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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐚 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Due to a power outage in your home, you have to stay with Joel and Sarah for a couple days until it gets fixed.

warnings: female masturbation, accidental eavesdropping, pillow humping/fucking (joel)

Chapter Five || Chapter Seven

You only see butterflies.

You see them fluttering at the window, in your kitchen, in your bedroom. You see them sitting on top the mirror in the bathroom, you see them in the cupboards. They’re everywhere. They consume you. In every shape and color, you see them. You see stars on top of their wings, circles, hearts. Some are white, some are pink. But most of them are blue.

They remind you of him. Of Joel. And you draw—you paint.

You sketch wings on paper. Paint colors that become them. It’s him. It’s Sarah. It’s Tommy. It’s Olivia. Your brother. Your grandfather. It’s everyone that lingers in your heart, in your mind. You see them in the shapes that you draw. All of them distinctly different.

Joel is a dark red, a dark purple with splattered white. The wings are sharper, longer, the largest butterflies. The ends of his wings have long extensions like antennas. It is beautiful, ethereal, strong.

Tommy’s butterflies are similar to Joel’s, only softer around the ages and smaller. Blue, golden, a light shade of red. His wings glimmer under both sunlight and moonlight. Sarah’s are the smallest, pink and blue with a lighter shade of purple. Her design is the most elegant, her wings curl at the end, more fairy-like.

Olivia’s are green, her wings long and slender. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t drawn inspiration from Tinker Bell—green, yellow with light blue specs.

It’s the early hours of the morning, soft sunlight only just starting to spill from the windows. Despite your sweatshirt and the blanket you had haphazardly thrown over your shoulders, the early chill settles in your bones. You narrow your eyes, tilting the sketchbook, you hold it towards the overhead light. It’s hard to see and your eyes sting when you blink. But you don’t stop, you can’t stop. They’re everywhere and you need to draw them, you need to put them on paper before they disappear. It’s been months since you’ve painted anything. Now that the colors were splashing over white you don’t want to stop. It’s a breath of fresh air.

Finally, you’re breathing again after being submerged for so long.

The realization that you had feelings for Joel, and Tommy for you, make this unrestrained desire to create even stronger. You’re breathing because of Joel—because he had told you to draw butterflies. You want to show him what you’ve made, you want to show Tommy as well. It should make you afraid. The things that you feel. He has someone after all, no matter how serious their relationship might or might not be, however, isn’t this the perfect motivator for any kind of artist? You feel pain. A different kind of pain that you can actually use instead of the grief that aches in your bones.

Pain is one of the fundamentals of art. The beauty of art comes from within, and so does pain, it’s the process of creating it not the end product. It’s the journey. Some of your favorite artworks are derived from pain; Dorotea Tanning’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, Dali’s Elephants, and The Broken Column by Frida Kahlo.

Despite being transfixed by Dali’s work (his work with butterflies has been a strong inspiration in what you make), you feel most drawn to Tanning’s style of showcasing pain. You always saw yourself as the girl within the Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, walking down the blood-colored carpet, a giant sunflower in front of her, tattered and ruined. You were always curious about the cracked open door ahead, wondered what might be laying within the only room with an open door.

Your thoughts seep through the pencil, become shapes and lines on paper. You admire the texture of the clean sheets, the lead against it music to your ears. You draw and draw, some making less sense than others. Page after page your butterflies become something else, they become more gruesome with split heads and sharp, glass-like wings. You swallow. The sweat clinging to your skin is cold, your fingers numb.

And just like that you’re buried in muted darkness.

“Shit.” you hiss, looking up accusingly to the light. “What the fuck?”

You get up and head to the window, your fingers curling around the edge of the curtains. It’s early but it seems like some of your neighbors are already awake—and has light.

“Fuck,” you say again.

The sun warms your back. You’re staring at the blank screen of the TV. You hear the faint murmurs coming from the Miller’s kitchen, Joel paces back and forth, his socked feet silent. Anxiety clawing at your chest, you shove your hands between your thighs and keep them there. Joel appears. You look up at him as he leans down, placing the phone on the coffee table.

“So it looks like the power outage is gonna take them a couple of days to fix, maybe even a week,” your heart sinks at his words. He notices and a soft smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t look so worried. You can stay here, we have a spare room. I’ll check on them to see they're doing everythin’ right.”

“Oh,” you say, a hint of worry etched into your voice. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you with all that. I was just thinking of just calling up my brother, or I can stay at Olivia’s.”

He waves you off in dismissal. “You ain’t troubling anyone. Besides, it’ll be easier to just bring what you need here. Or if you forget somethin’ you can just go and get it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, darlin’,” he answers, voice dropping a beat. “Stay.”

A shudder settles at the base of your spine. You nod. You feel a thick knock in your throat as you swallow. You can still see the lines of sleep mapping across his cheeks, his bed hair a sight to behold. Looking down at the coffee table, you try not to think about how good he looks with his gray sweatpants hugging his thighs—you especially try not to think about the night you drew shapes across his hand and forearm with nothing but your fingers.

You dream of painting him. Putting him on a blank canvas and hanging it on your wall. He’s a beautiful man. Strong body, a pronounced nose, warm eyes.

Sarah's sudden jump off the last step startles you and interrupts your thoughts. When she sees your expression, she looks puzzled herself.

“Mornin’,” she greets you, ready for school. “Did something happen?”

“Power outage,” Joel answers on your behalf, Sarah turns to him. “She’s goin’ to be stayin’ with us for a while.”

Your heart melts at how wide Sarah smiles, you can see the glimmer in her eyes. “That’s great!” she sits next to you. “Well, not great great, but we can have a sleepover! It’ll be fun, you can teach me how to draw.”

“Sarah…” Joel warns.

You cut him off before he can say anything else.

“That sounds great,” you smile. “I actually have a couple of drawings I’ve been meaning to show you guys.”

“Really?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, really.” you answer, grinning at his surprise. You pull out the sketchbook from your bag and place it on your lap. Heat grows between your legs as Joel sits next to you, the meat of his thigh pressed snug against your own.

Both Miller’s lean in closer, staring at your drawings—themselves, in a way. You don’t think they’ll notice, especially not Joel, but you realize that maybe Sarah does. Her fingers delicately move over the drawing that you did thinking of her.

Sarah grabs your arm and diverts your attention back to her, “Butterflies.” she murmurs.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“With milk,” you answer. “A lot of it, preferably.”

“So milk with a dash of coffee,” he grins, amused. “Got it.”

It’s been a couple of days since you moved in with Joel and Sarah. It was much easier to live with the father-daughter due than you initially had thought. Tommy came over in the mornings, dropping you off to work and Sarah to school, and the brothers went to do their own thing after that.

With Joel’s back turned to you, you look down at your sketchbook and add another line to what is supposed to be his unruly hair. He really needs a haircut.

Surprisingly living with him isn’t weird at all. He made you feel welcome. No awkward glances, no awkward touching. Just neighbors helping each other out. He places the steaming mug next to you and leans on his elbows. He looks at what you’re drawing and raises an eyebrow.

Joel brings the mug to his lips.

“You’re paintin’ me?”

“I’m sketching you,” you answer. “You’re a lovely specimen.”

“Is that so.”

The scent of coffee fills your lungs. Lifting your gaze, you observe his facial structures. You see the imperfections, take in the sight of his eyes, his bushy eyebrows, and the bald patches in his beard. You want to touch the small beauty park right in the corner of his eye that’s impossible to see unless you’re an inch further away.

If he knew how you saw him—if he knew how big he was in your mind— Joel would be terrified.

“Do you like art?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He takes a sip of his coffee and your gaze drops back to your sketch.

He hums, fingers thrumming the kitchen counter. “I like your art.”

“I should take you guys to an art gallery or something,” you say, smiling. “If you like mine, you’re going to go nuts over the things that are out there.”

Joel pouts and you roll your eyes. “What are you looking at me like that for?” you ask.

“I like your drawings. They’re—They feel close. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

It’s because it’s you who I think of when I create them.

“Do you know Salvador Dali?” you ask, then quickly add. “Or Dorothea Tanning?”

“Sweetheart, the only artist I know is Da Vinci and I’m not even a hundred percent sure he is one.”

“He is,” you affirm him excitedly, looking back up. “I love surrealism. It’s when everything gets really weird basically. So—wait let me show you. I think I have a couple of pictures between the pages.”

You miss the way Joel’s lips slowly curl up, adoration and fondness adorning his face, softening the edges. He comes closer. Your pulse quickens as your fingers rush to find the images, and when they do you basically rip them out from between the pages

“Look.”

All of them are images from Dali’s artwork. Mainly butterflies. Joel observes them carefully, touching them as if fearing he might stain them. You urge him to take a closer look by placing one between his thick fingers. It’s The Butterfly Rose.

“Never thought you would do homework for a hobby.”

“It’s not—” You let out an exasperated sigh, cutting yourself off mid-sentence. “Do you think I want to work at the coffee house forever? It’s not just a hobby. And of course, as an artist, I look at other art to be inspired. They make me feel things.” Seeing the startled expression on his face, you add, “Don’t you get like…shivers or something when you see a very nice wooden table?”

Oh, you made him uncomfortable. You sense that in an instant. His fingers trace the image of the painting, looking down, you notice the crease between his brows deepening with concentration. Was he concentrating on the image? In your words? You have no idea—the only thing you know is that this man concentrating on art is making your insides clench with a need.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “I didn’t mean it like that. I do think you’re a serious artist. It’s just…fuck that came out wrong. I just didn’t think you would put in this much effort to somethin’ I said,” he shakes his head. “Shit, I’m bad at this.”

That undeniable need to touch him comes rushing back. You bite the inside of your bottom lip instead. “ I think I might’ve overreacted after hearing the same thing from my brother all the time. It’s all good. You might be the only one that takes me seriously so it was unfair for me to jump to conclusions like that.”

“He don’t support you?”

“He does…” you trail off. “In his own way, I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound like support,” he answers, clicking his tongue. “And just FYI I like your butterflies better, sweet tea.”

“Sweet tea?” you ask, lips curling with amusement and eyes widening with shock.

He shrugs. “You said you liked Dorothea…somethin’---”

“Tanning.” you quickly say. “So Sweet Tea as in…the last syllable of her name?”

“Would you rather I call you Tea?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope!” you grin, your heart elevated. “Sweet Tea is perfect.”

With a soft smile, Joel places the picture in front of you and gently taps on it.

“Well then, Sweet Tea,” he says. “Tell me more about this surrealism thing.”

You and Tommy are waiting by the truck for Joel and Sarah to buy snacks from 7-Eleven. You remember the funny looks the Millers gave you when you suggested buying snacks at the cinema instead. Joel had just shaken his head and steered you towards the truck, his hand on your waist. The touch burned you.

Then he proceeded to explain the thrill of sneaking something through the cinema doors, and how they deserved it due to their overpriced snacks. The latter you couldn’t really object against. However, you had no idea that the Millers were such kleptomaniacs.

Tommy had a cigarette between his lips, he pulls it out and exhales a puff of smoke. You watch it mixing into the dark blue night.

“How’s it like staying with my brother and niece?” he asks. “Hopefully Joel ain’t given’ you too much trouble.”

“Oh. Not at all,” you smile, waving your hand. “He’s been nothing but kind. You have nothing to worry about.”

Tommy nods, and he flicks the cigarette to the pavement, stepping on it, he comes closer. “Good good.” you feel his heat, his breath. You shudder. “I miss spendin’ time with you…I mean without anyone else.”

His voice is a low hum in your ear. You had missed hanging out with him too, but now it's clear that your feelings don't quite match his. Your gaze drifts to the windows of the 7-Eleven, where Joel and Sarah are at the register, scanning the items and chatting. A burst of laughter from Joel warms your heart.

Tommy touches your chin, pulling your gaze back to him. Your pulse quickens under his touch. You swallow.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he states. “Did I do somethin’?”

“What?” you gasp, then furiously shake your head. “No. No, of course, you didn’t. I’m…It’s just been hectic with trying to get the power back and the drawings—It doesn’t mean anything, I promise.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.” he smiles and you fight the urge to let out a breath of relief. “Don’t think about it so much. Joel said the electricity will be back in no time, he might’ve…” he clears his throat. “He might’ve threatened them a bit but it was all light-hearted.”

You snort. “How can a threat be light-hearted?”

“You know,” he grins. “When you place a hand on a guy’s shoulder and just squeeze it a bit while smilin’. It’s unnervin’ really. He does that a lot, gives me the creeps sometimes. But then again, a man gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

“Well, I appreciate it.” you gently kick the pavement with the tip of your shoe. “But no threats necessary. I’m sure they’re going as fast as they can.”

“We got the goods!”

Sarah comes running, a wide smile stretched across her face as she hugs her jacket tight around her. Joel follows, a lopsided smile on his lips.

When Sarah reaches you and Tommy, she looks around then back to you, she opens the front of her jacket. “See,” she smirks, showing you the various snacks hidden underneath the thick layer.

Tommy whistles. “That’s quite a haul, baby girl. How long is this movie? Five hours?”

“I wish,” Sarah snorts. “I’ve been waiting for this a loooong time uncle Tommy. Let me enjoy it.”

Joel appears next to you, his own jacket also looking a bit tighter. You look up, smiling, and he parts his jacket, showing you, as Sarah had dubbed, “the goods”.

“I just want to say for the record,” you exclaim, opening the back door. “If you two get sick I’m not cleaning up after you.”

“You break my heart, Sweet Tea.” Joel answers, hand on his chest as if he’s been shot. “And here I thought you had my back.”

“I do but not for self-inflicted stomach aches.”

Sarah slides in after you and Joel takes his place at the passenger seat. Tommy looks at you through the review mirror as he buckles his belt.

“Sweet Tea?” he asks.

“Long story,” you answer, “I’ll tell you later.”

The cinema. A place where every art form, visual or otherwise, shakes hands and comes together to create the most amazing of worlds.

Ever since you were a kid you had this connection to the atmosphere. The scent of popcorn, the dim lights, the other movie enthusiasts excited to witness the magic of it all. You don’t know what it is that draws you to it. From memory, you remember instances where it would only be you and your brother at the movies, the two of you practically owning the dark room for about two hours. It was fun, it was almost magical. Just you and him. That’s it. It was a small town so it wasn’t a hard thing to come by.

Now it’s the opposite. The screening room is filled to the brim, not one seat empty. Joel is on your left side and Sarah on your right, next to her sits Tommy. You notice she keeps patting her jacket. A small smile tugs at your lips, it almost looks like she’s afraid that the snacks would disappear.

Despite the past and the present being drastically different, the feeling is the same. It’s a similar feeling to returning home after a long time. You’re excited, giddy almost. And it’s not because of the movie you’re about to watch—Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, one of Sarah’s favorite franchises— it’s from the memories of it.

The lights turn off completely, the commercials start to play.

Joel leans in, his shoulder brushing against yours. His lips touch your ear and your stomach tightens. You’re happy he can’t see your face. It would’ve been a dead giveaway if he did.

“Pass these to Tommy,” he whispers, handing you a box of milk duds. You do as you’re told, Joel then pulls out a pack of Reese’s Pieces. “I do prefer the cups,” he mutters into your ear, you’re not listening, you just focus on the warmth of his breath and the way he turns your hand over. “But these will do for now.”

You feel the small bite-sized peanut butter and chocolatey goodness falling into your sweaty palm. Throwing back your head, you plop them all into your mouth. You feel his gaze but purposefully keep your eyes glued to the screen. He’s too close. His presence bearing onto you like a heavy blanket.

The movie finally starts and you do everything to keep your non-existent attention span on the large screen.

An hour in, goosebumps begin to rise over your skin. It’s cold. The chill is something you always forget about the cinema. You didn’t really have a need to bring your jacket with you when you went out, the night air being warm. But of course, you’d forgotten that you always got chilly in the cinema, no matter how hot it was outside.

Joel must’ve felt your shivering because soon enough you feel his fingers curling around your wrist. He shuffles closer.

“Are you cold?” he murmurs and you nod. His fingers don’t desert you as he moves over Sarah to grab his jacket. He throws it over you, warmth immediately coiling around your body. “Better?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

You’re hyper-aware that his hand remains on your wrist, some portion of his jacket covering your tangled limbs. His fingers tighten, thumb smoothing over your heated skin. Your skin prickles under his touch and soon he starts to skim your forearm up and down with the tips of his fingers. You cheat a glance at him but his sole focus is on the screen. His lips are pressed tight, brows pinched together. When a specifically bright scene appears on screen, you can see the vein meandering down his neck.

You want to stare at him forever but you know you can’t. Your eyes flitting back to the screen, you ignore the way his fingers continue to move. His touch is much rougher compared to your own. More textured. His blunt nails scrape against your skin, the pads of his fingers travel to your knuckles then move back up again.

It almost feels like he’s returning the gesture from before. The thought strikes fear. Is this his way of telling you that he knows? That he’d sensed your emotions through your fingertips and telling you; I see you.

You want to snatch your hand away and your fingers twitch with the need for it. You haven’t heard Asha’s name for a while— But it’s not like Joel talked much about his personal life, and when your alone times with Tommy became limited you heard very little from the ongoing relationship.

In the end, you don’t pull your hand back and he doesn’t stop touching you. The darkness hides the want, the need, the attraction. Because that is what this is right? Attraction. You’re not alone in your feelings. You can’t be. This was a silent message. A plea for you to say, I see you, back.

And you do see him. You always have.

The feeling of his fingers long lingers even after the intermission has come and passed. It stays with you as you exit the movies, as you listen to Sarah excitedly talk about her favorite parts, as Tommy bids you three farewell and drives on home.

It lingers still.

You don’t know what time it is. The only thing you do know is that it’s late. Very late. But no matter how much you toss and turn you can’t sleep. Your mind is wide awake with thoughts of Joel and nothing else. Him and his fingers, his lips, his neck.

It shouldn’t surprise you that you end up sneaking a hand under your shirt, feeling yourself and imagining it was him instead.

The sensation of your fingertips brushing over your sensitive skin is electrifying. You close your eyes and imagine it's Joel's hands exploring your body, his fingers tracing circles around your nipples and teasing them until they become tight and hard. His lips trailing down your neck, leaving a burning trail behind.

You bite back your moans as your hand moves further down, slipping between your thighs. Your fingers tease and stroke, exploring every inch of your wetness. You press down harder, your body aching and begging for more, as you think of Joel's hands exploring you. His fingers slipping in and out of your folds, tantalizing and teasing you until you can't take it anymore.

“Joel,” you whisper into the darkness, a prayer. “Joel, please.”

Your breathing becomes shallow as your orgasm builds, and you moan out his name as you let go. The sensation washes over you, and you can almost feel Joel's hands on your body, his lips on your skin. When you pull out your fingers, you feel like a ragdoll, your limbs buzzing with your fading orgasm. You let out a breath.

The phone rings.

Your eyes narrow when you see Tommy’s name flashing on the small screen. Confusion and worry clouding your post-coitus haze, you pick up the phone.

“Tommy,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” he lets out a breath, his voice sounds frenzied. “I…I saw a—” whatever he was about to say he must’ve decided against saying it because the rest never comes. “I want to ask you somethin’”.

“You can ask me anything.”

You say it but in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have. Your heart is restless, your stomach clenching and unclenching in the span of seconds. You hear him breathing heavily from the other line.

“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks in one exhale. “Like…on a date.”

Joel doesn’t want the day to start. It’s unbearably warm, and unknowing to him, he had cast his shirt to the floor sometime during the late night. The morning chill settles over his back. His eyes are closed, his cock hard. He presses temptingly into the pillow between his legs. He has no idea how it ended up there, but he’s grateful for the added pressure. Joel doesn’t think he could ever forget what happened last night.

The way he touched your burning skin under his jacket, the way you kept stealing glances from him—it was all still too vivid in his head. But then…then you went to bed, and so did he.

When he woke up in the middle of the night to get water, he didn’t expect to hear his name coming from your room. He waited and listened, you whispered it again. It was such a faint sound that if it wasn’t the dead of night there was no way he could’ve heard it. His cheeks heat up at the memory. He just stayed there, like a deer in headlights, and fucking listened to you get off with his name tenderly falling from your lips.

Joel had turned and rushed back to his room, his parched mouth now filled with saliva, water forgotten.

And now, with those thoughts swirling in his head, he grinds himself into the soft pillow. A low groan echoes from the back of his throat. He squeezes his eyes tighter. What were you thinking about? Was it images of him tasting your cunt? Him fucking his cock deep into your sopping heat? Which one was it? What was it that forced those sounds out of your lips?

Frustrated by the lack of friction, his eyes snap open with something resembling anger. Joel kicks off his sweatpants, brings the pillow underneath him, and squeezes the ends together, forming a crease. He shoves his aching cock between them, wishing it was you instead.

He leans back, letting the warmth of the pillow engulf him, and takes a deep breath. His body is trembling as he moves his hips slowly. He lets out a low moan as his hips grind against the pillow, the sensation of it rubbing against his hard cock setting off sparks of pleasure throughout his body. The morning sun pours from between the curtains, kissing his skin. His hands grip the pillow tight as he moves his body faster and faster, letting out a series of moans and gasps.

He imagines it's your body he's thrusting against, your soft curves, your tight embrace. His breathing becomes laboured, his balls draw tight, his stomach clenches. He sees a dark patch growing across the fabric. Joel collapses, his face pressing into the sheets as he rocks his hip forward like a dog in heat. His skin feels raw and over-sensitive. Every time the fabric rubs against his skin, he hisses.

With one final thrust, he lets out a long, drawn-out moan as he comes hard, his mind filled with thoughts of you.

He falls onto the pillow, panting heavily. The aftershocks of his orgasm ripple through his body. His cock is still pulsing with pleasure as it slowly softens. His hands run over the pillow, feeling the warmth and wetness left behind from his release. He can still feel the tightness of his orgasm, the pressure inside him slowly fading away. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting out a satisfied sigh. Joel wants to feel you against him, to cage you in between him and the bed.

His cock twitches.

Joel turns onto his side, his body feeling heavy. The guilt gnaws at his insides. What the hell is wrong with him? First, he touches you during the movies like a man possessed, then he listens to you through the door, and now he’s fucking his pillow with thoughts of you. He groans and flips over to his back. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, another groan leaving him.

He has a fucking girlfriend, and no matter how lax the relationship was, he couldn’t continue on doing this. He needs to break up with Asha, then he needs to talk to you, get things sorted.

When he allows his arms to fall to his sides, Joel entertains the thought that maybe—just maybe—everything might work out.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #your friendly neighborhood queue #scheduled post

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mariacallous · 2 months

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Classical music lovers can debate for hours over which Mozart melody has made the biggest impact. Maybe the first movement of the “Jupiter” symphony, perhaps the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute, or what about the “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” serenade? Those who know the great 18th-century Austrian composer only through the movies have an easier time of it—the sound they’ll remember best may not be music after all but the whinnying, immature, and disobedient laugh heard throughout Milos Forman’s masterpiece Amadeus.

Amadeus, commonly accepted to mean “beloved by God,” was not technically part of Mozart’s name. (He was baptized as Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, with Theophilus having a similar translation.) After his death, however, the moniker stuck as a way to venerate him. It’s perfect for the title of this movie, in which rival composer Antonio Salieri allows his jealousy over Mozart’s genius to build into a personal war against God. But expanding on some fudged truth is also in keeping with the spirit of the entire project, as the movie’s central conflict is almost entirely made up. (Even better, then, that the original trailer featured the tagline “Everything you’ve heard is true.”)

Based on a Tony-winning play by Peter Shaffer (inspired by a short 1830 play written by Alexander Pushkin, itself inspired by gossip that Salieri was somehow to blame for Mozart’s early death), Amadeus is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. As such, a new 4K restoration is screening in specialty theaters across North America in advance of a new Blu-ray release. This, plus an eventual availability on streaming, is the first time the version that people originally saw back in 1984 will be available in years. (More on that in a bit.) An upcoming British television miniseries based on Shaffer’s play is in production currently, but we’re skeptical it will have the same magic.

The film’s story is told in flashback, with an old, institutionalized Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham) “confessing” how he murdered Mozart (Tom Hulce). We are then witness to how Salieri, court composer to Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones), has his world turned upside down when Mozart bursts onto the scene. His musical instincts are on a level no mortal can comprehend and clearly, Salieri feels, handed down directly from above. But while Mozart’s work is divine, his demeanor is coarse and bratty, which turns Salieri’s understandable envy into an existential rage.

As the winner of eight Academy Awards, including best picture, best director, and best actor for Abraham’s Salieri, Amadeus’s legacy is secure, but any excuse to get more people to see this perfect film is a good one. I can personally report that not one, not two, but three millennial friends of mine came to this movie kind of dragging their feet, watching it only out of an obligation to check every Oscar winner off their list. Each one of them was blown away with just how funny and poignant and entertaining it was.

“I thought this would be boring, not bitchy!” one pal beamed after a recent screening I hosted with Paul Zaentz at New York’s Paris Theater. That energetic spark is evident in the script but catches fire in the movie thanks to its director. Forman’s resumé is one of the best from the 20th century, but Amadeus is something special, not just because it is about a maverick artist who has to do things his way (a recurring theme in both Forman’s life and work) but because the expatriate who fled communist-era Czechoslovakia to follow his calling was able to shoot the movie in Prague and Kromeriz. As Mozart cackled in the face of propriety, so Forman was able to poke his thumb in the eyes of those who had previously censored him.

Forman was born in the town of Caslav in 1932. Both of his parents died in Nazi concentration camps. He attended a school for war orphans where he befriended future filmmaker Ivan Passer and playwright-turned-politician Vaclav Havel. He began working on documentary crews and eventually made short films of his own that blended fact and fiction, getting better material from non-actors than trained professionals. His first feature, Black Peter (1964), focused on a timid teenager, and its follow-up, Loves of a Blonde (1965), was a similarly naturalistic look at awkward romance. Its deadpan, somewhat bleak style ran counter to the splashy films coming out of Italy and France at the time. Both films are early entries to what became known as the Czech New Wave, leading to Forman’s first bona fide masterpiece, The Firemen’s Ball (1967).

While The Firemen’s Ball—Forman’s first film in color—was understood to be a grand metaphor for the inefficiency of the political system at the time, one doesn’t have to know a damn thing about Eastern Bloc history to respect it as an iconoclastic farce not dissimilar from something like South Park. It was immediately banned in Czechoslovakia, but it and Loves of a Blonde were both nominated for best foreign language film at the Oscars.

Forman was in France raising funds for his next project during the Soviet invasion of Prague in August 1968. He was fired from his Czech production company and ended up emigrating to the United States. His first Hollywood film was the 1971 counterculture farce Taking Off (in which square, bourgeois parents try to get groovy with their kids, to embarrassing effect), which led to one of the most influential movies of the 1970s, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

After the anti-authoritarian Cuckoo’s Nest—which won five Oscars, including best picture, best director, best actor for Jack Nicholson, and best actress for Louise Fletcher—came his adaptations of the musical Hair (1979) and E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime (1981). With that all under his belt and his hands on the rights to Schaffer’s hot play Amadeus, Forman went back to Prague in triumph.

Amadeus is set mostly in Vienna; still, Prague, which was generally left intact after World War II, certainly looks good on camera. And Prague was also an important city for Mozart. He made two lengthy visits there and found a very welcoming audience. Indeed, he wrote Don Giovanni with the intention of premiering the opera in Prague, which he did at the Estates Theatre in 1787. And it was at the Estates Theatre where Forman filmed many of the movie’s best scenes—ones of Mozart conducting opera, filmed with the alacrity and exuberance normally reserved for an action-adventure sequence. (The use of pyrotechnics in the Don Giovanni scenes caused a lot of worry on set, what with the old theater’s interior being mostly wood.)

Shooting a Hollywood movie behind the Iron Curtain naturally had some hardships. (Fruit and fresh vegetables, rarities at the time, needed to be trucked in from West Germany.) Given Forman’s background, the eyes of the state were on them. During that recent New York screening, Zaentz, who worked as a production coordinator on the project and is also the nephew of film producer Saul Zaentz, said secret police were essentially hands-off, except for one time. During off-hours, some members of the crew would hang out and watch VHS tapes of Hollywood movies and were unaware that some of those titles had been banned. The company was soon requested to keep to only approved films.

Perhaps more poignant was when they were shooting on the Fourth of July during one of the opera scenes. The Czech crew surprised Forman and the actors during one take. Expecting to hear the music of Mozart play back from a PA system, some well-wishers instead cued up “The Star-Spangled Banner” while others unfurled an enormous American flag. Everyone stood up and sang along, except, according to Forman, the 30 or so secret police who had been dispersed among the extras.

One can easily read the moment as a victory for Forman. Alas, Mozart’s fate was a little different. Though no one knows for sure why he died at the young age of 35—other than the fact that every case of the sniffles had graver implications back in 1791—the movie shows how Mozart’s queasiness with authority shaped him as a hand-to-mouth freelancer and how his lack of a permanent position and persistent money woes were bad for his health. After Amadeus, Forman continued to make movies about troubled-yet-visionary mavericks: Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon (1999), Francisco Goya in Goya’s Ghosts (2006), and, um, Larry Flynt in The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).

As for the Salieri yarn? There’s no historical evidence to suggest that the two composers weren’t just colleagues. (It’s true that Mozart did have a paranoid streak and maybe did think that “the Italians” at court had it in for him.) Salieri certainly did not live in chastity out of some pledge to God in exchange for musical inspiration. Indeed, he had eight children. He was also plenty famous at the time of his death and, later in life, was a tutor to Mozart’s youngest son. Nevertheless, no one should let reality get in the way of watching this incredible movie.

This 40th anniversary rerelease is especially exciting for old-school Amadeus-heads as it restores the 160-minute theatrical cut. All one can find out there now is the “director’s cut,” which is 20 minutes longer. As Zaentz explained to me, that version came out in 2002 during the first DVD wave, when home-video distributors were loading up packages with deleted scenes. Rather than have isolated bonus chapters, Forman decided to just release the longer version instead, though never really considered it the definitive cut. However, over time it became the only version in circulation.

While the longer version has a few splendid moments (some backstage zings with Christine Ebersole as Caterina Cavalieri), it also contains one scene that I am happy to see once again excised. In it, Salieri goes a wee bit too far and humiliates Mozart’s wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge). It’s important for Salieri to be a scheming twerp but also someone who still holds your sympathy. The controversial scene only found in the director’s cut pushes him too far into the role of villain.

So sometimes edits are important! It is said that Mozart never revised, that he took dictation from God. As with so much else about the man, the truth is a little different.

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vellatra · 5 months

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Classical Music Is So Strange Sometimes

I might be really dumb and just not understand the ins and outs of classical music. So, ya know, feel free to explain stuff in the tags and comments if you want! But this is my experience thus far.

So you've got basically three tiers of classical music song names.

Tier One: Instantly Recognizable These are the most like modern songs, in that they are short, and have actual words in their name. Like everybody knows immediately what I'm talking about if I bring up Eine Kleine Nachtmusik or Beethoven's 5th Symphony, right?

Tier Two: TLDR These have a lot of numbers and abbreviations and "in the key of" notes which are difficult or impossible to remember, but at least they have one or two words in their titles that stick out and help you remember/find the song again. For example, Mozart's Piano Sonata #11 in A, K 331, "Turkish March" - #3: Rondo Alla Turca. Sorry, I'm not going to remember that entire thing! But "Turkish March" or even "Rondo Alla Turca"? That's doable. Many of these songs are even given the TLDR titles in albums or on YouTube, like Vivaldi's Spring.

Tier Three: What on God's green earth possessed you to name it that Maybe these titles make sense to music majors but not to me. Indistinguishable from all the other songs in this tier, hard to find in a search, will I ever be able to hear this beauty again? Doubtful. Good examples might be Schubert's Impromptu in B Flat, D 935/3 or his Impromptu in B Flat, D 935/2, or maybe Chopin's Nocturne #2 in E Flat, Op 9/2. Look them up and I can almost guarantee you'll recognize them, but unless you are VERY fond of the particular song, I doubt you'll remember those titles! (I love Nocturne in E Flat a lot so I've made a point of remembering that much at least haha)

Anybody else feel this way or am I just a lone weirdo (and/or uncultured swine?) XD

#classical music #mozart #beethoven #vivaldi #shubert #chopin #rant #vell rambles

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acacia-may · 8 months

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Rhapsody (Rantaro Amami Gift Exchange 2024 Fic)

As Ultimate Pianist Rantaro tries to prepare for his practical exam showcase, he is met with nothing but a lack of inspiration and composer’s block. When he takes a break to help his friends Kaito, Kaede, and Maki with their projects, however, he might just find the inspiration he needs.

Non-Despair Talent-Swap AU feat. Ultimate Pianist Rantaro, Ultimate Adventurer Kaito, Ultimate Assassin Kaede, and Ultimate Astronaut Maki, and lots of Friendship Fluff and Shenanigans.

Word Count: 4,564 Rated G. No Warnings Only Friendship Fluff Here.

Written for the lovely @foldable-mattress for the Rantaro Amami Gift Exchange 2024 hosted by @toxicpineapple

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut. Thank you for reading! 💚

Rantaro’s long, spindly fingers hovered over the smooth black and white keys of his piano. With a thoughtful sigh, he reached for a sharp, then a natural, but he didn’t tap either. Even the flat he considered was left untouched. Instead he recoiled his fingers, curling them into rigid talons in front of the instrument. He took a deep breath, and allowed his long eyelashes to flutter closed as he extended his hands again—trying to feel the music, to hear the song he wanted to play, but his mind was empty and for the first time, possibly ever, his music lab was completely silent.

Running a weary hand through his hair, Rantaro sighed—opening his eyes once again to stare at the blank page of sheet music he had set up on his piano months ago when he had first begun to seriously plan for his midterm practical exam. It was, of course, a staple of Hope’s Peak Academy’s Ultimate Education Program. Instead of having traditional, academic exams, all of the ultimate students were tasked with presenting a showcase of their work and abilities to powerful, wealthy, and influential people from the school’s board and around the world, almost like a school festival of superhuman talent and excellence. In previous terms, Rantaro had prepared performance sets of the most intricate and difficult piano pieces in history, then, when his advisor had insisted he personalize his showcase, he had moved on to his own variations on those pieces and a few improvisations. This term, however, it seemed even that would not be enough, and he had been tasked with composing his own piece to perform.

He sighed at the empty sheet music. It had not been going well.

Despite trying to work on his piece for months now, Rantaro didn’t have one note of music written. Even more than that, he didn’t even have an idea of a note of music. It all felt wrong. Now, in the final weekend before their presentations, here he was—locking himself in his ultimate music lab trying to create something, anything that would prevent him from having to show up to the practical exam empty handed. He sighed heavily. Even that wasn’t working.

“Woah, I didn’t know you were in here,” said a warm voice with a laugh, pulling Rantaro out of his introspection. Rantaro’s mouth twitched in the corners as he turned to find his friend, Kaito, standing in the doorway wearing a large backpack and holding what appeared to be a bunch of film equipment. He laughed again. “It’s never this quiet when you’re in here. I can always hear you practicing all the way down the hall,” he teased with a laugh. “That one song’s been stuck in my head all week.”

Kaito hummed a few bars of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Rantaro sighed. He often played Mozart whenever he had music block.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a shrug of his shoulders, but Kaito just laughed.

“It’s fine—kinda nice to have background music sometimes.” His smile widened. “So how’s your showcase coming? You almost ready?”

Rantaro shrugged again. “Not really. I have to write an original composition, but I’ve had composer’s block for months.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders again with a certain resigned nonchalance. “I’m not too worried about it though. I’m sure it’ll work out. You?”

“I’m heading out to film mine right now. You wanna tag along? If you need a break, maybe you can help hold the camera? My tripod’s been a little messed up ever since I dropped it while I was spelunking a couple weeks ago.”

Rantaro hummed. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to take a break. It wasn’t like he was actually getting anything done anyway. “Okay,” he said with a slight smile and a shrug.

“Awesome!” Kaito’s face lit up into a bright smile as he patted Rantaro on the back. “And hey maybe you’ll find some inspiration for your song in the great outdoors!”

Rantaro wasn’t sure about that, but he’d give anything a try, especially when it was recommended by Kaito who was always so enthusiastic about everything. He supposed that as the Ultimate Adventurer Kaito found a lot of inspiration in the outdoors himself. Maybe Rantaro would too.

He certainly found the cliffs where Kaito was filming to be very majestic, even though he could admit he had a little trouble keeping up with him as he practically sprinted through their hike, excitedly prattling away for another riveting episode of “Kaito Vs. The Outdoors”—his series of popular videos which mostly consisted of Kaito filming himself on exhilarating, if often dangerous, adventures in the wilderness. He had lots of practical tips too for his fellow adrenaline-junkies who wanted to try these things on their own.

Right now, for instance, he was demonstrating the proper form for cliff jumping by pulling his arms close to his body, pushing his legs together, and pointing his toes. “You wanna make sure your feet are pointed down and that you’ve scrunched up real tight so you make less impact with the water.” He waved his hand motioning for Rantaro to move the camera he had been holding so that the audience would get the full view. With a smile, he relaxed again and sighed staring out at the horizon.

“Woah! Would you look at that sky!” exclaimed Kaito practically sprinting to the edge of the cliff. He waved at Rantaro again, so he’d know to get a shot of the horizon. As he turned towards it, his expression softened, and he sighed. It really was so beautiful here.

Kaito didn’t give him much time to enjoy it, however, as he quickly exclaimed, “Alright. Time for the jump.”

Rantaro chuckled lightly as Kaito winked at the camera then dove off the edge of the cliff feet first with an excited yelp. Rantaro made sure to record everything with the filming equipment and watched in impressed astonishment as Kaito gracefully disappeared under the water with a big splash.

When he reemerged, he struck a playful pose then took a bow. “And that’s how it’s done, folks,” he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. He pushed his deflated, sopping hair out of his face, then laughed. “It’s actually pretty easy. I bet even you could do it, Rantaro.”

Kaito’s smile widened teasingly, and Rantaro’s brow furrowed. He had to be planning to edit that out, right?

He paused the video feed before he called back, “I’m good.”

“Oh come on,” called Kaito. “It’s fun and totally safe. Why else did you change into your swimsuit?”

Rantaro shrugged. “Because you told me to before we left school.”

“Yeah—so you could also go cliff jumping,” Kaito insisted as he started swimming away from the cliff, Rantaro assumed, to give him room if he wanted to jump in himself.

“What about your film equipment?”

Kaito waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll just hike back up and grab it before we leave. Come on!”

Rantaro sighed—staring over the edge of the cliff. It was a very long way down. While he didn’t consider himself as much of thrill-seeker as Kaito, he could enjoy a risk every now and again—thought it was probably good for him to push himself outside of his comfort zone. He just wished that, in this case, outside his comfort zone wasn’t a 20-foot free fall off the edge of a cliff. But he had listened to Kaito’s careful instructions as he had filmed his episode, helped him check the depth of the water, and even made sure there weren’t any dangerous rocks or debris in the landing zone. He had even watched as Kaito dove in himself and emerged from the water safe and unharmed. Yes, Rantaro knew Kaito was the Ultimate Adventurer—an almost superhuman outdoorsman, so it probably wasn’t the most prudent to compare himself to him, but as long as he used the proper form and landed correctly, he would probably be safe too, right?

“Live a little!” teased Kaito in a playful sing-songy voice. “If you don’t jump, you’ll regret it.”

Rantaro chuckled lightly to himself, amused by the irony of his friend literally pressuring him to jump off a cliff and wondering if this had, perhaps, been Kaito’s plan all along, but he shrugged his shoulders and conceded, “Okay.”

Kaito gave him a round of applause as he swam off to the side. “I’ll spot you, so don’t worry, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Rantaro hummed. He certainly hoped so.

He had never really considered himself much of an anxious person, but as he made his way to the cliff’s edge, staring down at the long drop to the murky water below, his hands began to tremble. He swallowed hard—feeling his wildly pounding heartbeat in his ears, steadily growing louder and louder, a crescendo building anticipation to the moment when he finally shut his eyes tightly and leapt over the edge.

The free fall was silent except for the gusts of the wind swirling around him and the distant encouraging whoop and whistle of Kaito’s encouragement, but he felt an exhilarating swoop in his stomach, a surge of adrenaline, and a bright smile he couldn’t quite hold back before his feet finally hit the lagoon and he was overwhelmed by the rush of cold water against his skin.

When he swam to the surface, gasping for breath, Kaito applauded again and gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. “That was awesome! How do you feel?”

With the twitch of a slight smile in the corners of his mouth, Rantaro pushed his sopping hair out of his face—water still dripping into his eyes. He twisted his mouth to the side and dryly quipped, “Wet” causing Kaito to burst into raucous laughter followed by a bantering splash of water at Rantaro’s face.

Despite a shower, a dry change of clothes, and a hairdryer, Rantaro still couldn’t shake the lingering squishy, cold, and damp feeling when he finally returned to his music lab and his, still nonexistent, midterm practical exam project. For Kaito’s credit, he had asked if there was anything he could do to help Rantaro with his showcase to return the favor, but Rantaro had just shrugged and encouraged him to go finish the editing for his video instead.

Rantaro sighed, turning back once again to his blank sheet music and the shiny keys of his piano. He ran his hand through his hair which, he could have sworn was still wet from his cliff jumping adventure.

He could only hope it wasn’t all that noticeable, but when a tinkly voice chuckled, “What happened to you?” he figured he was probably wrong about that.

His mouth curved into a slight smile as he turned to find Kaede, leaning against the doorway with a crossbow. “I didn’t realize playing piano was a water sport,” she teased, and Rantaro let out a light, breathy laugh, rubbing his hand across the nape of his neck.

“I was helping Kaito with his project,” he explained. “We went cliff jumping. I tried to dry off when I got back, but I think I’m gonna be soaked for a while.”

Kaede laughed again, but she tilted her head. “You know if you want to help with a project that doesn’t involve any water, maybe you could give me a hand with mine. I could use some help with target practice, if you’re not too busy.”

“Sure,” said Rantaro, standing up from his seat at the piano—once again pleased and somewhat relieved to have the opportunity to take a break from staring at his empty sheet music.

“Thanks. I’m happy to help you too,” Kaede insisted, but Rantaro shook his head, waving his hand at her.

“It’s fine. I’m happy to help out, and I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do to help with my project unless you have a entire concerto just floating around in your head,” he quipped dryly, and Kaede laughed.

“Can’t say that I do, but I do have this crossbow if you want to threaten someone into giving you a good grade.” She held up the crossbow in her hands though something teasing, jesting sparkled in her eyes. Rantaro tried his best to stifle a laugh. Kaede could make some particularly dark jokes sometimes—an unexpected sense of humor for her seeing as she was generally such a warm and bubbly person but, Rantaro supposed, perhaps it was to be expected from the Ultimate Assassin. He always felt a little bad for finding her darker sense of humor as funny as he did, but she never failed to make him laugh, even if it was in spite of himself.

Rantaro supposed that between Kaede and Kaito he had some particularly funny friends, and it seemed that their great senses of humor were not the only thing that they in common, seeing as they both appeared to be intent on putting him in near-death experiences today.

With a heavy sigh, Rantaro frowned trying to glance up at the top of his head where Kaede had just set a bright, shiny apple. “You know, when you asked me for help with your target practice, I thought you just wanted me to set them up or something—not actually be one.”

Kaede shrugged. “I need practice with moving targets. The stationary ones are too easy.”

Rantaro sighed. She seemed a little more nonchalant and matter-of-fact about it than he would have expected, but he supposed she was the Ultimate Assassin. “You don’t want me to actually run around while you try to shoot at me, do you?” he asked with a light chuckle, and Kaede laughed.

“No, of course, not, but if you could just breathe and fidget a little that would be helpful.”

Tilting his head, Rantaro shrugged. “I’ll try my best.”

Kaede instructed him where to stand then scurried off several paces away. She shifted in place—holding up her hands and angling herself in relation to him until she was, Rantaro could only presume, at the perfect position for her shot. “The apple’s falling. Can you push it over a little?” she called.

Rantaro reached up and adjusted it as best he could, though he wasn’t sure how well he could do that considering he couldn’t see what he was doing. He did not tease Kaede that he thought the unstable, shifting apple was the whole point of this exercise, but he did allow himself a dry quip, “You know I feel like the only thing missing here is the ‘William Tell Overture.’”

Kaede’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head at him with narrowed eyes. “Huh?”

“It’s from an opera by Rossini. In the third act, William Tell has to shoot an apple off his kid’s head just like this.” A dry, somewhat playful smile twitched in the corners of Rantaro’s mouth. “If I survive this, I’ll play it for you.”

His dry sense of humor made Kaede laugh, seemingly in spite of herself given the way she rolled her eyes at him. “I’m the Ultimate Assassin—of course you’re going to live.”

“I’d feel better about my chances if you were the Ultimate Archer. Assassins shoot to kill,” he answered in a matter-of-fact voice, but his mouth twitched in the corners, a sign he was joking with her. Kaede was his friend. He trusted her. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

Kaede pointedly tilted her head towards him, but her mouth twitched in the corners. “Assassinations require precision. I can aim not to kill just as easily. Watch.”

Before Rantaro could even begin to brace himself, she readied her crossbow. He inhaled sharply, holding his breath as she sent an arrow soaring through the air. As he watched it fly towards him, he closed his eyes tightly—afraid he would instinctively swerve out of the way when it started to get too close. His heart pounded—the only sound in Kaede’s entire research lab, until finally he heard the apple fall to the ground with a ‘thunk!’ followed by Kaede’s amused giggling—warm, bright, and tinkly like the jaunty melody of a music box.

As Rantaro opened his eyes, he could not hold back his sigh of relief as he glanced over at the apple skewered exactly in the middle by Kaede’s arrow—a perfect bullseye. Quite without thinking, he patted the top of his head—ruffling his hand through his somewhat damp hair just in case…but it hadn’t even grazed him.

Kaede picked the skewered apple off the ground with a triumphant hum and a wave of her hand. “See, perfect shot,” she said with a bright smile, playfully throwing the apple to him.

As he caught it, he teased, “I really hope you’re not planning to do this to one of your judges at the practical exam.”

Kaede’s smile widened. “That’s the plan,” she said with a wink before she nudged him in the arm with her elbow. “Now, since you lived, will you play me that song? I’m thinking it might be more impressive with some mood music.”

Kaede had seemed to enjoy his rendition of the ‘William Tell Overture’ though, thankfully, she decided not to use it during her showcase—at least not this particular one. “Maybe for next year’s practical exam,” she had joked. Like Kaito she had offered to stay and help Rantaro with his project as well, but he had politely sent her on her way, urging her to keep practicing her archery. He knew Kaede was incredibly skilled—she had just proven that, after all, but he also thought it would be best to do whatever they could to avoid headlines like “Mogul Dies in Horrific Archery Accident at Hope’s Peak Academy Practical Exam Gone Wrong.”

With a slight shake of his head, he turned back to his piano and his sheet music with a frown. It was still blank. Rantaro sighed. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. As much as he may have wished for it, it wasn’t like the notes of an incredible composition were just going to appear on the page.

He sighed again but paused as he heard the slightest rustling sound—probably inaudible to someone who didn’t have the keen ears of the Ultimate Pianist. His mouth twitched in the corners as he turned to the doorway, finding Maki quietly hovering near the doorframe. Maki frowned as he met her gaze with a smile. Even though Maki was his friend and he had always considered himself a relatively intuitive person, Rantaro could admit he sometimes struggled in reading her serious and often deadpan expressions. Now, for instance, he almost wanted to say she looked pensive, as if she was worried that she was bothering or interrupting him, but he couldn’t say for sure. Even so, his face softened, and he warmly welcomed her into his research lab with an inviting wave of his hand.

“Are you busy?” she mumbled—her voice curt but not unkind.

Rantaro glanced at his empty sheet music but shrugged with a somewhat helpless smile and a conceding, “Nope.”

Maki frowned—pursing her lips together before she pulled on one of her pigtails. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“You wanna try to kill me too, Maki?” he quipped with a dry, teasing smile. Maki just blinked at him in confusion, so he explained. “When I was helping Kaito and Kaede with their projects, Kaito made me jump off a cliff and Kaede used me for target practice. I almost died twice today—I’m thinking about changing my talent from Ultimate Pianist to Ultimate Survivor.”

As Rantaro chuckled, he caught sight of the slight twitch of a smile in Maki’s mouth and heard her let out two quick, heavy breaths. He knew her well enough to know that that meant she was laughing. Rantaro’s smile widened. It was always quite a feat to get Maki to laugh.

“It’s not dangerous,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was almost finished with my constellation map, but someone stole my ladder. You’re taller than me so I thought you might be able to help me hang some stars.”

Rantaro nodded with a kind smile. “Of course. I’d be happy to, but maybe we should go look for your ladder.”

“It’s not worth the time or energy,” Maki interrupted, shaking her head. “My map is almost done.”

Maki was right about her map, of course. When she took Rantaro back to her research lab and showed it to him, he would have sworn it actually was finished already if he hadn’t known any better. It was a truly impressively detailed map of the night sky like something someone might see in a planetarium, and it was so massive that it took up the entire back wall of Maki’s lab. He would have to ask her if she was going to need help moving it when the time came for her to present it for her practical exam.

“Wow,” Rantaro quietly gasped. “This is amazing.”

Maki’s face flushed, but she frowned and huffed, “It’s hard to come up with something to present in a showcase when you’re the Ultimate Astronaut. I decided to make a map based on my memories from my last trip into space.”

“You made this from memory?” Rantaro interrupted with wide eyes.

Maki’s cheeks turned an even deeper pink. She never could take a compliment, not even from her friends. Instead, she twisted her mouth to the side and insisted, “It wasn’t that hard.”

She paused, then handed Rantaro a couple of stars she had cut out and directed him where to hang them in the upper corners of her map. They mostly worked in silence aside from Maki’s curt directions of “there” or “higher” or “a little to the left.” Still, there was something steady and rhythmic about the sounds of her boots clip-clopping against the floor as she walked to various parts of the map pointing up at the proper locations for the constellations.

Despite Maki’s insistence that putting this project together had been easy, Rantaro could not deny that he grew more and more impressed by it the longer he looked at it. It was amazing enough that she had made it, but even more impressive that she had made it from memory. How awe-inspiring had it been to see this in person—to actually be a part of the night sky? The stars were so dim here amidst the bright lights and hustle and bustle of the city, but in vast expanses of space there was nothing to block out their light. It was beyond anything Rantaro could even begin to imagine, but Maki’s map project had been helping him to—helping him to picture the big, beautiful universe with all of its promise and possibility, and there was something about these clusters of constellations that reminded Rantaro of one of his favorite pieces of music.

Admittedly, he hadn’t realized how much it was reminding him of it until Maki asked him, “What are you humming?”

With a light chuckle, Rantaro scratched the back of his neck. He had a terrible habit of absent-mindedly humming without even realizing it—an occupational hazard of being a musician he supposed. A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he explained, “It’s Piano Concerto No. 3 by Sergei Bortkiewicz. He’s not a super well-known composer and often compared to Rachmaninoff…”

Rantaro sighed. Bortkiewicz was often criticized for his lack of individual style and voice in his music—something everyone might soon say about Rantaro, himself, if he didn’t manage to finish his composition for his practical exam showcase.

He sighed again—trying his best to push the thought away. “Its subtitle is ‘Per aspera ad astra’ which means ‘through difficulties to the stars.’ Your project made me think of it.” He paused and met her eyes with a smile before he dryly added, “Even if you insist that it was pretty easy to make.”

As Maki tried her best to stifle the smile that tugged at her mouth, Rantaro teased, “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said before handing him the last star for him to add to the map. “It was easy.”

Rantaro shrugged, but he couldn’t hold back his smile as he watched Maki’s mouth curve just barely in the corners, a sure sign she had been teasing him as well.

Though Maki hadn’t needed his help for very long, the sky was as dark as her constellation map by the time Rantaro returned to his research lab. He sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall then out of the pitch-black windows. Maki must have realized how late it was getting too, and she offered to stay and help him with his project so he wouldn’t have to be there all night. Like with Kaito and Kaede, however, Rantaro insisted he was fine and encouraged Maki to head back to her dormitory to get some rest. It had been a long day, after all, if Rantaro’s repeated yawning had been any indication, but unfortunately, he caught sight of the blank sheet music once again.

Running his hand through his hair, he let out a long and heavy sigh. He was nowhere closer to finishing his composition than he had been this morning when he had gone off on an adventure with Kaito or this afternoon when he had helped Kaede with her target practice or this evening when he had added the final stars to Maki’s constellation map. Still, something warm spread through his chest and a smile tugged at his mouth. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he had had a better day with friends than he would have had if he had just sequestered himself in his research lab, forcing himself to compose alone.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes fluttered closed, and he remembered back to the exhilaration he had felt as he jumped off that cliff to join Kaito in the water, the relief that had washed over him when Kaede’s melodious giggling told him she had perfectly hit her target, the sense of pride he had felt when he had made Maki laugh, and the lingering joy he carried with him, even now, knowing that he had such wonderful friends.

As his face lit up in a bright smile, he reached out his hands to his piano and played. Strong, loud, and exuberant notes for Kaito—swift staccatos as his fingers raced up and down the keys, growing louder and louder in joyful crescendos that could barely scratch the surface of Kaito’s enthusiasm and zest for life. These were followed by tender, tinkly melodies—sweet and bubbly with a strong, steady baseline for Kaede whose warm kindness was part of her strength. Then, the low but steadfast patterns of major chords in succession—slow but deliberate and so comforting in their constancy just like Maki. Finally, Rantaro pulled them together—the songs of each of his friends, unique and beautiful in their own way.

As the final chord sounded, Rantaro scrambled for his sheet music. It was blank no longer—filled at last with the song in his heart…his rhapsody.

#rantaro amami gift exchange 2024 #rantaro amami #amami rantaro #kaito momota #momota kaito #kaede akamatsu #akamatsu kaede #drv3 fanfiction #drv3 talent swap au #thank you for reading!

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cookiesandbiscuits · 10 months

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Before, whenever I play classical music like Mozart or Beethoven, I get annoyed looks from my brother, saying I keep repeating them over and over again.

Now, he's the one who kept playing them over and over again. And with different versions too! I literally don't know what to feel about that. Should I be proud or should I laugh because now he's the one obsessed with Eine Kleine Nachtmusik? 😐

Literally my reaction:

#personal!!#late night shitposting #meme #webtoon series title: villain with a crush #classical music

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pendragonsgallery · 2 years

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So I’m not in the Hetalia fandom

But my best friend @roszabell is.

So that means that I get to use my extremely limited knowledge of the show to make the dumbest headcanons I can think of.

These are the headcanons of someone not in the fandom but cursed with too much knowledge.

Enjoy

- By accident, Alfred once unironically said “innit” in a sentence and his body induced a two day coma on itself in shame.

- Austria probably can and has twerked to eine kleine nachtmusik.

- Whenever Australia does any normal thing he’ll say “I learned that in 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫” and he never specified what war. Just, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫. (It was the Emu war of 1932).

- France acts like he’s super pretentious with perfumes and smells and stuff but goes feral for Bath and Bodywork’s sales. He has so many coupons 47 years past their expiration date that he insists will be useful.

- Denmark’s hairstyle is done every morning by sticking his head out of a moving car on the interstate like a dog.

- Matt has a maple flavored vape and he hissed at Alfred when he touched it once.

- Alfred knows the metric system but constantly acts like he doesn’t get it to watch England lose his shit every time.

- Gil has heelies he installed in his shoes that he’s been waiting to use for decades. One time he was trying to sweep Matt off his feet all romantic like but he accidentally popped out the wheels and they both went flying.

- Norway blasts the Frozen soundtrack in his car so loudly the windowpanes shake. He just sits there with a totally apathetic face and just says “good shit” while all his passengers’ ears are bleeding from the volume.

- Hungary can bench press both Alfred and Matt and does it at any possible opportunity.

- Japan has been making little paper airplanes and getting them to stick in the ceiling for years now and no one has noticed. It’s not until he misses one day and thousands of mini paper airplanes fall from the ceiling onto everyone.

- Germany would take Disney fast passes so seriously. That man would be up at 4 in the morning staring at his undimmed phone screen getting space mountain tickets.

- The countries always do Rock Paper Scissors for whoever has to explain to China that he needs to turn his computer off and on again to get it to work.

- Denmark has not tied his shoelaces since the day he got them. He just slides them off and on again because “I’m too awesome to tie my shoes” the truth is he doesn’t know how to tie his shoes. They came pre tied.

#hetalia #hetalia world stars #anime #hetalia headcanons #prucan #roszabell is obsessed with Prucan so I genuinely forget they are not together canonically #rosza’s doing the lords work over there huh #go off bestie #hws canada #hws america #hws england #hws japan #hws austria #hws australia #hws denmark #hws prussia #once again I haven’t watched the show #it’s like my fandom-in-law #so I just know too much

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violettduchess · 2 years

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A/N: Third Contribution to the Different Universe Same Love Content Creation Challenge, Day 6 Domestic AU; hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

Comte / f!Reader / their children

Word Count: 726

Fluff, Family life, babies

You hummed softly as you ran your hand over your son’s petal-soft, dark blond hair. He was only a few weeks old but his hair was thicker than you had ever seen on such a small child, as if he had spent nine months focusing all his energy on growing his hair until it matched his father's.

A few minutes ago, he had fallen asleep while nursing and you kept him close, cradling him to you, this small living, breathing piece of your heart. God, he's so beautiful...

A cry from the baby monitor pulled you out of your reverie, but Comte, who had been sleeping beside you, was quicker. He reached out, muting the monitor and sat up groggily, running a hand over his own unruly blond mane.

"You stay put, chérie", he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "I'll go." You gave him a smile, your eyes tired but your heart awash with gratitude. He was the father you had always known he would be. Utterly and helplessly devoted to his family. Fiercely protective. Loving them with all the force of the loneliness he himself had been forced to endure.

He pushed back the dark floral covers and pulled on a shirt before walking from your bedroom across the hall to your firstborn's room.

An almost feral tenderness flooded him at the sight of his two year old daughter, sitting up in her crib, rubbing sleepily at her golden, tear-filled eyes, brown curls a halo around her head. Her room was lit by the glow of her moon-shaped night light and the glow-in-the-dark stars Comte had painstakingly glued to the ceiling above her bed. Both gifts from Uncle Leonardo. Her pajamas also glowed with tiny neon hearts. He felt as if his own heart was a larger version of them, illuminated by the ferocity of his love for her.

"Ah, ma poupette. Don’t cry. Papa is here." She reached her chubby arms towards the sound of her father's voice, toward the constant that was her aegis against all the fearsome things in her young life. "Papa", she whimpered.

He leaned down, picking her up. She kept her favorite toy, a chocolate brown ferret plushie named Thyme, clutched tightly in her hand as she settled into the position she wanted, curled up against Comte, her head falling heavily onto his shoulder. He walked over to another toy, this one from Mozart, which perched on her window sill. It was a snowy white owl adorned with lavender ribbons, holding a song book between its fluffy wings. Comte reached out and pressed the pink button on its soft, rudimentary talon. Eine kleine Nachtmusik began playing as he settled himself into the rocking chair that you had used to nurse her and rock in when she was so much smaller. Your daughter loved it so much you had left it in her room.

He settled back as she wiggled herself into a comfortable position within the loving circle of his arms. Comte was struck by how warm she was, the top of her head radiating heat when he dropped a small kiss there, murmuring reassurances in French. Tu vas bien, ma poupette. Je suis là. It's ok, little one. I'm here. He reached out, smoothing down her soft curls, hair as fine as angel down, quietly humming along with Mozart's melody as he rocked back and forth.

She sighed heavily, a final shudder thundering through her small body, shaking off the bad dream, her eyes slowly fluttering closed. Happiness, safety, peace engulfed her like the gentle embrace of night when it welcomes the sun home.

Comte glanced upwards at the luminescent star stickers on her ceiling. Whenever he was in here, holding her like this, he could swear they glowed just a little brighter than usual, almost as if they were responding to the contentment thrumming through his child.

His lips tilted up in a small smile at the thought of his fille being connected to the stars, living forever in night's care, the moon as her guardian.

He adjusted his now sleeping daughter in his arms, her small body so warm and heavy. He knew he should carry her back to her crib. And he would.....

But he wanted to enjoy just a few more minutes like this, in the softly-lit room, the gentle lullaby in his ears, and the love of his life asleep in his arms.

🌜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing

#different universe same love ccc #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen comte #ikevamp comte #comte de saint germain #domestic au #father and daughter #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #violettwrites

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

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In The Game of Love ~ 10

IN THE GAME OF LOVE MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,485ish

Summary: Sherlock and Y/N try to save a life. Irene is clearly still helping the Professor, but for how much longer?

Notes: I personally love A Game of Shadows, so I’m so excited to get it started in this story!

Over the next nine months, the partnership that grew between Y/N and Sherlock was beautiful to watch. Though their love for each other grew, they never admitted it to one another or act on it besides short kisses and the gentlest of touches. They balanced each other and pushed each other. It was also very clear that they would do anything to protect the other one.

They took very few cases that didn’t have to do with Moriarty. They needed to piece together his plan, for themselves. For each other. Both of them some how knew that they would never be able to actually be together with Moriarty out causing havoc in the world. And with Y/N’s knowledge of the man, Sherlock began to piece together exactly how much havoc Moriarty had a hand in.

The year was now 1891. Storm clouds were brewing over Europe. France and Germany were at each other’s throats… the result of a series of bombings. Some said it was Nationalists… others, the anarchists. But as usual, Y/N and Sherlock had a different theory entirely.

The pair were blending in with the surroundings as the watched Irene make her way through the crowd with a package under her arm. Sherlock was pretending to be a homeless man, while Y/N was dressed up as a woman with higher status. She eyed Sherlock as he stuffed a bag full of beans and rice, and grabbed a loaf of bread. He nodded to her and she knew it was time. Sherlock took one side and Y/N took the other. He whistled, causing Irene to turn around in a circle, looking for who did that. Sherlock snuck around Irene and slipped the bread through her arm as Y/N grabbed the package. Sherlock slipped his arm through Irene’s as she notices him and the loaf of bread. Y/N walked with them on the other side of Irene.

“When did you start working for the postal service?” Sherlock asked.

“That was you back there,” Irene commented. “Share your activities have landed you in the gutter.” She glanced at the woman on her left. “Y/N.”

“Irene,” Y/N greeted.

“A curious parcel,” Sherlock stated. “Who’s the intended recipient?”

“Why don’t we discuss that over dinner tonight?” Irene wondered.

“We’re free for lunch.”

“Hmm. I’m not. How about the Savory, 8:00?”

“Splendid.”

“Hmm. And will you both be coming as yourselves?”

“Most likely.”

“Depends on how the rest of the day goes,” Y/N responded.

Sherlock pulled Irene behind a carriage. “Three men have been following you for the last half mile,” he whispered. “Their motives… highly unsavory.”

Irene looked over her shoulder, spotting one of the men. “No,” she whispered.

Irene led the pair away from the bustling streets to an alley way. A man appeared in front of them, causing them to halt. Irene gasped, turning to face Sherlock.

“Oh, and, by the way, they’re not pursuing me, they’re escorting me,” she said. Three men walked up behind them. “And instead of three, there seems to be, uh, four.” Irene took the package from Y/N.

“Steady hands with that, Irene,” Y/N scowled.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s my hands you have to worry about.” Irene patted Sherlock’s cheek. “Be careful with the face, boys. We do have a dinner date tonight.” She passed him the loaf of bread. “Don’t fill up on bread.”

Then she walked away. The man in front of them stepped closer and began whistling Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. The man stopped after a few measures and Sherlock picked it up. He turned around to face the other three and Y/N kept her eyes on the other man. The three man also joined in with Sherlock’s whistling as they helped him take off his disguise.

“I told you we should have just knocked her out,” Y/N muttered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and he finished whistling. “I forgot the rest,” he told them. He grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Come on, dear.”

He turned around and the man grabbed hold of his neck. Sherlock let go of Y/N’s hand as he was throw up against the wall. Two of the other men grabbed onto Y/N’s wrists.

“Oh, it’s coming back now,” Sherlock commented.

He kneed the man in the groin before throwing rice at another man. Y/N pulled one of her arms free and threw her elbow back into one of their faces. All four of the men were now going after both of them. Y/N’s hand quickly found a clasp along her waist and freed her shirt, revealing pants. She used the shirt to blind one of the men as she attacked the other with her freed legs.

“Peelers!” One of the men shouted.

The six of them immediately tried to act as normal as possible as two police officers feared into the alley way. Y/N hid behind crates as Sherlock crotched down and pretended to mediate. He eyed each of the men, studying their weapons and moves. Once the police were gone, Sherlock moved swiftly. He attacked the first man, who got out a large pair of scissors. He forced that man to stab his friend before taking the third man out. The final man grabbed Y/N and held a gun to her head.

“Do you want me to…”

“No, Sherlock,” Y/N responded. “I’ve got it.”

She threw her head back, hitting the attackers head before swiftly grabbing the gun. She moved to stand in front of the man, next to Sherlock, gun pointed at the attacker. Y/N smirked as she opened the gun and released the bullets to the ground. The man was slightly scared as she handed him back the gun.

“Very well done, darling,” Sherlock said, he took her hand and began to pull her away. “We must go though.”

“You took three of them out, only letting me have my fun with one of them,” she complained.

“Well, I will remember to let you have your fun first for the next time.”

The two hurried to the auction, where Irene’s target was. The target was opening up the box, Irene sitting next to him, when Sherlock and Y/N entered. Sherlock grabbed an auction number as they hurried towards them.

“Have you ever met him in person?” The man asked Irene as he pulled open the box cover. “Or like me, have you been—“

Sherlock slipped the auction number between the lever and the box before the bomb could go off. “Hold it, hold it,” he advised. “Please, don’t move it. Judging from its size and weight, it’s no the payment you were expecting. I’d wager the contents are rather more incendiary.”

“Who is this?”

Irene struggled to answer. “It’s—“

“Hello darling,” Sherlock smiled.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders before kissing her cheek. Y/N’s jaw clenched. Sherlock pulled the letter from Irene’s hand and turned it over to Y/N. She quickly hid it in her shirt. The man who was holding the package removed a piece of paper that lined the box, triggering the gears inside of it.

“He told you not to move it,” Y/N scolded. “Now a secondary charge has been activated.”

Irene tried to stand up, but Sherlock gripped her shoulder, keeping her seated.

“Sweet thing,” the nickname for Irene that rolled of Sherlock’s tongue almost had Y/N sick. “I might need your help in the disposal of this parcel.”

Sherlock gave Y/N a knowing look and slipped her his pipe. Y/N nodded and lit the pipe. She placed it to the side of her, on the edge of a hanging tapestry.

“One thousand six hundred,” the auctioneer shouted. “One thousand seven hundred! One thousand eight hundred! One thousand—“

“Well, good luck,” Irene said, trying to stand up again.

Sherlock stood up, keeping Irene in her chair. “One million pounds,” he announced. All those in attendance turned around and gasped. The tapestry then caught on fire. “Oh, and by the way, fire.”

“Fire!” A man shouted, causing everyone to rush up and leave. Irene pushed herself out of Sherlock’s grasp to leave.

“Leave our side, you’ll be dead within an hour,” Sherlock told the man.

“And don’t be late for dinner,” Irene said. “I expect my schedule will be quite tight because of these activities here.”

“I’ve never been late in my life, only early.”

“Fashionably.”

Irene pulled him in for a kiss. Y/N bit her lip, disliking both the closeness the two were sharing and the jealousy that she was feeling. Irene began to feel around for the letter. Y/N cleared her throat as she pulled it out and caught the woman’s attention.

“Looking for something?” Y/N taunted. “I’ll be holding onto it.” She slipped it back into her shirt. “We’ll read it together over an aperitif.”

“Alright,” Irene said, not very happy. “Dinner and a show.”

As Sherlock busied himself with grabbing the package and impressing the man. Irene pulled Y/N aside.

“Why haven’t you run yet?” She muttered.

“Why haven’t you brought me in?” Y/N retorted.

“You of all people know how much he enjoys his games. I thought I’d return the favor.”

“Me running would give into his games. Me staying put with Sherlock, catches him off guard.”

“You really haven’t played his games in too long, have you? You being with Sherlock is just want he wants.”

“I need to end this. Sherlock is the only way.”

“Have you told him your feelings for him yet? Or are you holding off until this is all over?” Y/N didn’t respond. “This will be over when one of them dies.”

“Tell me, Irene. What does he have on you know that would make you did do his dirty work?”

Irene straightened up. “I hope to see you at dinner tonight.” She turned and left.

Y/N sighed before she looked back at where the man was supposed to be. He had clearly slipped out while Sherlock and herself had been distracted. Sherlock had placed the box into a sarcophagus and was pushing it into the vault.

“I’m a consulting detective of some repute,” Sherlock stated, clearly having not noticed the man was gone. “Perhaps you’ve hard of me? My name is Sherlock Hol—“ The bomb exploded in the sarcophagus. “Holmes.” Sherlock came out and looked around. “Where did he go?”

“He slipped out while you were handling the bomb and I was handling Irene,” Y/N replied as Sherlock hurried her way.

“You were handling her, hmm? Get any information?”

“Besides the fact that I think you’re still the reason he can get her to do his dirty work? No.”

“Oh, my darling, are you jealous?”

“I’m not answering that.” She headed for the door. “We need to—“

Sherlock grabbed her arm and pulled her into him, kissing her passionately on the lips. It was the most passionate kiss the two had ever shared. Y/N wished for it to continue as Sherlock pulled back slightly.

“Did that help?” Sherlock teased, his breath fanning over her lips.

She pushed him away, not up for his games today. “Come on, we need to go after him.”

With a hold of Y/N’s hand, Sherlock led her out to the streets in search of the man they were trying to protect. They went through a crowd and Y/N could feel eyes on them. Sherlock apparently could as well because they both glanced over their shoulders at the same time. There stood a well suited man, staring back at them. Y/N inhaled sharply as she squeezed Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock continued them forward, quickly stopping when he found the man they were searching for. He was slumped over needed to a corner of the building. The duo glanced back, but the man who was staring at them had disappeared.

Sherlock stepped over to study the seemingly dead man at the corner of the building. He fingers when under the man’s chin to check for a pulse. Sherlock shook his head slightly at the confirmation that the man was dead. Y/N’s eyes raked down the body, noticeably stopping at the dart in the man’s leg. Her hand’s trembled as she took the dart out.

“It was him,” she whispered.

“Of course it was Moriarty,” Sherlock responded. “But—“

“No, Sherlock, it was him. That man in the crowd. I could feel his eyes on me because they were familiar. He’s Colonel Sebastian Moran. Moriarty’s right hand man. Moran’s the one who’s been after me for him.”

“Then we must get you out of here.” Sherlock held firmly to Y/N’s hand. “Come along.”

~~~

Irene arrived at one of her favorite spots for tea. The tables were close together, but separated by small curtains. She was led to her usual table to see that tea and treats were already there.

“A fresh pot of tea,” she requested. “Thank you, George.”

“Yes, Miss Adler,” George, the server, responded before leaving to fulfill the request.

“Fine choice, this place,” a man from the next spot over commented. His face was hidden by the curtain. But his hands were out in the open, one of them having a pencil in it, writing on the paper on his table. “Do you have the letter?”

“It was taken,” Irene answered.

“Taken? Now, that is unfortunate.”

“During the chaos created by your package.” George arrived with fresh tea. “Thank you.” She picked her cup up to take a sip. “Perhaps, if you had shared your plans.”

“You wish to know my plans now, do you? Did you imagine, Miss Adler, that something would happen to you? Is that why you chose to meet here, in a public place? Your favorite restaurant?”

The man put down his pencil, a signal to his right hand not too far away. The right hand man clicked his glass three times and everyone quickly left the room, causing Irene to be confused. The man, revealing to be Moriarty, moved the curtain over.

“I don’t blame you,” he stated. “I blame myself. It’s my fault that my daughter is the way she is. It’s also been apparent to me for some time that you had succumbed to your feeling for him. And this isn’t the first occasion Mr. Holmes, and my daughter, has inconvenienced me in recent months. The question is… what to do about it? But, that’s my problem to solve now. I no longer require your services.”

Moriarty turned back to his table. Irene stood up and began to head out. Not feeling well, she started to use the tables for supports until she completely gave out onto the floor. Moriarty listened to her groan as he thought about his next steps to remove his daughter and Holmes from the equation.

next chapter >

Taglist Information

IN THE GAME OF LOVE TAGLIST:

@rubberduckyqueen

@utterly-in-like

@iowaladynerd

@lov3vivian

@underoostarks

@cevans-winchester

@yaskna

@zmarie108 (won’t link)

@thicficbich1

@arioneway

@steverogerswifesblog

@fyreball66

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes 2009 #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #RDJ Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes A Game Of Shadows #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #rdj sherlock holmes x reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x fem!reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes x fem!reader #sherlock holmes imagine #rdj sherlock holmes imagine #rdj!sherlock holmes imagine

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ihaveonlymydreams · 3 years

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I would like to start listening to classical music, but I am OVERWHELMED by all the options of where to start. Any suggestions?

Oh gosh @catefrankie asked me this like a year ago and I haven't answered yet because there is SO MUCH! (so I'm tagging you too now even though I think you've found some things you like). It also very much depends on your individual taste, so I'm going to suggest a few things from different musical periods and you can decide what you like!

Baroque Period: rhythmic, ornamented, stately. Instrumental: Four Seasons by Vivaldi

youtube

Vocal: Bist du bei Mir (If You Are Near) by Bach (it's uncertain if he wrote it or his wife did, regardless it's a beautiful lyric love song)

youtube

Choral: For Unto Us A Child is Born by Handel (and if you like this, go listen to the rest of the Messiah, a retelling of the life of Christ through Bible verses put to music)

youtube

Classical Period: elegant, restrained, balanced

Instrumental: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (A little night music) by Mozart

youtube

Vocal: Laudate Dominum by Mozart (one of my favorite works in all the world and I can kind of sing it too) (also I'm linking Emma Kirkby singing it because she's probably my favorite soprano of all time)

youtube

Choral: Requiem by Mozart (yes I linked the whole thing because it's gorgeous. Also yes everything on the classical list is Mozart because honestly no one else in that period lived up to his genius)

youtube

Romantic Period: passionate, emotional, dynamic

Orchestral: Pastoral Symphony by Beethoven ( he wrote a lot of them, including the famous 5th and 9th, if you like this go listen to those. I think this is the easiest one to appreciate though. Listen for the thunderstorm in the 4th movement)

youtube

Instrumental: this is when solo piano music started really becoming a thing. Waltz op. 64 no. 2 by Chopin (if you like this he has tons more)

youtube

Opera: the Flower Duet by Delibes (opera was already a thing but this is when it got huge)

youtube

Here's another one, Libiamo (let's drink) from La Traviata by Verdi

youtube

#I hit the video limit lol but more is to come!#Classical music #Sorry for throwing five million things at your head #But if you like any of these let me know because then I can recommend more to you!

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dazaiswindow · 4 years

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dad! mozart headcanons

a/n: these ideas were running in my head all day so i had to sit and write it down and then this happened

tagging @cauldroncatx and @nafeary since i know you both are mozart stan 💜

Okay so, i imagine Mozart would have a pretty little girl which almost looks like himself but is not like him at all in terms of personality

His little girl picks up mc's clumsiness and is very friendly towards all the other residents that sometimes they teased him about the contrast

She is especially fond of Uncle Jean, he would always play with her if she asked and he takes her horseback riding to the field near the mansion

Jean melts inside whenever she calls him "Uncle" uwu

Mozart teaches her music and how to play an instrument very early on in her life, so that she may develop the same love and passion for music as he has

It doesn't even have to be piano, he is happy to teach her any instrument she wants to learn, even if it's an instrument he's not familiar with or not the ones he originally played, he will go out of his way to learn that instrument first and then teach it to her

But of course, if she has other passions that is not music, he will be a supportive dad too and encourage her to do what she loves

Besides teaching her music and instrument, Mozart will also teach his little girl some german, something he doesn't even do with mc

They both can sometimes be caught conversing in german which even mc can't translate despite her somewhat little knowledge on the language

"Mama sieht heute so schön aus, findest du nicht?" He asked her one day when the three of them were in the dining room and mc was serving the foods for them all to eat together

"Ja Papa! Ich möchte eines Tages so schön sein wie sie!" She replied excitedly and Mozart smiled at that before patting her head affectionately

"Du bist schon schön" He said softly, which made her giggled happily

Mc almost have no idea what they were talking about, but she heard the word "Mama" which she knew means mom, so she assumed they were talking about her, but judging by both their reactions, she thought it must not have been something bad so she just let it pass

Mozart also lets her pet Schelm, he would call the snowy owl out from the woods and when the owl sits on his arm, he would crouch down in front of her so she could pet it gently

Both Mozart and the little girl can often be found in the music room, she would watch him whilst he play the piano and compose his melodies

He would also have her sit in his lap while he's playing and he would play her whatever song she asked him to play

One time, mc walked into the music room carrying a blanc for Mozart and she's greeted by the most loveliest sight she'd ever encountered

Mozart sat on the piano bench, playing 'Eine kleine Nachtmusik' while the little girl sat on his lap, her eyes trained on his fingers dancing on the keys in clear awe and admiration

Mc felt like she could melt right on the spot from the wholesomeness

He has also been caught smiling so many times whenever they're spending times together, no one has ever seen Mozart smile this much, not even when he's drunk, and the other residents are left completely baffled at the sight everytime

Even one or two more comments about it from Arthur or Dazai didn't even faze him at this point

Arthur & Dazai are lowkey disappointed that they didn't get the snappy reaction they wanted out of him

However Mozart would absolutely never let the other residents know that he lets her play with his hair sometimes

Yes he would let her braid or tie his hair back, but he made her promise to never tell any of the residents

All in all, she just makes him so so happy and there's absolutely nothing he wouldn't do for his kleiner Engel ♡

Translation:

*This may contain inaccuracy since i'm only using google translate because i'm not a german speaker, so i apologize in advance for any mistake

Mama sieht heute so schön aus, findest du nicht? (Mom looks so beautiful today, don't you think?)

Ja Papa! Ich möchte eines Tages so schön sein wie sie! (Yes dad! I want to be as beautiful as her one day!)

Du bist schon schön (You are already beautiful)

Kleiner Engel (Little angel)

Feedbacks are always very much appreciated! | Masterlist

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp mozart #ikemen vampire mozart #ikevamp hc #ikevamp hcs #ikemen vampire hc #ikemen vampire hcs #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp headcanons #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikevamp mozart hcs #ikevamp mozart headcanons

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iamtheblondestblonde · 4 years

Text

The Clark Kent Effect

Part One

AN: So this is meant to be the beginning of a (semi short) series, depending on how well it’s received. Feedback is therefore more than appreciated and always remember I love reading tags. Feel free to message me or send me anons as well, every interaction makes my day :)

To all my American followers: please go vote tomorrow, I don’t even live there but I still know how important it is.

Word Count: 2.9k (short boi)

Warnings: alcohol and one swear word maybe?

Part Two

My other writing can be found here

While your costume had seemed like a great idea two days ago you now thought differently.

Technically it was a great costume, but only because you hadn’t exactly planned on needing to step out of the club to make an angry phone call. Alas here you were, legs shaking and teeth clattering because of your stupidly short dress, this situation the last nail in the coffin that would finally pronounce your disaster with Colin dead for good. You weren’t sad about it in the least, only cold. If only you’d thought of grabbing your jacket on your way outside this wouldn’t be as bad, it was the end of October and you were in New York after all, but you’d been so angry to see his caller ID on your screen that you’d stormed out without thinking, which you now deeply regretted.

Stepping back inside was like heaven and running into a wall at the same time, if said wall was made out of hot air and the smell of sweat, hairspray and alcohol. You really shouldn’t be happy about stuffy air, but at least you weren’t shivering anymore so you were going to mark it down as a success in your books. Since the restrooms were close to your right you made a quick detour, checking if everything was still where it was supposed to be.

At least your boobs hadn’t fallen out yet and you dismissed the judgy stares in the restroom as you readjusted your cleavage and reapplied your bold red lipstick. Normally you’d stare as well, not judging but usually intrigued by women who portrayed such confidence but tonight you were one of these women and you wouldn’t let anyone else ruin it. You’d earned a good night out after finally escaping Colin’s manipulative fuckboy ways and telling him to get lost for good.

So with your chin up and your shoulders straight you stepped out of the restroom, determined to find your group of friends again so you could get drunk and finally have a good time. It took a bit longer than you’d like to admit, your heels only barely giving your tiny frame a height advantage but then you finally spotted the fluffy halo of your best friend. After making sure that it was really her – there were enough angels in this room to make any priest happy after all – you quickly made your way over to her.

Or at least you tried.

You’d only gotten a few steps in when your heel got caught in the costume of a guy dressed up as mummy – which really only consisted of his regular clothes and what you estimated to be about three rolls of toilet paper – and you stumbled. You could already see yourself in the emergency room of the closest hospital with a broken nose from crashing to the ground, blood running down your face and staining your already red dress. Perhaps you could play it off as a part of your costume but it’d still hurt and your night would definitely be over.

But none of that happened because you were saved by a very handsome Superman. He’d stood with his back to you, you’d definitely spotted his broad shoulders underneath the stretched blue fabric earlier, but he’d turned in your direction right before gravity had decided to take its toll on you. Apparently his costume was justified though, because he caught you with cat-like reflexes, wrapping his hands around your arms and pulling you back towards an upright position before anything damaging could happen.

He was a lot taller than you so the first thing you really noticed of him was his throat and perhaps you really should’ve dressed up as a vampire because you noticed that he had a very sexy throat, if that was even a thing. Your weird thoughts were interrupted by him chuckling though and your gaze quickly snapped up to meet his and you really weren’t sure if you should congratulate or scold yourself for how you’d managed to end up in his arms.

The handsome stranger was wearing glasses in true Clark Kent fashion and his hair was better than any DC artist could have dreamed of, perfectly tousled in the way that showed that he liked to run his hands through it and you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t tempted to do the same. In the dim lighting of the club you couldn’t make out the color of his eyes behind his glasses but they could honestly be yellow and he’d still be hot as fuck.

Sometime during your almost-fall your hands had ended up on his chest and you really should be embarrassed about the fact that you were practically feeling him up but somehow you couldn’t find yourself to care enough to let go. You relaxed your hands from the tight grasp they had on his shirt and instead carefully splayed them out on his chest as if you were going to push yourself off of him but not really doing so. With how you were pressed against him you could feel the heat radiating through his shirt and how firm his body was, his muscular built more and more evident with every passing second. His hands had started to wander as well, moving up from the side of your arms towards the top of your shoulders, the size of them burning itself into your mind as you just stared at each other.

If one were to ask you what day it was right this moment, you honestly wouldn’t be able to answer them despite everyone in this club dressed in Halloween costumes. Mozart himself could have returned from the dead to perform “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” with a string quartett in the middle of this dancefloor and you probably wouldn’t have noticed right now, too caught up in the eyes of this handsome stranger.

When he reached up with one of his hands to adjust the little devil’s horns on top of your head you blinked in surprise, finally snapping out of your daze.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry, I totally didn’t mean to crash into you but my heel got caught and-“, you began to ramble, your sense of common decency finally kicking in but he only laughed and since neither of you had taken a step backwards yet you could feel it rumbling through his chest.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind having beautiful girls quite literally falling for me”, he joked and if he were any other guy you probably would’ve scoffed at his choice of words but somehow the boyish charm worked well for him and you found yourself grinning as you came up with a response.

“Mmm let’s hope this isn’t a normal occurrence for you because I’m not a fan of getting caught in traffic.” You finally found the strength to take a, very reluctant, step back, untangling yourself from his grasp and dropping your hands but still smiling up at him. He definitely had the potential to be your catch for the night. You could really use the distraction after all.

Your blissful thoughts were interrupted by someone tugging at your arm though, a look over your shoulder revealing a pouting angel dressed in white and with a bouncing halo. It seemed like Emily had found you instead after you’d gotten distracted by your hero.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over the place for you”, she whined and you could tell by her slurred words that she’d gotten quite the head start while you were outside on your phone as she was well on her way to get plastered. Otherwise she never would’ve interrupted a conversation with a hot guy either, it was an unspoken wingwoman rule after all.

“Come on, Dana just brought a new round of shots and you need to catch up!” And with that she tightened her grip on your wrist and pulled you away. You barely managed to tell the handsome stranger to come find you later before he disappeared between the writhing bodies and was out of your sight.

Way too many shots later you found yourself on the dance floor, intoxicated and having a great time.

Your thoughts hadn’t wandered to Superman in quite a while, too consumed by alcohol and the thumping beat of the music, until you spotted him leaning against the banister of the top floor, drink in one hand and definitely watching you. Again, this would be creepy if he were anyone else but in this case it only made you appreciate the current sensual song even more, your eyes never leaving his as you moved your body to the beat. You were planning on going home with him later either way, you could tease him a little more before then, show him what he could have if he played his cards right.

He was still watching you a couple of songs later when your throat had gotten dry and your heels were starting to grow uncomfortable. In need of a break you pointed towards the bar, hoping that he’d understand and when he nodded you smiled brightly, excusing yourself from your group of friends so you could grab some water. You were done drinking for tonight, much more exciting things laying ahead of you and you wanted to be sober for them.

Water was apparently a welcome change from the regular orders the bartenders got because you were served immediately, a cool bottle set in front of you seconds later. You checked over your shoulder before taking a sip, spotting your Superman as he made his way towards you with a smile, one you returned before turning back around to climb on the stool that had just freed up so you could give your feet a well-deserved break.

When you felt a tap on your shoulder you fully expected it to be the hot guy, your most dazzling smile instantly on your lips as you turned around but it quickly fell off your face as you realized who it really was.

When you were younger you’d often imagined yourself in this moment, thought of what you’d say when you’d finally see him again after all this time apart. A small part of you had pined after him for years and fantasies of how your eyes would meet from across the room and how everything else would stop mattering had filled your daydreams once upon a time. But as you looked at him now there were no butterflies, no fireworks and you could still hear some remix of “Monster Mash” blaring over the speakers, the world was definitely still turning.

Perhaps you’d built up what had been between the two of you in your mind in the years of his absence, put him on a pedestal – he deserved to be one though because through everything he had been nothing short of a great guy – but as you looked at him you realized that all that was in the past. There was just a warm afterglow of what once was. As you looked at him now, there was absolutely no doubt that you didn’t love Anthony Beauvillier anymore.

“I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but wow Y/N you look great”, his familiar voice met your ears and it took you a second to realize that he’d slipped into French, the way the two of you had done countless times as teenagers.

You probably resembled a fish with the way you were opening and closing your mouth without saying anything but you couldn’t help yourself. Seeing Tito in this club had hit you like a fright train and you hadn’t expected it at all, which only made it worse.

Almost 20 Million people lived in New York State and over 8.3 Million in New York City alone. Brooklyn housed well over 500.000 people as well and yet you still managed to run into your ex in this club, despite the both of you growing up in Québec. If you were any good at math you would calculate the probability of this happening but you’d always sucked at it and it really wouldn’t help your situation either. You reminded yourself that you both worked here now but that was absolutely beside the point.

Before you managed to embarrass yourself even further you shook your head to clear your thoughts, smiling at the guy who had once held your heart before making the break into the NHL. He was dressed as a boy scout, with medals pinned to his shirt, the scarf thingy and everything and the costume was so incredibly him that you immediately felt catapulted back into your teenage years. It was easy to fall back into your old routine then.

“Oh yeah, do you think your Mom would still speak so highly of me if she saw me dressed as a slutty devil?”, you joked and he threw his head back in laughter, taking you even more by surprise when he threw his arms around you in a hug. It was a bit awkward with you sitting on the bar stool and all and it made you realize that he himself didn’t even feel the same anymore, his career of being a professional athlete shaping his body into a much more bulkier version of the one you were used to.

As you looked over his shoulder you caught the gaze of your Superman and your thoughts immediately returned to him. What must he be thinking of you hugging another stranger at the bar after telling him to come see you? The confusion was evident of his face, a crease between his eyebrows giving his thoughts away and you noticed how he scrunched up his nose in a very cute way so you immediately pulled back from Tito, reaching up to adjust your horns as a disguise for your sudden movement.

“So, did you finally manage to make your dreams of living and working in New York City come true?”, he asked as he took a step closer to let someone else pass by and you nodded, amazed that he still remembered after all these years. He really was one of the good guys.

“Yep, I finally made it, although it’s not as glamorous as I thought it would be. But maybe that’s only us working class people, I’m sure it’s a lot different in your line of work.” Thankfully he picked up on your teasing and wasn’t insulted, only laughing even more as he finally had the space to move next to you so he could look at the crowd as well.

“Speaking of work..”, he trailed off as he switched back to English and to your utter disbelief he waved your Superman over. Superman was reluctant to move at first, that much you could tell by looking at him, and since you watched him extra closely you were probably the only one to catch him flinching a little as Tito threw his arm around his shoulders but his confused expression was obvious as he looked between the two of you.

“Y/N, this is my teammate and best friend Mat, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Mat, this is my ex Y/N. You’ve also heard of her.”

Of course you’d heard of Mathew Barzal, last year’s Calder winner and rising star among the NHL’s elite players but it seemed like you were a victim of the Clark Kent Effect because you hadn’t recognized him at all with the glasses on.

Now your Superman had a name but the only thing you could focus on were the words “best friend”. No matter how hot Mat was and how much you’d wanted him before, very much imagining him helping you out of your tight dress, you couldn’t do that to Tito.

Mat seemed to come to the same realization as you because he plastered what could only be described as a business smile on his face, extending his hand for you to shake. You took it, relishing in the way his warm palm felt against yours and allowing yourself to enjoy his touch one last time before letting go and smiling at him with sad eyes as you introduced yourself.

Tito stayed to order a drink, pulling Mat and you into a conversation and therefore preventing your escape and while that was already bad enough in itself, he unknowingly took your breath away when he asked Mat:

“Hey, did you ever find that hot klutz you told me about? The one that fell into your arms earlier?”

Tito had his back towards the both of you so he didn’t see the way Mat looked down at you with sad eyes as well before pulling himself together and responding:

“Yeah, but turns out she’s not available after all.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur, you’d returned to alcohol after saying goodbye to Tito and Mat and promising Tito to stay in touch, so you barely remembered climbing into an uber hours later and only really came to your senses when you chugged a water bottle in your kitchen.

“Wait, weren’t you planning on going home with that hot Superman you mentioned earlier? What happened to him?”, Emily asked from her spot on the couch, her usual spot after a night out since your apartment was closer.

“I guess he left”, you answered, not really willing to go into any details right now.

“Aw, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

And wasn’t that the truth.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #new york islanders #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey writing #my writing #nhl players #nhl

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sukiglycerin · 4 years

Text

yours, senpai || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x manager!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: kind of,,, angsty not really, fluff

* words: 1,884

* warnings: all i can say is sorry shouto, usage of sEnpAi (used for upperclassmen) and kOuhAi (used for underclassmen), i keep doing manager!reader nd bakugou, reader has a bad day, cussing, bakugou being soft

* original request: okay so i’ve seen so many bakugou fics about him getting jealous but I remember having an idea to write about the reader getting jealous over bakugo for something so little because of them having a rough day i don’t really have the time to write it but if you get around to it and actually wanna write it i’d definitely give it a read

* a/n: this is finally here! i’m really happy with how it turned out. ngl, this was almost named “y/n and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day” but be glad i didn’t LKDSLFSL there will be a second part to this that’s just,,, pwp for fem!reader. so, look forward to that next week! @toishi is the best for proofreading this~~

bakugou always had girls over him. it was just a thing, a norm, that had come to be as a pro-hero. that didn't make you like it more, or anything, but you had to accept it. you knew it would never really change; even in your high school days, the kouhai named bakugou would be the talk of the girls in your year, fawning over his smooth skin and rugged look. (it was as though they'd completely forgotten the sports festival in your second year.) you never understood the appeal; to you, a third-year in the business course, bakugou was just an immature hero-wannabe, one of the boys that came a dime a dozen in japan. heck, this was a hero school; you were surrounded by them.

your first interaction with bakugou was in your third year. you'd been partnered up with a hero course student as a project, learning the ins and outs of marketing to a hero's strengths and managing said hero. girls absolutely ogled you for being partnered up with the bakugou, but you found it slightly revolting. to idolize a second year, a kouhai, who had anger issues and a terrible fashion sense? you did not see the appeal. if anything, you were concerned about how to contain the explosiveness of his personality and package it into a pretty looking present. his face constantly made the crudest of expressions, and the words that fell from his lips were completely vulgar.

after the project, your perspective of bakugou slightly changed; his face wasn't always unpleasant to look at (typically when he was off-guard) and his personality had softened a bit. he, at least, had the decency to call you senpai; according to a rumour from your friend, class 2a's infamous pretty boy, shouto todoroki, spoke quite plainly. too plainly. it was like he had a bone to pick with every upperclassman he talked to, not bothering to use the proper honorifics and talking shit when upset (the latter, though, wasn't confirmed by your friend, you'd just heard it around).

you kept in touch with bakugou, and the honorifics never really dropped, even though you'd told him it was fine to speak casually. you'd both graduated from high school, thus bakugou became a pro-hero and you started an office job at a hero agency. you worked your way up through the company, though it was an incredibly slow process due to the sheer size of it. it was then bakugou offered you a position at his agency; as his manager.

manager was a heavy word in your mouth. the only times you'd even echoed the job were your school project with bakugou and the one time you'd handed a schedule to a sidekick during one of your internships. besides, you didn't want to earn the job simply because you had the right connection; you wanted to earn it, and as of then, you didn't quite feel you had. when you'd voiced this concerned to bakugou, he bluntly told you that he believed you were fit. (your first reaction was: what kind of reasoning is that?) he then followed up that he was in desperate need of a competent manager, and that if you could do one day he'd be grateful and pay however much you asked. it was a surprising request from such a popular, in-demand hero, but you supposed it wouldn't hurt.

it has not hurt at all in the five years you've been his manager. the closest thing that has come to hurting would be the fangirls, and even then, most mean no harm. somewhere in the middle you'd started dating bakugou, and it was almost as if you were dating his fangirls as well, with the way they always tried to contact you or hammered you if they recognized you in public. thankfully, the latter was extremely rare.

however, today was not a particularly good day for the appearance of fangirls. whatever power in the universe had decided to awaken you on the wrong side of bed (literally, you found yourself face-to-face with a spider and two alarms too late), and now you were blessed with a meet-and-greet for bakugou.

fanmeets were held once in a blue moon for bakugou (thankfully), because he was more concerned about his hero duties than how his fanservice would make some girl's heart burst out of her chest. lucky for you, the universe blessed you to have one today.

really, the only thing you can think of as you drive to work is the sight of bakugou's face. he's always quite cute in the mornings; the rasp of sleep on his tongue and a slight pout he has when talking. it would be enough to reenergize you for the day, you know for sure.

conveniently, he is nowhere near his office when you arrive to work. you pull out the calendar on your phone and realize: he's currently being styled for his fanmeet, and you definitely won't be seeing him for another hour. you sigh, heading to the lounge to make yourself coffee. this was gonna be a long day.

conveniently, you burn your hand in the slightest making your coffee, and it seems to have started a time bomb of your patience. careful not to burn your tongue on the godforsaken coffee, it gets cold. you're stuck in an elevator with a bunch of stockholders who do not smell pleasant (a potpourri of conflicting fragrances is not ideal), and somehow, you almost trip up walking while fuming about the horribleness of your day.

conveniently, you forget where you put the paper copy of today's schedule and must begrudgingly adhere to the plain, unannotated one on your phone. the hold time for the fanmeet venue takes far too long for a priority customer (such as yourself and ground zero), and listening to eine kleine nachtmusik for the billionth time as the same monotone voice apologizes for the wait does nothing to brighten your day. damnit, mozart, it's morning, and you have 8 more hours of this shit. thankfully, the venue has not completely forgotten about your existence and you're able to confirm everything, and then you find yourself driving to said venue to meet up with staff. traffic is one hell of a nightmare to someone having a bad day.

you sit in your car, which seems extremely cramped and humid because you've been sitting in it for too long, clicking on and off radio channels to the point you make a rhythm based off the clicks and somehow your radio hasn't broken and traffic hasn't moved an inch.

you arrive at the venue on time with no bakugou in sight; ah, right, he's retouching his makeup and hair. he doesn't even need makeup, in your humble opinion; his natural skin is literally glowing. you're just about to approach bakugou (who, maybe on second thought, needs the makeup, considering how angelic he looks) when one of the staff asks that you check that the projector is on the right channel, and then the fans pour in. you try to convince yourself that each fan has spent an abhorral amount of money to get into this event and that you should treat them with respect, but it's so damn hard when they're all nosebleeding and making grabby hands at bakugou. you're grateful you're not a bodyguard, or you're sure you would've decked the teen with the green shirt who attempted to full-on makeout with bakugou before being politely escorted out.

you could barf at the fanservice so gracefully sown into the fanmeet; the way bakugou so effortlessly intertwines with a fan's, or how he ends a smooth line with a heart-killing smirk. it's absolutely disgusting recalling that you taught him all of that.

needless to say, you have a lot of pent-up frustration by end of the day. the fanmeet ended smoothly, though halfway in, you considered ditching your position as manager to become a nosebleeding, crying, grabby-handed fan just to make contact with bakugou. perhaps the last straw for you was after the fanmeet; as the two of you exited the venue, tired, a fan (probably around bakugou's age) approached bakugou for a picture. bakugou accepted, and she apologized profusely for bothering the two of you. you were stuck behind the camera, grumpily watching as she put her hands on bakugou. a rational part of your brain knew her touches were as polite as possible, but the rest of your brain selectively ignored this fact. you fumed taking the photo, gritting out a smile as you handed back the fan's phone (stopping yourself from smashing it on the pavement). who were these fans, taking away you from bakugou?

"senpai," bakugou deadpans as the two of you drive home. the word brings a sense of comfort to you; strange to an outside viewer, you know, but it somewhat acts as a pet name bakugou used on you. the word brings you back to simpler times, when you and bakugou were clear-cut senpai and kouhai, nothing else. even when you became his manager, the word "senpai" rolled so smoothly off his tongue, despite the roles being switched. you started having a penchant for the word, it becoming a word of comfort to you. for you, entangled in a strange manager/lover position to bakugou. senpai. it reminds you of who bakugou was, and how much he means to you now.

"eh? what's wrong? you've been lookin' upset all day," bakugou grunts.

"it's... trivial," you say. you rarely get jealous; you trust bakugou, and know he'd only ever have eyes for you. "let's talk about it when we get home." you make up your mind to discuss it rationally with bakugou when you get home. very rationally, with cuddles and all.

one thing that fans will never ever get are bakugou's cuddles, and you smile to yourself at that. they'll never know what it feels like to feel safe in bakugou's arms, to be enveloped in his scent, to feel home with bakugou, and be able to call him only yours. in that way, he's your little secret.

when bakugou asks what's wrong at home, you simply reply, "missed you." the two words are enough; he's stepping towards you, a little hesitant, and then his arms are around you, and the familiar scent of caramel greets you.

"had a bad day," you confess, "and watching all the fans and the fanservice..."

"fuck the fanservice," bakugou says, and his grip gets slightly tighter. "i'd leave it all for you, in a heartbeat. i'm... i'm only yours." you look at him, and he's looking away, face scrunched in a frustrated expression and cheeks dusted pink.

"you should know that, idiot," he grumbles.

you smile. "love you," you say, pecking his cheek softly. he flushes deeper at this, glancing at you then away again.

"don't make me say it back," he mumbles. "you know i love you too."

it's at night when the feelings of jealousy bubble again. you can't help but feel insecure, replaying the day's events in your mind. those girls had so much that you didn't - surely, they were much more attractive, much more sweet and kind.

"mine," you mumble, pressing yourself against bakugou.

"stop thinking, moron, and sleep," bakugou grunts. "of course i'm all yours."

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha scenario #bnha headcanon #bnha bakugou #bakugou headcanon #bakugou scenario #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #bnha fluff #bnha oneshots #luna's writing #*lunarequests

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carnelianns · 4 years

Note

Hello! I really enjoy reading your work, can I ask for just general headcanons for any ikevamp boyo of your choosing with a S/O(or MC if you'd prefer) who has no idea who these people are. MC; "I failed history twice and cheated to pass."

this ask is gold

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Fame isn’t really important to the man in pursuit of the perfect song, but Mozart admits that your cluelessness does induce some frustration from him.

From what he’s gathered from Sebastian, his pieces — even those he didn’t expect to get famous — are awfully popular in the present time, so why don’t you know a single one?

You think it’s a coincidence that Mozart’s playing a pretty little tune whenever you pass by the piano room. It, in fact, is not.

He peeks his head out into the hallway to see if you’re near and if you are, he’s rushing to the piano immediately to play a composition of his to check if you really don’t know it. He’ll never admit it, though.

There’s a slight scowl on his face the day he finally pulls you inside the room itself, only warranting a questioning gaze from you.

“Are you certain.. you don’t know these pieces?” He asks, the gentle tune of Sonata No. 16 contrasting greatly with his furrowed brows and the slight jut of his lower lip.

You can only hum, lifting your head off from his shoulder as you meet his violet eyes. “I’m sorry, Mozart, but the only thing I learned in Music class was how to sleep without getting caught.”

The slight pout on his face transforms into a look of dissatisfaction as he sighs, the sound mingling with the sudden fast pace of “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik”, Mozart’s last attempt in seeking for a piece you know.

“Oh my god.” His eyes swing towards your form, widening infinitesimally at the look of recognition on your face. “That’s from Little Einsteins!”

He almost bashes his head in the piano when you explain that it’s from a kids show you thoroughly enjoyed when you were young, though he doesn’t have the heart to do so (or the skull).

You may be slightly uncultured, but he wouldn’t mind seeing the stars in your eyes much more often, even if it means having to play the song botched by a kids show every so often.

Leonardo da Vinci

Leonardo isn’t one to brag about his achievements, nor does he really care about them, so you being unknowing of who he is exactly isn’t really a big problem for him.

Although he finds it absolutely adorable when you bounce up to him randomly throughout the day, spewing an almost unintelligible “Is it true that..?!” and an achievement of his you probably heard from either Sebastian or Isaac.

He quite honestly falls in love with you more and more each time, if it isn’t clear from the slight crinkle of his eyes, or the soft, genuine smile setting itself upon his lips.

However, there has been something plaguing his mind ever since the day you first met. The words you uttered, and the dreamy sigh and faraway look in your eyes after.

“The only Leo I know is Leonardo di Caprio.”

Making no move to act upon his curiosity, Leonardo quickly forgets your unusual words. That is until he sees you soberly staring out the window one fine day, a sigh resonating through the empty living room.

“Cara mia, what’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed as he instantly takes a seat beside you. Not many times has he seen you look this blue, and god forbid it ever happen again.

“It’s just… You know… I sometimes think… Is Leonardo di Caprio doing well?”

A wry smile forms his face as you continue your lament, making inexplicable hand gestures here and there. “I just hope he’s okay, y’know? And god, you should see him. Young Leo is a different breed, perfection incarnate, the lo—”

“Cara mia, are you forgetting I’m here?” His guttural voice — one that seemingly dropped a few octaves — causes you to pause, eyes widening when you finally meet his intense stare and the irked smile on his face.

There’s no room to escape when he pulls you into his impregnable grip, carrying you bridal style to what you just know is his bedroom. ‘It seems I’ll just have to remind you which Leonardo your boyfriend is.”

Isaac Newton

Don’t get him wrong, he’s glad you don’t know of the famed apple incident, subsequently leading you to not tease him, but there’s only so much he can take.

The problem isn’t that you don’t know of him — he can care less, in all honesty. It’s that you don’t know anything about physics — hell, you could barely remember the three laws of motion.

So it was that every time you two are together, the vexed physicist manages to slip in a comment or suggestion about learning more about, well, physics.

Which often leads to you escaping from his grasp, more often than not giving the residents a wonderful show of a yelling Isaac chasing you around the giant mansion.

“I failed Science because I said Newton’s three laws of motion were made by Einstein, please have mercy,” you beg a scowling Isaac who somehow managed to wring you into the library for a one-on-one lesson.

“I don’t even have any words for you, you foolish woman.” He then proceeds to sigh, taking a seat beside you. Your fake sniffles cease as you turn towards your lover, a focused look making itself home on his face.

“... How in the heavens did you mistake me for Einstein?” There’s a visible pout on his face, his cheeks tinged a slight shade of red as he does everything to not meet your gaze.

“... Awh, is my lovely little scientist upset? Is he, now?” You coo teasingly, pinching his cheeks in a way one does an infant.

“Shut up!”

Your laugh echoes through the library as he turns away, crossing his arms. It does nothing to hide his now hot-red ears.

Taking it upon yourself to slide your arms around Isaac’s waist you hum softly, snuggling into his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, then I’m glad good ol’ Isaac Newton ended up being the love of my life.”

“... If this is an attempt to get out of your lessons, then it didn’t work.” Damn.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp x reader #wolfgang amadeus mozart #mozart #leonardo da vinci #isaac newton #headcanons

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