at the back entrance. You enter the elevator and press the button to go to the floor you both were going to. He plays with the hem of his jacket as he watches the numbers go up, his gaze shifting to you, then back to the numbers. 

The door opens to the corridor of your floor, and you both walk out. You tried walking faster so you could quickly leave him in the hallway, but he tries to make small talk with you when you reach your apartment’s door.

“By the way, pretty girl,” he speaks up as you hastily rummage through your bag for your keys. “If you wanna sabotage my career as well,” You finally found your keys, looked for the key to your apartment, and stuck the key into the lock. “It’s Kim Mingyu,” he finishes his sentence as you open the door, entering the apartment and slamming it shut to indicate that you don’t want his name.

You ran to your room and dropped your bag by the door. You went to your desk and took out your journal from the drawer. You flipped to the incomplete page of your current song. You still have yet to finish the other one from two weeks ago, but this song was simply an excuse to rant about that stupid ass Mingyu.

As you try to think of a few lines for the song, you mutter his name several times. You jot them down, take out an empty sticky note that is lying on your table, and adhere it to the page. 

You began writing down the recipe for that strawberry shortcake you made last week, and for some reason, you even drew a doodle of the cake in the corner. You chuckle at the paper, realizing that the sticky note had strawberries on it, but the title contained grapes.

You just seem to be drawn to fruits.

The following week, Mingyu found a way to always be with you, and you were just quick to assume it was a part of his band’s way to annoy you all. 

On Monday, he came to your door with a broom in his hand and the other gripping your forearm. He was practically begging you to let him into your apartment. When you turned him down, he urged you to kill the cockroach in his apartment as you tried to push him away. You refused to believe someone giant like him was afraid of something so small. 

On Tuesday, he saw you use the display cello from the music store he works at. He went up to you and had the audacity to ask you why you weren’t using your cello. Apparently, when your quartet wanted to practice, the minute your bows touched your instruments, the strings suddenly broke. Mingyu admits it was his band’s doing, which left you confused since, one, how the hell did they break into your apartment, and two, when did they do this? Not only did you land some free strings, but you also landed a punch on his stomach.

On Wednesday, he followed you around the building. The only time he didn’t was when you were in your apartment. You kept telling him to go away, but he insisted you tell him that strawberry banana recipe from three weeks ago. In the end, you never told him the actual recipe, only telling him to make a muffin batter and add the fruits. 

On Thursday, it wasn’t intentional. You happened to run into him at the grocery store. He needed butter, and you needed whipping cream, so it was a coincidence to meet in the dairy section. Like the friendly man he was, he tried conversing with you, but you were trying to ignore him by making your way to the yogurts. 

He kept eyeing the overripe bananas in your basket and attempted to convince you to give them to him. Apparently all the other bananas in the aisle were unripe or ripe, and he wanted to copy your strawberry banana muffins. You told him that he could use ripe ones and it would still taste the same, but he insisted that he preferred it sweeter when using overripe ones. So you two had to fight for the bananas. Or, in other words, he stole them from your basket. 

On Friday, it was a much more peaceful day for you. No quartet, no shift, no chores, and most importantly, no Kim Mingyu to pester you around. You spent most of the day writing songs. You were able to finish the song you’ve been wanting to finish since three weeks ago and start a new one—still leaving Sour Grapes untouched. 

It was around eleven in the evening when you stopped writing since Ryuwon texted you that her package had arrived. When you left the apartment, you happened to bump into Mingyu, who looked dishevelled and was close to letting go of his grip on the handle of the case of his bass. Although he was exhausted, he still wanted to talk to you. 

On your way down, he followed you and mentioned how his band was unfortunate to have two gigs in one day. In the morning, their first gig was at a folk festival, and they played for five hours straight with a fifteen-minute break in between. Their other gig was at a bar, and the people there seemed to enjoy it more than the audience at the festival.

It was weird how he was tired. Despite hating rock bands, you know well enough that bass players are equivalent to violists. It was either the fact that he spent the whole day playing the bass or he’s simply exaggerating. Whatever the case was, it was Mingyu anyway, so there was no reason to be perplexed about him. 

Saturday is your usual weekly group practice, but due to Ryuwon’s and the violinist’s instruments being broken, you all agreed to push it to tomorrow. As the two went to visit a specialist for reparations. you spent that day isolated in your room until Yoonhee called you to say that there was someone waiting for you at the door. Her brows were furrowed, and she really emphasized “someone.” 

The door was closed rather than open, and Yoonhee stood by the door as she was anticipating for you to open it. When you opened it, Mingyu unexpectedly showed up at your door, beaming and waving. 

You groaned, and Yoonhee whispered in your ear along the lines of asking if you and the bassist were friends. You were quick to reply and retorted that you two were never friends in the first place, and he was just trying to seek attention from you.

“What do you want?” You asked in a careless demeanour as Yoonhee left you two alone. 

“Can’t I see my amazing best friend in the whole wide world?” He responds as he leans against the doorframe and gazes at you with what seem to be puppy eyes. 

“I don’t recall being your friend. Go away,” you say, closing the door on him before he stops it by putting his hand in between. 

“Wait, let me take you somewhere. Cat cafe, arcade, music store, you name it.” 

You silently judged him with your eyes. “Me? Go out with you? Never in a million years! I’d rather jump off a bridge than be stuck in a room with some hot and arrogant bassist!”

He pouted at your words, but his eyes started to light up, and he slowly started smirking. “You just called me hot,” he teases.

“I never said it like that,” you retaliate. 

“You think I’m hot!”

“Not! Stop twisting my words!” Those were the last words you yelled before shutting the door on him. He kept knocking on the door as you went back to your room. You can hear your roommates complain, and the noise eventually stops. 

You spent Sunday practicing with your quartet. The two were able to get their instruments repaired, and you four sounded perfect, like always. Despite preferring to be alone all the time, you always liked playing with others rather than by yourself—although you never admit it when someone brings it up. 

From playing with your grandparents to joining your high school’s orchestra to being a cellist in a quartet, you were always with someone when playing—except when composing your songs by yourself. Even when your cello didn’t have strings that one fateful week, someone from a rock band you despise was with you.

TRACK_004_FALLINGFORYA

‘Don’t usually swoon but I’m over the moon.’

That sentence was a line from the very first song you wrote when you were still in high school. The line was originally from a poetry assignment for English class back in your first year, and it has stuck with you ever since. 

It was so simple yet so inspirational and relatable, and it perfectly described your love life. You remember writing that line, thinking about your first crush, who was a bassist from a boy band established by other students from the performing arts department. You weren’t the type to have crushes, so it was a new feeling.

He caught your eye when he was leaving the performing arts department as you were about to enter. You never knew his name or what grade he was in, only knowing his band was called Cerise. 

You labelled him as a hallway crush since you never shared any classes, and you only ever saw him in the music room or at events the student council would hold. You easily got over him when you joined your school’s orchestra and choir ensemble, since those two were your priorities. That was also when you started to grasp the idea of rivals being a distraction. 

Thinking about that one song makes you realize that the majority of the songs you write are about love. You don’t know where you get the motivation to write those since you’re not much of a romance fanatic, but you’ve definitely written a lot. You have a total of sixteen songs written. The first four were simply poems, but you began putting music notes on the others. 

You like to write anywhere since it gives you inspiration, and in every song you finish, you add melodies and adjust them if there are too many or too few words in a line. You first hum out a melody, then use a piano your roommates have on display in the living room, and use your cello afterwards. 

You’re currently trying out your recent song on the cello. Your fingers are starting to feel sore from moving the bow a lot. The melody is too upbeat for your liking, and it’s not the usual mellow or melancholic songs you’d write. 

Singing it sounds right, but playing it with the cello sounds off; it might just be better off with the piano or some other instrument. 

You close your journal and quickly put your cello back in the case. You take a deep breath as you lean down in your chair. You’re not the type to give up, but the song is making you doubt your skills. You get up to grab your journal from the stand and take your purse lying on the floor. 

You shoved the book in as you left your room to head to the door. Quickly locking the door, you went down the hallway to go to the elevator. To be honest, you have no idea where to go; you're just hoping there’s a place out there to solve your small problem. 

As soon as the elevator doors close, they open again, revealing a smiley face you’d recognize anywhere. “Where are you headed now, pretty?” Mingyu asks, making you scowl even more at that stupid-ass nickname he calls you. 

“I don’t know; maybe away from you,” you say, pressing the button that leads to the lobby. 

"Ouch, it looks like someone pissed in your cereal today. Not surprised, though, since you’re always salty,” he jokes, earning him a hard slap on the shoulder from you. 

“Last time it was sour, and now it’s salty; what’s next? Sweet?”

He cackles, “You wish.”

The door opens, and the two of you step out. He heads over to the exit, and you couldn’t believe that your steps are following his. “Bassist!” You yell out, causing him to stop walking and turn his head. 

“It’s Mingyu,” he corrected. 

“Whatever. Are you going anywhere?”

“I have a gig in twenty minutes at a resort. Wanna come?” 

“Nevermind, I heard ‘gig,’ and my ears turned off.” 

“I’m not bad at the bass, trust me. I’m pretty hot when I play.” 

“Even worse,” you turn away and walk back to the elevator. “Break a leg—literally, bass boy.” 

“I’ll treat you to dessert if you come!” He yells out, making you leave the elevator to face him again. Dessert is tempting; then again, you have to watch his show—unless you don’t but still eat. Running away with the plate might be a better idea; what’s the worst that can happen? 

“Fine, but only if it’s before your show. And I’ll only be there until I finish the dessert. I’ll call my friend to pick me up,” you sigh before he takes your hand and brings you to his car. 

When he mentioned a resort, you assumed it would be some small resort by a lake, not the most luxurious resort in the city by the beach. It pays a lot, and he’ll be playing for tons of people, not to mention rich tourists. 

Your mouth is agape at the sight of the massive resort when you two stand in front of the entrance. You see his friends setting up through the glass door before walking in. His bass is on display next to his band, and it piques a thought. 

“Why didn’t you go with your band for rehearsal?” 

“I was recovering from a hangover. I can rehearse the whole setlist within five minutes.” 

“Wow. Alcoholic much?” You joked. He didn’t deny it, but all he did was change the topic to the dessert he promised. He left for a few minutes and unexpectedly came back with a cart of plated desserts. He rolls the cart in front of you, showing you all the options. 

Key lime pie, apple rhubarb pie, chocolate-covered strawberries, peach cake, matcha French macarons, caramelized banana pudding, lemon galette, grape yogurt tart—there were too many to name. This might interrupt your plan. You looked at the cart, then at Mingyu, then back at the cart. It looks good, it smells delicious, and it might taste amazing. Baked goods may be your weakness, but the mastermind behind this is your biggest enemy. Thinking about it is making you suddenly wish you didn’t agree in the first place. 

But you’re smarter than this. If you can bake at the age of seven without parental supervision, you can get your way out of this. Maybe you can eat three plates of dessert, then call it a day. Though that wouldn’t work since he expects you to bring the rest home. Or you could pretend to eat it all and throw it away, but food waste is so careless. 

“I’m suddenly not craving carbs. I’m more thirsty than I am hungry,” you mention, smiling to mask your lie. “I’ll have water, then I’ll be out of here.”

He stares at you with confusion. Carbs? More thirsty? Water? You’re just spitting nonsense at this point. First it was spilling whipped cream on his bass, then you kept calling him random names, and now you want to leave five minutes after arriving—he thinks you’re more eccentric than he is. “How about staying for just one song?”

“Hell no.”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad.” It’s very bad. Detrimental, you may say. You know it’s vile; your quartet knows; heck, his past neighbours experienced how atrocious it was. 

“It’s terrible.”

“Another one of your lies; you just love lying, don’t you?” He teases. His words remind you that you don’t remember lying to him at all. 

“I’m an honest person.”

“And what about that time you were enjoying my band’s song?”

“It was an honest mistake; I didn’t know you guys knew how to make indie rock songs.”

“We’re literally an indie rock band.”

This small argument is getting you nowhere out of this building. All you want to do is perfect your song with a better instrument, something that isn’t a part of the violin family, and that might just hurt your pride. 

“I’ll do anything for you to stay for just one song.” His words finally hit your head, connecting the dots—and this might hurt your pride even more. 

“Do you know how to play the guitar?” You ask. You came up with an idea while thinking about your song. Never in your life would you think of someone like Mingyu helping you, but it’s your only hope. You could give up on the song, yet knowing you, you’d rather give in than give up. 

“Is that even a question? Of course I can.” In less than three seconds after he responded, Mingyu suddenly found it weird how you would ask a question like that. Even though he met you a month ago, he knows well enough that a word about rock would never come out of your mouth unless you were talking shit about it. 

“What’s on your mind, pretty one?” He asks, and that already has you thinking about the other option, giving up instead.

“If I stay for one song, will you help me with something?” Mingyu is already beaming from ear to ear when he hears your answer. Before he can agree and ask you about your favour, his bandmate calls him to start the gig, leaving you without a word. His supposed five-minute setlist rehearsal has already passed due to talking with you. He’ll be fine though; he’s a bassist after all.

Now you don’t know if he agreed or not, so now you’re not sure if you should speak up to your word or not. You sit down on a stool by the bar, which is close to the band. The rich guests were already interested when they introduced themselves. Seungcheol on drums, Vernon and Wonwoo on guitar, and last but not least, the man himself, Mingyu on bass. They started off with a song, which, ironically, was the song Mingyu was mentioning earlier—the one you’re quite familiar with and their only song you know. 

Every time Mingyu told you he was good at the bass, you never believed him since bassists barely did anything. Now, after seeing it with your own two eyes, he’s way better than what you awfully expected. Despite not rehearsing right when he arrived, his bass slaps are hella impressive. 

The way his fingers move a lot on the neck and how his eyes are so focused on people instead of his instrument. It’s alluring; it’s distracting; why does it feel like you’ve seen this before? The audience cheers, and you can see his smile widening. When the guitarist begins his solo, Mingyu averts his gaze from the others to you, tilting his head in a way of asking for commendation. You roll your eyes and ignore him by turning to face the bartender, who was watching as well. 

By the time they finished the song, everyone applauded. You turned to look at them again, and the lead guitarist’s action caught your eye. He was shyly waving at someone in the audience, and as you averted your eyes to see who he was waving at, you couldn’t believe who waved back. While the band was asking people for song requests, you got up from your seat and moved closer to the person. 

When the next song began, you nudged her as she looked at you with fear in her eyes. “What are you doing here?” The violinist asks.

You glanced at the band, then returned your gaze to her. “I should be asking you the same. Are you seeing the guitarist behind our back?”

“No! We’re just friends.” She was swift to deny, but her voice was strained.

“Friends? Do you realize that you, being friends with him, are putting our music in a dangerous position?” 

“You say that as if you don’t do the same!”

“It’s different! I don’t want to be the bassist’s friend, yet you’re willing to be friends with the enemy.” The frustration rose between you two. It’s leading you to so many thoughts about her and the quartet. 

You were quick to end the argument by calling Yoonhee to come pick you two up. By the time she arrived, she was confused as to why the two of you were at a resort, but she easily read the room that something bad had happened. The car ride back to the studio was extremely silent, with no music playing on the radio and the middle seat separating you and the violinist.

Yoonhee overreacted when you brought up the fact that the violinist and the guitarist from the band are friends. She began jabbering about how disappointed and mad Ryuwon would be if she found out—and everyone knows how terrifying it can get when the leader is mad. 

The violinist fought back and called it hypocritical because it wasn’t fair how they let it slide when the bassist talked to you. “We talked about this before; he’s only there to pester and sabotage me, while you and that guitarist have some sort of friendship,” you remarked earlier. “You know he’s an enemy.”

After Yoonhee parked in front of the studio, the violinist left the car before the argument could get any worse, slamming her door as you two watched her enter the building alone. That was the first time you ever saw her explode. 

The following week, you eventually apologized for scolding her about it and mentioned that you were only worried for her as a musician rather than as a friend, because if your non-cellist persona was aware of what was going on between them, you wouldn’t give a damn if she had a thing for him. The three of you acted as if that day never happened, not even telling Ryuwon about it. The violinist was a lot busier music-wise than the rest of you since she got invited to perform a concerto at her instructor’s birthday, making her practice a piece non-stop two weeks prior. So none of you practiced for those two weeks. 

You had nothing to do at home since, one, in order to finish your current song, you needed to use your cello, and two, if you were to bake, it would be disruptive. So, you simply went out all the time to see if you could do anything and hopefully get inspiration to write new songs.

Those times may have been unlucky for you because no matter where you went, the stupid bassist would always be there. Each time you saw him, it was always the same: he would go up to you and make small talk, would clown you all the time, and at the end of the day, you would find yourself writing a few lines for ‘Sour Grapes.’ 

The first time he encountered you was at a music store. Not the store in the studios, but a studio that’s at the opposite end of the city. You both stared at each other in bewilderment, him wondering why you’re here and how you should be asking the same since he clearly works at one. He brought up that you left the resort early, and you simply told him important matters came up. 

“You didn’t get to eat the desserts I gave you,” he pouts. “I had to give them all away to new fans.”

“What a bummer,” you sarcastically remark. 

“You should do that all the time when I have gigs.”

“Keep dreaming, Bubble Bass,” you say, walking away from him, but he keeps following you.

“When will you start calling me by my actual name?” He asks while looking through vinyls of classical composers. Disgust grows on his face with each vinyl cover he looks at. Seriously, he doesn’t understand how one can only listen to classical music. 

“I could say the same. It’s always ‘pretty girl’ but never (Name).”

“But you are pretty.”

“Go home, weirdo.”

Little did you know that you went home before him and slept for twelve hours straight. By the time you woke up, it was already four in the morning. That sleep was probably the best you’ve ever slept in your entire life. Your hand reached for your journal that was lying on the nightstand, and you didn’t think you’d ever write another line.

‘I’m the only one who’s going to get hurt.’

Mingyu heard of the grand opening of a new cafe that was a block away from the studio; he had a feeling you were going. So there he stood by the corner of the building, waiting in line. He didn’t think there would be such a long line, but what did he expect? Everyone just loves coffee.

He’s suddenly thanking his genes for his height when he tiptoed to look at the front of the line. He instantly recognizes you, who was entering with a group of friends. He steps back down and rethinks. Since when did you have friends, and how the hell were you earlier than him? The line was moving, but he only had to take two steps. He’s going to be here forever. 

Around twenty minutes later, Mingyu finally entered the cafe. He scanned around; the place was minimal and the decor was cute, something you definitely like. 

When you saw him walk in, you were quick to hide your face by turning your head to face one of your friends and whispering in her ear. You mentioned the ‘don’t look’ code, but you knew that never works and looked at Mingyu. Her eyes moved a lot from her cup of coffee to him to your eyes and back at her coffee. The more her eyes were on him, it clicked in her head why he looked so familiar. 

She turns her head to whisper back in your ear, your face still away from his direction. “Wasn’t he your hallway crush from high school?” She questioned before you lightly pushed her away from the idea. You forgot how your hallway crush looked since you last saw him years ago, but there was no way he was Mingyu. He was hotter and more talented than the latter. 

But the idea still struck you. Him? Sure, there were some similarities, like being the bassist of a band and being super tall, but that’s mostly all bassists you’ve encountered. Your friend is just tripping. Or maybe you don’t want to admit that it could be him. You take a quick glance at him, who was by the counter ordering, and the more you look, you can’t help but think that he might be the bassist you wrote a song about.

‘It’s bittersweet that I don’t wanna taste.’

Two weeks have passed, and you’re here sitting in Yoonhee’s car next to the violinist, adjusting her necklace for her. The four of you are on your way to drop her off at the birthday party before the rest of you go to a nightclub. You all agreed that while she was at her instructor’s party, you’d be at the club until she called to go home. 

There were a few rules Ryuwon established, such as if Yoonhee was drunk, either you or she would drive, and the club had to be near where the violinist would be in case something happened. Luckily, after you dropped off the violinist, you were able to find a club that was two blocks away from the banquet. 

“Wanna bet who’s gonna get hit on first?” Yoonhee asked as you three were heading to the entrance of the club.

“Hmmm, Ryu, for sure, her back is showing,” you say, poking her revealing back.

"Yeah, and I’ll tell them three hundred ways to go get lasik because they clearly can’t see the ring on my finger,” Ryuwon provoked. “If they aren’t actually blind, it’s either you two.”

“(Name) would be the last to go home with a guy because she hates men,” Yoonhee mentions. 

After you finally go in, Ryuwon speaks up. “Nah, (Name) doesn’t hate men; she’s loyal. And besides, we all know she has a thing for men who play bass, whether it’s someone that plays double bass or bass guitar, mainly bass guitar—which, yuck, by the way!”

“I do not! Everyone knows I hate bassists, especially if they’re men,” you retort.

“Says the one who used to like one back in grade nine.”

“And has a bassist head over heels for her!” Yoonhee adds. 

“Speak of the devils,” you mutter when you spot the band sitting by the bar with the bespectacled guitarist missing in the picture. Out of all places and times, why do they have to be here? 

As you looked by your side, the two had already run off, and you swore you were going to kill them if you saw them. You’re all alone, and there’s a fifty percent chance you might run into Mingyu. Maybe if you avoid him for the night, you won’t have to talk to him; just pray he doesn’t approach you. 

You sat on the end of a couch and spotted Yoonhee in the crowd. Just as you were about to go up to her, an aggravating and well-recognized voice stopped you from getting up.

“The club is the last place I thought I’d ever see you,” Mingyu brought up, who was standing next to the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. “What are you even doing here?”

“My friend is performing at a birthday party, so the three of us agreed we’d go clubbing while she’s busy.”

“That’s ironic; so is mine. My friend’s dad’s birthday is today, and his dad is a violin teacher. Who knows, they could be attending the same one.”

Your mind trails back to the day you found out she and the guitarist were friends. “I found out they’ve been seeing each other.”

“That’s odd; Wonwoo was never the romantic type. Is that why he’s always gone?” Now it’s really convincing that the violinist and he have connections. She mentioned his name once in a conversation, but no one bothered asking who he was. 

“While you’re here, want a drink?” He asks. 

“Not much of a drinker, but sure.”

You both head to the bar, and as you sit on the stool, Mingyu gives cocktail recommendations. He suggests a lot that you’ve heard of, like Margarita and Mojito, but never tried since you only ever drink once every two or three months. He mentions one that catches your attention, and you immediately ask for that one.

Strawberry Daiquiri. 

While waiting for your drink, Mingyu comments that it’s his personal favourite, mainly because it’s strawberry-flavoured. That made you realize he likes a lot of things strawberry-related, like you. The muffins, the refresher, fighting over a pack of strawberries, and the daiquiri—your love for the fruit is the only thing you two have in common.

Surprisingly, he’s still talking to you despite not saying anything but nodding. You’re listening, and for some reason, you’re glad you have company. The bartender places the drink on the counter, and Mingyu eagerly watches you hold it. You brought the brim to your lips, and the first sip was strong. It tasted more delectable than you expected, and you were quick to down half the glass.

You feel bad for keeping the conversation one-sided, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. It kept going, and before you knew it, your drink was already finished. You asked for another one, and this time the conversation was mutual. You two were on the topic of music, and you got to know a little bit about him from his implications.

From what he mentions, his band has been going on since high school, and he once injured his arm so much that his little sister had to replace him for a while. He was never serious about music and played for fun. You remember earlier that he knew how to play the guitar, and apparently, he used to be a guitarist until he learned that the bass was much easier. He mentioned the school he went to, and that information alone confirms he was the bassist you had a crush on. 

Your words were starting to slur, and you don’t know how you ended up confessing that you went to school with him—still trying not to mention that he was the reason why you started writing songs. You finished your second drink quicker than your first one and laid your head on the counter before asking for a third. While drinking your third one, the words coming out of your mouth are foreign to you. When you tried getting up from your seat, you almost stumbled, but Mingyu was lucky enough to catch you, his hand on your waist.

“You know if I was sober right now, I’d punch you for holding me like this,” you mumble. He doesn’t say anything in return. Your faces are close, and his lips are practically hovering over yours. 

He leans in more to your ear and whispers. “I’d like to see you try.”

After that, the rest of the night was a blur, only remembering how his other hand held the back of your neck, your back pressed against the cold wall, and your fingers brushing against his soft hair.

TRACK_005_KISSYOU

Jihyo opened the front door to the sight of you standing there, holding your cello and a few cardboard boxes lying on the porch. She looks like she just woke up with bedhead, with a blanket covering her upper body. She rubs her eyes as she tilts her head as to why you’re on her doorstep, and then she remembers. “You told me it was next week!” she yells.

“Yeah, I told you that last week!”

The band practiced late at night often, and it started to piss your quartet off and ruin everyone’s rest, so you all decided to move out. The agreement stayed the same: every Saturday, group practice in your brother’s basement. Ryuwon rented a small condominium, while the violinist and Yoonhee moved in with their group of friends. As for you, you decided to be housemates with your cousin Jihyo since the only payment she accepts is your offering to pay for groceries and the bill for fine dining. You’re grateful to have Jihyo because, without her, you might be living in Joshua’s basement again. 

She pushes each box inside the house with her foot. As unfazed as she is when pushing it, it’s lighter than she thought it would be. Knowing you, when it comes to packing, you pack lightly, which is why on flights abroad, some of your friends would add their own personal belongings to your luggage because ‘there’s a lot of space.’ 

Jihyo led you to your room, which was still empty, as she had planned on decorating it tomorrow if she knew you were coming this week. Still, as long as you had a bed and a desk, it was fine. You were quick to drop your cello and lie down on your new bed. If there was something that you were glad to know, it was that Jihyo’s parents owned a mattress store, and their mattresses were known to be the softest in the city. It was like resting on a cloud, and you don’t think you could ever get up after this.

“Don’t think that you can take a break; you have some unpacking to do,” she reminds you, taking a pillow and throwing it against you. Luckily for you, the only belongings in the boxes are clothes and other necessities like skincare and your unhealthy collection of fruit-themed hair clips.

She opens a box, and it turns out to be said collection, and only that, in the box. “Damn girl, I thought you stopped collecting in grade eleven.”

“I did, but I started collecting again after I saw a cute set when I went to France, which was not too long ago,” you say, sliding off the bed. 

"Well, I can’t blame you; it’s not a bad addiction.” Jihyo puts the collection aside and helps you by unpacking more boxes with you. After several boxes were unpacked and your belongings kept tidied away, it was already past four in the afternoon. Jihyo went to cook dinner, which left you with nothing to do. You could either A: stay in bed on your phone until dinner or B: roam around the area. The first option might be better. 

The minute you lay back on your new bed, Jihyo calls your name out, then proceeds to mention you getting the mail outside for her. Damn, Jihyo really doesn’t want you resting in her house. You head out the front door to her mailbox. As you pick up all the mail, you look through the letters and offers that were sent to her. A letter from the bank, a few coupons from fast food chains, and a letter that was supposed to be sent to the house next door to Jihyo. You quickly made your way to her neighbour’s house to drop off the letter in their mailbox, but by the time you turned around to leave their porch, a living nightmare froze at their gates, holding eye contact with you.

“Long time no see?” Mingyu comments but is perplexed by the sight of you. ‘Long time no see,’ as in the last time he ever saw you was the night you went clubbing, and that will be the last time you’ll ever go to a club. Ever since that night, you started avoiding Mingyu because, to be honest, you didn’t really know what actually happened that night between you two. You were scared of what he was going to say, like mentioning the fact that you probably made out with him—which you’re not too sure if you actually did. 

Luckily, when Ryuwon brought up moving, you were quick to agree, mainly because this was a chance to escape Mingyu’s clutches. The reason why you specifically asked Jihyo to be her housemate was due to the fact that she lived in the suburbs, which is far from the music plaza. So how the hell did you encounter Mingyu at your secret hideout place that was half an hour away from his place?

“What are you doing here now?!” you complained. 

“I live here? What are you doing in front of my house?” Live. You. His house. He’s your neighbour again? And just as you thought you could escape, he has another place to stay that just has to be next to yours again. Seriously, what’s up with rich boys and having houses everywhere? 

“Your mail went into my mailbox; I just didn’t think it was your mail.” You clarified, stepping down from his porch. You didn’t think too much about the letter when you saw the owner’s last name. ‘Kim’ is a typical last name, and it could’ve been anyone. Unfortunately, that ‘Kim’ was related to Kim Mingyu. Mingyu looks to his left, looking at the house you were currently living in. 

“You moved out? Is that why your apartment was suddenly quiet?” He asks. Out of nowhere, your quartet’s apartment was dead silent. He noticed how no one left or entered, and he never saw you or your members around the plaza. And now that he thinks about it, he never saw you around the area. You weren’t sitting at a usual café or looking for CDs in the music store. He even went to the café you worked at in hopes he'd find you working, but you weren’t there behind the counter. 

“Yeah, we all did because we were tired of your band’s bullshit. You won.” You say, walking past him and leaving his property to go to yours. Leaving that band alone was supposed to be a new era—no more rivalries and only playing for yourself. Mingyu, however, just keeps coming back into your life, and it’s sickening. 

The following several days of staying at Jihyo’s, you noticed a pattern of when Mingyu would go to his house. It turns out it’s his childhood house, and he visits his family four times a week. Ever since he found out you’re his neighbour once again, he has visited you on the same days. 

One time, you came back from work and found Mingyu sprawled and napping on your bed. You kicked him off your bed, started throwing pillows at him when he woke up, and kept calling him a pervert. Apparently, when he was looking for you, Jihyo let him in and told him to wait until you came back—but what she didn’t know was that you hate his guts. 

When you tried kicking him out of the house, she caught you two and asked why you were kicking your boyfriend out. The moment she called him your boyfriend, Mingyu's lips grew a smirk, and he snaked his arm around your shoulders. 

You were irked when he continued with, “Yeah, love, why are you?” Jihyo was, without a doubt, geeked out. You were quick to push him away and tell her that he wasn’t your boyfriend. She offered to stay for dinner, as Mingyu thought it was a great idea while you thought it was a horrible idea. 

Eventually, he did stay over for dinner since the only person who was terrifying to fight was none other than Jihyo. She made the two of you sit next to each other, and the only thing she talked about was embarrassing you in front of him, telling him how you once cried over your orange falling in the toilet and how you always mistook some random person in the hallways as her. 

It was humiliating to the point where you left the room for a few seconds. Bad idea, you thought. Who knows what kind of bullshit Jihyo will tell him? You quickly came back to your seat just as she finished whispering to him, causing him to smile a little. Jihyo excused herself to the bathroom, and it was just you two, eating in silence. 

Whatever your cousin told him is making you nervous since Mingyu isn’t talking at all—and he always has something to say. You take a small glance at him, who was already looking at you, and turn your head away. Did he catch you staring at him? Or did you catch him staring at you? 

"So, what’s the song called?” He asked without context. Song? Whatever Jihyo told him has to be music-related; otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking at all. What did she tell him, though?

“What song?”

“Your cousin told me you wrote a song about me back in high school.” What the fuck? Self-note to your next life: never tell anyone about your crushes. You internally push the panic button, and your jaw only drops. You’re left speechless, debating whether you should lie to him by telling him Jihyo says anything for the plot or be honest and confess you liked him before. 

“It was just a poetry assignment, nothing special,” you clarify, lying about the last part because you know damn well it was dedicated to him. 

He moves his face close to yours, innocently smiling and holding eye contact with you, as your faces are most likely two inches away from kissing. “Does that mean you like me?” He teases as he tilts his head. 

You shoved his face away and started yelling at him. “It was freshman year! Any girl would have liked you more!”

“Well, now that I know you were one of those girls, I wish I had known you back then.” He starts laughing, as your hand is the only thing that's creating a barrier between you two. Jihyo comes back and asks what he was laughing about. 

Without answering her, you immediately asked her, “Did you tell him I liked him?”

She grinned as if she were clueless and took a closer look at Mingyu. “Ohh! So you were the bassist in my Geo class,” she commented and turned to you. “No, I only told him you were downright horrendous for a guy who plays bass, to the point where you wrote a song about him.”

You groaned and sank in your seat. “Remind me to never tell you about any man I like.” While your eyes are shut, Jihyo looks at Mingyu, then at you and back at Mingyu, and starts wiggling her eyebrows. He looks away while he coughs aggressively and gets up from his seat as you sit properly. 

“I should probably get going. It was nice meeting you again,” he concludes, shaking Jihyo’s hand. You all head to the front, and before he heads out, he looks at you once more and beams. “Goodnight, you two. Dream of me, (Name)!” He jokes before you push him out the door. 

Unbeknownst to you, you dreamt of him that night—and you can’t deny that the idea of it made you giggle just a bit when you woke up.

TRACK_006_BREAKINGNEWS

Mingyu literally flipped when he finally got your number. It took him several months to convince you to give him your number. Whenever you asked why, he would simply answer with ‘cause why not’ or ‘don’t worry about it.’ Since then, he would text you nonstop whenever you two didn’t see each other, always starting by asking about your day and ending it off with goodnight texts at three in the morning.

He would also call you out of the blue, always giggling like a little girl whenever you answered his calls, and ramble random things about his day to you. Mingyu likes talking to you, and he loves it when you talk to him. His day isn’t complete without annoying you, even if it’s just for a few minutes. 

Unfortunately, his time is up with you. 

“I’m sorry?” He asks after hearing what Seungcheol, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, told him. His friend randomly woke him up after his fourteen-hour sleep to tell him he had to go on a date soon.

“I set you up with someone, and your date is in,” Seungcheol mentions as he checks his watch for the time, “three hours.”

Mingyu quickly sat up and began to make random noises, shouting a bunch of ‘whys.’. 

Seungcheol tossed him a shirt and explained. “Well, once upon a time, I went for your beautiful sister. Vernon doesn’t mind the idea of dating, and Wonwoo is in love with music. It’s your turn.” Before Mingyu could defend himself, Seungcheol spoke up again: “And if you’re gonna mention that cellist, she’s our rival; don’t get yourself attached to someone who’s willing to sabotage your career.”

He’s right. Knowing you, you can drop the act and ruin everything he worked hard for. You’re dangerous. But he loves danger and wants to take the risk. 

[Mingyu]: i survived!!!!

You were the first person Mingyu texted after his date. Long story short, he doesn’t want to go on another date. Seungcheol set him up with another bassist from a girl band. He wasn’t interested at all and would’ve preferred someone who didn’t play the same instrument as him, like a drummer or a cellist. 

He’s engulfed in the warmth of his blanket, waiting for your reply to his message that he sent two hours ago. When it comes to texting, you’re very odd. You text people like you’re a mother. You would leave his messages on seen and text back hours later. He knows you’re a busy person, but he also knows you prefer calling over texting. 

Seungcheol crashes into his room and slams himself on Mingyu’s bed. “How was the date?” He asks. 

“Not a big fan. I prefer drummers,” he lies, keeping his eyes on his phone, still waiting for your response. 

“Good choice. Your sister is a great example; she, a talented bassist, went for a hot drummer,” he comments, pointing at himself. Mingyu shrugs in response and doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. Seungcheol heavily sighs and snatches Mingyu’s phone from him. He glances at the screen and shuts it off. 

“I’ll find a drummer for you, cause they’re rock stars, and rock stars don’t play the cello,” he provoked, tossing his phone back to the owner and leaving his room. Mingyu’s phone flashes open, a notification popping up on his lock screen.

[You]: The date?

[Mingyu]: yeah

[Mingyu]: it was the worst

[Mingyu]: i dont get along with my kind of people

[You]: You would be a very horrible boyfriend.

[Mingyu]: ur horrible boyfriend ;)

Thumbs down. That was how you responded to that—reacting to the message with a thumbs-down emoji. Mingyu chuckles at your reply and shuts his phone off. He can feel his heart beating fast. He likes to tease you by shipping you with himself, but it was always just jokes. This joke, however, has him thinking what it would be like to date you. He likes the sound of that—(Name)’s horrible boyfriend, Mingyu. Maybe he won’t mind going on a date with you. 

12:37 AM. Mingyu had another date at seven in the evening with a drummer. Seungcheol expected him to come back in three hours, but when it was already almost midnight, he assumed the date was successful and thought he slept with her. In reality, the date ended earlier than he expected. As soon as Mingyu had met up with her, she was honest and admitted that she was forced to be here as well. He left right after and secretly went over to your house. 

You were in the middle of baking strawberry cheesecake cookies, requested by Jihyo while she was at work. The cookies were in the oven when Mingyu rang the doorbell. When you opened the door to his face, you closed it before he could even greet you. 

“I brought ice cream,” he mentioned, trying to convince you. The door creaked open, and he let himself in, watching you head to the kitchen to take the sheet pan out of the oven. He places the plastic bag on the coffee table and sprawls on the couch. You come into the living room, quickly place the plate of cookies and two spoons on the table, and sit next to Mingyu. 

As he tries to grab a cookie, you slap his hand away from it. “Not for you.”

“So you’re just gonna put it on the table in front of my eyes and expect me not to eat it?!” He complains as you nod in response. “Ouch, princess, you might just be the cause of my death.”

“Do you expect me to feed you whenever you show up to my house uninvited?”

“Pretty much an unspoken rule between us.”

“Uh, no, we did not establish that at all.”

He pouts, his attempt at distracting you from his hand sneaking to the plate, which easily caught your eye before you slapped it away again. You pass the TV remote to Mingyu as you look through the flavours of ice cream in the bag that he brought. Cookies & Cream, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Neapolitan, Mint Chocolate Chip, and the best flavour out there, Strawberry Cheesecake—which is no doubt the one you picked. 

You look back up to the TV, where Mingyu was about to start playing a musical. “I’m feeling a High School Musical marathon right now.” He looks at you, his eyes practically pleading for you to say yes. You give in and agree, him cheering and quickly pressing the play button as a result. 

Mingyu gets weirder and weirder each time you meet him. He’s a whole different person when he’s not on stage, like he’s about to conquer the world. How he went from an intimidating bassist to a man who can’t even kill a spider to save his life. You doubt he would be able to protect his image from the public. 

All this doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, though. Despite you saying a lot of awful things about him, there are some parts of him that you tolerate. Even though he bugs you all the time, he’s a caring person who doesn’t want you to be lonely—although you prefer being alone all the time. His smile is a little detail you notice about him—how his grin gets wider each time he sees you. 

Does he know you’ve been staring at him instead of the screen since the movie started?

After you two finished the first movie, you suggested watching the second one since your cousin wasn’t home yet and she hasn’t even replied to your texts. So you ended up watching the whole trilogy while eating the cookies that were about to get cold. By the time you finished the third movie, it was already past eleven in the evening, and you still hadn’t heard anything from Jihyo. Mingyu played a documentary to pass time, which was mundane, so you two pan out in small talk here and there instead.

Mingyu’s phone buzzes as he takes it out to look at texts from his leader. 

[Seungcheol]: enjoy ur little “date” with little miss drummer

[Seungcheol]: REALLY take ur time with her

[Seungcheol]: girls love it when ur rough

[Seungcheol]: if you know what i mean ;)

Mingyu mutters out a ‘yuck,’ and if you were in his shoes, you would’ve said the same thing. He glances at you, who was perhaps reading his messages with his leader, and all you did was raise a brow at him.

“I swear I’m not having sex with anyone!” He refuted, not even giving a care about leaving his friend on read.

“Sure…”

“Seriously! I’m done with going on dates with my kind of people.”

A thought popped up in your mind. Mingyu was never serious about playing in a band, so that would mean it wasn’t his first priority. Serious musicians prioritize music over relationships, so why is it that he’s not interested in dating? “How come you don’t want to date?”

Mingyu was taken aback by your question. It’s a broad topic. He actually wants to be committed to a relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t want to date, but he doesn’t want to date rockers. He sees how they act and the chaos they would start. He would know; he’s one of them. So he wants to balance it out; he would want someone who’s the opposite of him. That’s why he was so intrigued when he met you. How is he supposed to tell you he doesn’t want to date anyone but you?

He shrugs as a response instead, trying to avoid the question. You suddenly recall that time you went to the club and encountered him there. It’s been bothering you since you don’t want to believe that you kissed him, but you needed to clear it from your mind.

“What happened that night we went clubbing? Did we do something…suggestive?” You ask out of the blue. Mingyu says nothing but smiles to himself. 

“What if I said we did?” You groan at his response and cover your face. “I was kidding! We actually didn't.” He laughs sheepishly. “You assaulted me instead.”

What the hell? You always say that you’ll make your enemies pay, but you didn’t think you’d actually do it, especially when you’re drunk.

“Right after I whispered in your ear, you literally grabbed my lips. Then when I tried pulling your hand away, you pushed my face away.” When Mingyu stops explaining, you think that's it, but from his awkward expression, he definitely had more to say. “So I may or may not have gripped onto you by the neck.” ‘His other hand held the back of your neck’ was really his attempt at strangling you. 

“You splashed water on me, and when I was gonna go to the restroom to clean myself up, you followed me, so I made you stand against the wall until I was done.” ‘Your back pressed against the cold wall’ was another way of saying that he put your grown ass on time-out. 

“When I came out, you started pulling my hair, and I had to call your friend over to take you home before you could give me a second bald spot.” Mingyu turns his head and parts some of his hair out of the way to show you the small growing bald spot that you did on the back of his head. ‘Your fingers brushing against his soft hair’ is more like your hands ripping his hair out.

Damn, you can’t believe you did all of that. It doesn’t sound like you, but at the same time, it definitely does!

"Wow...” is all you can respond to about your actions. You sigh in relief, and your worries about that night are washed away. “I’m kind of relieved I did that instead. I thought we made out or something.”

The instant regret comes to you as soon as you confess your thoughts, with Mingyu slowly turning his head to face you with his awkward expression now forming into a smug face. “So you thought about us kissing, didn’t you?” Before you could defend yourself like always, you were saved by another notification that popped up on Mingyu’s phone.

[Wonwoo]: cheol said you're not coming home tonight, but I know you're not screwing with other women right now.

[Wonwoo]: I also know you're at the cellist’s house because you have your location on. so I advise you to turn it off if you don't want to get caught.

[Wonwoo]: are you going to bring her to the festival?

Mingyu looks back to you, who was actually trying to watch the documentary instead of looking at his messages. “Do you want to go to the winter music festival this Saturday?”

“Sure, I’ll bring my friends there too,” you agreed without hesitation or careful consideration, not even looking at Mingyu but keeping your eyes on the screen.

[Mingyu]: yeah, r u bringing yours

[Wonwoo]: obviously, that’s why I asked you because I don’t want to get caught.

[Wonwoo]: and if I did get in trouble, you too would be in trouble with me.

[Mingyu]: im surprised no one found out abt ur little relationship

[Wonwoo]: I’m surprised you’re not afraid that our manager knows about yours.

[Mingyu]: we’re not a thing YET!

[Mingyu]: but we should never hide what we love!!!

[Wonwoo]: …

[Wonwoo]: it is a tough world we live in.

Mingyu takes another look at you, who was dozing off from the boredom of watching. Wow, the documentary must really be that boring. He thinks about what Wonwoo said. it’s a tough world they live in. Rock and classical are never a good mix. You’re the polar opposite of what he is. He’s supposed to hate you, but there’s something about you that draws him to you. However, you’re very competitive and dedicated to the feud. Oh, how he wishes there was never rivalry in the first place.

[Mingyu]: life is hard but im harder 🗣️

[Wonwoo]: shut the hell up.

When you woke up, Mingyu was already gone, and the TV was off. The table was sparkly clean, and you found yourself wrapped in a blanket. Jihyo walked in the living room, caught off guard when she saw you sitting up. "Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” she joked as she went to sit next to you on the couch.

“What time is it?”

“Past midnight. I came home not too long ago and saw you with you-know-who.” Jihyo must’ve showed up when he was still here and kicked him out. Yeah, that’s it—or what you hope you think.

“Did he leave right after you came?”

Jihyo giggles and pulls out her phone, showing you a picture she took of you and Mingyu sleeping together on the couch. “You guys are so cute, I might just set this as my lockscreen!” You groan at her words as you get up to do your nightly routine, hoping that this won’t haunt you in your dreams like always.

Mingyu sneaked back into the apartment and quietly exulted in the lights being shut off, a sign that all his roommates were asleep. When he headed over to the kitchen for a glass of water, he heard footsteps behind him, and the lights turned on. Too afraid to turn around, he continues slowly reaching for a cup in the cabinet and places it down on the counter. It could be anyone behind him: a blind Wonwoo, a tired Vernon, a scary Seungcheol, or all three of them—but he’s especially afraid of looking face-to-face with everyone.

Instead of any of those options, the mysterious person speaks up, and he recognizes the voice a bit too well. “The fuck are you doing here?” his little sister complains before Mingyu turns his head to look at her.

“I should be asking you that. Also, be mindful and cover up!” He throws a pair of oven mitts at her, who was wearing nothing but Seungcheol’s oversized t-shirt. 

“I would’ve put on some proper clothes, but no one is here except me and Cheol—until you showed up. He told me you were fucking some girl.”

“I didn’t even tell him that; he just assumed I did.” He fills the glass with tap water and takes a sip after speaking.

“So, where were you then?”

Right, she doesn’t know about you yet, and Mingyu doesn’t want to tell her at all. She’s practically another version of Seungcheol, and she’ll snitch to him—even though he’s already on his ass because of you.

“It’s not like you would care,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, you’re right. You probably just went out to drown yourself in alcohol—you reek of beer, by the way.”

“Whatever.” Mingyu leaves the kitchen and makes his way to his room. She’s not entirely wrong. He stayed in the parking lot for half an hour, drinking beer before he decided to sneak in.

Saturday rolls by, and you show up at the festival with your quartet. The field is covered with people, but there’s a decent amount, like most music festivals. The violinist had already gone off into the crowd—most likely to see her man. You’re 100% sure she was invited before you were since she brought it up to the other two before you could. Ryuwon thought this was a perfect time for the four of you to bond, and well, Yoonhee only agreed to come for the food. You want to say you’re here for the vibes and just to explore other artists, but honestly, you only came because Mingyu asked you to.

It was only just the three of you walking around, and in a crowd like this, you doubt you can find Mingyu anywhere. A jazz band was in the middle of performing, and you don’t know if a few bands had already passed or if this was the first band on stage. All you know is that his band is fifth in the line-up, so you’ll just have to wait for the announcement.

“I wonder why they didn’t invite us to perform. It’s literally in our name, Snow Swan,” Yoonhee pondered, looking at a pamphlet that was most likely about the festival.

"Well, there’s always next winter,” Ryuwon reasoned. She picked up a sample cup of hot chocolate from people handing it out and downed it in seconds. “For now, let’s just enjoy what it’s like to be the audience.”

The three of you were roaming around the field, visiting pop-up shops, vibing to the bands performing, and spending most of your time in the food stalls—mainly that last bit. As you were in the middle of eating a potsticker, you overheard a group of girls talking about Mingyu’s band and that they were going to make sure they got to see them up close when they performed. They ramble about how hot they look when they play and how they would love to be serenaded by them. Hah, if only they knew how miserable it feels to be tormented by them. 

The fourth band finishes their performance by the time you finish your plate of potstickers, and the speaker announces that Cherry Bass will be up in less than five minutes. You hurry your way over to the stage, where there were hundreds of people piled up in front just to see Mingyu’s band perform. They were in the middle of preparing their instruments, as the audience was already getting ecstatic over them. You can barely see their faces from where you’re standing, and you doubt Mingyu can locate you.

Their drummer starts off their first song, and the crowd goes wild before they even start singing. Throughout the whole song, you can only hear Mingyu’s bass, despite him being the quietest out of all of them. The cellist in you can recognize his rhythm, his slap bass, his fingerstyle, and even his muting. There’s some groove to it and a bit of funk, but it’s still rock. You hate rock; you’ve always despised it. But the way Mingyu plays it has you thinking otherwise. 

Why does he have to be a rock star? Why couldn’t he just play something normal like the double bass? He’s a stupid man who plays the bass; he just had to be a bassist. The rhythm is pounding—is it even the rhythm, or is your heart just beating really loud and fast? You spent the rest of the performance listening to their setlist, mainly focusing on Mingyu’s parts. You can’t lie; he is good at the bass, like he always says. 

The band left the stage, and the majority of the audience disappeared too. “They were good,” the violinist comments, who was watching right next to you the whole time. Like you, she was gazing at her guitarist friend. You can tell she has no shame in their friendship and ignores the whole rivalry that surrounds them.

“Yeah, really good.” The two of you walked around the field, trying to find the other two while looking through some pop-up shops. One of the shops was selling tote bags, and they were selling a particular bag that was displaying a giant embroidered strawberry on both sides. You spent such a long time admiring the bag and considering buying it that you didn’t even notice someone was creeping up behind you.

“Hey pretty, long time no see,” Mingyu jokes. He eyes you, then the bag, then back to you. “Never thought you would show up, honestly.”

You put down the bag and began to walk away as Mingyu followed you from behind. “I never skip music festival days—unless it’s country, then that’s when I’ll dip.”

“Guess that’s a sign I shouldn’t switch to country.”

You both leave the tent, and to your surprise, flurries of snow start falling. It’s a beautiful sight, and you're glad you brought a scarf with you. “Hey, it’s snowing!” You exclaim, reaching your hand out to look at the intricate detail of each different snowflake. You admire each one of them as some fall on your hands again and the former ones melt away.

Mingyu ruffles your hair while he watches you admire the snowflakes. “You’re getting snow in your hair; you look like you have dandruff,” he jokes. 

You bent down to grab snow from the ground and threw it at his face. “And you look like Frosty right now.” He wipes the snow off his face, and you both laugh it off. He gazes at you, who’s not even noticing that he’s looking at you while you’re busy laughing your ass off. You stop eventually, and somehow, you two make eye contact.

Neither of you is talking, and all you can ever hear is the pop band playing in the background.

‘If it’s okay with you, I think I’m gonna love you for a long time.’

You look into Mingyu’s eyes. He’s not saying anything, and you don’t think he’ll say a single word in the next minute. Look away, (Name), while you have the chance. This is odd, yet it feels so intimate.

To Mingyu, you look like a flock of doves or maybe a dancing swan. You’ve always looked pretty in his eyes, but today, it’s different. He can’t tell if it’s the way you styled your hair up, did your makeup simple, or the ivory outfit you picked out. But you look so beautiful that he feels he doesn’t deserve to look at you.

A smile creeps up on his face, and you scowl, lightly punching his shoulder after. “You weirdo! Don’t go silent on me like that.” All he responded was a chuckle, and you two walked into the crowd to listen to the band.

‘I think I’m gonna love you for my whole life.’

more from rhin, this is originally a spin off to an unreleased hhu band au (which is why the violinist and mg’s sister are unnamed bc they were supposed to ww’s and sc’s readers). i most likely won’t continue the other works since when i first came up with this idea, i used to be a violinist but i quit so i don’t remember anything abt the violin😭 this is actually my old writing style so i didnt even bother changing things other than fixing the grammar lmao. i hope u guys liked reading this as much i loved writing this!

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[dandelion-de-deus]

happened again. Beethoven this time. Anyway does anyone play the piano and want to move in with me

the real reason I don’t listen to a lot of classical music is because I’ll inevitably start listening to some Mendelssohn sextet and find myself getting really upset over the fact that I don’t live with more musicians

[dollypopup]

my absolute favorite underrated Polin moment in S3 is after the market scene exchange, in which Colin asked Penelope why she wants a husband and she says so that she can have her freedom and feel comfortable in the world, and he responds that it's finding comfort in herself that will get her to her goals. instead of leaving it there, he then asks her 'What is the one thing in the world that makes you feel most comfortable? Most at ease?' and she responded 'It used to be Sunday teas at Bridgerton house' because it was 'one of the few places I could go unchaperoned and truly be myself' but that now that wasn't the case because of her fallout with Eloise (also, he asked her what happened and that he was sorry for everything that went down, but when she deflected he didn't push)

he obviously took that to heart because Colin then proceeds to

1: invite her over to Bridgerton house to surprise her with how he's set up the drawing room with lemonade so they could pretend flirt (she thought they'd be going to the market again)

2: time it perfectly so Eloise was out with Fran and Violet and Penelope wouldn't have to feel nervous

3: get into a card match with Benedict, Hyacinth, and Gregory specifically to slip away to be with Pen and successfully schemed that since Hyacinth loves to win, Gregory hates to lose to her, and Benedict doesn't want to miss the spectacle, they'd be preoccupied for a long time

4: dress up in a cute waistcoat

5: put Penelope at ease after she asked if he'd gone mad when he said that they needed a place to be alone by hamming it up and cracking jokes as he flounced around the room, telling her to 'imagine it with me' as he spun little scenes of mamas discussing decor and a string quartet setting up for a quadrille specifically to make her smile

6: presumably discussed with the staff prior to everything taking place because he needed Rae to be outside the door

like this man became the poster child for 'acts of service' just to make Penelope feel listened to and understood and comfortable and this was before he even realized he had romantic feelings for her how can you NOT love him?

[g3tinl0ser]

4

BatFam Masterlist

Previous

The soft hum of music played from your phone as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully putting on the final touches of your makeup. Stephanie sat cross-legged on the counter, swinging her legs and occasionally passing you whatever brush or gloss you reached for.

“You nervous?” she teased, her tone light. “Or just trying to make everyone else look bad?”

You gave her a small laugh, eyes focused on your eyeliner. “It’s our anniversary. And I like making him fall in love with me all over again.”

Steph grinned. “Mission accomplished but like every day. He has been brooding like a lovesick vampire all day though.”

In the bedroom, Jason was sprawled across the foot of your bed, arms folded under his head like a pillow. Damian sat beside him with a book in his lap, pretending to read but glancing at the open closet every few seconds as your gown hung beside Bruce’s suit.

“You look... very pretty,” Damian called out stiffly, not lifting his eyes from the book. Jason smirked.

“She looks hot, Dames. Just say it.”

Damian scowled. “That’s our mother, Todd.”

Jason just chuckled, completely unbothered. “You dont have to practice complimenting someone. Just say whatever comes to your head. Thats what I do.”

From the hallway, you could hear distant voices,  Dick’s laughter and Tim’s quieter voice trying to keep Bruce from pacing holes in the floor. He always got this way right before the anniversary. Not nervous about the date,  never that. Nervous because this day mattered more to him than he’d ever admit. It wasn’t just a celebration. It was a reminder that you’d chosen him, again and again, despite everything.

You stepped out of the bathroom finally, smoothing your dress over your hips. It shimmered softly in the light, the deep color complimenting your skin perfectly.

Jason let out a low whistle. “Damn, Ma. B’s gonna forget how to speak.”

Damian stood immediately, his book forgotten on the bed. “You look... exceptional,” he said, then added in a rush, “Father won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

You smiled and kissed the top of his head before hugging Jason, who grinned and squeezed you tightly.

Steph slipped off the counter and dusted her hands together. “Alright. Let’s go show Daddy Bat what he’s got waiting for him.”

Tim was fixing Bruce’s cufflinks while Dick was straightening the lapels of his suit. Bruce looked as collected as ever,  but his eyes kept glancing toward the stairs.

“She’s coming,” Tim said with a small smirk.

And then you appeared.

The second Bruce saw you, the entire room shifted. His breath caught, and the smallest flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth,  the kind he only ever saved for you.

Dick nudged Tim. “Told you. She walks in, and he forgets what planet he’s on.”

Bruce stepped forward slowly, one hand reaching out to take yours as if you were something delicate. Precious.

“You’re stunning,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “Every year I think I’ve seen you at your most beautiful. Every year I’m wrong.”

You smiled, touching the edge of his jaw. “And every year, you still manage to look like you stepped out of a billionaire spy movie.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we? Your chariot awaits.”

Every year, Bruce reserved the same restaurant,  the five-star place where you’d had your first date. Only this time, like all the anniversaries before, he had rented out the entire rooftop.

Soft string lights. Custom menu. Champagne already chilled. The table was the same corner one you’d laughed over ten years ago. The only difference now was the deep love etched into every look and every word between you.

It was perfect.

The evening air was cool but gentle, the stars just beginning to scatter across the inky sky above. Warm string lights twinkled along the pergola that covered your candlelit table, casting a soft golden glow over the rooftop. The sound of a string quartet hummed in the background, their music weaving delicately into the hush of the city below.

Bruce hadn’t stopped watching you since you sat down. Not when the waiter pulled out your chair. Not when you reached for your champagne. Not when you laughed at the fact that he’d insisted on them recreating the exact first-date menu, down to the bread you’d both hated the first time.

“You always do this,” you said, smiling as you dabbed at the corner of your mouth with a linen napkin.

He tilted his head, eyes dark and affectionate. “Do what?”

You leaned slightly across the table. “Make the rest of the world disappear.”

Bruce’s hand reached across the table, covering yours. His touch was warm and steady, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he exhaled.

“You do that for me every day,” he said softly. “Even on the days I don’t deserve it.”

Your smile faltered,  not because the words hurt, but because they were true. And only Bruce could admit it that way, the way that made you love him even more.

“You always deserve it,” you whispered. “Even when you’re brooding and impossible.”

He smirked slightly. “Especially when I’m brooding and impossible.”

You both laughed.

A bottle of wine was opened and poured, and the meal moved on in slow courses,  truffle risotto, seared scallops, a ridiculous chocolate dessert you both pretended to dislike but devoured anyway. It was easy, too easy to forget the tension of the last few weeks. The Avengers. Tony. Damian’s growing awareness. The whispers behind closed doors.

But tonight… none of it existed.

Just you. And him.

Bruce swirled the last of his wine in his glass, looking at you over the rim. “Do you remember what you wore on our first date?”

You leaned back, eyes narrowing playfully. “You mean the boots that hurt my feet so bad I couldn’t feel my toes halfway through dinner?”

He chuckled, deep and rich. “I remember the dress. The way you kept tugging it down like you didn’t already have every eye in the room.”

You flushed. “And I remember you in that suit that probably cost more than my first car. Sitting across from me like you already knew.”

“Knew what?” he asked.

“That I was going to fall in love with you.”

He looked down, a rare moment of softness overtaking his expression.

“I didn’t know,” Bruce said. “But I hoped.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward,  it was full, thick with emotion and history and the thousand little pieces of life you’d built together.

After a long pause, you reached into your purse and slid something across the table.

Bruce’s brows furrowed as he lifted the envelope. His eyes scanned the simple handwriting, your initials curling in one corner. He opened it carefully, unfolding the paper.

Inside was a photograph.

The two of you from years ago, mid-laugh, his hand curled around your waist, your head thrown back. You’d written underneath it in looping ink:

“You’ve always been the only one I’d come back to.”

When he looked up, his eyes had gone a little glassy.

“I found it while cleaning out an old desk in your office,” you said softly. “Thought you’d want to keep it. A reminder that even when it’s hard… I’m still here.”

Bruce folded the photo with care, sliding it into his inside jacket pocket like it was something sacred.

Then he stood.

You watched him curiously as he walked over to your side of the table, holding out his hand.

You took it.

He guided you gently to your feet and pulled you into him, swaying slowly to the music drifting across the rooftop.

No one else existed.

Just his arms around your waist, your head against his chest, and the sound of his heart beating steadily,  like it always did when you were close.

“You know,” he murmured against your hair, “I used to think I didn’t deserve this. You. A family.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing your hand over his cheek.

“You still think that sometimes.”

Bruce didn’t deny it.

You pressed your forehead to his. “But I do. And I’ll keep reminding you. Even when you’re impossible. Even when you’re Batman.”

That made him smile.

“I love you,” he said, barely more than a breath.

And just as you were about to say it back,  

A sharp buzz vibrated in his jacket pocket.

Then again. Louder this time.

His entire body tensed.

You sighed. “It’s not going to be a quiet night, is it?”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, even as your eyes drifted toward the edge of the rooftop and the darkening city. “You’re Batman. That’s part of the deal.”

He looked at you with a mix of frustration and love, already moving to reach for the communicator in his inner pocket.

You turned back toward the table, grabbing your clutch and stealing one last sip of wine.

This night wasn’t over.

But you had a feeling the next part wasn’t going to be nearly as romantic.

The town car purred to a stop in the private alley behind the restaurant. Bruce stood beside the open door, his hand lingering on yours for a second longer than necessary, eyes locked with yours in the dim glow of the city lights.

“I’m going to handle this,” he said softly, the warmth from dinner already slipping beneath the weight of what was coming. “Alfred’s waiting at the house. I want you home safe.”

You tilted your head slightly, searching his face. “You could just take me with you.”

“I could,” Bruce said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “but I won’t.”

He leaned in and kissed you,  slow and grounding. Then, just as the door closed and the car started to pull away, you saw him turn, slipping into the shadows.

The Batmobile was already on its way, summoned silently through his gauntlet. He could hear its engines growling several blocks off, merging with the restless hum of Gotham.

The driver glanced at you through the mirror. “Home, ma’am?”

You nodded, settling into the seat with a soft exhale. Your hand drifted toward the window. You could still taste the wine, feel Bruce’s hands on your waist from the dance, the laugh you hadn’t had in weeks. The night had been close to perfect.

Until Gotham called.

You didn’t notice the dark figure watching your car from the rooftop.

The Batmobile screeched around the corner, stopping hard as Batman leapt in front of two officers holding down a frightened informant. Gunfire had broken out a minute earlier,  no casualties, but the perp had vanished down the alley.

“This wasn’t random,” Bruce muttered into the comm as he scanned the scene. “Someone staged this… just to get my attention.”

Before he could pursue it, Oracle’s voice crackled in.

“Uh… Bruce. Something you need to hear. GCPD picked up chatter,  someone hit a tech transport tonight. Not Joker, not Two-Face. Real quiet. Real clean. They left one of your encrypted comm tags behind.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “My comm tags aren’t out in circulation.”

“That’s the problem.”

Meanwhile – Your Car, Turning Down Fifth and Mercer

The driver’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Apologies, ma’am, slight detour,  police have blocked the main road. Shouldn’t be more than five extra minutes.”

You nodded absently, fingers drumming on the leather seat. Bruce had a driver for each of you, they were highly trained and vetted so you trusted him without needing much attention. 

It wasn’t until you turned down the next street that you noticed how quiet it was.

Too quiet.

No traffic. No people. Just the faint echo of your tires on wet pavement.

Then the car jerked to a hard stop.

Your heart stuttered.

“Ma’am, stay down,” the driver said quickly, reaching for the weapon concealed beneath the seat.

A dark shape stepped into the glow of the streetlamp ahead. Not Joker. Not anyone you recognized,  but definitely armed, and definitely dangerous. Two more flanked him, circling.

“Looks like someone forgot to bring security,” one of them said, cocking his head at the window as he approached. “Pretty, rich thing like you. What’s the world coming to?”

You swallowed your fear, eyes scanning the street.

“Step out of the car. Slowly,” the man barked, tapping his weapon against the hood.

You could feel your pulse climbing, but your voice stayed steady. “You don’t want to do this.”

He laughed. “Lady, I think I do.”

Then,  

A low mechanical growl echoed through the street. Tires screeching.

A streak of matte black surged from the shadows and slammed into the alley behind them, the Batmobile skidding to a halt with precise, terrifying speed.

Before any of them could react, the figure dropped from the rooftop.

Batman.

He landed between you and the men, cape flaring, eyes glowing, the sheer force of his presence knocking the breath out of them,  and you.

The one with the gun stepped back, startled. “What the,  ”

Batman didn’t wait.

He moved like a shadow, taking out the first with a bone-crunching strike, using his momentum to disarm the second with a twist that sent the weapon clattering across the asphalt. The third barely raised his arm before he was thrown into the side of a dumpster.

The whole thing was over in less than ten seconds.

You hadn’t even opened the car door.

Batman turned to face you, chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched tight.

You pushed the door open slowly, stepping out, heart still racing. “So much for a quiet ride home.”

He didn’t speak at first,  just stared at you, scanned you from head to toe, as if checking for any hidden injury.

Then: “Are you okay?”

You nodded.

Bruce didn’t.

He stepped forward and gently cupped your face with his gloved hand. “I told you to go straight home.”

“I was,” you said, voice quiet.

His hand dropped. He turned toward the unconscious men, voice low and bitter: “They weren’t after you specifically. Not tonight. But they’re getting closer.”

You stepped closer too, voice softer now. “I’m fine. You made it in time.”

Batman didn’t respond

The thugs groaned on the pavement, unconscious and broken, scattered around the narrow alley like trash after a storm. The Batmobile’s engine idled nearby, casting a low hum through the silence. The town car’s driver, clearly shaken, stepped forward.

“I can get her home, sir.”

Bruce didn’t even turn around. “You can go.”

The man hesitated. Then he took one look at the bodies, at the towering silhouette of Gotham’s protector standing possessively in front of you, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The town car pulled away, tires softly rolling over damp concrete, leaving the alley dim and still except for you and the Bat.

You turned toward him slowly, heart still racing,  not just from fear anymore, but from the look in his eyes.

He hadn’t stopped staring at you. Not since he fought them off. His chest was rising fast under the armor, his jaw clenched hard. There was a violence still simmering in him, leashed only barely, but none of it was aimed at you.

It was for you.

You took a step closer. “Bruce,  ”

“Don’t.” His voice was deep, dark, the voice of the Bat. His gloved hand came up fast, curling around your waist and yanking you to him with unyielding strength. “Don’t say my name right now.”

You blinked, breath catching. “Okay.”

His hand slid lower, gripping your hip tightly. “Do you know what it does to me? Seeing you like that. In danger. Cornered. If I’d been one second later,  ”

“But you weren’t,” you breathed, your palms sliding up the chest of his suit. “You were right on time.”

His head dropped forward until his cowl brushed your forehead. His voice was a growl now, filled with a hunger he could barely hold back. “You’re mine. Every part of you. No one touches what’s mine.”

You shivered as his hands moved,  ruthless and sure, pinning your back to the cold brick wall. The alley was dark, hidden from the street, but even if it wasn’t, you weren’t sure you’d care. Not with the way he was looking at you. Like he was still mid-hunt.

“Do you know what tonight is supposed to be?” he rasped, dragging his gloved fingers down your thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip.

“Our anniversary,” you whispered.

He smirked,  something dangerous and wicked. “Then let me remind you.”

You gasped as his mouth found your throat, the sharp edge of his stubble scraping over sensitive skin. He bit,  not hard enough to hurt, just enough to claim. One hand braced above your head, the other still anchoring your leg to him, his body caging you against the wall.

“I should take you home,” he muttered between kisses. “You should be safe. Warm. In our bed.”

You tugged at the collar of his suit, eyes blazing. “And yet… here you are.”

He chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead to yours again, breath ragged. “You love this, don’t you?”

“You’re Batman,” you whispered. “And I’m yours.”

The kiss deepened, devouring, his mouth crashing onto yours like he hadn’t kissed you in years, like he might never get to again. There was no soft Bruce here, no warm palm on your cheek or careful whisper of your name. This was the Bat ,   all armor and grit and hunger barely restrained.

Your hands curled in the tactical material of his suit, desperate to feel him, to claw past the cold exterior and into the man underneath. But he didn't let you get that far ,   he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand like it cost him nothing.

"You're shaking," he growled into your neck, breath hot. "Is it fear? Or something else?"

You gasped. "Want. I want you."

His grip tightened just a hair, enough to send a shiver straight down your spine. "Good." His voice dropped lower, gravel scraping against velvet. “Then listen closely, because I need you to understand something…”

His hand moved from your thigh, slow but heavy, dragging up over your waist, ribs, sternum, until it wrapped gently around your throat ,   a touch far more intimate than controlling. His thumb stroked your pulse like it belonged to him. "You are mine. You wear his rings. You kiss his cheek in public. But it’s me who watches you while you sleep. It’s me who hears the change in your breath when you dream."

"You are him," you whispered, a desperate ache in your voice. “You’re just… this side of him.”

“And you love this side, don’t you?” His words were ragged, feverish. “You love the part of me that’s brutal. Dangerous. You want to kiss the teeth.”

You didn’t answer, just whimpered softly, arching into him.

And suddenly he was moving again ,   lifting you like you weighed nothing, pressing you harder to the wall as his mouth trailed down your jaw. Each kiss felt like possession. His hands, big and gloved, slid under your dress like he had every right. Because he did. And yet, when his hand slid just beneath the lace at your hip, he paused.

His voice turned to gravel, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, breathing hard. “No thanks.”

He growled low in his throat ,   primal, relieved, starved ,   and that was the last moment of stillness.

What followed wasn’t soft. It was reverent in its own way, but it was the kind of reverence reserved for the altar of worship, not the sanctuary. He made you feel wanted, needed ,   owned. The slick brick wall scraped your back as he moved, your fingers leaving smudges on his armor. He groaned against your skin, low and wrecked, like having you like this was both the release and the ruin.

He didn’t speak much ,   not like Bruce would, murmuring sweet things in your ear. No, Batman didn’t need words. Every motion was deliberate, every touch speaking for him. When he gripped your hips and pressed his forehead to yours, your name fell from his lips like a vow ,   hoarse, reverent, broken.

And when it was over, when your body trembled and your breath came in gasps, he just held you. There, in the alley, with his cowl shadowing his face and the sky above bruised with city light, he kissed your temple. Softer now. Like the heat had burned through and left only the ache.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, voice thick.

You wrapped your arms around his neck again and nodded. “To Bruce?”

He paused, then nodded once, as if giving you back something fragile.

But as he carried you into the Batmobile, gently placing you in the seat, you knew the truth: whether it was Bruce or Batman, you were the center of his universe. One side of him adored you with discipline, devotion, and endless patience. The other… burned for you like a fire that would never go out.

And lucky for you ,   you had both.

Tony stood in front of a bank of holographic screens, a whiskey glass sweating in his hand, jaw set hard. He hadn’t meant to spy ,   not really. The alert had triggered when the Batmobile entered Gothams perimeter, its untraceable signal pinging just close enough to trip Stark’s experimental surveillance grid. He’d been curious. Too curious.

Now, on-screen, grainy black-and-white footage from a traffic camera angled low on a dark alley flickered. He watched as Batman stepped backward releasing you from the wall, shadowed and imposing, his cape flaring as he bent slightly, lifting you gently into his arms.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, voice thick.

You wrapped your arms around his neck again and nodded. “To Bruce?”

He paused, then nodded once, as if giving you back something fragile.

Tony’s hand tensed around the glass, the ice clinking. His expression twisted ,   disbelief, then offense, then something darker.

The Batmobile peeled away. The footage cut out.

The footage replayed silently on a massive screen. Tony stood in front of it, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Steve blinked at the screen. “Is that… her? With him?”

Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. “She asked to work with both teams. This is why?”

“Jesus,” Clint muttered, slouching back in the chair. “So she’s been sleeping with Batman behind Bruce’s back?”

“No,” Wanda said sharply.

All eyes turned to her.

She stepped forward from the shadows of the room, calm but firm, her eyes just a little red around the edges from restrained power. “She’s not cheating. Not on Bruce. Not on anyone.”

Nat crossed her arms too, nodding slightly. “Tony, you saw a clip. Not the context. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Tony scoffed. “I heard it with my own ears. ‘To Bruce?’ Like she’s sneaking around behind the poor guy’s back,  ”

Wanda stepped between him and the screen, her voice calm but unyielding. “She said that to Batman, Tony. You really think someone who’s lying would be that open? That honest in a moment like that?”

Tony’s jaw clenched. “You’re defending her.”

“I’m protecting someone you clearly don’t understand,” Wanda replied, her voice velvet wrapped around steel. “I’ve seen her mind. I’ve seen his. Do you know what she carries for Bruce? For all of them? Do you know how long she’s kept this secret just to protect their peace?”

“She’s lying to all of us,” Tony snapped.

“No,” Natasha said this time, quieter but harder. “She’s surviving. And she’s loving someone in a way you can’t stand, because it wasn’t you.”

Tony’s nostrils flared. For a second, the room was dead quiet.

Steve cleared his throat, brows drawn. “So... what are you saying, Wanda?”

Wanda looked at the screen once more, her gaze softening. “I’m saying Bruce and Batman aren’t two different men in her story. Just... two halves of the same one.”

Tony turned away, scoffing. “Great. So we’re all fine with that? With secrets like that being kept from us?”

“Tony,” Nat said, stepping closer to him, voice low. “You think you’re mad because she lied. But you’re mad because she chose someone else. She didn’t betray Bruce. She just didn’t choose to pine after you.”

Tony said nothing, just looked at the frozen screen of Batman cradling her ,   you ,   like something precious. Like a secret worth guarding at any cost.

He shut off the feed with a flick of his fingers. The room dimmed as he stormed out.

“I hope she knows what she’s doing,” Bucky mutters.

“She does,” Wanda whispered.

@laetitia-prst @yunho-leeknow @g0thchick Hope you guys like it.

[wlwdcchampionship]

introducing: poll stealing!!

Are you worried about your favorites not making it to the next round? Do you wish you could commit legal poll theft?? Then you’re in luck! Starting in round two, you can make fanworks of any kind to help swing the votes in your ship’s favor! Fics! Art! Playlists! Anything your heart desires!

With the steal function in place, your ship could lose the popular vote but still advance to the next round.

To be very very clear, the purpose of the steal function and the purpose of the tournament as a whole is to get more f/f dc works out there!

Detailed guidelines below the cut:

HOW IT WORKS:

(Disclaimer that the rules and calculations are taken from @lesmisshippingshowdown who in turn were inspired by @hbowartournament)

For all steal works regardless of type, please ensure that you follow these submission guidelines:

Make a new post here on Tumblr including either your fanwork or a link to your work on the relevant platform (AO3, Spotify, etc.) and tag it #wlwdc steal

@ mention this blog (@wlwdcchampionship) in your caption.

Send me an ask or DM with a link to your post. If using asks, please be sure to break up the hyperlink to reduce the chance of Tumblr eating the post.

Now on to specific scoring guidelines for different fanwork categories (once again, thanks to the mods of the LMSS for figuring all this out!):

Writers:

Post a fic (or new chapter) of at least 100 words to AO3. The pairing of your choice must be the primary relationship tag (and remember this poll is for romantic relationships only)

Link your fic here, tag it #wlwdc steal, and send us a link to the post. If your piece is part of a larger, previously established fic, please include in your message the word count of the new chapter.

Earn 0.1% for every 100 words, rounded to the nearest hundred

Artists:

Post your fanart to tumblr, tag it #wlwdc steal, and send us a link.

Earn 0.1% for a sketch, 0.3% for linework, and 0.5% for a full colour piece*

*(full colour is an ambiguous term, but the intent is to look at the extra amount of work and time that goes into colouring a completed piece vs. just putting forward a sketch or b&w linework. a sketch that happens to use colour pencils or a linework with a colour filter overlaid will be judged in the lower category)

Photoset Editors:

Post your photoset to tumblr, tag it #wlwdc steal, and send us a link.

Earn 0.1% per edited photo.

Playlist Curators:

Post your fanmix - consisting of at least 8 tracks - to Spotify

Link your playlist here, tag it #wlwdc steal, and send us a link to the post.

Earn 0.1% per 8 songs on the playlist, rounded to the nearest 8

Earn 0.1% per 200 words of liner notes (not including song titles or extended lyric quotations)

If you create your own cover art, the points for the relevant visual medium (art or photo editing) apply

Songwriters/Composers

0.1% per 10 seconds for original music/arrangement with 1-2 instruments (e.g. a piano solo, a pop song where you accompany yourself on guitar, a work for violin & piano accompaniment)

0.3% per 10 seconds for original music/arrangement for chamber ensemble/small band of 3-8 parts (e.g. a string quartet, an SATB choral work, a song performed by you and the rest of the 4 piece rock band you’re in)

0.5% per 10 seconds of original music/arrangement for a large ensemble of 9+ parts (e.g. a work for orchestra or marching band)

0.1% per 100 words of lyrics (entirely original or parody)

0.1% per 200 words of liner notes/analysis

For cover songs, a flat 0.1% per 30 seconds, unless you have provided a significantly new arrangement or orchestration

Cosplayers

0.1% per still photo, or 0.1% per 30 seconds of video where you are acting/performing in character

Arts & Crafts (Fibre Arts, Physical Collages, etc.)

Please upload at least one photograph of your completed craft item, and at least one unaltered photograph clearly showing the measurements of your work using a real life reference such as a tape measure or a ruler.

Please also list all materials used in your work (just broad categories is fine - e.g. if you make a friendship bracelet you can just say "string and beads", we don't need to know about every colour and category of bead you used!)

Base rate of 0.1% for works under 10x10cm and 0.3% for works over 10x10cm.

Earn an additional 0.1% per material category (thread, beads, glitter, photo cutouts, etc) - this includes base materials like cardboard, canvas, etc. but does not include adhesives such as tape or glue unless you are using e.g. washi tape or glitter glue in a way that significantly impacts the overall aesthetic appearance of your work. 

Please note that the size only applies to the surface area of what you actually did - so e.g. if you send a picture of a massive embroidery hoop but only a 5x5cm area is covered in embroidery we will only grant you the 0.1% base rate.

Compilations of the above (zines, comics, etc)

Judged by combining individual components - e.g. if you make a zine that includes 3 full colour art pieces (0.5 x 3), a 300 word ficlet (0.3), and a digital collage (0.5), you'll earn a total of 2.3 points.

Comics are judged by panel, though excessively similar panels (e.g. the same artwork with different speech bubbles) or very simplistic panels (e.g. a blank colour background that says THREE DAYS LATER) may be awarded a lower score than more complex panels.

If you're struck by creative urges not listed above, just drop me an ask and I can figure out what category it falls into and/or approximate percentage conversion rates if it's something totally new.

Please note that you cannot resubmit a fanwork you have already used as a steal work in a previous round, and steal points will not be carried over between rounds of the tournament!

edit: this goes without saying but absolutely no use of ai is allowed.

tldr; Make fanworks, tag this blog, steal points in the poll of your choice!

[mikrokosmos]

Mozart - Masterpost

For his birthday today (1/27) I compiled all of the blog posts I've written about his music over the years on this blog. There's so much more to write about for a composer with as significant an output as Wolfgang...I hope you enjoy anything you haven't heard yet!

Opera

Abduction from the Seraglio

Masses

Requiem in d minor

Symphonies

Symphony no.25 in g minor

Symphony no.36 in C Major, “Linz”

Symphony no.38 in D Major, “Prague”

Symphony no.41 in C Major, “Jupiter”

Concertos

Piano Concerto no.15 in Bb Major

Piano Concerto no.20 in d minor

Piano Concerto no.24 in c minor

Piano Concerto no.25 in C Major

Violin Concerto no.1 in Bb Major

Violin Concerto no.3 in G Major, “Strasbourg”

Violin Concerto no.5 in A Major “Turkish”

Clarinet Concerto in A Major

Double Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major

Horn Concerto no.1 in D Major

Piano

Adagio in b minor

Piano Sonata no.8 in a minor

Piano Sonata no.11 in A Major

Piano Sonata no.18 in D Major, “The Hunt"

Sonata for Two Pianos in D Major

Sonata for Piano, Four Hands in F Major

Chamber Music

Clarinet Quintet in A Major

Clarinet Trio in Eb Major, “Kegelstatt”

String Quintet no.1 in Bb Major

String Quintet no.2 in c minor

String Quintet no.4 in g minor

String Quintet no.6 in Eb Major

Piano Quartet no.1 in g minor

Piano Quartet no.2 in Eb Major

Serenade no.10 in Bb Major, “Gran Partita

Divertimento for 2 Horns and String Quartet, “A Musical Joke"

Violin Sonata no.21 in e minor

Misc.

17 Church Sonatas

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader goes to their first date with the Dateables

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4 , Demon Brothers version

Romance Anon: Could I request headcanons for Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon react to shy gn s/o who asked what he would like to do for their first date because he made them happy by accepting their confession so they want to make him happy?

.

A/N: wrote this while my upstairs neighbors were doing the nasty, so I got a little distracted

.

Diavolo

He feels somewhat conflicted, to say the least. Growing up having everything his way, you could believe this would be easy for him, but you would be wrong. On the contrary, it’s precisely for that reason that he doesn’t want to be the only one organizing the date.

Still, you asked him directly, so he’ll humour you.

He asks Lucifer and Barbatos for ideas and he’s left with even more questions.

He could go big, book Ristorante Six so it’s just the two of you and hire a string quartet to set the mood; or he could literally go home, as they say, ask his butler to cook a special dinner and make the garden look pretty.

There’s also the possibility of going downtown, share some ice cream and take a stroll in the park or the busy avenue.

His indecision doesn’t come from a lack of interest, but rather from cluelessness.

Should he do all of that? Should he make another plan? Something more extravagant? Something tamer?

He’s completely lost. You made him happy when you agreed to go out with him as well, so there’s no need for letting him decide everything, especially for your first date.

He wants to be with you, talk to you, have your whole attention and let you have his as well, so, in the end, he settles for the most private option.

Hopefully, you both will have time for more.

Barbatos

There’s a contradiction in your interests.

He’s immensely glad you’re happy upon going out with him, but what he wants the most is to know you more than anyone else has ever done before.

Therefore, his idea of a perfect first date is to know what’s your ideal first date and to make that a reality.

Do you like big gestures? He can take you to the opera or to a luxurious dinner, maybe even both.

Or perhaps you prefer a more intimate setting, which would be most preferable.

He excels in tea parties after all, something the both of you know, and he can use the opportunity to try new recipes and impress you. Maybe even use the tea blend he prepared just for you, a part of his efforts he deeply hopes you like.

Barbatos is perfectly aware that serving his date as a first date may not seem like something one may do for his own enjoyment, even when you were the one to ask him what to do for your day out together, but you have to understand, MC.

In his eyes, the best path towards your happiness is the one where he is the cause of it.

Solomon

At first he thinks of cooking something for you, maybe ask Luke to bake dessert beforehand, and have dinner at Purgatory Hall, but his roommates’ immediate refusal confuses him.

He just wants to impress you!

But, hey, if his friends insist on changing plans... There’s plenty of other things to do anyways.

Why not get out of the Devildom for starters? A change of scenery sounds like a good idea and it’s not like you’re going to be away for too long. Plus, you can forget the brothers for once and he gets the opportunity of having your sole attention for a whole day.

It’s a win-win situation.

You’re going to be a human couple spending time in the human realm doing human things.

And what’s more human than the sun? The warmth, the light… He could take you to a coastal city and sunbathe in the beach or to a small mountain town and walk through its green pastures.

Do you know how to make flower crowns? You could learn with him!

Take advantage of your human curiosity! What better companion than him?

Sure, the brothers and the royals could sweep you off your feet in many different ways, but if there’s something only he can give you is understanding.

You’re going through so much, learning and improving, saying goodbye to the person you once were, he’s the only one capable of comprehend the change in your humanity.

Trust in him to take the weight off your shoulders.

Simeon

He knows exactly what to do.

While he would love to have a traditional date with you, dining in a nice place before going for a stroll and take you home, he knows Luke wouldn’t understand the concept of a date per se.

And as much as he loves the kid, he wants to be just with you for the night.

So, he does just that. He invites you to go out for the night while Luke is sleeping.

There’s a spot in one of the rooftops of RAD and he has visited it enough times to know it’s the perfect place for your date.

He asks Belphie for help and Diavolo for permission, borrowing books and asking simple questions about the sky, the constellations and the legends behind it.

It’s not about studying as much as possible about the stars to impress you, which he’d prefer happening in a more natural setting, but rather having you discover the wonders that surround you with him.

Just the thought of keeping you close, shielding you from the cold of the night and staring at the dark sky with your fingers tightly intertwined with his, sends an involuntary smile to his face.

He wants to spend time with you, it’s as simple as that, but why not make it even more beautiful?

.

.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Timeless Affection - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 946

Summary: One's love for another does not fade after time, it only gets stronger and speaks for itself, does it not?

The dawn broke softly over the Bridgerton estate, casting a golden hue across the sprawling gardens.

Inside, the house was already abuzz with a secret flurry of activity.

Your children had been planning for weeks.

Today was your seventh wedding anniversary, and they wanted to make it a day to remember.

Eldest among them was 8-year-old James, whose responsible nature and knack for organization made him the natural leader of their clandestine operation.

Then there was 6-year-old Ella, creative and quick-witted, always ready with an idea to add a personal touch.

Finally, there was little Henry, 4 years old, who, despite his age, was determined to contribute meaningfully to the celebration.

James had woken up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of his room to finalize the arrangements in the garden.

They had planned a surprise picnic lunch, complete with a string quartet and a replica of your favorite flower garden.

Ella had insisted on recreating the garden, knowing how much you cherished it.

As James instructed the staff and made sure everything was in place, Ella was inside the house, ensuring you both remained unaware.

Henry was tasked with creating distraction after distraction.

His mischievous grin betrayed his excitement as he plotted the morning’s diversions.

Their first challenge was getting you out of the house without arousing suspicion.

Ella and Henry had enlisted the help of their Bridgerton aunts and uncles, knowing that if anyone could provide a seamless distraction, it was them.

The Bridgerton siblings were experts at orchestrating family chaos when needed.

In the grand living room, you sat with a cup of tea, savoring the quiet moment before the day began in earnest.

Benedict was reading a newspaper beside you, a contented smile playing on his lips.

Your anniversary had always been a private affair, celebrated with close family and simple joys.

“Good morning, Mother! Good morning, Father!” Ella burst into the room, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Good morning, darling,” you replied, setting your cup down. “You seem very energetic today.”

“Well, it is a special day, after all,” Ella said, her smile widening. “Uncle Colin and Aunt Eloise are here, and they have something they want to show you in town.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, looking at you. “Colin and Eloise? Up to something? This should be interesting.”

You laughed. “They’re always up to something. It’s part of their charm.”

Within minutes, Colin and Eloise appeared, their enthusiasm barely contained.

“Happy anniversary!” Colin declared, enveloping you in a hug. “We have a little adventure planned for you both. No questions, just trust us.”

Eloise nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s a beautiful day, and we thought you might enjoy a little outing.”

Benedict looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” you agreed, your eyes twinkling with anticipation.

As you both left the house with Colin and Eloise, James breathed a sigh of relief. “Step one complete,” he muttered to himself, before heading back to the garden to oversee the final preparations.

Colin and Eloise led Benedict and you through the bustling streets of London, engaging you in lively conversation to keep your curiosity at bay.

You visited a quaint bookshop you loved, followed by a stroll through Hyde Park, and finally, a charming little café where you enjoyed a light brunch.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the Bridgerton children, along with their aunts and uncles, worked tirelessly.

Anthony, the eldest Bridgerton sibling, had taken charge of organizing the string quartet, ensuring they played the your favorite melodies.

Daphne and Francesca arranged the flowers, transforming the garden into a breathtaking oasis.

By midday, the preparations were complete.

The garden was a vision of elegance and beauty, with delicate floral arrangements, a picturesque picnic setup, and the string quartet ready to serenade you.

James, Ella, and Henry gathered in the foyer, waiting for the signal from their uncles.

The plan was to bring you both back home just in time for the surprise lunch.

James felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

He wanted everything to be perfect.

Finally, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel announced the return of Colin and Eloise, with Benedict and you in tow.

The children exchanged excited glances.

“Ready?” James asked his siblings.

“Ready!” Ella and Henry chorused.

As you entered the house, you were met with a curious silence.

The children led you through the hallways, which had been decorated with garlands of flowers, each step building anticipation.

When you stepped into the garden, you gasped. “Oh, my goodness…”

The sight before you was nothing short of magical.

The garden was transformed into a paradise of blooms, your favorite songs floating through the air.

A beautifully arranged picnic awaited for you, complete with all your favorite foods.

“Surprise!” the children shouted in unison, their faces beaming with pride.

Benedict looked around, taking in the sight of his siblings and children working together.

“This is incredible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve outdone yourselves.”

Your eyes glistened with tears of joy. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

As the family settled down to enjoy the picnic, Benedict and you marveled at the efforts your children and family had gone to.

The day was filled with laughter, stories, and the kind of warmth that only family could bring.

As the afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned into Benedict.

“Seven years,” you said softly. “And it feels like just yesterday.”

He kissed your forehead. “Here’s to many more, my love.”

The string quartet played on, the flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and you celebrated not just an anniversary, but the enduring love and togetherness that defined you.

[skitskatdacat63]

I love this Fernando wip bcs every time I open it, I just completely change it 😐

[thefemmefatalexo]

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 5 - Glimmers of Connection

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: I’m so sorry for the delay!! I’ve been super busy these past few days and I didn’t really have the time to upload! I hope you all had pleasant holidays! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 4} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @meganbaby

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The grand ballroom glittered like a jewel, its soaring ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers that spilled golden light over the polished marble floor. Guests swirled about in a sea of finery, the hum of conversation mingling with the soft strains of the string quartet. You paused at the entrance, smoothing your gown, the silky fabric catching the light with each movement. Taking a deep breath, you stepped in, your smile ready and practiced.

It didn’t take long for you to settle into the rhythm of the evening. You exchanged warm greetings with old acquaintances, laughed at polite jokes, and made small talk with guests who had perfected the art of socializing. But as you moved through the crowd, something nagged at the back of your mind.

You scanned the room once, then twice. And then you saw him.

Nanami stood in a far corner, his broad frame partially shadowed by the heavy velvet drapes. His tailored black suit fit him perfectly, understated yet commanding. While everyone else thrived in the art of mingling, he stood alone, holding a glass of water like it was the only thing tethering him to the room. His expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes observing the crowd like a distant observer, not a participant.

A small smile tugged at your lips. Of course, he’d find the most isolated spot in the entire venue.

Not one to waste an opportunity, you made your way over, weaving through the crowd with purpose. As you approached, his gaze shifted to you, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“I was wondering if you’d actually show up,” you said, stopping a few feet away, your tone light and teasing.

“My presence was requested,” he replied, his voice calm and measured.

“And here I thought you came for the champagne and hors d’oeuvres.”

“I don’t drink at events like these,” he said, lifting his glass slightly.

“Of course you don’t,” you replied, letting out a soft laugh.

He didn’t respond, his eyes briefly flicking back to the room, watching the swirl of activity as though it didn’t concern him.

“So,” you said, stepping closer, “what do you think of all this?” You gestured vaguely to the opulence around you.

“It’s excessive,” he said plainly.

You let out a low chuckle. “Don’t hold back or anything.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said, his gaze steady on yours.

Touché.

“Well,” you said, leaning against the wall beside him, “you’re not wrong. My parents go all out for these things. But hey, it’s for charity.”

“Charity is important,” he said, his tone neutral. “But the method matters.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Events like these often prioritize appearances over impact,” he said, his eyes briefly scanning the lavish décor.

“Maybe,” you conceded. “But appearances can lead to impact, too. Sometimes it takes a little sparkle to get people to open their wallets.”

“Pragmatic,” he said after a beat, and it almost sounded like approval.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You know, you’re not as much of a cynic as you let on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m practical, not cynical.”

“Practical and endlessly serious,” you teased.

“Someone has to be.”

You laughed softly, enjoying the quiet rhythm of his company. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled by the distant murmur of the crowd.

“You know,” you said after a pause, “I think a good lawyer needs to be approachable, relatable. Someone people feel comfortable opening up to.”

“A lawyer should be professional above all else,” he countered, his tone firm but not unkind. “Anything less risks undermining their credibility.”

“Professionalism doesn’t mean being cold,” you argued, your voice warm. “People want to feel understood, not judged.”

“Understanding comes from action, not unnecessary sentiment,” he replied evenly, his gaze steady.

You crossed your arms, a playful smile curling your lips. “You say that, but deep down, I think you’d make an amazing people person if you gave it a shot.”

“That’s an unnecessary hypothetical,” he said, though there was a faint flicker of amusement in his tone.

You laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to pull the corner of his mouth into the faintest of smiles.

“Okay, Mr. No-Nonsense, what would you change about lawyers?” you asked, shifting the conversation back to him.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the glass in his hand as though considering his words. “They should prioritize efficiency and results. Theatrics and personal connection aren’t necessary to achieve success.”

“That’s where we disagree,” you said, leaning slightly closer, your voice softer now. “Law isn’t just about winning—it’s about the people you’re helping. It’s personal whether you want it to be or not.”

For a moment, his eyes lingered on yours, something unreadable passing across his face.

“Perhaps,” he said finally.

That single word felt like a small victory.

The conversation flowed from there, shifting to lighter topics, though each carried an unexpected depth. He spoke about his dedication to his work, his belief in structure and purpose, while you countered with your love for spontaneity and connection. Despite your differences, the dialogue was easy, almost natural, the sharp edges of your personalities softening as the evening stretched on.

You noticed small things about him—the way he listened intently, his rare but genuine hints of amusement, and the faintest trace of warmth beneath his carefully controlled demeanor.

Hours passed like minutes, and the crowd around you began to thin. The music softened to a gentle lull, and you realized with a start that most of the guests had already left.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head at him, “this might just be the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“And you’ve managed to keep it mostly one-sided,” he said, though the subtle twitch of his lips betrayed his teasing.

“Admit it,” you said, grinning. “You’ve had a good time.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity.

“It wasn’t entirely unpleasant,” he said at last.

Your heart fluttered, and you hid it behind a playful laugh. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

Nanami glanced around the emptying ballroom, then back at you. “It’s getting late.”

“It is,” you agreed, though you didn’t make a move to leave.

For a brief moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, the world around you fading into the background.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice lower, softer.

“For what?”

“For… the conversation,” he said, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. “It was unexpected.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his rare vulnerability. “Anytime.”

As you watched him leave, his steady, measured strides carrying him through the quiet ballroom, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between you—not drastically, but just enough. Enough to leave you hoping for more.

[garagepaperback]

the eternally sweet @sitp-recs tagged me in her end of year post, and i thought i'd make a strange version of my own <3

i tried writing for the first time this past january and basically didn't breathe or stop until a little over a week ago. i hit my arbitrary and ill-advised goal of 300k; it's been a real lovely, enormously transformative pursuit and i hope to never do it (to this rampant full-throttle extent) again ::)

honestly, i was expecting to make some dulcet little phrases that i could roll myself around in, but i wasn't expecting to meet so many wonderful folks or to have found a few truly dear friends. even less, to have them sculpt the wet mud of my brain. i feel lucky and thrilled to know and be known - by pals, by anyone who finds my work, or by anyone's work that i'm lucky enough to be found by.

because i'm a wildly nostalgic person and avid romanticizer, i made you a mixtape. here's every forever-loop of song that i played while writing this year:

this heaven of mud everyone i know, grizzly bear djohariah + untitled, sufjan stevens

coyote ugly e is for estranged, owen pallett

ready, able make me an offer i cannot refuse, sufjan stevens

isn't a kingdom for scott kelly, returned to earth + silver ladders, mary lattimore lay all your love on me, caroline shaw (a gift sent from @yiiiiiiiikes25) masterpiece (solo), big thief

a barely lit path when i die + family curse, beirut a barely lit path, oneohtrixpointnever :,) impersonator, majical clouds a lungful of air by the fist ne me quitte pas, nina simone objection everywhere we go, bootleg of the sufjan stevens ballet javelin (to have and to hold) string quartets 1 - 4, phillip glass + carducci string quartet

soft doomed, moses sumney

i'm tagging @eleadore, @yiiiiiiiikes25, @flightspathfic, @citrusses, @sweet-s0rr0w, @tackytigerfic, @faiell, @kamaela, @hollyhawthorn, @thehoneybeet, @mintawasalreadytaken + everyone who comes across this. i wanna know what you listened to a lot, or even what you read, watched, felt shifted by in anyway while you wrote or drew or sat very still and were still undeniably perfect.

okay thanks love you too much bye

[lesmisshippingshowdown]

Poll Stealing: How it works

PLEASE BE AWARE THAT POLL STEALING SUBMISSIONS CLOSE *AFTER* POLLS HAVE EXPIRED - PLEASE CHECK OUR PINNED POST FOR THE PRECISE DEADLINE FOR THE CURRENT ROUND!

(concept and rules inspired by/shamelessly lifted from @hbowartournament - if you're in that fandom go and show their polls some love and maybe commit some theft over there too!)

For all steal works regardless of type, please ensure that you follow these submission guidelines:

Make a new post here on Tumblr including either your fanwork or a link to your work on the relevant platform (AO3, Spotify, etc.) and tag it #lmss steal

@ mention this blog (lesmisshippingshowdown) in your caption.

Send us an ask or submission (we are not able to open DMs on this blog unfortunately - blame Tumblr!) with a link to your post. If using asks, please be sure to break up the hyperlink to reduce the chance of Tumblr eating the post.

Now on to specific scoring guidelines for different fanwork categories:

Writers:

Post a fic (or new chapter) of at least 100 words to AO3. The pairing of your choice must be the primary relationship tag (and remember this poll is for romantic relationships only)

Link your fic here, tag it #lmss steal, and send us a link to the post. If your piece is part of a larger, previously established fic, please include in your message the word count of the new chapter.

Earn 0.1% for every 100 words, rounded to the nearest hundred

Artists:

Post your fanart to tumblr, tag it #lmss steal, and send us a link.

Earn 0.1% for a sketch, 0.3% for linework, and 0.5% for a full colour piece*

*(full colour is an ambiguous term, but the intent is to look at the extra amount of work and time that goes into colouring a completed piece vs. just putting forward a sketch or b&w linework. a sketch that happens to use colour pencils or a linework with a colour filter overlaid will be judged in the lower category)

Fanvid Editors:

Post your video to tumblr, tag it #lmss steal, and send us a link.

Earn 0.3% per 10 seconds for an AMV/fanvid using existing footage, and 0.5% per 10 seconds for an animatic.

Photo/Gifset Editors:

Post your photoset/gifset to tumblr, tag it #lmss steal, and send us a link.

Earn 0.1% per edited photo and 0.5% per gif/collage.

Playlist Curators:

Post your fanmix - consisting of at least 8 tracks (iykyk) - to Spotify (please create a YouTube mirror playlist if you do not have a Spotify account).

Link your playlist here, tag it #lmss steal, and send us a link to the post.

Earn 0.1% per 8 songs on the playlist, rounded to the nearest 8

Earn 0.1% per 200 words of liner notes (not including song titles or extended lyric quotations)

If you create your own cover art, the points for the relevant visual medium (art or photo editing) apply.

Songwriters/Composers

0.1% per 10 seconds for original music/arrangement with 1-2 instruments (e.g. a piano solo, a pop song where you accompany yourself on guitar, a work for violin & piano accompaniment)

0.3% per 10 seconds for original music/arrangement for chamber ensemble/small band of 3-8 parts (e.g. a string quartet, an SATB choral work, a song performed by you and the rest of the 4 piece rock band you’re in)

0.5% per 10 seconds of original music/arrangement for a large ensemble of 9+ parts (e.g. a work for orchestra or marching band)

0.1% per 100 words of lyrics (entirely original or parody)

0.1% per 200 words of liner notes/analysis

For cover songs, a flat 0.1% per 30 seconds, unless you have provided a significantly new arrangement or orchestration.

Cosplayers/Actors

For modern AU/closet cosplays: 0.1% per still photo, or 0.1% per 30 seconds of video where you are acting/performing in character.

For historical cosplays: a base score of 0.3%, plus an additional 0.1% per still photo, or 0.1% per 30 seconds of video where you are acting/performing in character.

Arts & Crafts (Fibre Arts, Physical Collages, etc.)

Please upload at least one photograph of your completed craft item, and at least one unaltered photograph clearly showing the measurements of your work using a real life reference such as a tape measure or a ruler.

Please also list all materials used in your work (just broad categories is fine - e.g. if you make a friendship bracelet you can just say "string and beads", we don't need to know about every colour and category of bead you used!)

Base rate of 0.1% for works under 10x10cm and 0.3% for works over 10x10cm.

Earn an additional 0.1% per material category (thread, beads, glitter, photo cutouts, etc) - this includes base materials like cardboard, canvas, etc. but does not include adhesives such as tape or glue unless you are using e.g. washi tape or glitter glue in a way that significantly impacts the overall aesthetic appearance of your work. This will be decided at mods' discretion.

Please note that the size only applies to the surface area of what you actually did - so e.g. if you send a picture of a massive embroidery hoop but only a 5x5cm area is covered in embroidery we will only grant you the 0.1% base rate.

Compilations of the above (zines, comics, etc)

Judged by combining individual components - e.g. if you make a zine that includes 3 full colour art pieces (0.5 x 3), a 300 word ficlet (0.3), and a digital collage (0.5), you'll earn a total of 2.3 points.

Comics are judged by panel, though at moderators' discretion excessively similar panels (e.g. the same artwork with different speech bubbles) or very simplistic panels (e.g. a blank colour background that says THREE DAYS LATER) may be awarded a lower score than more complex panels, or discounted entirely.

If you're struck by creative urges not listed above, just drop us an ask and we can figure out what category it falls into and/or approximate percentage conversion rates if it's something totally new.

Please note that you cannot resubmit a fanwork you have already used as a steal work in a previous round, and steal points will not be carried over between rounds of the tournament!

Finally, please be aware that at the moderators' discretion we can and will discount any fanworks that seem particularly low effort or designed to game the system to earn more points. Works created using generative AI will be immediately disqualified, no arguments.

The goal of poll stealing is not to just Get Points By Any Means Necessary - it's intended to be an opportunity for you to show real world applications of your love for a given ship. Have fun with it, and a little bit of gamesmanship is all well and good, but let's try to remember the reason for the season!