#i made this instead of practicing for my orchestra auditions

[foxy-eva]

Duet

Summary: Letting the love of his life get away was Spencer’s biggest regret, so he decides to go after her

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst with a happy ending, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) angst following a break-up, arguing, crying after sex (Spencer), pregnancy, fingering, handjob, unprotected penetrative sex

Author’s note: This is a heavily edited repost of one of my first fics. I am much happier with it now and I hope you enjoy it too!

Word count: 3.4k

Masterlist

Washington D.C. 

Every morning in that brief moment between being asleep and being awake, before my mind had fully caught up with everything that had happened in the past two months, I could still hear her. I once told the mother of a victim to try to hold onto that moment a little while longer, to prolong the feeling that everything was still okay. That fraction of a second every day was all I had left of her. While it lasted, I could hear her playing the violin in the living room, practicing her favorite sonata to perfection. The melody always ceased once I remembered it was not her but only my brain trying to grant me comfort. 

I still couldn’t fully wrap my head around the fact that I only got to spend three years with her before I messed up everything. Although the stubborn part of me still believed that it was not only my fault, deep down I knew that she was right with everything she said. After the first couple of months with her I really thought that I would marry her eventually. But she left me before I ever had the courage to ask her to be mine forever. I know now that I should have put more effort into our relationship. 

It was easier during my sabbaticals from the FBI. She made her living playing at events and weddings, but she was asked to fill in for other violinists of the Capital City Symphony regularly. I would sit in the audience while she played her part in the orchestra, watching her perfectly move her hands over her instrument. She deserved every praise she could get, easily being one of the most talented musicians I had ever encountered. 

Whenever I was working cases, I hardly had the chance to be there for her concerts. She told me that it never bothered her, that she understood the obligations of my job. But when she finally got the chance to play the first violin and I wasn’t there to witness it, something between us changed. 

She never told me, but I could feel that she thought my job was more important to me than she was. I think that was why she started to spend more time with other musicians, even when I was in town. She told me it was to network, since she was trying to get a permanent position as a violinist in an orchestra. 

I could sense, however, that after almost three years of being with me, she started to get unhappy. Instead of addressing it, I chose to ignore it in hopes that everything would work out eventually. I didn’t realize how much of a fool I was until that day eight weeks ago.  

“I got an offer for a permanent position with an orchestra and I really want to take it,“ she told me the day before our anniversary. I was excited for her and pulled her into a tight hug. 

“That’s amazing! You worked really hard for that. I am so proud of you,“ I whispered into her hair. She pulled away from me and I noticed that something was off. 

“Spencer,… it’s not in DC,“ she told me while looking at the floor. I could sense her nervousness. 

“Okay? What does that mean?“ I wanted to know. 

“Remember when I told you about meeting one of the musicians of the Vienna Philharmonic after they performed in DC? She told me about an opening as a second violinist for their world tour and offered to show my audition video to the conductor. I never thought I would stand a chance, I mean this is one of the finest orchestras in the world. And I was right, I didn’t get the position. I was offered a job as a first violinist at the Vienna State Opera orchestra though,“ she explained. 

I didn’t know what to say. 

She continued, “I know this is a lot but I would really like to try this. We could move to Austria together, start something new.“

“You want me to leave everything behind to move to Vienna with you? What about my job, my friends, my godsons? Why don’t you wait a little longer and keep trying  here? I am sure you will be able to get a permanent position here if you are patient,“ I countered.

“I have been working my ass off for years now and I’m still playing at those stupid weddings! I am tired, Spencer. I want someone to appreciate my talent for once. I really feel like I should take this chance. With your academic achievements you will be able to get a job anywhere,“ she almost yelled at me. 

I could tell that my hesitancy made her angry.  

“But… I don’t think I want to leave DC… or the FBI,“ I finally admitted. 

“So you want me to leave without you?“ 

Now it was my turn to get angry. 

“No! Of course not. I don’t want you to leave at all. I don’t understand why you would even consider moving so far away without me. I thought we were happy,“ I told her while feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. 

“I haven’t been happy for a while, Spencer and I know you have noticed. I feel like I have been trying for years now to get you to play a duet with me. I wait for you to chime in with me but you keep missing your cue. It’s like I’m playing allegro and you adagio. We just can’t get in sync, no matter how hard I try.“ 

Her voice cracked at the last sentence, tears filling her eyes. I knew that this didn’t exactly come out of nowhere, but I was still shocked about the severity of her accusations. 

“We can work on those things. You need to give me a chance to show you how much I want to be with you, to be in a duet with you.“

“This is it, Spencer, here is your chance. Come to Vienna with me.“ 

“So what now, you are giving me an ultimatum? Move to a different continent with you or we are done? I never thought you would be the kind of person to choose a job over love,“ I hissed at her. I wiped away the tears streaming down my face with the back of my hand. 

“You can be such a hypocrite, you know. I would understand you wanting to stay if your mother was still alive. But by not coming with me, you would do the same thing you’re accusing me of: choose your job over our relationship. Why do you think your career is more important than mine? Maybe you’re better off playing a solo anyway.“  

A couple of days later she was on a plane, flying over the Atlantic ocean and leaving me a devastated man. 

It had been two months since she had left and I have shed countless tears since. Every part of my being was longing for her. Missing her was more painful than I could have ever imagined before, this loss had me suffering more than any physical injury ever could. Whenever I allowed myself to get lost in the memory of her, my senses yearned to be enchanted by everything she had to offer me. 

I could hear her playing her favorite sonata again, the sounds of her violin sending me into a deeply relaxed state. I could see her elegance and beauty while she held her instrument, her fingers gracefully dancing over the strings. Even in my fantasy the scent of her perfume would cloud my mind. I could feel her warm hand in mine and sensed her fingertips dancing over my back while she kissed me, leaving the taste of her lips on mine. 

When I snapped out of my reverie, the parts of my skin she used to casually touch were tingling. I knew I couldn’t go on like this. Not coming with her was the biggest mistake I had ever made. I thought I had found my home here in D.C., but it turned out that I didn’t want to settle down anywhere without her. Every fiber in my body was yearning for her. 

I had no idea if she had already moved on. The thought of her possibly finding someone else to keep her warm at night almost wrecked me. I wanted her to be happy but I didn’t want her to find happiness with anyone else but me. Then again, I apparently wasn’t able to provide that for her the last couple of months either, or else she wouldn’t have left me in the first place.

Vienna - six days later

Whenever I let my hands glide over my violin, I couldn’t stop thinking about the one time Spencer had told me how aesthetically pleasing he thought I looked with my instrument. The way he glanced at me whenever I played my favorite sonata gave me the feeling that he almost found my motions erotic, his eyes glued to my hands and face. I was sure, however, that it could have never been as sensual as when his fingertips glided over my naked skin, leaving every little hair of my body standing in anticipation for more. 

When we loved each other one last time the night before I boarded the plane, I pressed my body against his to feel the rhythm of his heart. Like a metronome it tried to show me the pace of how to love him right. I really tried to get my heartbeat to match his. I thought that if I could get it right it would be a sign for me to stay. But we never got in sync, no matter how hard I focussed. Our timing was always off. 

After his body followed mine into a brief moment of ecstasy, he collapsed on top of me and started crying into the crook of my neck. I couldn’t blame him, so I just held him as tightly as possible while he whispered his begs for me to stay into my skin. I was so convinced that I needed a steady job to make me happy. I told myself that no matter how many chances I would give him, he could never provide me with what I was missing in my life. 

I had no idea how wrong I was back then. 

So now when I played along with the other musicians with perfected motions, I always did it for Spencer. I fantasized about the melody floating through time and space to find him over 4000 miles away to remember me. I knew that I would never be able to forget him, even if I wanted to. He left a part of himself with me the last night we were together. I wanted him to be aware of it, but I knew that he had no idea how much he had imprinted himself into my body. 

I couldn’t shake those thoughts when I was sitting in the orchestra pit, playing Verdi’s Otello for the fifth time this week. For the whole duration of our relationship, I had thought about him when I was on stage. I could never be sure if he had made it to the concerts, always busy with his work that seemed more important than my achievements. 

What a lot of people don’t realize is that by the way a stage is illuminated, it’s almost impossible to spot someone in the audience. My eyes could never adjust to the bright lights enough. I only ever knew Spencer had made it in time when he waited for me afterwards. 

Two months of living in Vienna and I would have given everything for him to show up to one of my performances. I really thought I could make this place a home. I thought I was prepared for a culture shock, but every time I asked a cashier how their day was going and was only met with a grunt, I was startled. Truth be told, I hated living here. 

I was so naive to believe I could make this work all alone. I regretted leaving Spencer but I couldn’t admit that to myself right away. When I found out a couple of days ago that he had given me the sweetest going-away present anyone could imagine, I knew I had to move back to D.C. eventually. 

After the last tones vibrated through the opera house, followed by enthusiastic applause by the audience, I felt relief wash over me that my recollections of our shared time would halt until the next time I played the violin. That was the deal I made with my brain, only allowing myself to revel in the memory of him while I was holding my instrument. 

Backstage I took a moment to recharge my energy and drank some chamomile tea to calm myself down. I packed up my things and stepped outside into the cold wintery air. 

“You played wonderfully tonight,“ I heard a familiar voice. 

I turned around and saw him. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he was standing in front of me. 

“Spencer! How are you here?“

He stepped closer to me. I expected him to pull me into a hug, but he halted his movements before we could actually touch. My heart started aching when I saw how perfect he looked. 

“I got on a plane. I couldn’t stand being without you any longer. I regret not coming with you every second of every day,“ Spencer admitted. 

I didn’t know how to respond, still having trouble understanding what was happening. What I did know was that I needed to feel him. I placed the violin case on the ground and closed the remaining distance between us to wrap my arms around his body with a force that audibly knocked the air out of his lungs. When he caught his breath again, he started chuckling and placed one hand on my back and the other one on my cheek, tilting my head so I would look at him. 

“I missed you so much, my love. I’m sorry I let you leave without me. I am here now and I’m willing to stay. I promise you, I will make up for not coming with you if you let me,“ he whispered as he lowered his face, almost closing the distance. 

Before he kissed me, I pulled back. He let go of me immediately and I noticed a worried look on his face.  

“Spencer, there is something I need to tell you.“ 

His eyes started glistening when he asked with a trembling voice, “Is there someone else?“

I hesitated to admit the truth, still trying to find the right words. I put my hands on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that had started to fall down while I was contemplating how to tell him everything.

“Yes, there is someone else, but it’s not what you think,“ I explained. “I only found out a couple of days ago myself and I was still trying to come up with a plan on how to handle this. I swear, I was going to tell you eventually.“

“What are you talking about?“ He wanted to know.

“I’m pregnant, Spencer.“

After an initial hesitation, he pulled me back into a tight hug and placed a kiss onto the top of my head. He held me close to his body and mumbled sweet nothings into my hair. I tried to explain to him that I had messed up with my birth control when I moved. I was so stressed and the time difference made me forgetful those first few days here. He didn’t care about my explanation, telling me that we could make this work. 

When I felt the eyes of a random bystander on me, I suggested to go to my place, so we could talk this out in private. The way he never let go of my hand on the 15 minute walk to my apartment made my heart swell.

Right after we had stepped inside, Spencer made it clear that he didn’t intend to talk to me right away. His hands were all over me, peeling off the layers of clothing from my body. He kissed me with an urgency I hadn’t felt from him in months. When I gasped against his lips, he saw it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue met mine for the first time in nine weeks and I could feel how my insides started to tingle. I led us to my bedroom while I helped him shed the fabrics separating his skin from my touch. 

When he gently pushed me onto the bed, he took a moment to look at my bare body. His eyes roamed over my skin and I noticed him smiling when they landed on my stomach. He joined me on the bed and let his fingertips dance over my skin, making me giggle into our kiss. 

His lips left mine in favor of exploring my neck instead. He peppered my skin with open mouthed kisses, sucking on it whenever he wanted to elicit a moan from my throat. His hands found their way to my breasts, caressing them with soft squeezes, letting his thumbs brush over my hardened peaks. I winced when he pinched them, having him pull back immediately.

“I’ve been really sensitive lately,“ I explained. 

He nodded before he put his mouth on mine again. While he kissed me, his hand wandered further down my body before he let it rest flat on my lower belly. In that moment I couldn’t understand how I could have ever left him. There was no way for me to find happiness anywhere without him by my side. 

His hand continued its path until he found my heat awaiting his touch. Spencer gathered some of my slick from my entrance before letting his fingers glide through my folds. I started to squirm under his touch right away, trying to find more friction by lifting my hips into his touch. 

“Someone missed me,“ Spencer chuckled. 

“You’re one to talk,“ I countered, hinting at his hardness pressing against my thigh. 

I wrapped my hand around his length, stroking it with a tight grip, letting my thumb glide over the leaking tip gently. It was as if he had forgotten everything around him when he whimpered and panted into our kiss. I was convinced that not even the greatest composition could ever compare to the sounds Spencer was making when he was filled with pleasure. 

When he remembered about the abandoned mission of his hand between my legs, he started to move it again, eliciting similar sounds from my lips. He dipped two fingers into me, curling and moving them until my body trembled underneath his touch. 

Spencer retracted his hand and positioned himself on top of me. His lips never left mine when he slipped into me, letting our bodies connect at last. I wrapped my legs around his waist to pull him even closer, moving my hips to match his rhythm. My hands found their home on his back, pressing his body flush against mine. 

That was when I noticed his heart beating at the same rate as mine. 

What I was desperately trying to accomplish before I went away happened without any effort right then. His motions directed me into the sensation of pure bliss after a couple of moments. It was as if he had known how important it was for us to be in perfect synchronicity when he found his own relief at the same moment my core started to pulsate. He filled me with his warmth while he tried to help me prolong my high with erratic thrusts. 

I didn’t dare to let go of him when he fell limp into my arms. I let my hands draw small patterns on his back, still reveling the sensation of his skin on mine. When he noticed I had trouble catching my breath with his weight on top of me, he shifted to curl into my side instead. 

Spencer placed his hand on my belly once more and I joined him with my own hand, letting our fingers entangle. I felt his body relax in my arms, his breathing becoming steady while he drifted off to sleep. I placed a kiss on his head and closed my own eyes, finally feeling content for the first time in months. 

Let me know what you think here!

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[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne: Part 9 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: With the first concert of the season approaching, you continue working as the personal assistant of Maestra Agatha Harkness, while attempting to juggle your relationship and future in the process.

Word Count: 5K Words

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCfDtxcFoyM

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to Part 9 of Chaconne. One quick thing...I have decided to extend this story by just a few parts, I really don’t want to rush through the ending and there are a few more things I want to write haha. Anyways, I included a link to the first movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and it’s briefly mentioned throughout the story so if you feel inclined feel free to listen. I really hope all of you are still enjoying the story, and that you enjoy Part 9! As always, please feel free to leave a comment and my asks/messages are open if you have any questions :)

Tag List: @annie-mit-ie​  @celasteria​  @danvers97​  @imthedoctorlove​  @mcfriggingonagall​  @meowsaidmissy​ @notsosecretlyalesbian​ @sarahp-stan​ @scarletwxtxh​ @scarletmeltstheice​ @shinkomiii​ @sxfwap​ @thestrangeundoing​ @teenwonder​ @upsidedowndanvers​  @venticalooks​  @vintagegoddess12​  @everythingmarvelsherlockspn​  @thoroughly--confused​

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen on stage, completely lost in your thoughts before the sound of Agatha’s heels came clicking from backstage. Just as you managed to clear your head of Wanda’s offer, the alluring scent of lavender invaded your senses. Even from a few feet away you could hear the conductor mumbling to herself about god knows what. As soon as she spotted you, however, the ramblings immediately stopped.

“Ah, there you are,” Agatha said, offering you a rare but genuine smile as she set her belongings down on the podium. “I see you set the stage.”

Nodding you motioned across the hall. “It didn’t take too long but I gave the winds extra room like you requested.”

The conductor nodded before curiously eyeing you. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

Well you could tell her that her least favorite concert pianist had just suggested you move to Vienna. Or how Wanda was apparently aware that there was something going on between the two of you. A part of you did think it would be important to inform Agatha of that, but you also didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

You quickly nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours for a moment before nodding and turning her attention to her Dvorak score. A few minutes later, various MSO musicians arrived and began unpacking on and off stage. You eventually headed out to sit in one of the front rows, and you realized you never told Monica that she would be getting a new stand partner.

Luckily it didn’t take long for the violinist to enter the hall, followed closely by Jimmy and Darcy. Her face lit up when she saw you, and went to set her violin down in the row you were sitting in.

“Hey Y/N,” Monica greeted you brightly, before frowning when she noticed something was amiss. “Where’s your violin?”

“I...I’m not playing with the MSO anymore,” you explained quietly, watching Agatha berate the second chair oboist on stage for the way she tuned. “Hayward had blind auditions to fill the chair and I didn’t get it.”

“That’s whack,” Darcy immediately replied, causing Jimmy and Monica to glare at her. “What? It is.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Monica said sincerely. “You’re really talented, I hope you know that.”

“Yeah and it’s only one audition,”  Jimmy pointed out. “Hayward’s always been a bit hard headed when it comes to filling seats, especially if it’s someone he picked.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted. “And Monica you’ll be getting a new stand partner so I’m sure he’ll be really good.”

“Which one is he?” Darcy asked curiously as she scanned the hall.

You discreetly glanced around the room before you found him. He was already heading on stage, violin in hand. You hadn’t really paid him much mind before the audition, but now you seemed to notice every detail about him. The sure way he presented himself as he practically strutted up the stage. His rigid posture as he sat in his seat, as if that was a comfortable way to sit.

You motioned your head to the stage and Darcy let out a quiet snort. “Oh good. John Walker.”

Monica rolled her eyes at her friend. “You know this guy?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy replied. “I know everyone.”

“What’s his deal?” Jimmy asked curiously. “He seems a bit...”

“Like he has a stick up his ass?” Darcy guessed, and Jimmy laughed.

“I was going to say uptight, but sure.”

“Walker fancies himself to be a bit of a prodigy,” Darcy explained and shook her head. “He’s good, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not amazing. I played a few gigs with him last summer in the Hamptons and I dreaded every moment spent in his company.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Monica argued before giving you a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I agree with you,” you reassured the violinist. “I’m going to go see if Ag- Maestra needs anything before rehearsal so I’ll see you guys later?”

Agatha was leaning against the podium, drinking her water when she saw you approach her. The conductor appeared exhausted again, and you made a mental note to make sure she went straight home after rehearsal.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Agatha handed you her spare Dvorak score. “I’ll need you to tell me how the sound projects through the hall. We’ll be running the first movement today and I need to make sure the opening cello theme is clear enough.”

“Right, and if something isn’t clear what do you want me to do?”

“Well you could always throw something at Dottie,” Agatha suggested. “That would certainly get my attention.”

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I’m being serious.”

“As was I, dear. Dottie needs to look up from her music more. Perhaps that would encourage her to do so,” Agatha replied nonchalantly before sighing at the look you gave her. “Fine. I’ll ask you at the end of the movement what your notes are.”

“You mean my notes on sound projection, right?”

Agatha shrugged. “Or any suggestions you have on how to improve different sections. I...” the conductor paused and glanced around the hall to make sure no one else was listening in. “I do value your opinion.”

Your felt your heart sing at those words, and it took everything in you to not grab the older woman and kiss her senseless. Instead you gave her a bright smile. “Well I suppose I can try really hard to come up with a few meaningful suggestions.”

Rolling her eyes at your words, Agatha shook her head. “Try not to make me regret my decision, dear. Take a seat a few rows back, I’ll be starting rehearsal soon.”

Sure enough, just as you took your seat Agatha had the orchestra tuning before instructing them to start at the beginning of the first movement of the Dvorak. You loved every movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and while you adored the fourth movement, there was something quite special about the first. There was this beautiful building intensity that started in the strings before slowly rising to include the entire ensemble. It was passionate, colorful, and left you eager for more.

As much as you loved performing, and you did more than anything, you found yourself enjoying getting to observe the rehearsal from your seat in the audience. It allowed you to focus on so much more than when you would be sitting in the first violin section. Before you never saw how Jimmy appears to have his entire part memorized since he usually has his eyes locked on Agatha the entire time. Or how talented Darcy was. You knew she had to be a good percussionist to be subbing for the MSO, but she performed with so much energy you found it hard to tear your eyes away from her.

Then there was Agatha. The conductor appeared lost in the music as she mindlessly conducted, but you swore you never saw anything more beautiful. Every single time you had the privilege of watching her conduct you swore she kept finding new ways to draw you in. How someone could make the simple movements with a baton and her hand so enticing. She had so much energy in her while conducting, and the love she had for the music was so clear in her eyes. What was even more fascinating to you was how easily the rest of the orchestra seemed to follow her. All of her cues were perfect, and she never missed a downbeat. She was by far the best conductor you had ever seen and you would never tire of getting to see this side of her.

The movement progressed and you turned your attention to the first violin section. Monica was was entirely in her element, and you immediately felt a slight pang at not being next to her on stage. You had a few stand partners who had been lovely over the years but Monica was better than all of them combined. She was so precise in her playing, and her technique was absolutely flawless. But what made Monica so unique was how genuinely kind she was. A lot of violinists were so focused on their craft it didn’t matter who they stepped on to get their way, but it was clear Monica didn’t play by those rules.

As you felt your eyes wander, they landed on the new violinist. John Walker. He was...good. The egomaniac violinist inside of you wanted to argue that you were better, but you shoved those comments away. For one thing he used far too much bow on his tremolos, and you were worried he was going to send his bow flying across the stage with the way he was holding it. Then there was his posture, he sat so rigid in his seat. After a few moments, you realized you were sounding more and more like Agatha.

Tearing your eyes away from the first violin section, you wrote down a few notes on sound quality throughout the movement and forced yourself to stay focused. The movement progressed and you couldn’t help but note how good the orchestra was sounding. Granted Agatha ran them hard, but it was clearly paying off. They were good before, but they were finally playing with more of a purpose. Unfortunately, you didn’t think Agatha felt the same was. As soon as the final chord rang out, the conductor whipped her baton on her stand, and you could tell she was angry.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Agatha spat out as she flipped through her score. “That was the saddest attempt of Dvorak I have ever heard in all my years of conducting. I’ve worked with youth symphonies who sounded better than all of you combined.”

Personally you felt Agatha was exaggerating a tad, but you watched her continue to rant.

“Woo, your projection is eons better than before but I still need more,” Agatha called out to the winds section, and you saw Jimmy shoot up in his seat as the conductor called his name. From the percussion section, Darcy also appeared to notice Jimmy’s change in posture and she glanced over and shook her head at you.

“If the rest of you could play as well as Woo I doubt we would be having this conversation but alas,” Agatha sighed, before tapping her baton on the stand. “Flutes, I’m starting to wonder if all of you are deaf or just enjoy the sound of my voice berating you, because what the hell was that? Jones, all of your solos are splitting my brain open. Either work on your intonation and have it fixed by tomorrow morning or I’ll be moving you to second chair.”

Dottie slouched in her seat and you bit your lip. Agatha had lost her temper before during rehearsal but this was slowly starting to get worse.

“I don’t have to time to rerun all of this because we have the idi-Miss Maximoff joining us shortly, but please turn your attention to measure seventy-five,” Agatha instructed the ensemble, before turning her attention to the first violins. “First violins, I need this melody to be sweet and light as we begin, don’t give me too much too soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the new violinist raise his bow to ask a question. Oh good. That would definitely end well...Agatha continued rambling on about vibrato and tone, seemingly unaware of the violinist and a part of you hoped perhaps he would simply move on and ask the question later. But it appeared he was the persistent type as he cleared his throat to get the conductor’s attention. Although you were positive Agatha heard him, you were a few rows back and the sound was clear as day, she continued her rant, ignoring him completely. At this point the rest of the orchestra seemed aware of what was going on and everyone seemed to be waiting for Agatha to acknowledge him.

“Maestra? I had a question,” The violinist’s voice boomed through the hall, and you internally winced as you watched Agatha whip her head to look at him.

“Ah yes, our new addition,” Agatha said briefly, as she eyed the violinist. “John Walker, is it?”

He nodded. “I hate to interrupt Maestra-“

Agatha cut him off, appearing to grow more uninterested with every word that came out of his mouth. “Yet you still proceed to act like a privileged toddler to get my attention, so please, Walker, what is it?”

“I merely wanted to suggest a different approach to measure seventy-five,” John explained and he had far too much cockiness for your liking. “I know you feel it’s best to take a softer approach, I was always told to start with a bigger sound then slowly decrescendo. It’s just a suggestion.”

There was another pause as Agatha stared at the violinist with a calculating and cold stare. A part of you wondered if this would be the day she finally snapped and whipped her baton at someone. You had heard rumors of a betting pool the interns had on when Agatha would inevitably strangle someone for making her too angry. You had thought they were being a bit drastic at the time, but seeing the way she was looking at Walker was making you reconsider that.

“Thank you for sharing your very generous suggestions with us, Mr. Walker,” Agatha replied, and there was emphasis on the word suggestions. “I’m not sure if you are aware of where you are, but this is my orchestra.”

John frowned at that, and once again unwisely opened his mouth. “Maestra, I wasn’t attempting to overstep. I just thought I would offer my opinion on how to make the section stronger.”

“Ah yes, my mistake. I must have forgot when I asked for your opinion,” Agatha retorted. her temper appearing to grow more and more heated. “Would you like to offer any other suggestions, Walker? I’m positive the entire orchestra is simply dying to hear your words of wisdom.”

This time John remained silent, but you saw how darker his appearance grew at being called out in front of the entire orchestra. Agatha appeared satisfied by that and she tapped her baton against the stand again. “Lovely to see the newbie catching on. Measure seventy-five.”

The rehearsal of Dvorak continued to drag, and you marked a few notes for suggestions like Agatha had asked you to. You would occasionally check the clock, wondering when Wanda would be arriving since the orchestra was set to rehearse Rachmaninoff at 8:30 sharp. Eventually the doors to the hall opened, but instead of Wanda entering the room it was one of the interns Agatha hadn’t managed to scare away during her early reign of terror. The intern appeared nervous about something, who knows what, and they quickly sought you out.

“Y/N, you have to tell Maestra Harkness that Miss Maximoff won’t be attending rehearsal this evening,” the intern told you, and it looked like they were going to pass out from the fear of having to tell Agatha.

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal?” You asked curiously.

The intern quickly nodded. “She’s sick.”

Sick? You had just seen the pianist a couple hours ago and she appeared fine, but maybe she just came down with something. Giving the intern a small smile, you stood up. “I’ll tell Maestra, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” the intern said sincerely. “I’m pretty sure if I tell her she’ll find a way to fire me.”

The intern hurried back out of the hall and you slowly made your way to the front of the stage, hoping Agatha would call for the orchestra to take a break so you could make your move. With there only being a few rehearsals left until opening night you knew the absence of a soloist would send the conductor over the edge. But hopefully her strong dislike of Wanda would lighten the blow. As if the two of you were telepathically connected, Agatha turned around as you approached the stage and signaled for the orchestra to stop.

“Let’s take ten,” Agatha instructed them. “Have Rachmaninoff ready by the time we come back.”

The musicians all but hurried off the stage, and said hello to the few you had gotten to know over the past few weeks. Darcy caught your eye as she walked down the stairs and motioned her head to where John Walker was standing by his case, rolling her eyes in the process. You swallowed the laughter that threatened to escape as you went to join Agatha on stage. It didn’t take the older woman long to realize something was wrong.

“If you’re going to say I was being too hard on Walker, don’t,” Agatha quietly warned you, and it was apparent she was still fuming.

“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to throw a temper tantrum after I tell you this,” you said, and your tone was light, but Agatha gave you a look.

“I do not throw temper tantrums,” the conductor hissed as you motioned for her to follow you backstage.

“Of course not, Maestra. Your outbursts are completely normal for a woman of your-“ you quickly paused as Agatha arched an eyebrow at you, clearly unamused.

“My what, darling?” Agatha questioned, giving you an unconvincing glare as you laughed.

“Your stature,” you corrected yourself.

“You’re on thin ice,” the conductor warned you. “I’m not sure I like how easily you tease me.”

“Coming from the woman who’s done nothing but tease me since we met I think it’s only fair,” you offered, and Agatha smirked. “But really, please don’t freak out.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’ll have no choice but to tie you up and force the words out of you myself,” Agatha mused, causing you to blush, which made her smirk grow wider. “Ah, do you like the sound of that, darling?”

“The rest of the orchestra is only a few feet away,” you warned her as she took a step closer to you. “If our relationship is supposed to stay private wouldn’t it be a bit unwise to...”

“Oh no, dear, don’t stop using your words now,” Agatha practically purred, she closed the distance between you, lightly shoving you against the wall. “We’re just getting started.”

“Agatha, I really think maybe we should do this somewhere-“ you began to say, and you truly had every intention of trying to be the rational one here, but any remaining brain function you had left was erased as Agatha’s lips began trailing up your neck, occasionally stoping to nip at skin. “Agatha...”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Agatha whispered against your ear, the warm air of her breath sending tingles down your spine. “Or do I need to encourage you a bit more?”

“I don’t know how you doing this is supposed to encourage me to talk,” you argued, and bit back a moan as the conductor bit down on your earlobe.

“I’m just trying to help, darling,” Agatha insisted, pulling you impossibly closer to her as you were pressed against the wall. “I can help even more if you would like.”

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal,” you finally managed to let out with a gasp, and Agatha paused her movements at that.

“Darling, I know I’m a bit distracted but I believe you just said the Sokovian dingbat won’t be at rehearsal,” Agatha said slowly, as if she was trying to wrap her brain around what you just said.

Unwrapping yourself from the conductor, you nodded, trying to gauge her reaction. “She’s sick so she won’t be in attendance today.”

Agatha scoffed, shaking her head at your words. “Wanda Maximoff doesn’t get sick and miss rehearsal. I was-I worked with her long enough to know that.”

“Well that’s what personnel told me, so I’m not sure what to tell you,” you said, and you found yourself stuck on what Agatha had almost said. What wasn’t she telling you?

The conductor took a moment to pull her phone out of her pocket and her frown deepened even more. “Oh for the love of...” Agatha trailed off before whipping her phone against the wall, shattering it in the process.

You jumped at the sound, but Agatha barely seemed to notice you as she was entirely too lost in her thoughts. “Agatha, what’s wrong?”

“Cancel the rest of rehearsal,” Agatha said dismissively as she straightened her sweater. “Those idiots are infuriating me far too much and without Wanda we won’t make any progress on the Rachmaninoff.”

Gaping at her, you took a moment to process what she said. “You’ve never cancelled rehearsal before. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Now, Y/N. I have something I need to do,” Agatha said before storming out of the room, leaving you alone.

To say the MSO musicians were relieved Agatha had cancelled the remaining two hours of rehearsal would have been a vast understatement. You swore you never saw half of them move so quickly when you gave them the okay to leave. Since Agatha had apparently left for the day, you took the liberty of grabbing her belongings and dropped them off in her office on your way out. It wasn’t out of character for Agatha to lose her temper, you had grown used to her yelling and ranting. But her outburst backstage was unlike anything you had ever seen before. There was something the conductor wasn’t telling you, and while you had no idea what it was there was a sinking feeling in your chest that it had something to do with Wanda. Regardless of how curious, and anxious, you were over Agatha’s abrupt exit, you knew there was no good in worrying. She would tell you what was wrong...right?

It had been two days since you heard from Agatha. You received a call from management personnel early Saturday morning informing you that the conductor had cancelled all weekend rehearsals due to a stomach bug, which made you immediately go to call her until you remembered she left her shattered phone backstage. It wasn’t unusual for you to go a day without hearing from Agatha, the conductor valued her privacy and you respected her enough to give her what she needed. But after the practical smothering you had received from the older woman since the blind audition, it left you with a gut feeling that you had done something wrong.

What were the odds that Agatha was sick mere hours after storming out of rehearsal? They were slim, and it didn’t take a genius to tell you that. You had told Sam and Bucky what happened, and while they thought it was suspicious they also agreed that giving Agatha space would be the smartest move. Rationally speaking you knew that everything was fine, it just would have been nice to have received confirmation from the woman you were worrying so much about.

It had been a long time since you last had a Saturday off, so you spent your weekend watching Disney movies and napping while trying your best to keep your mind off Agatha. In fact you had been so distracted with the radio silence from the conductor that you almost forgot about Natasha Romanov and Vienna. The keyword being almost. You knew you needed to make a decision on if you were going to meet with the violinist, and you needed to make one soon. There was no guarantee Natasha would even choose you for her group, but still you found yourself imagining a world where you were performing in Vienna and finally getting to live your dreams. Only those dreams seemed somewhat bittersweet at the prospect of having them without Agatha. It was cliche being this attached this soon, but you couldn’t help it. You had never felt this strongly for anyone you dated before, there was something so different about Agatha that kept drawing you in.

Would it be fair to her if you moved to another continent when you were just starting your relationship? You knew she was concerned you would leave the Symphony after not getting the chair placement. While she had never directly told you, it was what made the most sense when considering her recent behavior. You didn’t want to leave her, you really didn’t. Agatha had given you so much while asking for nothing in return.

But the voice in your head asked if it was fair for you to stay somewhere you wouldn’t be happy. Would you grow to resent your job, or Agatha by association by remaining on as her assistant? Sam had been right when he said there were other jobs in New York City, but you knew nothing here would compare to the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. While quitting would allow the two of you to date publicly, maybe, it would also ruin any chance you still had of hoping to join the MSO. Was that something you were willing to sacrifice? You had a lot you needed to consider, you just wished Agatha was there to help you.

Monday morning came far too quickly for your liking. You were anxious to see Agatha, to make sure she was okay, but you also had to make up your mind on whether to meet with Natasha Romanov. Wanda had sent you a polite, but short, email late Sunday night asking if you made a decision or not. You were still just as torn as you had been all weekend, and sadly this was a decision only you could make for yourself. As you exited the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised to see Agatha’s car waiting for you. The rear window was rolled down and Agatha had her gaze fixated on yours. Giving her a small smile, you approached the car while balancing both coffees.

“Good morning Maestra. Fancy seeing you here.”

Agatha rolled her eyes before helping open the door. “Yes yes, good morning dear. Please hurry up and get in before I have Hank leave without you.”

“You’re in a mood today,” you said lightly after making yourself comfortable in the vehicle. “Rough weekend?”

Agatha grimaced at your choice of words before shrugging. “Oh it was fine. A lot better since I didn’t have to hear those morons butcher Dvorak on Saturday.”

You gave her a look as you motioned to your coffee. “Oh right, your stomach bug? Maybe this won’t sit well then, should I give it to Hank?”

The conductor all but snatched the coffee out of your hands, glaring at you. “Funny, as always darling. I’m feeling much better now.”

So she was sticking with the sick story. As much as you wanted to press and find out why she stormed out of rehearsal so suddenly, you thought it best to not start a possible argument this early in the morning. Besides, Agatha wouldn’t lie to you, right?

You decided to take the safe approach. “Well I should probably keep my distance in case you’re still contagious. Wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

“If that’s what you think best, dear,” Agatha replied. “I would hate to get you sick.”

That’s how things remained the rest of the day. Agatha was clearly not over whatever upset her on Friday, and it appeared she wasn’t willing to share her troubles with you. So you did what you did best, and ignored the persistent voice begging you to talk to her. You busied yourself with various tasks both in and out of the conductor’s office. Opening night was in two weeks and there was much to do still. Even though Agatha had promised to be nicer to the interns, it appeared her generosity had run out as you began counting the number of crying individuals sent running from her office since lunch. Her mood was only growing more and more unstable as the hours passed, and even you found being in her company to be slightly unbearable. Agatha was clearly stressed, and you understood she was under a lot of pressure, you just wish she thought of healthier outlets to relieve it.

Towards the end of the day you received yet another polite, yet persistent email from Wanda and you knew the time had come. On one hand you wanted to ask Agatha’s opinion on the potential job, for you valued her opinion over anyone else’s. But the fear of a fight, especially over something involving Wanda, was enough to make you realize now was not the right time to bring up a potential move to Vienna. Plus you were only meeting with Natasha, it wasn’t like she was going to offer you a job on sight. There would be little to no harm in setting up a meeting. Then you could talk to Agatha.

Satisfied with your decision, you sent a quick reply to Wanda stating you would be interested in meeting with Natasha before heading back to Agatha’s office. Hopefully the conductor had enough time to cool down to consider leaving work within the next few hours. However, when you opened the door you were surprised to find her hunched over her desk, eyes locked on her laptop. She didn’t appear to hear you enter, and a part of you wondered if you should leave and come back later. Ultimately deciding that you would stay, you lightly knocked on the door to attempt to draw her attention away from the screen. It worked, only when she finally looked at you, you saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Fear.

“Y/N...” Agatha trailed off, and you could practically see the frown lines become embedded in her skin.

“Agatha?” You barely recognized the sound of your own voice as you approached the conductor. “What’s wrong?”

Before the conductor could reply, your phone began to repeatedly ding. Pulling it out of your pocket you felt your heart sink at the notification. You had several texts from Sam, Bucky, Monica, even Darcy, but what caught your eye was an article from The New York Times.

‘Agatha All Along? An Inside Scoop to the Alleged Affair Between MSO Conductor Agatha Harkness and Concert Pianist Wanda Maximoff’

[allthingsfangirl101]

Broken Heart Part 4–Troy Bolton

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Reader's POV

It's been three years since I told Troy how I felt and he turned me down. After that awful day, I couldn't face him. I spent the rest of the school year with my head down.

I went to class, played the piano in rehearsal, and then went right home. I spent my lunches in the theater, practicing the different pieces. Kelsie and Ryan tried to get me to hang out after school but I politely told them no.

I shut down. I wasn't happy. And nothing my friends tried to do to cheer me up worked.

After high school, I got a full-ride scholarship to Julliard for piano. I'm a junior and I've started looking for jobs after graduation. Over Spring Break, I talked to Ms. Darbus about being hired on as the music teacher and helping the theater department at East High.

After talking with Ms. Darbus, I ran a few errands for my mom. I was walking down the street when I heard someone say my name.

"Y/N?"

I turned around, my breath getting caught in my throat when I saw Troy at the end of the sidewalk. He smiled as he lifted his hand and hesitantly waved. I bit my lip, waving back. He must have taken that as a good sign because he walked over to me.

"It's nice to see you," he smiled.

"You too," I said under my breath. It was very clear that there was an awkward tension between us.

"How have you been?" He asked.

"Good. . . You?"

"I'm good," he chuckled. "How's Julliard?"

"It's been really great," I said, slightly relaxing a little more. "I actually just talked to Ms. Darbus about working at East High after I graduate."

"Really?" He asked. "That's amazing, Y/N. Would you take her job?"

"No," I said, smiling slightly. "I would help her with the music for the show but would mainly teach choir. I also might play the piano for the orchestra and band."

"That's incredible," Troy smiled. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," I said, nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Silence fell between us, neither one of us knowing what to say. I looked away from him but could feel him watching me.

"I miss you," he whispered. I looked up at him and started nervously chewing on my bottom lip.

"What?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"I miss you, Y/N," he repeated. "So much."

"Troy," I stuttered.

"Can we go get coffee?" He asked. "I'd really like to catch up."

                              * * * * *

After we ordered and got our drinks, Troy didn't head to a table. Instead, he headed outside. I smiled when I noticed we were heading towards our park and our favorite bench. That smile quickly went away as we sat down.

Neither one of us said anything as we people watched. Sitting next to him on our bench weighed very heavily on me. I wanted to scream, cry, demand an explanation, and run away.

"I broke up with Gabriella."

My head shot up, my eyes wide when he blurted that out. "Because of me?" I asked under my breath.

"No," he quickly said. "Well, sorta."

He laughed awkwardly as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck. He sighed when he saw the look on my face.

"Gabriella thinks we broke up because of distance," he mumbled. He cleared his throat as he continued to explain. "But actually, I broke up with her because I couldn't stop thinking about your confession senior year. In fact, I've spent the last three years going over everything. I mean everything. I thought about when we met. I thought about our friendship. I thought about when things could've changed for you. I thought about whether things changed for me."

"Troy," I said, his name getting caught in my throat.

He looked away from me, watching as an older couple walked by. Without looking at me, he said under his breath, "I spent the last three years trying to get the nerve up to call you."

"And what would you have told me if you'd gotten the nerve?"

Troy looked up at me, something in his eyes changing. He slowly reached over and grabbed my hand gently, like he was waiting for me to pull away.

"I would've told you that letting you go senior year was the dumbest mistake I've ever made," he said with a small smile. "Like dumber than jumping into an audition with Gabriella."

He waited for me to laugh, but I didn't. I cleared my throat as I sat back, pulling my hand out of his. His smile faltered when I pulled away but only for a second.

"Y/N, the thing is. . . When you. . . I wasn't. . . It's not that I didn't. . ."

I waited patiently as he struggled to find the right words. There was a second when we just stared into each other's eyes. I broke the staring contest and looked down at my untouched latte.

"I think I'm in love with you."

I looked up at him and immediately tried to study him. Part of me wanted to believe him, but the other part of me held back.

"You think?" I whispered. "That's not. . ."

"I know that doesn't sound very reassuring," he sighed. "But I have spent the last three years thinking about you. I've been thinking about us and everything we've been through together. If you look at us from an outside perspective, I was a jock who protected his musical best friend. Until. . ."

He looked away from me, but I caught a glimpse of his regret. He continued without looking at me.

"Until I met someone who took my attention away from you. I never wanted. . . I never meant for her to replace you, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

When his voice broke, I reached over and grabbed his hand. He looked up at me, hope in his eyes as I intertwined our fingers.

"The whole year Gabriella and I did long-distance, I found myself wanting to talk to you more than her," he said without looking away from me. "I found myself thinking about you more than I thought about her. I realized that you were who I wanted in my life, not her. You were the one I wanted by my side. You were the one I loved."

My eyes filled with tears. Troy smiled as he reached up and caught a tear with his thumb.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he whispered, his hand still holding my face.

"I didn't mean to cry," I whispered back. "I'm just a little confused."

"Well, maybe this can clear it up for you."

I held my breath as he leaned in, still holding my cheek. I gasped when his lips pressed delicately to mine. Troy slowly broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine.

"I know I'm in love with you," he corrected his earlier statement. He leaned back, finally dropping his hand as he whispered, "I know I don't deserve a chance with you. I know I messed up senior year. I know I don't deserve you. . ."

I cut him off by grabbing his face and pressing my lips to his. I felt him smile into the kiss as our lips moved in sync. The tears continued to stream down my cheeks as we kissed.

I have wanted to kiss Troy since freshman year. Finally being able to show him how I felt was unlike any feeling I've ever had. He let out a small laugh as he broke the kiss.

"I love you, Y/N," he said, slightly out of breath from the kiss. "I can't live without you. Please tell me I didn't lose you."

"You didn't," I whispered.

"Really?" He asked, his voice breaking slightly. I reached up and caught a small tear that had escaped.

"I love you, Troy," I said, my voice breaking. "I never stopped."

He smiled before quickly pressing his lips back to mine. I giggled into the kiss when I heard two coffee cups falling. We broke the kiss and looked over at our cups now on the sidewalk.

"I think we spilled our coffees," Troy joked. I laughed as I turned towards him.

"That was your fault," I whispered. "You owe me another one."

"How about I owe you something better?"

"Better?" I stuttered.

"A date."

[adoraang]

She-Ra Week Day 5 by @fauxghosts

Prompt: PRINCESS PROM / healing

Summary: When Glimmer and Bow bet Adora she can't ask Catra to prom before the end of the spring musical, she gets frustrated with her feelings.So what do you do when you've got a bunch of pent up frustration?You duke it out in the Denny's parking lot with your crush in a lightsaber duel.

Read it on AO3

“You’re not gonna do it.”

“I am not gonna do it,” Adora said dramatically as they stepped off the stage after finishing Act Two.

Their school, after constant begging, had finally decided to do a production of Les Miserables. After doing things like Seussical (they don’t talk about that) and High School Musical (nothing wrong with it, just mundane), the theatre department wanted something more serious. Something that would challenge them.

So they forced their director, Double Trouble, to fight with the school about doing Les Mis. Despite some of the… suggestive stuff from the show, the school probably didn’t want to fight some theatre kids, and let them have their show.

The audition process is always the scariest. Being a soprano, she only had one role really available to her: Cosette. Glimmer and Bow peer pressured her into auditioning for a lead instead of going straight to ensamble, and she still wasn’t going to do it, but then Catra asked her to do it, and she couldn’t say no.

Adora ended up cast as Cosette, and she had practically cried of happiness when the cast list came out. Glimmer had gotten Fantine, being a very low mezzo. But then Catra’s name was listed for Eponine, and she just about proposed right there.

They were far from love interests. In fact, they were love rivals. Sea Hawk was the one playing Marius, and the two girls spent the entire show in love with him, which wasn’t the funnest. Neither of them even liked boys, so for Catra’s character to die because she was delivering a letter to Marius… It was a trip.

Even if they weren’t true love interests, and only shared one song with each other that wasn’t the Act One finale, Catra and Adora still spent the most time in rehearsal together. Ironic, because the one song was called A Heart Full Of Love, and it’s Adora’s hardest song, in her opinion.

She gushed about Catra to Bow and Glimmer everyday in the car home from rehearsal. “Guys, I think my heart is full of love. Would it be weird to ask Double Trouble to switch Marius and Eponine? I’d rather spend the whole show simping about Catra then Sea Hawk-”

“Adora!” Glimmer cut off. “You’ve been halfway in love with Catra since Seussical, and I think that’s saying something. You should tell her. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“She rejects me, never talks to me again, drops out of the show, and I can’t spend the rest of senior year with her or college, since we’re both going to University of San Diego together to major in theatre, and she’ll never want to be in another role with me!”

“You’re freaking out again,” Bow childed, not turning away from the street as he drove. “You know Catra isn’t like that. And I don’t think she’ll reject you in the first place.” “I am so tired of hearing Adora talk about Catra when Catra probably likes her back,” Glimmer growled. “I’m going to do something about it.”

She reached into her pocket, and Adora almost hopped over the console. She thought they were going to call Catra and tell her something, and it was enough to make her take off her seatbelt, despite Bow’s car safety. “Glimmer, wait-”

Instead, she pulled out her wallet. “I will give you fifty dollars if you ask Catra to Princess Prom as a romantic date. I’ll double the offer if you do it before closing night.”

“An extra twenty if she says yes!” Bow chimed in.

Glimmer and Bow don’t struggle with money, so a hundred wasn’t a lot for them, but Adora’s eyes grew wide as she thought about it. Of course, it involved asking Catra out, but she’d figure that out later. “You have a deal.”

“Now please put your seatbelt back on!” Bow screeched, his voice cracking.

Which brought them to now, as they got into position for curtain call. She’d be bowing with Sea Hawk after Catra had hers with Kyle (who played Enjorlas, and it’s still shrouded in mystery how he got the role). Glimmer was one of the first to bow, but she still caught the wink as she walked away.

“That thing is huge,” Catra mumbled when she got in line backstage, waiting for their cue.

Adora looked down at her costume. The huge wedding dress wasn’t her favorite costume from the show, but it couldn’t be more appropriate for the moment (or inappropriate, take the pick). Catra couldn’t look more beautiful in her sleeveless white shirt and brown skirt that hit the floor. Despite the fact that the belt on her waist was big on her and she had dirt slathered all over her, she’s never looked better. Plus the red cap… That stupid thing was going to be the death of her.

“It’s always been like this,” Adora replied, falling into her place next to Sea Hawk, who busied himself with Kyle. Her heart thumped with the question. She doubted Catra had feelings for her, but she could always ask as a friend. Not like Glimmer and Bow needed to know anyways…

Bow had been a life saver in tech. He always knew when to turn off people’s mics, including that one time he turned off Catra’s when she started shit talking principal Hordak backstage when he came to watch rehearsal. Luckily, he turned them off now as Adora made her attempts to approach the subject.

“Princess Prom.” That’s not a question, it’s a statement! “Uh, I mean…”

“Catra, you and Kyle are next,” Scorpia, their stage manager, said.

Catra nodded, then turned back to her. “So, this is it, huh.. Our last curtain call as seniors, being cast as the leads for the first time, our last show in general until San Diego.”

“Don’t remind me.” She already cried in her car as she drove herself and Catra to school, emotional about ending her last show already. Closing nights are always a mess, but it just hits differently as seniors, and when you’re playing love rivals with the girl you’re pretty in love with.

“I’ll see you on the flip side,” she whispered before she ran out on stage, the bright lights shining down on her.

Even though Adora could only see Catra’s back, they were both sad about this being their last show. They had identical tears pricking their eyes, and when she rushed off stage with Kyle, she braced herself for the emotions to come.

She took Sea Hawk’s hand, and they ran to center stage when Scorpia gave them their cue. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming, even as she bunched her dress in her hands to give the curtsey bow. Sea Hawk did the Jeremy Jordan bow, where he clasps his hands in front of him and takes his bow.

Their last show…

The cast got into a line going horizontal, pointing to their lovely orchestra for their part of the bow. They started to make their way backstage again, and Adora took Catra’s hand. For emotional support, you know? She wasn’t going to see the blinding lights or the tech week shenanigans or the mic taped to her forehead in high school again! Obviously she’s going to be very dramatic about it.

As the cast made their way to the green room, everyone was in the same mood: sad. Catra had opted for letting go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders as they silently sniffled. She was going to miss this…

“Closing night isn’t over, people!” Sea Hawk shouted, pumping a fist into the air. “Let’s go say goodbye to Double Trouble, and head over to Denny's!”

Ah, yes. The theatre kid ritual. Every show, they have to go to Denny'safter closing. It’s the law, and she looked forward to it every time. It always created the best memories, like when the obnoxious senior from last year, Octavia, got arrested for stealing a shopping cart.

Denny's always made her night.

“He’s not wrong,” Catra said to her. “Am I driving with you?”

“Duh.” Wasn’t that a given? Or was it too forward to assume. Or maybe-

“That’s what I thought.”

But when they stepped into the green room, all thoughts of Catra disappeared (for one second exactly) as Double Trouble walked in, whopping loudly. They gave their speech about this being one of the funnest shows to do, but Adora was too busy wiping her wet cheeks to really listen.

“Go out there, kids, and rule the goddamn theatre world!” Double Trouble finished, dismissing them for the night.

“To Denny's!” Glimmer exclaimed, giving everyone the pick-me-up they needed.

“To Denny's,” Catra repeated to her, quieter. To Denny'sit was. They walked to the parking lot, heading to her car, but Glimmer caught her wrist as she was opening her door.

“You only have a couple hours left. Use them wisely.” Satisfied with her words of wisdom, Glimmer got into the passenger side of Bow’s car parked next to them.

“I’m really going to kill them,” Adora whispered to herself as she put the key into the ignition. Her little yellow beetle may not be anything for any other high school kid, but it was perfect for her.

“Why?” Catra asked, having apparently heard her. Rats.

“Because.” And it was left at that before Adora opened her mouth again. “Princess Prom. That’s a thing that’s going on. It’s going on very soon. Like, in a month soon.”

“Yes, what about it?” Catra seemed so dismissive of it. She looked out the window, listening to Somebody’s Watching Me on the radio. Was she even going to go? What if she asked and Catra had no plans of going, and Adora’s unknowingly forcing her into it?

“Nothing.”

“Oh…” Catra traced the window with her nail. Now why was she all deflated? This girl is way too confusing for her brain. “I want to go, but I don’t want to be alone.”

Adora is going to kill someone. Seriously, all it would take is driving the car into Denny's. “Really? You’re going?”

“Not as of right now, but I kind of want to. Like I wouldn’t wear a dress or heels. But… I would want to wear a suit and maybe get my nails a color that isn’t black. But I don’t know who I’d go with.”

She momentarily turned away from the road to look at Catra. Bow would be screaming at her right now, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. She was basically given an invitation to ask, but what if Catra didn’t want her to ask? What if she’s just talking about it? What if she wants Adora to set her up with someone else?

Catra opened her mouth to say something, but she got distracted by something gleaming in the backseat. “There’s no way I didn’t notice these earlier!”

She reached into the back, leaning across the console. Her white sweater rode up on her waist, and Adora exploded into a blush at the sight of some skin. Seriously, what is wrong with her? And because she doesn’t get cold, she wore a cropped red cami and regular black jeans. Her outfit did nothing to hide the blush.

Catra came back up, holding the hilt of two lightsabers. They were both big Star Wars nerds, and she spent thirty dollars (each) on these sabers. But the money from the bet would pay it back, if she actually did it. Catra dove into the backseat again, bringing the two sticks of plastic that she fastened back onto the hilt.

She pressed a button, and the blue light from Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber lit up the car. Catra stared at the saber, and Adora couldn’t help but notice how her skin managed to light up perfectly in the blue light. “Try the red.”

Catra turned off the blue saber, and grabbed a hold of Darth Vader’s lightsaber. The red added a dangerous feeling to the atmosphere. Blue was fun and playful. Red was full of passion, and the silence that followed afterward proved her point.

Finally, Catra cleared her throat, moving the saber around a bit. “Oh, I like this one.”

“But I like that one,” Adora protested as she pulled into a parking space at Denny’s. She could see everyone had already arrived. Not like she was driving slower than usual just to get a couple more seconds of conversation. No doubt they would see the red light and question what they were doing.

She pointed the end of the saber at Adora. “Well then, I guess it’s going to have to be a duel to the fate.”

Adora rolled her eyes at the reference, but grabbed the blue saber from the console, igniting it with the push of a button. “Okay, Eponine ‘I Died Delivering A Letter To My Love Interest That Was Actually About Another Girl’ Thénardier.”

“That’s the show’s fault, not mine.”

“Unimportant.”

Catra opened the car door, bouncing to Adora's side within seconds. She hastily took off her seatbelt, practically sprinting out of the driver's seat, spinning the hilt in her hand. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never fought with one of these.”

Adora scoffed. “I own them.”

“Yeah, just like I’m gonna own you!” Catra charged forward, raising her saber above her head before bringing it down on Adora. She barely had time to respond, lifting her own saber to block it as she sunk down to her knee.

“Hey, I just ordered our table! It’ll be ready in a couple minutes,” Scorpia said as she came out the door in time to see Adora stand and knock Catra away from her. “What are you guys doing?”

Catra held Adora in a parry as she turned around to yell, “Fighting, duh!”

“Yeah, we see that!” Bow shouted as Adora brought her sword back to her chest, making Catra stumble as they slowly moved away from her car. “Why are you guys mad?”

“Not real fighting!” Adora answered, moving in closer to Catra as their sabers met in the middle time and time again. “I’m defending my honor and rights!” “Yeah, her rights to dance with me instead of fighting in a parking lot!” Catra responded.

Adora faltered at that. Before she could begin overthinking what that meant in the middle of a lightsaber duel in the Denny's parking lot with the entire cast of Les Mis watching, Catra caught her saber and twisted her arm, causing Adora to completely let go of her saber.

“It’s over, Adora. I have the high ground,” Catra boasted.

“Not yet!” She dropped down low, catching the saber by the hilt before it hit the ground. She brought her blade back up, the two of them getting caught in another round of aimlessly swinging and blocking.

“You guys are ridiculous!” Glimmer shouted, her head in her hands.

“You don’t appreciate the true art of Star Wars like we do!” Adora yelled back.

Truthfully, this isn’t how she expected her last post closing night dinner at Denny’s to go.

When she was talking about it to Catra on their way to school, they imagined a tearful night. Majority of the cast and crew were seniors, and everyone loved them. Glimmer had basically adopted a little sophomore, Frosta, who played Gavroche (no one even noticed the genderbend!). They all thought they were going to be sad, and cry in the back of Scorpia’s pick up truck as they sang One Day More as a cast, one last time.

Instead, Adora was sword fighting Catra in the parking lot as all of their friends watched.

A great conclusion to her senior year musical, honestly.

Adora stood in front of Catra for a moment as they caught their breath. In an instant, they started twirling their sabers in their hands. The light from the blue and red was a whirlwind, and Catra laughed as they recreated that one scene from their favorite Star Wars movie: Revenge of the Sith.

Catra’s laugh was intoxicating. It made Adora let out her own giggle. They went back to fighting after a second, but Catra’s face illuminated by the red light in the nighttime made her stomach go up in butterflies.

“You were supposed to join me, not leave me in darkness!” Catra recited, smiling the whole time.

Adora swiped the saber at her feet, and Catra hopped over it. “Well, I love you!”

She froze, and Catra even faltered. But because she froze, Catra pushed her onto her back, pointing the red saber at her. “I know!”

For a moment, she forgot it was a reference to another one of the movies. But Adora let her saber fall out of her hand, looking up at Catra. The red light was stunning. Everyone else around them had fallen silent to watch the exchange. She then realized no one else knew what the reference was from.

“Guys, it’s from one of the movies!” Adora called out from her place on the ground. “Empire Strikes Back, it’s pretty good. You guys should watch it!”

Catra panted, looking down at her. “What?”

She was equally as confused. “What? What happened?”

“Oh, forget it.” Catra turned off the saber, holding her hand out instead. “Want to rule a galaxy together instead?”

“How about we start by taking over Broadway,” Adora grinned, helping herself up with Catra’s assistance. She turned off the blue saber, but they continued to stare at each other. Catra continued to hold her hand, but neither made any attempt to move away.

“Did we just hash everything out in a Denny’s parking lot?” Catra asked.

“I think we did..”

“Adora!” Glimmer shouted, interrupting their staring contest. “So like, I have a hundred with me. Bow has a twenty, but…”

The bet. A hundred and twenty dollars if she successfully asked her crush out to Princess Prom and didn’t get rejected. But they just beat each other up with plastic toys from the Disney store. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Or maybe they were, but then one of them would fall to the dark side and tragically die. Who knows?

“Oh, that thing where Glimmer and Bow were going to give you money if you asked me to Princess Prom?” Catra raised an eyebrow, laughing at Adora’s horrified face. “Bow told Scorpia, and she accidentally let it slip.”

Adora groaned. She wanted to go fall in a hole and die in a ditch. Maybe she should’ve been shot on stage instead of Catra. “Yeah, about that-”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me,” Catra said, tightening her hold on her hand. “I didn’t think I wanted to go, but then I heard that and I realized… maybe I did. The dances and stuff always felt really corporate to me, and it wasn’t my thing. But I went home everyday wondering why you hadn’t asked me yet, and then I realized-”

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” Adora interrupted. She was horrified. Catra knew the entire time. She’s been tripping over herself for the two months of rehearsal and three weeks of the actual production, but never stopped to think what if she already knew. She’s absolutely mortified. “You got dragged into this mess of a joke between me and Glimmer then Bow came in and I just thought, I don’t know. I don’t think or I think too much. Oh my god, I can not believe this is happening!”

Catra chuckled when she spoke without a pause. “Breathe. I’m not mad. Or upset or anything like that. I like you too, Adora.”

Her cheeks flamed. “You did?”

She nodded. “You’re not exactly subtle, per say…”

Adora didn’t feel like crying out of embarrassment anymore. She put her free hand in her pocket, ghosting her fingers over Catra’s knuckles with the other. “You actually like me?”

Another nod, accompanied with a gorgeous laugh. “Yes. Yes, I like you and all your high notes. You think I liked seeing you kiss Sea Hawk every rehearsal and show?” They both laughed. Neither of them like it, apparently, because Adora didn’t. “You and your private story where you rewatch Clone Wars with me and we both cry, and I get to see the video and laugh at how oblivious you were to notice that I liked you. You and your bootleg pirating, despite the fact that Newsies is your favorite and it’s literally proshot. So yeah, Adora. I do like you. You and your overthinking.”

Adora was over the moon, and she wanted to stay here in the parking lot all night and talk. But first, she had something to conclude. “So, Princess Prom. That’s a thing we should go to together.”

“We should.”

They did.

[animeraider]

My Kevin Gilbert Story, and my latest single.

As some of you know I’ve had a few brushes with the “big break” that many in my line of work crave. I was signed to a major label in the early 1990s, and the record I turned in was shelved. The label wanted me to be the “next Michael Penn” and by that point not even Mr. Penn was interested in that, let alone me. I had three songs picked up for a movie, which was never released. I got out of my record contract and signed with another label, releasing an album that included 5 songs from the one that was shelved. The label put no money behind it. I had a big hit in 2009 and signed a European distribution deal, which fell apart when the married couple who ran the business fell into a messy divorce. I sold thousands and thousands of records in Eastern Europe – which were being sold by pirates. It took several years to get that fixed.

I had an audition that everyone felt I was a lock for to play keyboards for a Japanese band that had a huge following. My flight to the audition was supposed to be September 12, 2001. I actually watched the plane I was supposed to board land as it was the last flight grounded. I’ve done some engineering and performing I don’t get to tell anyone about – the NDA’s are pretty strong. One of my songs became the theme to a German Television show.

But let me tell you the story of a relationship I almost had with a multi-Grammy-winning star who soared high and made it further than I have, whose song I have made a cover of and released as a single today.

So where to begin. First of all, yes, I knew Kevin Gilbert. No, we weren’t friends, but we were colleagues and classmates. We performed together a few times – all of if school related. That’s it. Oh, and he invited me to a jam session he was going to have once and I turned him down. I’ll get to that.

Believe it or not, I have to tell this story starting in the middle. There was once a band called Toy Matinee. I loved that band. Clever songs, well written melodies, a sense of darkness and a sense of fun. It was a band that me and my roommate Max could agree on and we cranked that album loud and often. We went and saw them live at the Troubadour in Los Angeles, and were about 10 feet from the stage. This is NOT the live album released in 1999, but I can tell you they rocked the place that night. Played almost every song from the album, and did an encore of Elton John’s “Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding” that smoked.

A great night.

Now I jump into the past, to tell the tale of the UCLA Synthesizer Ensemble. It was the brainchild of Professor Roger Bourland, who at the time was only in his 2nd year as a professor at the school and would later become dean of the department. He searched out the most rock and roll musicians in what was mostly a stuffy classical music department. Me. Dave Koz. Joel Harnel. And this kid named Kevin. The five of us took another student’s source material and arranged up a musical. Straight musical theater and full of schlock, and all performed on synthesizers. We eventually put on four shows, with the five of us in the orchestra pit. I wrote the show-stopper ballad and a Latin inspired piece. I hate to say it, but I no longer remember what everyone else did, although I remember Dave mostly for his EWI playing and Joel for multiple reasons – including the fact that he wrote and arranged all of the drum parts.

I knew Joel fairly well – we had played together a few times and he was even more rock and roll than me, with more experience. Dave Koz was, even then, Dave Koz. The only saxophonist I had met up to that point in my life who was better than me. We had played in jazz bands together but he was already a rising star. When he beat me for the gig with Richard Marx’s touring band his career just took off – but all this was before then. I was one of Roger Bourland’s students – in fact, I had been in the “test” classroom when he had auditioned for his job.

I barely knew this Kevin kid. I was constantly getting his name wrong – for whatever reason my brain had him wired as Kevin Anderson.

My only real interaction with him outside of this 12-week experiment was down in the practice rooms. Many of these rooms had pianos in them and on any given day you could hear Mozart, Brahms, Chopin and all of the other usual suspects. I would go and write my own material and be pounding out rock and roll. Kevin did that too. Once while in the middle of the writing process for the musical he came into my practice room while I was working on a song in the style of Elton John. He invited me to a jam session the next Tuesday he was going to, and I declined. Tuesday was when MY band practiced, and as their lead guitarist I needed the practice.

That was the end of it. After the musical was over we all drifted our separate ways and for the most part didn’t run into each other again. I ran into Dave once at a music festival in San Francisco and he introduced me to Clarence Clemmons, which was pretty damned cool.

By now you’ve figured out that Kevin was Kevin Gilbert. Congratulations. I hadn’t. For many years to follow I would remember him as Kevin Anderson.

Now I’ve told you all of this so that you understand that this is long BEFORE Max and I went to see Toy Matinee in concert. I became a fan of the band without knowing that Kevin was its leader. I was ten feet away from him, performing for an hour. I had performed with him myself.

I didn’t recognize him. Nothing clicked in my brain that this was the same guy. I didn’t put two and two together. I rolled for my intelligence check and got a one.

Kevin Gilbert would go on to a solo career, win seven Grammys for his work with Madonna, be part of the driving musical force behind Sheryl Crow’s first album, become one of the founders of the Tuesday Night Music Club, and become one of my songwriting heroes. The man could paint a picture with very few words and his musical ability was enviable.

And then he died; a victim of his own vices. I’m not going to go into that here – I know nothing at all and can shed no light on the subject.

Several years later I relocated to San Francisco with my family. I discovered the band Giraffe once I was on their home turf, and of course discovered the fact that Kevin Gilbert had been their leader when he was a teenager. BEFORE I knew him. Giraffe was a pretty damned good band that had come so startlingly close to making it big – their albums are worth hunting down and they did a fantastic live rendition of Genesis’ “Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” (the full album mind you) that is lots of fun.

I was looking for a recording studio for my second album when I ran across a man named Steve Smith who owned a recording studio down the peninsula from where I was living. In his bio, he briefly mentioned that he was the drummer for Giraffe. Awesome. On his web site of the time if you dug in a little bit there was a bio of Kevin Gilbert, and he talked about the brief time he spent at UCLA.

Parts of the story looked and felt awfully familiar to me. Smith talked about the musical without mentioning the name, and again, it felt familiar. Me being slightly brave, I wrote an e-mail to him to ask what was the title of that musical and that I might have been involved in it. He confirmed it for me.

Holy crap.

All of the pieces started falling into place then. The rehearsals, our discussions about piano playing, that I went to one of his shows and failed to recognize him? The fact that I think he invited me to come join the FUCKING TUESDAY NIGHT MUSIC CLUB and I didn’t even fucking notice!?!!?!!?!!?

I’m an idiot.

Actually, in looking back at the timeline I don’t think he invited me to join TNMC. That came a couple of years later – I think. I’m never going to know for certain. If he had told any of the other members I don’t know about it. I’ve exchanged about a dozen words with one of the other members over social media but we certainly don’t know one another.

I wonder if he saw me in the audience that night and laughed. I will never know. I can tell you there is an album version of that night you can listen to and/or buy. A then-unknown Sheryl Crow played keyboards in the band, dressed up like a dominatrix biker chick. When I found out about that later I was amazed – I didn’t recognize her either.

I’m an idiot.

Nick D’Virgilio of Spock’s Beard played drums. I don’t remember the name of the bass player but what I remember is this man with the thickest eyebrows I have ever seen in my life. Marc Bonilla played lead guitar. Oh, the people I could have met.

I never did work in Steve Smith’s studio. I no longer remember why.

When I was working on my third album in my newly built home studio I recorded a number of covers and one of those was Kevin Gilbert’s “Tea For One”. It’s a fantastic song of unrequited love and missed chances told from start to finish in only a few dozen words. I have no idea if he would have liked what I did to his song – he had a wicked sense of humor that I can recall now but I never got to know him on a personal level as a songwriter, which was my mistake. I could have but I was so focused on myself in those days that even if the overtures were made I probably didn’t even notice.

I recorded the song in what I called "Garage Pop" during those days. A bit uneven, imperfect vocals - what you might get from a band practicing in their garage instead of a polished studio version. If you want that, I recommend hunting down his version.

But I recorded “Tea for One” just the same – it’s a great song and I’d like to think I gave it some justice – even if it doesn’t come close his version. It was on the original version of my third album "The Long Goodbye", which I released myself, but was cut when the album was moved to digital streaming services (In all fairness, I cut 21 songs from the original release – which was a 2 CD set).

My music career has been dark for several years, but it got jump started in 2020 in the middle of the pandemic and I’ve been revisiting a lot of my unreleased work since, and of all the covers I did this is still my favorite. I am releasing it now, in tribute to a musician I admire and could have called friend if I had just paid a bit of attention.

The guy holding the roses was me, as it turns out. I had no idea.

+++++++++++++++++

For those of you with very long memories you should listen to the full single on Spotify, because I’ve thrown in a little bonus for people who remember the 1980’s band ASK. Just a little piece of a little ditty written by me, Kevin Donville and Ed Lee.

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 9: The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle

• It’s 1939. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers’ partnership was box office gold and literally kept RKO from bankruptcy. But the magic has fizzled out and both actors are ready to move on. So for their last musical together you pick… a historical re-telling of another famous dancing duo?

This probably made sense at the time because the Castles were well known and who else would possibly play them in a biopic but the best-known dancing duo of the time. But it makes for a very blasé film.

• I’ll say this for The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, the relationship between Astaire and Rogers’ characters is far more relaxed. They’re a unit for most of the film, which is a nice change. A lot of their personal friendship and connection seeps into their scenes, I think. 

The relationship also feels like a glimpse at what a real-life partnership between Astaire and Rogers might’ve looked like. In her autobiography, she theorizes that she and Astaire might’ve become a serious item had she stayed in New York and they’d continued dating. But instead, she went off to Hollywood.

• Apparently, Irene Castle was a bit of a nightmare for Rogers to deal with. She was incredibly nit-picky about the clothes Rogers wore because she (Irene) was a fashion icon in the 1910s, and since this was a tribute to her and her beloved husband, she was intent on getting her way. 

Irene was also upset with the casting of white actor Walter Brennan as her faithful servant, Walter, who in real life was black. Irene and Vernon were responsible for making African American music like ragtime and jazz popular among whites and traveled with a black orchestra so the whitewashing of Walter possibly felt extra insensitive. 

• It’s likely that without the Castles there would have been no Astaire/Rogers. The Castles helped legitimize “close dancing,” which was previously seen as scandalous, because they were so classy and respectable. They moved dancing along and then Astaire and Rogers moved it even further. 

• Our characters/actors: Vernon Castle (Fred Astaire), Irene Castle (Ginger Rogers), Walter (Walter Brennan), Maggie Sutton (Edna May Oliver)

• I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: don’t waste your time trying to make someone like you who is not interested and terrible. Just move on.

• Ah, the 1910s, when men wore suits to the beach. 

• Is that dog the same one that Rogers had in Shall We Dance?

• Rescuing a dog at the beach is a special kind of meet-cute. Being harangued into spending the rest of the day with the other person’s overbearing family is less cute. Watching the woman you just met perform a weird af “Yama Man” routine while dressed as a clown is just freaky. 

Vernon is rather high and mighty about being a “theatre actor” and Irene being an amateur when he’s the second comic in terrible slapstick shows. In fact, his comedy routine is horribly unfunny.

• Astaire does look rather right in the 1911 attire though and the peck on the cheek Vernon gives Irene is quite sweet. 

• I really enjoy how well they look together when practicing at her house.

• The lyrics “I can see myself doing the things I never could do, It’s true, But only when you’re in my arms” is fitting for Astaire, especially to sing to Rogers.

• The kiss they share after getting engaged is sweeter than the kiss in Carefree. Fight me.

• I like how naturally she reaches for his hand and the way his thumb strokes her fingers. There’s a lot of quiet intimacy between them in this film. 

• They really do a great job with the audition dance. You can see Astaire and Rogers themselves peek through when he spins her a few times. Their faces are just lit up. Home movies from this dance show they were having a pretty fun time. 

• The idea that no one would pay money to see a man dance with his own wife is ludicrous. Obviously, the Castles were a successful married dancing team. But more than that, you’re telling me that if Astaire and Rogers were married irl no one would want to see them dance together? 

• I like how when asked whose idea it is that they dance together, they respond in unison, “Ours,” and then glance at each other. She turns back to the proprietor right after but he keeps gazing at her adoringly. 

• The actress Edna May Oliver plays Maggie Sutton but all I can ever think of when I see her is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whom she played in the 1940 Pride & Prejudice film. 

Fun fact: The Castles real-life manager was an openly out lesbian named Elizabeth Marbury. One guess why that isn’t included in this 1939 film. 

• The way Vernon (Astaire) watches her while she opens the present is very affectionate and loving. 

• “Dance with me” is a line that’s repeated a few times in this film and it’s lovely. 

• The Castle Walk is the move they invent to dance quietly and it was all the rage. By the time the Castles returned to New York the following year, they were massive celebrities. As we see in the dance montage, they popularized many forms of dance including the tango and foxtrot.

Speaking of the tango, Astaire gives Rogers a few flirtatious up and down looks during that dance. 

• The dances in this film are all based on the Castles’ dances so it’s not the same as when Astaire rigorously choreographed routines specifically for himself and Rogers. However, they still manage to make the dances engaging and uniquely theirs. 

• In “The Maxixe” dance, you can again see Astaire and Rogers as themselves peek through the acting as they grin at each other in a familiar way and he watches her appreciatively during some of the moves. 

• While on the train, they sit side by side and his arm is looped through hers so his hand can rest atop hers. Sweet domesticity that we rarely get to see between Astaire and Rogers’ characters. 

• When he explains to their agent that they want to slow down, he starts out by saying, “We’re in love…” Rogers turns to look at him and doesn’t look away for several seconds. 

• Astaire gives a particularly athletic performance for the Royal Flying Corp. There are a lot of jumps and energetic moves and he nails them all. 

• Irene was right that Vernon would make a good soldier. He was awarded the Croix de Guerre in 1917 and was later promoted to captain.

• Their dance when he’s in his uniform is another lovely duet (you can see some rare behind the scene footage above). It’s not like anything in their previous films, particularly because it is much more demur. But there are several gorgeous moments such as when he’s looking at her and she turns to face him and smiles softly. There’s also a stunning part where he lifts her from behind using only their connected hands and she leans back into his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. 

(gif credit)

• Vernon’s deadly crash was only deadly to him. The student pilot in the plane wasn’t seriously injured and neither was the pilot in the other plane. Vernon was 30 years old.

• In case it’s unclear, Vernon gave a list of songs for the orchestra to play and they are all songs that were meaningful to him and Irene. The ones we hear are: “By the Beautiful Sea,” which was playing the day they met, “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” which he danced to at the train station, and “Only When You're in My Arms,” which he sang to her before proposing.

• And so the Astaire/Rogers partnership at RKO comes to an end as their characters dreamily dance into the horizon together. But don’t worry. Thanks to Gene Kelly’s broken ankle and Judy Garland’s unavailability, we’ll get to see Astaire and Rogers on screen together one last time. The Barkleys of Broadway is next and last. 

[that-piano-violin-girl]

2.22.21 - 29/100 days of productivity

- today was a Long Day. my first thing was at 8am this morning and i wasn’t done until 10pm tonight, and everything was back to back. but i actually feel like i did things today. plus it was gorgeous out - it actually felt like spring and the sun was out, and that always puts me in a really good mood. tomorrow’s supposed to be even nicer.

- worked four hours of desk shift. the two this morning, i got a lot done off my to-do list - emails, weekly bullet journal schedule, making sure i had everything i need for the week. then i worked three hours at my fast food job to help with lunch rush. despite it being so nice out, we weren’t horribly busy, and it was just busy enough that it distracted me from being stressed out about school and other things. and then walking back to campus to practice before studio class, my best friend just happened to be driving by, and pulled over so i got a ride back to campus.

- performed bach and my amy beach piece in studio class today. my bach prelude went really well, and the fugue was good except i forgot a bit near the end but i had a starting place memorized there so i recovered okay. my amy beach also went really well considering it was my first time performing it.

- ended up going home and taking a nap during my afternoon break instead of practicing. but i think it was more helpful because i was better prepared to finish out my day.

- orchestra rehearsal. my friend is performing a piano concerto with us at our concert on friday and we got to rehearse with her today. she’s playing the first movement of the grieg piano concerto and that’s one of my favorites, plus she’s incredible and plays it GORGEOUSLY. and of course i’m so proud of her, and she’s going to be beautiful on friday. and it’s special for me since i accompanied her on the grieg for her concerto audition last year. so that made me happy. and we’re sounding really good overall for concert week.

- ended my day with another desk shift. i wasn’t in the mood to focus anymore so i didn’t get any homework done, but played clash of clans instead :) one of my friends got me hooked and i’m actually getting kinda competitive. and then one of my best friends who lives in that dorm came down and spent the last hour with me. it was so good to see her since i haven’t actually seen her at all this month between her being in the middle of clinical intensives (she’s a nursing major) and me being in the middle of recital prep. we’re going to go get breakfast before class tomorrow, which will be fun.

[boywivlove]

| Title | Lost My Way |

| Pairing | Min Yoongi x Reader

| Word Count | 1K

| Genre |  Pianist AU, fluff, slight romantic moments, slight angst

| Summary | Min Yoongi was a rising prodigy in the pursuit of his career as a musician, but after a car accident his hands are left with severe injuries. It takes years for him to find his way again, and he will never give up his dream, no matter what life throws at him.

| Warnings | descriptions of accidents and injuries.

| AN | My second drabble for the `BTS Bingo Collaboration` with `ficswithluv` and I’m really glad to get this out!! Im going to be posting a lot more drabbles in the weeks to come !

----- “Even if Im slow, I will walk with my own feet Because I know this path is mine to take. Even if I go back, I will reach this path Eventually  I will never   I will never lose my dream” ----

If you asked Min Yoongi before graduation, where he thought he would be in two years, it wouldn't be here. He would have answered that he would have liked to be training with the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra, having been offered a place with them straight after graduation. He never could have guessed he would be sitting in a physiotherapy clinic , his hands barely able to hold a pen, all because of a head on collision with a drunk driver. But fate has a weird way of messing with people's lives, doesn't it? 

He hadn't always liked piano, in fact, up until he was 15, he had never touched a key. Yoongi had grown up streetwise, not classically trained. But during a summer school program, he thought what the hell and took it as an elective. It was either that or track… no thanks. Yoongi was quick to learn how to play, his teacher noting that he was the quickest student to learn the ins and outs of playing. After he had been given the confidence to play, he had started to pride himself on his dedication to his skills, and to have it taken away from him because of one stupid, selfish ass hole… it burned him. It made him angry. He was supposed to make something of his life, to be recognised for his skill and get off the streets. 

The crash happened one night in June, he had stayed late to practice for his upcoming exam. The driver sped right through a red light, and right into the front of Yoongi's car, he couldn't remember exactly how he got to the hospital, but they said he was lucky to be alive, his head had been split open upon impact, his face and body had been scraped by the glass from the windshield. But the injury that he felt the most were his hands, severely impacted by nerve damage, when he first woke up he had thought they had been amputated, not being able to feel them at all. The doctors had said there was a 40% chance he would be able to control them again, but it wasn't 100%. And to Yoongi, that wasn't enough.

“How are you feeling Yoongi?” He didn't look up to address you, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement. You were the newest in a string of physiotherapists assigned to help Yoongi try and work through his injuries. The others Yoongi had driven away from his outbursts of anger. You were younger than the others, only a year or so older than him, and he had to admit you were pretty to look at. And you hadn't asked for a replacement therapist for him yet, it had been 6 months and you still stayed with him. Yoongi was grateful, even if he had a hard time showing it.

It wasn't that Yoongi didn't want to get better, he wanted nothing more than to be able to use his hands again, but at the same time, he was tired of trying and getting nowhere. He was angry. 

He hated that what happened happened to him, after he had worked too hard to get to where he was. He would never, ever get an opportunity like that again, it wasn't just his slot in the symphony and his ability to play he lost, his friends, he had eventually pushed them away one by one. He couldn't stand the sympathetic way they spoke to him, giving him advice they found on google on how he could get his hands back to the way they were. What the fuck would they know about anything. The only person he seemed to open up with was you, you didn't push him, but you did challenge him to do the exercises. 

The therapy was slow, infuriatingly so. It was like no matter what he did or how much he tried, he was incapable of the simplest of things. His writing looked like chicken scratch, he would barely grip onto anything without dropping it, even getting dressed took twice as long and made his hands ache, 

“You've made some great progress in the last year, I know it's not as much as you want it to be, but progress is progress.” 

It was a slow process, painstakingly slow. But after months of you challenging Yoongi with the physiotherapy, Yoongi could finally see some progress. He could write his name in a somewhat presentable way, he could fully grasp anything without it aching, but he would hold things slightly. It even hurt less to button up his shirt in the morning. You were so proud of Yoongi for sticking at it and trying as much as he can muster. The whole reason you took this job was to help people get their lives back on track, and to see Yoongi smile when he was able to do something with his hands made it all worth it. 

You had decided to pay Yoongi a visit today instead of being cooped up in the clinic for hours, there was no reason you couldn't do his exercises at home afteral. Yoongi had given you a spare key to let yourself in, and had told you the flat number that was his. You had brought him some lunch from a bakery you remember him saying was his favourite place to go after practice. 

Fiddling with the key in the lock you made your way inside and set the lunch on the kitchen table. You heard a soft off key melody being played in the next room, re must have not heard you enter. Making your way slowly to the door, you spot him sitting at his piano, his hands tentatively playing the keys. You could see the concentration that was etched onto his features, and the shaking of his hands. It was a serene moment that you loved to see with him, but it was cut short when you heard another off key moment, and his hands slammed into the keys, causing him to cry out. You rushed over to where he was in an instant, afraid he had hurt himself, he seemed to only then notice you as he let you inspect his shaking hands.

“You know better Yoongi, no straining your muscles!” You look over his hands, gently turning them over in your own.

“Whats the point of trying to get better if Im NOT getting better, what the fuck am I suposed to do! I'm no closer than I was when all this shit first happened!”

Your heart went out to him, it really did. You knew Yoongi's background from your little conversations during your sessions. You knew where he'd come from and how hard he'd trained and worked for this chance.

“That's not true, you've made great progress, a year ago you couldn't even pick up a pen, let alone play the piano like you just did . Yoongi I know it's hard, but a big part of recovery is the patience and time you put into it. It's not an overnight thing. You know that..”

He said nothing, just breathing through the numb feeling he now felt in his hands. He nodded slowly and looked up at you, your hands still holding his own. 

“What if it never goes away… Y/N what if everything I've worked for can never come true, and I'm stuck with a bunch of what ifs for the rest of my life….”

“Is that what you're most afraid of?”

He nodded, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I've worked so hard… I've put so much energy into this, I can't imagine doing anything else…”

“Yoongi, I know you can do this, you just need to give it time. And I know you're gonna get back on your feet, and you're gonna get over this… you've just got to give it time.” 

He was nervous. He was so fucking nervous. It had taken him years after the accident to get here. Watching just off the stage as the audition before he finished up, he was good, his melodies were flawless. Yoongi had to commend him on his steady hand. Looking at his own, he was full of doubt. He wasn't sure he would be good enough to do this audition. 

He walks out in a daze. The nape of his neck started to feel hot. He introduces himself, and he takes his place on the bench. He swallows, and looks out to the crowd. It was then he saw you enter quietly, taking a seat in the empty isle. You came. He suddenly thought of everything you'd said to him through his recovery, the promises of staying by his side, the encouraging smiles when he started practising again. Even when his sessions were over, you still stayed in touch with him and encouraged him even more. It wasn't until the judges panel motioned for him to start that he gave his hands a small squeeze.

Life hasn't been easy for him recently. Everything had changed for him. It was a slow process. But he's here, he made it. 

One step forward, two steps back. He'd never lost his ambition, it was just buried under fear and doubt. But now, he was ready to reach his dreams, and he had you as his light in dark times to guide him.

[the-other-art-blog]

Fanfiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13777126/1/Serendipity

The discovery of something beautiful without even looking for it.

Youngest CEO Laurie Laurence has been going all over the best galleries on the East Coast, only to find the perfect pieces in a modest gallery in South Boston...and something more.

For @peebleoddle

Boston, Massachusetts

“Sir, we’re here,” the chauffeur announced.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Laurie said. He quickly checked his hair on the rear-view mirror and stepped out of the car. He greeted the door attendant politely and went straight to the elevator. His apartment was the penthouse, of course, so it took a while. He checked his messages.

His art consultant was already waiting for him. Laurie had been trying to acquire new pieces for his collection, but everything felt variations of the same. The more contemporary art he saw, the more he hated it. He grew up in his grandfather's house, where it was full of antiquities and traditional art, but that was obsolete now, at least for the Bostonian high society. He didn't want to hang a Rembrandt either, but something in between would be nice

“Taylor!” He called the man waiting in his minimalist living room.

“Laurie,” The other man, not older than him, walked to him, hugged him, and tapped his back twice as men do.

“Please, tell me you find something,” Laurie pleaded.

“Actually, I think I did,” he answered, showing Laurie pictures of the paintings he just visited. Laurie sat next to him on the sofa. He grabbed the photos and studied them. This is it. These are the paintings he had been looking for. They were perfect, just the right combination of tradition and modernity. They were full of movement, color, and… sensuality. Nevertheless, what attracted him the most was the theme. Most of the paintings represented musicians and dancers. Although there were also couples and very intimate scenes, family scenes.

“Where did you find these?”

“A gallery in South Boston. You told me to look everywhere and here it is.”

“This is great.”

“I agree.”

“So how many of these can we buy?”

****************

“He bought them all?! No way.”

“Just finished talking to him. He’s going to send someone to pick them up.”

“I... I can’t believe it. Who was it?”

“His art consultant is the one who closed the deal, but let’s see… Theodore Laurence...” Sam looked at Amy who was thoughtful. “Do you know him?”

“Oh my God, yes. We went to school together. His grandfather owned this huge company...”

“That he now owns,” Sam said as she looked at the computer and Amy went to see the screen too.

“Yep, that’s him.”

      A few years ago...

“   Everyone ready!?” Professor Brown hurried up the students. “Amy!”  

  “Everything looks good,” sixteen-year-old Amy came up to his side holding a thick file. “The costumes fit, the setting is working. We’re ready for the costume rehearsal.”

  “Great. Let’s do it.” With that said, Amy and the professor/director sat in the middle of the seats expecting to be pleasantly surprised. Instead, their faces reflected complete disappointment. To be fair, most of the cast was doing a pretty decent job. The problem lied in the male lead. Damn it, Amy thought.  

      Laurie finished preparing his drink while he waited for his new collection to arrive. He wanted to put one of them in his apartment.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the employees bringing the oils.  

“Laurie,” Taylor entered behind them. “There’s someone here who wants to know you, actually she says she already knows you.”

“Hi, Laurie.” Amy entered the apartment. Taylor made a sign and went to follow the employees, leaving the two of them alone. “I'm sorry, I practically ambushed your friend... You probably don’t remember me.”

“Ummm… no. Of course, I do. Amy March, St. Claire High School.”

“That’s right.”

“What brings you here?”

“Well, seeing as you bought all of my paintings. I thought I could thank you in person.”

“You… you painted that… Amelia C.M.”

“That’s me.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots before.”

“It’s alright.”

“Come, let me offer you a drink.”

      “I can’t believe it!” Amy rushed backstage. “Ah, Theodore Laurence. Just the man I was looking for. Seriously?” She asked, seeing as he flirted with a junior. The girl left.  

  “I go by Laurie.”

  “Whatever. What the fuck is wrong with you! You haven’t memorized your lines!”

  “Relax, I will get them,” he dismissed her.

  “When? You should know them already? The play is in a week!” he shrugged. “I mean it, Laurie!”  

  “Alright,”

  “This might be a simple thing for you, but to a lot of us, this is important. And you’re the male lead!”

  “Jesus, you’re so uptight,”

  “Why did you audition if you weren’t going to do it right?”

  “I need the credits, okay! I’m a senior!” He admitted, visibly ashamed. “Director Harrison says that if I don't get them, I won't graduate next summer. My grandfather would kill me. I've already been accepted at Harvard.” Amy rolled her eyes. It didn't impress her at all. Everyone knew rich boys like Laurie were always accepted, they just have to show their last names and it was done.

    “So, you’ve done well… this place is fantastic.”

“Thanks. I… actually have to thank  you  for part of it...”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, remember when you helped me with the play. You really made me think a lot about my life choices… It took me a while to realize that you were right. I was a low-life and a...”

      “Man-whore?!” Laurie exclaimed.

  “You heard me,” sophomore Amy stuck to her words.  

  “Wait, does everyone describe me like that?”

  “Uhh… some would be nicer, and there are some girls really upset with you, but overall… that’s the main idea. You’ve built quite the reputation.”

  “Huh,” Laurie said. He expected to be called a flirt, lady’s man, womanizer, but man-whore! That was harsh, even for him.  

  “Look, whatever you do with your free time and your… body, is your business. I mean seducing women, drinking, and wasting money wouldn’t be my first choice, but… it’s your life.”  

  “Uh, excuse me? I might not belong to your class, but some from mine do talk about you.”

  “It’s not the same and you know it. I have dates, real relationships."

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because you have everything! Laurie, you have more money than I could ever think of, you are such a talented pianist. Honestly, if you're doing this for credits, I think it’s a shame the orchestra wasn’t enough. And...and that face. We could have used that for the drawing class,” they both blushed. “My point is you have everything right in front of you, from the moment you were born. The least you could do is take advantage of it. Not everyone is as fortunate as you are.”

  “Please, doesn’t St. Claire cost a lot? Your family is able to pay for that, you can’t be that poor.”

  “I have a scholarship and an aunt. She likes me and she’s willing to pay my tuition.”

  “Shouldn’t your sister, one of them, be in my grade?”

  “Jo. She’s in public school. She likes it better and she hates Aunt March. Meg is already planning her wedding and Beth prefers being homeschooled. We all are where we want to be.”

“Sounds good.   You think I’m a talented pianist?”

  “Please, you know you are. Not the best, but you hold second place firmly.”

  “The first place being...”

  “My sister Beth. She’s a genius.” She said proudly. “I have to go,” she announced after a message arrived on her phone. “Listen, the story is great. I’m sure if you give it a try, you’ll find it charming and the lines shouldn’t be that hard. You still have a week, make the best out of it. Professor Brown won’t give you the credits if he thinks you didn’t work hard enough. He’s already regretting casting you. It’s up to you to change his mind.”

    “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you were right.”

“I know.” There was a silence for a couple of seconds, only them looking at each other. “So, what became of your life after high school.”

“Harvard. International business, internships. Finally, my grandfather trusted me enough to retire and left me the company to run. You?”

“I went to study art in Florence, I came back and started painting. I was able to afford my own gallery a year ago. And you just help me get the milestone of selling all my paintings. So… thank you for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“If I may ask, what made you do this? I mean… I know you're rich but… what made you think you wanted all?”

“I just saw exactly what I’ve been looking for. You have no idea, I send Taylor to look everywhere. I don’t fancy myself as an art expert, but I’m tired of seeing splashes of paint on a canvas. There’s something very special about your paintings. I love music, you remember that. And they just feel warm. This place could use that. And they have soul.”

“Would you like to make my marketing campaign?” she joked, although it wasn’t a bad idea. They shared a laugh.

“So umm… I don’t remember you playing music, you have a lot of it in your pieces.”

“My sister Beth died a few years ago while I was in Europe and I… I think she would like them. It helps me feel like I have her close to me.” She didn’t know why she was being so open to him, but it felt good.

“The best pianist!” He remembered. She smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“You don’t sign as Amy March.”

“This might sound a bit strange, but I'm trying to make a name for myself. My family name is known in Concord and now that Jo is a best seller… I just don’t want everyone to see my painting and say ‘oh that’s Jo March’s sister’. She's in New York but her books are semi-biographical so...”

“I understand. Ever since I step in as CEO, I feel like everyone is comparing me to my grandfather.”

“I love my sister!”

“Yeah so do I, my grandfather I mean.”

“I just don’t want to live under her shadow.”

“Right.” Laurie felt the need to move the conversation. He didn't know what this was, but he liked it. Amy was gorgeous, she definitely aged well. She was already beautiful when they met in high school, but now she carried much maturity and that smile... And if she could create such captivating paintings, then she was more talented than he ever imagined. Back in school, she was always in the art class. He remembered her bossing the props team for the theater class. She had good taste, everything looked good. “I want to put one in the living room. Maybe you can help me decide.”

“Sure.” She followed him. Whatever this was, she definitely didn't want it to end.

[eagle-raider]

Mon Roi

AN: this is an original fiction I wrote some time ago. Not related to my current WIP, this is just the tale of a woman trapped in a relationship with a narcissistic man. It’s... kind of dark? I guess.

Dazzled. 

It didn’t start right away. It never does.

Nineteen, naïve and in love.

Isis is floating on cloud nine, humming along to the music as she cleans the counter. If she plays it right, she might get off a little earlier, which means she can drop by her apartment to have a quick shower before meeting with Thomas.

“Ew, gross!” Kowalski's voice sounds from the kitchen. His head pops up next to the threshold. “Someone didn’t throw the food in the bin before putting the plates to wash,” he grimaces in disgust. “Just had a hand full of a gooey, wet cheesecake.”

Isis looks at him and snorts. “Wear gloves next time.”

He sticks his tongue out, disappears into the kitchen before coming back a second later to give her a long, suspicious look. There’s a grin on his lips. “He’s coming back, isn’t he?”

She can’t’ help it, she is beaming. “Already here. I let him sleep it off,” jet-lag is a bitch, they all knew it.

“So caring,” Kowalski coos. He pauses for a while, observing her frantic cleaning and shakes his head. “Leave, I’ll take care of this.”

Isis stops with the cloth halfway in the air. “It’s okay…”

“Leave, I’m telling you,” he makes wide gestures with his hand. “You’re… vibrating all over the place. It’s distracting. Just go. I will deal with it.”

“You sure?” man, he really was the best.

“Yeesss,” he draws the word out, catching her with a grunt when she jumps in his arms.

“Thank you, love you. Love you. Love you,” she says, dropping a kiss on his cheeks at each sentence.

Isis jumps off Kowalski, dashing to the lockers, as she throws her apron away.

“Hey, don’t forget we’re practicing for the chamber thing tomorrow,” he calls when she is already halfway outside. Isis hums and he gives her a look. “Tomorrow morning. You know how she gets. Don’t want to have her up my ass again.”

She grins despite herself. “I thought you liked having things up y—”

“Don’t,” his hand rises up to stop her. “Finish this sentence, or I swear to God you’ll be sleeping in the streets.”

Isis shrugs it off. He stares again and she sighs. “Yes, dad. I will be there.”

“Nine. Sharp.”

Nine on a Sunday, such heresy. “Yeesss. Nine, sharp,” she makes a sign that says scout’s honor, for good measure.

Satisfied, Kowalski nods. “I will get you breakfast.”

She smiles. He knows her all too well; bribe her with freshly baked pains au chocolat and croissants and Isis would follow to the Moon and back.

She leaves, the bell tingling her departure like a warning.

Isis remembered, she really did, asked Thomas to please let her set the alarm at seven thirty (eight at the latest), because she had a rehearsal and it's very important, but his kisses are distracting, and he keeps grabbing her hand in his. The alarm ends up forgotten.

She wakes up at ten twenty to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

When she barges in for practice, Kowalski’s silence weights on her like a ton of bricks.

The bag of cold croissants sits at her place, idle.

Taking control

Little things. Small things. Not so innocuous things.

He is upset and she doesn’t know why. He is upset and she can’t figure it out. “What’s wrong?”

Thomas is glaring at the TV, scratching his cheek slowly. “Nothing,” he says in a breath.

Something.

Isis isn’t a quitter, he was deflecting, she knows. She would get to the bottom of it. “Something is obviously wrong, you look upset,” she lets it hang for a second. “Is it something I did?”

A deeper sigh, another pregnant pause, full of accusations.

It’s definitely something you did.

He turns his head, looks at her, to the side, and back at her again. Thinking. Then: “You kind of made fun of me earlier. I didn’t like it, is all,” even voice, stating facts.

“Oh.”

Dinner, with Chloé, Kowalski and a few other friends. They were celebrating the end of a particularly long and excruciating music project. Laughs, beers, greasy food and nothing but the burble of the Seine as background noise. Perfect. Or so she thought. 

Isis frowns. She did poke fun at him, it’s true. Gently, always gentle. Called him a walking American cliché at some point, but she doesn’t remember when exactly. “Okay,” she smiles, a bit awkward, a bit sheepish. It was her fault. “I’m sorry,” she says, index and middle fingers raised in solemnity. “Won’t happen again, Scout’s honor.”

He smiles. Such a lovely smile. She likes it. She lives for it.

When Chloé starts to look at him funny, she tells her to knock it off.

Nineteen, naïve and in love.

Closing in on her

Twenty, losing her identity.

Isis had practically moved in at this point. It’s closer to her work, he says. There’s plenty of space, he says. She’s ecstatic. She still sees Chloé and Kowalski at the conservatory (when Thomas is not monopolizing her attention) or at work. It’s not the same, she knows, and they know. Kowalski gets this look sometimes, like he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut and sighs instead, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Chloé is less accommodating. They argue (they never did), she hints at things and Isis doesn’t like how she makes it sound.

Like she’s giving up a part of herself. All of it, Chloé says, in her eyes there’s a mix of frustration and worry (“How can you be so blind?”)

Isis is okay. (“What the hell is your problem, Chlo?”)

She’s not a puppet.

Not a puppet.

Not his puppet.

…

The months blur together.

He frowns and her heart is racing again. Isis does a mental check-list of everything, out of habit, just in case. Nothing is out of place, she didn’t forget anything. Everything is fine. Then, why is he frowning at her?

Thomas approaches her. He relishes in her doubts. Control. His fingers running through her hair slowly. “You should put it up, it would look nicer. Or just straighten it from time to time,” he’s smiling.

Just a suggestion. An option.

Later, when she does it, his eyes twinkle and he smiles again. He is lovely like that. When he takes her to bed that night, he tells her how beautiful he thinks she looks. He takes locks of hair in his fist, twirls them around with his fingers, looks at her like she is the most beautiful canvas in the world.

After that, there are… other things. Clothes, shoes, makeup. Exactly the way he wants, exactly as he asks. Never imposing anything, always suggesting. And that smile, that smile!

Isis forgets herself for that smile, because that’s how she loves. It’s full on, or nothing at all, there’s no in-between.

“We made it!” she barges in his—their place one day. “We’re going on tour!” she almost shouts, all crazy energy and vibrating with joy. His glare is fleeting, but it’s there. Isis hunches over herself and apologizes with a sheepish smile.

He grins, opening his arms wide for her to jump into them. And she does exactly that.

…

Obeying him because that’s what she was good at. Like a good puppet.

“Did you pick up the scores for Friday’s rehearsal?”

It was Monday. They still had time.

Of course, she didn’t. They both knew it. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

A sigh, a look. A teacher scolding a difficult pupil. “You always put things back to the following day.”

No, she wanted to say. No, she wanted to scream. Didn’t he see everything she had done already? Didn’t he notice? The hair, the clothes and the makeup? Wasn’t it good enough?

Wasn’t she good enough?

...

The first time his eyes stray to Manon, she doesn’t notice. Doesn’t think much of it the second time. The third, she wants to call him out, but he looks back and his eyes say don’t you dare.

Isis keeps her mouth shut. Like a puppet.

Crumbling

Isis is going crazy. She’s up, she’s down, she’s sideways with stress eating at her brain. The new conductor of Paris’s Philarmonie just fired half of his orchestra. No question asked, pack your bags and get out. Rumor has it he was out for blood.

Rumor has it he might consider handpicking a few of them. Isis wants to believe it, but she doesn’t let hope cloud her judgement. She knew they had struck big with the tour months ago, knew he had noticed them. This could be the chance of a lifetime.

“You’re distracted,” Isis flinches. His voice is grating (it never was before).

It’s like he is trying to drill her down when he stares at her like that.

“Something on your mind?” Thomas prompts.

What are you hiding is what she hears. There’s a lump in her throat, and it crawls down all the way to her stomach, it knots, and knots until she feels like she can’t breathe. 

I need to breathe.

But he’s chocking her with his words, with his eyes looking at her like that, he’s smoldering her with his presence. And. She. Can. Not. Breathe.

Her hand is flat on his chest, pushing him away a little. She wants to take it back but he grabs it, keeps it in trapped under his own. Keeps (forces) her with him. Isis can’t fight, she doesn’t have it in her anymore.

She spills the beans. The conductor, the orchestra, the maybes. Everything.

Thomas frowns, then smiles. Big. Bigger than she's ever seen. It’s beautiful.

(It’s terrifying).

“That’s wonderful,” he says.

His arms slither around her frame, she searches and searches but there is no comfort in his hug. It’s a cage. A cage she doesn’t have the strength to escape anymore, so she lets it happen, smiles when he pulls back to kiss her. His lips taste bitter on hers, like ash.

He doesn’t smoke.

 ...

Thomas visits her at work one day, puffing his chest, proud and parading like a peacock. She feels the dread, feels the lump growing and knotting and hurting. Her hands start shaking, she knows, he doesn’t have to say it. She knows.

“The conductor wants us to audition,” and he looks so happy. “That’s great, right?” his hand comes to caress her cheek, travels, his fingers curl around her neck and stay there for a bit. “We’ll be together, can you imagine? Us in the same orchestra?”

Isis can, and she doesn’t want to. It’s her thing. It’s always been hers. It’s hers. Hers. If he gets in, it won’t become theirs, but his. His. Like her.

She barely has the strength to nod, her voice is meek when she says, “Great.”

Kowalski is watching the whole scene. Thomas is scrutinizing her face like a hawk. “You don’t seem happy?”

Why can’t you be happy for us?

Isis blinks, she is at a loss. “I—I am. I j—just—just… I’m…” the stuttering is all over the place because she can’t breathe. Thomas takes up all the air in the room.

“She’s tired, dude,” Kowalski’s low baritone wraps around her like a safety net. He comes next to her, all grins and shiny chocolate eyes. “We all are, look at us,” his hand is pointing at the rest of the staff. They are more sluggish than usual. “Let her be, you guys will celebrate tonight.”

It’s her out. Isis takes it. Kowalski’s grabs her hand under the counter, she doesn’t let go. Thomas looks at them, back and forth, back and forth. His hand is still on her neck and he is still smiling.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy,” he lets go, leans in to kiss her cheek again.

(it burns).

“I’ll see you tonight,” she says, barely a whisper.

When he finally leaves and Kowalski looks at her, she blinks. Her eyes are shining but the tears don’t fall.

“You don’t have to stay with him,” is all he says.

(His eyes speak volumes. A thousand words).

“I know.”

She knows. She just can’t.

...

When it happens, it’s not really a surprise. Isis is hunched on the cold toilet seat, frowning at that little white rod like it was going to change its mind if she glared at it long enough. Her eyes blur and Chloé is pacing like a tigress trapped in a cage.

“Isis,” she growls, then blinks. Softer: “You can’t stay in there forever.”

There’s only silence on the other side. Isis blinks and blinks because she can’t bring herself to cry. It’s too much.

It’s not that she never thought about it. She did; but not like that, not right now.

Not with him, her mind supplies. She tunes it out.

Not with him.

Not with him.

The thought buzzes around in her head when she finally opens the door. Chloé is there, her face creased with worry. She takes Isis in a hug, wraps around her like a blanket and lets her shake. She doesn’t say anything, they already spoke. Isis knows. Isis knows.

(She’s not sobbing.)

It’s a virus, replicating within herself, feeding off her cells.

…

It takes her three weeks to tell the news to Thomas. She tries to convince herself that it’s not out of fear, she just wanted to make sure. Use other sticks, other brands, blood tests and what not. They all come back positive, the nurse announcing her pregnancy with a finality akin to a death sentence.

(It’s not the same, she knows it’s not. It just feels that way.)

Isis doesn’t want to keep it. Kowalski doesn’t say a word and just nods, Chloé keeps her arm wrapped around her shoulders. Their support is a given.

She won’t keep it.

(He will want to keep it.)

(Trap her.)

(Deeper.)

Isis doesn’t make a sound when she comes in the apartment that night. She is exhausted, bloodshot eyes and sticky cheeks. Silent tears to give her the courage to face him.

Chloé is waiting at the(ir) apartment. She wanted to come, but Isis didn’t let her. She had to do this alone. It was between them.

She breathes, her hunched body expending, growing taller as she inhales.

There’s a grunt. Faint. Female.

She frowns, takes a step forward and blinks when it comes back.

A bit louder. Muffled.

Her heart is beating, beating, beating.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

It’s not what she thinks.

(It’s exactly what she thinks.)

Leave. Now is your out. Leave. LEAVE.

Isis doesn’t turn back.

...

Her mother’s eyes are still bleary with sleep. Worried. Isis hasn’t said a word. It’s been hours and she hasn’t said a word. She’s staring a hole in her mug of disgustingly lukewarm chocolate.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

It’s all she hears, like a broken record.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

Her brain is always on, and so she surprises herself trying to turn this into a song. A sick melody of quivers.

Heartbreak in D minor.

[tommyoboe]

MANCHESTER - PART SEVEN.

Home feels good: colourful decorations and lights illuminating every space; endless cups of tea and seeing family after much time apart.

I feel for all my friends and colleagues who are unable to be home at this time of year, particularly those who have been placed into the highest tier of restrictions just today. These people at the top who call us ‘irresponsible’ are themselves careless and do not give a shit about the rest of us. This is a catastrophic situation and no one is receiving the support they should. I feel lucky to be in the position I am with my family, education and work but find it heartbreaking for those who are less fortunate. We have to hold this government to account.

Oboe lessons these last couple of weeks have been geared towards a masterclass with Dudu Carmel of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra and a video audition for the Hallé Orchestra’s Professional Experience Scheme. After some not so rewarding practice, my lessons gave me the inspiration and motivation needed to improve the weakest areas and bring light to the sound overall. The masterclass gave me another interesting perspective on my oboe playing, something I have generally found useful this year when being innovative with practice has been a challenge.

Video recording has enhanced my music making for sure this year but at times presented a soulless experience. That is to be expected when you are playing in your front room to a small camera with the building works making the windows vibrate outside, as was the case this week. However, as auditions for orchestral jobs move towards an increasingly online platform, the skills I have acquired are invaluable so I am grateful for that.

On that note, my video audition for the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra’s Professional Experience Scheme was successful, meaning I am through to the next round where I can hopefully play to a live panel! This time last year I did not think I would be this excited about potentially playing to people in what will probably be an unpleasant dry acoustic but here we are, just one of the surprises 2020 has presented.

This time last year Cameron and I were enjoying beautifully edgy Bristol in all its glory and unfortunately this year we have not been able to repeat a trip of this type. However, we were able to have a lovely night and morning in Manchester together before going our separate ways for the holidays. We indulged in clementine and Belgian chocolate cake (reduced down to £1.06!), luxurious mince pies and gingerbread mulled wine (actually really nice), and most of all enjoyed each other’s company. This was followed by a visit to the Northern Quarter’s Just Between Friends Coffee for a brilliantly citrusy caffeine hit in the winter sunshine before we bid each other farewell for the time being, journeying through the Pennines to our respective destinations.

There is admittedly not much else to report: I had some divine and decadent mulled wine cake from my favourite West Didsbury coffee shop; I had a lightbulb moment in my last lecture of the year to up my reed making into a sort of business and sell these regularly and I have enjoyed my first couple of days back in my original home of Hull. This term more than ever I have relished in my own company, so it is strange to be with others again, but lovely all the same. I met my nephew Frankie for the first time today, which was rather heartwarming. I had the pleasure of holding him and dancing with him to the kitchen radio. What an actual cutie.

So, one term down in Manchester, and bluntly, it has been underwhelming. I have made very little connections so far and actual music making has been limited. This is understandable though, and conversely I have already been rewarded with a huge amount. I have received the ABRSM Postgraduate Scholarship and had my tuition fees paid for. I have maintained employment and this has actually improved since leaving Birmingham. I have formed a new chamber group and have another in the pipeline for next term. I have played in ensembles and have already had a paid gig. I have played in several oboe classes and the first masterclass of the year. I have discovered a fascinating new city that suits me in many ways. I have managed to stay connected with my closest friends and family. I have improved my oboe playing, which regardless of everything else, is all I want from this course.

And, in this year, I have survived. But I have also lived, and for all those dearest to me, that is what I want for 2021 and beyond: a sense of cherishing life again, instead of wishing days away.

I shall be taking a break of four weeks now, mainly as I am home but also to give myself a better shot at some form of rest. I’m not naturally good at that but I’ll give it a go when required!

See you on the other side of this grotesque monster of a year.

[teatitty]

Rogues Lore

First of all I want to thank @schweeeppess for letting me spam her with Rogues lore 2 months ago cuz it made this post so much easier to type out when I can just copy-paste everything and then edit it to be more cohesive lmao

Second this is under a read more because it is A Lot

Leonard Snart AKA Captain Cold

He grew up with a super abusive father and his only refuge was when he would hang out with his grandfather in his grandfather's ice truck. When the grandfather died, he grew tired of his dad's abuse and set out to start a criminal career and moved to central. 

(He's the one who started the rogues!) 

He found blueprints for a "cold gun" which he ended up making from scratch (it’s also canon that he knows the gun so well he can remake it out of scraps in about 30 seconds to a minute) and had three main rules in his group: No Killing, No Harm To Women Or Children and No Drug Use. His cold gun is capable of interfering with the speedforce cuz it can reach “absolute zero” which is even colder then Mr Freeze's tech. 

He's also the only cold-based villain capable of mastering this temp. In New Earth he was described as an "adversary" but in Prime Earth (same backstory as before mind you) he's described as being a straight villain whose only rule in the group is "no killing" (which seems to be a pretty flexible rule these days cuz DC has made him more, well, down with killing). He's also much younger here then he was in NE. 

In Flash 2016 #17 we see another upgraded version of his gun that's capable of separating the Flash from the speedforce directly and, in doing so, causing Barry excrutiating pain. Generally, he and Barry had more respect for eachother in NE, to the point that Len even considered him family. In PE, though they have teamed up now and again, Len is far more hostile towards Barry, sometimes even being written in a way that suggests he wouldn’t mind if Barry died.

Sam scudder AKA Mirror Master (the first one!) 

He was a simple convict who just really wanted to learn how to get inside a mirror's reflection. He practiced in a hall of mirrors and, once he succeeded, became Mirror Master. He was a frequent foe for Barry and, during Crisis on Infinite Earths, died around the same time Barry did.

 He was the one who discovered the "mirror world". At one point he got himself trapped there and hated that the mirror world could just get him whatever he wanted instead of him stealing it so he got Barry to bust him out. He could also use mirror's to mind control ppl (dont ask) and this intrigued Barry. 

 On PE he's dating Lisa Snart (Len's younger sister) and is the only Mirror Master to exist. In N52 he, Len, Lisa, Mick and Marco all got fused with their weapons for a while and given meta-human abilities which I. hate because it took away what made them all so cool (I'm fine with Marco tho and you'll find out why in a minute) he's also a really big attention seeker lol

Hartley Rathaway AKA Pied Piper

Alright most of Hartley's info is from NE so: he was born deaf to wealthy parents who got him very high-tech hearing implants. He became obssessed with sounds and started experimenting with sonic technology. Bored of his rich life (and sometimes it's implied he had ableist and/or homophobic parents too) he took to a life of crime after learning how to hypnotize people through music (Pied Piper ayyy). 

He was the first person to ever successfully break out of Iron Heights and did so because he befriended the rats there and used them to help himself escape, adding more to his whole Pied Piper thing. After Barry died he gave up crime and started working to help the poor and underprivelaged (I'm not saying he quit specifically bc of Barry's death buuuuuut most of the Rogues did so). 

He struck up a close friendship with Wally and came out as openly gay! On PE all that we know for certain is that he's a "reformed vigilante" who's the conductor for the Central City orchestra. He used to share an apartment with Barry (yes for real) before he moved in with his bf, David Singh (also Barry's director in the CCPD). Lisa was the one who convinced him to come out to the Rogues, and they were all chill with being gay, their problem came when he started dating David who is, you know, a cop.

He has a pet rat called Moon (cute, right?). Also in pre-N52 canon (cant remember if it was NE specifically or older) Hartley once had a nervous breakdown after Barry arrested him so Barry took him to get help at a mental health hospital :')

(Some artists draw him blonde, some brunette and others go more for reddish-brown it’s kinda confusing)

Marco/Mark Mardon AKA Weather Wizard

On NE he's a two bit criminal called Mark Mardon (he's also white and yes thats important to note) but one day, after escaping from a cop van, he ran to find his brother, Clyde, who was a scientist only to discover his bro had died of a heart attack (however, there's implications that he actually murdered his brother and simply blocked out the memory). 

He then found Clyde's notes on how to create a wand to control the weather and made it for himself. The worst he ever did on NE was imprison a town in winter and after Barry's death he went into semi-retirement (told you the Rogues all did this)

On PE however! He and Clyde are Latino and are the heirs to a huge cartel! Clyde takes over the cartel and Marco wants nothing to do with that life. After their father dies, Marco runs away and eventually becomes Weather Wizard. 

He comes back when he hears his brother has been murdered and gets accused of the crime. He finds out it was Clyde's wife, Elsa, who orchestrated the whole thing and, in a fit of grief and anger, kills her with lightning. He also tries to kill himself at the same time but it doesn’t work. After her death, he curls up into a ball and starts crying because he feels like he hasnt got any family left but then Lisa shows up and is like "yo the rogues are still here for you bitch"

His emotions affect the weather in this continuity and I’m a weak bitch for that but that’s 100% my bias for Ororo Munroe showing itself lol

James Jesse AKA Trickster (the first one!)

James Jesse was born to the Flying Jesses, famous circus performers. He, however, was afraid of heights, and preferred reading stories of Western criminal Jesse James. 

He invented air-walking shoes to get rid of his acrophobia, and this led to his fame as an aerialist at the circus. Buuut he wanted more excitement in life and became a conman instead! He had a lot of wacky gadgets like exploding teddy bears and, after Barry's death, moved from Central to Hollywood and started working in special effects. 

Like Hartley, he even attended Barry's funeral. He once beat the devil, Neron, at his own game and eventually started using his skills for good, collecting weapons of incarcerated villains so they couldnt fall into the wrong hands. He eventually died protecting Hartley during Final Crisis. Deadshot was the one who got him. 

On Prime Earth his parents were straight up neglectful and, instead of creating his own boots, he stole them from STAR labs instead. This version of him is also WAY more fucked up and murdery then NE to the point us long-term Rogues fans got really upset at how much DC had changed him 

On NE his real name is “Giovanni Giuseppe” (swear this is, like, the only italian name DC knows) and on PE the Flying Jesse's were a deliberate rip off of the Flying Graysons

George “Digger” Harkness AKA Captain Boomerang

The illegitimate son of an American toy-maker, W.W. Wiggins, and an Australian woman, Betty Harkness, George Harkness was raised in poverty in the small town of Kurrumburra, Australia. His stepfather, Ian Harkness, hated the boy and made his life miserable. (Like canonically Ian was an abusive alcoholic and even abused Betty who was too ill to defend herself or George. The reason George goes by "Digger" is cuz that's what his mom used to call him before she died; it's aussie slang for "soldier") 

In school, Harkness crafted a boomerang. He discovered he had great skill with the aboriginal weapon and often used it for mischief with his best friend, Mick Wentworth. He further honed his skills while spending some time hiding from the law in the Australian bush. 

When Digger was eighteen, he and Wentworth robbed a general store and were able to make their escape with the aid of Digger’s boomerang. However, this incident caused Digger’s stepfather to kick him out of the house. 

His mother gave him a plane ticket to Central City and told him to get in touch with Wiggins. Wiggins had been searching for a spokesman for W.W. Wiggins Game Company's latest product, a toy boomerang. Under the alias "George Green", Digger auditioned for and got the job. Wiggins outfitted him with a costume and gave him the name "Captain Boomerang."

Ridiculed by the audience, he took to a life of crime instead.

His story is pretty much the same on PE. The only diff being there was no childhood friend and Digger made boomerangs in an attempt to impress his absentee father. Also he has a habit of making up fake stories about himself lmao 

The only one's he really doesnt stab in the back are the Rogues and Harley Quinn but everyone else? fair game. In Flash: Rebirth he and Barry even exchange favours for info and it’s implied this is a regular thing for them

Roscoe Dillon AKA The Top

He technically appears on PE but he's one of Thawne's acolytes so lets just. Skip that and focus on NE instead

Literally his whole thing is that he was obssessed with spinning tops as a kid and taught himself how to spin fast enough to deflect bullets. He became a criminal, tried to blackmail the entire world once, and was Lisa's first boyfriend! 

He was also her ice-skating coach and taught her how to spin super well like himself! He has a very confusing characterization tho cuz sometimes he was written to be all about revenge and killing but other times he was just like the other rogues; a blue-collar criminal who stole things because he liked to. 

He died eventually which I'm not going to try to explain cuz it's...yeah. There's also this whole thing where he could possess people after his death but this was in the silver age and that shit just happened sometimes so whatever 

In short: Roscoe has a really cool concept to him but nobody really knew how to write him so he ended up all over the place

He also has a Spinning Top shaped satellite in space where he stores all his loot (dont ask)

Mick Rory AKA Heatwave

Mick Rory has pyromania! Very severely! He was born on a farm outside of Central and, as a child, was very fascinated with fire. This turned into an obssession and he ended up burning his house down. So fascinated by the flames, however, he never ran to get help, watching his whole house burn down (and killing his parents inside) and he ended up living with his uncle after this. 

On a schooltrip, his schoolmate stuck him in a meat locker as a prank where he gained Cryophobia (fear of the cold) so in retaliation Mick locked the boy in his house and set the thing on fire (again, pyromania). He ran away again and ended up becoming a fire-eater for a circus. That didn't last long either because, surprise!, he burned the place down. 

Desperate to find a way to help his obssession, he happened to see the Rogues operating in Central and decided to take up villainy. At first he and Len got into a few altercations with eachother due to Mick's fear of the cold but eventually they settled their differences and Len officially brought him into the Rogues. 

Mick kinda relies on them to keep his pyromania in check basically. There was a time where he was, briefly, reformed and gained a close friendship with Barry (even being roommates with him. By then he'd already known Barry's real identity for a few years) and used his pyro knowledge to become a fire-fighter consultant. At one point he even worked for the FBI

His backstory is practically the same on PE the only difference being that he never expressed regret for burning down his house, and actually says he wishes he’d burned down the whole neighbourhood instead

Lisa Snart AKA Golden Glider

When I say her NE version is leagues above PE I mean it. 

Like Len, she suffered abuse under their father and escaped it by becoming a figure skater under the name Lisa Star for the Futura Ice Show! Her fame came from her very fast spins, a trick she was taught by Roscoe. When Roscoe died while fighting Barry (brain complications though there’s more to it, but again I’m not going to get into that) Lisa turned to villainy, blaming Barry for her lover's death. 

Her attempts on Barry and Iris' lives were always foiled. She used a pair of ice skates that created their own ice flow, and had many gadgets that caused hypnotism. She also stole Len's gun once but retooled it into a twirling Baton. 

When Barry died she renounced her feud with him and attempted to go straight again with her brother. They created a company that recovered lost or stolen items. Eventually she returned back to a life of crime, went through three boyfriends, all using the name Chillblaine (she named them that iirc), until the fourth Blaine killed her. Len got revenge on that one 

On PE, however, Lisa had a brain tumor (it got cured later) and was a tag-a-long villain for her brother and her boyfriend, Sam Scudder. This version of her never became a skater and is instead murderous just for...the sake of it. She also has this thing about wanting to be the leader of the Rogues instead of Len, and when she's in charge of them for a while the Rogues’ morals change and killing is suddenly fine so. Whatever. NE Lisa is the best (also her whole outfit? Stunning)

Roy G. Bivolo AKA Rainbow Raider (not technically a Rogue anymore but he was a member for a while)

He appeard on PE as Chroma but gets murdered by Grodd so we only have NE canon to use (they did my mans dirty) 

He was a wonderful painter from an early age but was born colourblind. His father, an optometrist, was determined to create a device that would let him see in full colour. Toy didnt get the device until after his father's death but unfortunately the device didnt let him see colour. 

Instead, the goggles could project beams of light that could become solid objects, make him invisible, blind his opponents, or affect the emotions of his targets. Angry that he couldnt pursue an artistic career. he decided to become a thief and primarily stole famous artwork. He was eventually killed by Amunet Black

Evan McCulloch AKA Mirror Master (second one)

Evan was born to rich parents Louis and Carol Erikson who gave him up for adoption because they were too young to be responsible parents. He ended up at the McCulloch orphanage. 

At age 8 he was molested by one of the older boys there and, in self-defence, ended up drowning the him. At 16 he left the orphanage, taking on the name of the woman who raised him and moves to Glasgow (he’s scottish btw) 

He found that it was super difficult to hold down a job but, needing to make ends meet and constantly breaking the law anyway, he turned to a life of crime and became a hitman and then a professional assassin.

One day he got hired to kill his birth father but was unaware of who his target was until after he took the shot. Grief-stricken, he attended the funeral and tried to work up the nerve to approach his birth mother. By the time he had, she'd committed suicide and he turned himself in for his crimes. 

Either the Scottish or US government gave him Sam's old Mirror Master gear and hired him to be a mercenary. 

His first job was scaring Animal Man into stopping his activism, but he failed because of Animal Man’s wife. Refusing to actually kill the wife and children (thanks to his own morals) he gets fired and helps Animal Man seek revenge.

He continues to work as a criminal and supervillain-for-hire, even working out of costume as a mercernary in Britain.

Eventually he found his way to Central City and joined the Rogues, taking over as Sam Scudders official successor. There was a time where he had a Cocaine Addiction which caused friction between him and Capt Cold because of Len’s rule against drug use. 

Throughout all of this, Evan made sure to donate a portion of all the money he ever got to the McCulloch Orphanage

Axel Walker AKA Trickster (second one) 

On PE, Axel was recruited by the Rogues early on in his career. He messed up during a heist and they kicked him out (they'd never do that but w/e) 

He worked for Mob Rule as a henchman for a bit then went freelance when MB was arrested. He saved Cold's life cuz he felt he still owed Cold a debt. When Grodd took over Central, Axel tried to join his side but Grodd tore his arm off from the bicep (ouch) and left him to die on the street. Axel got himself a cool sleek robot arm and returned to crime anyway. He got accused of murder, Barry cleared his name, but he still got sent to Iron Heights for other charges. 

The Rogues, hearing about this, went to bust him out and were like "okay fine u can hang with us" and he stayed with them from then on

In NE canon, while Jesse was working with the FBI, Axel stole all his gear and ended up working for Penguin in Gotham. Penguin gets attacked by Tarantula, Axel fails to stop her and a few days later he gets caught by Robin (Tim) for causing trouble in Gotham. 

He moves on to work with Amunet Black, but after her defeat is offered to join the “new Rogues” by Capt Cold and accepts the offer. Some stuff happens, he fights the OG Trickster who leaves him in a dumpster and tells him never to pick up the gear again, then Axel answers an ad from some college students asking for a trained hero to teach them some things, he has dinner with them and then kills them all. Neat.

When Jesse died, Axel redonned the Trickster gear and started operating his own crew out of an old Rogues hideout. When the Rogues returned to Central, Axel found out they were gonna retire and go underground. He rejoined them to help them get revenge on Inertia for manipulating them into killing Bart Allen, and he stayed with the group henceforth. 

Evan explained to him that joining the Rogues wasn’t a matter of him wanting to be one, but why he needed to be one

In short: Axel is a punk kid who wants to fit in with the big boys and the Rogues are the only ones who really gave him a chance, acting like his older siblings. It’s worth noting that canon never mentions any relatives for him so, as far as we know, crime is all he’s ever known

And that’s all of them!

[silvvergears]

Late Shift

Happy birthday to @echotovalley, long time friend and enabler of Stupid Shit. This particular kind of Stupid - not even remotely edited Stupid - was based on an idea of hers that I decided to run with, so I hope I did it justice! Thanks so much for all you’ve done for me over the years, and here’s to many more~ 

Working night audit had long been Maka’s favorite shift, had been ever since Azusa had suggested Maka work a couple overnight shifts during the week. Though she missed her coworkers and their lively personalities, Maka loved having the night to herself; just the quiet lobby playlist and occasional sleepy-eyed guest to keep her company. It was on these long nights that Maka would sit with either her school notes or latest novel and let the sounds of the lobby act sooth the frustrations of the week.

That wasn’t to say nothing ever went wrong during the night shift, but at least it didn’t all go wrong at once. And Azusa trusted Maka with the night shift because she could handle whatever their guests tried to throw at her. Even the musically-inclined ones.

The late shift had gotten significantly more exciting while the orchestra was in her hotel, and Maka had come in expecting a night of noise complaints and escorting musicians away from the bar (Her only consolation was that a certain white-haired violinist was apparently a fan of his beauty sleep and never bothered her late at night). But it seemed that an important performance by the orchestra earlier in the evening had tired the whole group out, and Maka’s night had been blissfully easy.

Maybe that was why she had let her guard down.

Maka had made herself comfortable, jacket draped over the back of her chair as she curled up in her chair with her latest novel, when she noticed the music. It wasn’t the standard soft-pop hits that made up their lobby playlist, which at this point, Maka had heard so many times she barely heard them at all anymore. No, it was the soft playing of a lonely piano, each note drifting lazily through the quiet lobby. That was odd, they usually only had a pianist in the bar on the weekends… and certainly not at 2:47 in the morning.

This had ‘orchestra tomfoolery’ written all over it.

Groaning, Maka tucked a room key into her book to save her spot before standing. She didn’t bother to grab her jacket as she walked out from behind the desk, making sure the door was locked before making her way to the restaurant and bar. With the way the lobby was set up, the bar cut off Maka’s view of the baby grand piano until she was basically on top of it, and she spent the walk preparing her best customer service smile and ‘It’s 2 AM and I am not afraid to kick you out’ voice. It was a little odd walking through the restaurant without Patti’s beaming smile or Blair’s curling grin to meet her, but Maka’s steps didn’t falter until after she turned the corner and saw the head of white hair behind the piano.

Oh, for the love of God-

Maka’s annoyance died a quick, quiet death when she realized it was not, in fact, Wes Evans trying her patience yet again and banging away on an instrument he did not play just to prove he could. Instead, it was the younger, quieter Evans, seemingly unaware of Maka as he played. Maka’s interactions with Soul had so far been limited to requests for toothbrushes - he kept loosing them - or profound and exhausted apologies for Everything About Wes. He had struck her as the more sensible of the two, and it was only that that kept her from storming up to the piano and demanding he leave.

(Or at least, that’s what she told herself. To admit otherwise would mean admitting that something about his peaceful expression had struck  a chord with something in her, and that was just not going to happen.)

Instead, Maka kept close to the darker parts of the empty restaurant, watching Soul curiously. He looked like he had just come from the concert hall, jacket laying next to him on the bench and tie hanging limply around his neck. He’d even begun to unbutton his shirt, the dim light catching on shiny scar tissue near the neckline of his shirt in a very distracting way. His posture was lazy and slouched, but his fingers still moved perfectly across the keys, wrists straight.

The song he played was unfamiliar to her, a slow, sleepy lullaby that meandered from key to key. Maka had never been very musically literate, only understanding a song if she had lyrics or choreography to help her, but somehow Soul’s playing managed to reach even her. She felt just as peaceful and relaxed as he looked, her body subconsciously leaning against the wall lazily as she wrapped her arms around herself loosely.

If she listened closely, she thought she could hear Soul humming to himself, the deep timbre of his hushed voice striking against the soft, raw part of her being that his music had exposed.

She forgot all about the front desk, about her novel and waiting homework. Her stress from school and all of her upcoming exams seemed to drain from her as she slumped in her spot, eyes closed. For a moment, nothing existed outside of the dark restaurant and the pianist playing in the only dim light in the room.

Maka opened her eyes just in time to see the exact moment when Soul realized he wasn’t alone, his wine-dark eyes meeting hers in a heartbeat of a moment before he started almost violently and his knees crashed into the piano while his fingers tripped over the keys awkwardly. Maka snorted into her palm, eyes scrunched with amusement as Soul shot her a painfully awkward smile and scrambled for his phone. The screen lit up his face so she had a perfect view as he realized exactly what time it was.

“Shit,” he hissed quietly.

“Mhm,” Maka replied, pressing her lips together to keep from grinning too widely.

“Shit,” he repeated, scrambling for his jacket as he tried to step away from the piano and only managed to trip over the bench, long legs caught awkwardly as he struggled not to fall or kick at the keys. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t think it was that late-” he said, keeping his voice low as if he feared speaking at a normal volume would wake the whole hotel. “I just- I couldn’t sleep so I was walking around and I-”

“Soul,” Maka interrupted, amusement clear in her voice. The sound of his name brought the flustered musician to a dead halt, looking at her with wide eyes. “It’s fine,” she reassured, “you weren’t bothering anyone. I’m the only person in the lobby right now, anyways.”

“I promise I don’t normally do this,” he repeated in the same way he usually said ‘I’m so sorry about my brother’.

“Play piano? I figured doing that regularly was a prerequisite for the whole ‘orchestra’ thing.”

Soul’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Oh, god, you’re as bad as he is.”

“I take deep offense to that,” Maka said loftily. She moved closer, Soul watching her warily the whole time. She bent down, scooping up the tie that had slipped from around his neck in his frantic scramble and holding it up to him. “Really though, you’re perfectly alright. If you had been Gopher, I might have had a problem, but since it’s you…” She shrugged.

“Since it’s me?” Soul murmured.

“You haven’t given me any trouble yet, so I figure I can let some late night practice slide just this once,” she said with a smile. “Also, I really liked your lullaby.”

Maka couldn’t be sure in the dim half-light, but she could swear Soul’s already dark skin flushed.

“Thanks,” he said softly, finally taking his tie from her outstretched hand.

“I didn’t recognize it, who’s the composer?” she asked curiously. Now she definitely knew Soul was blushing, his ears dark with embarrassment between messy strands of white hair.

“Uh, you probably wouldn’t recognize the name,” he muttered. “Real niche.”

A single dusty-brown eyebrow lifted. “Try me.”

Soul shifted awkwardly. “Um. Evans.”

Both eyebrows went up. “You-?” Soul nodded, looking anywhere but at Maka. Her shocked expression went soft. “Soul, that was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said again, looking about ten seconds from an embarrassed meltdown. Maka took pity on the pianist and gestured for him to follow her back out of the restaurant and into the softly-lit lobby.

“I work the night shift once a week,” she told him as they walked. “If you want to practice on the grand at night, just make sure it’s on a night I’m here, and let me know.”

“You’re… gonna let me practice in the lobby? Just like that?” Soul shook his head. “Actually, no, don’t answer that, I don’t want you to reconsider.” Maka couldn’t help her amused snort.

“Hey, you’re not the sibling trying to practice in the cabanas, I think I can be a little lenient based on good behavior.” That got a chuckle from Soul, and Maka’s ears seemed to drink the sound in. Geeze, his voice was deep. Maka tried not to find that really attractive.

“I’ll continue to be on my best, then,” he said, stopping in front of the elevators that led up to the rooms. Maka stopped a few steps away, hands clasped behind her back as she turned to look at him. “I guess apologizing again would be in poor taste?” he said with a shy, crooked grin.

“Play something bad, and then I’ll accept your apology,” she told him, waving. “Have a good night, Soul.”

“You too,” he said softly, “… Maka.”

(Any shivers that went up her spine at the sound of her name spoken in Soul’s deep, sleepy voice were immediately blamed on the late hour and the sleep she so obviously was lacking.)

Extra:

Wes was generally very easy-going; happy to go with the flow and let his life take him where it will. As long as it took him to bed by ten. A man needed his eight hours, after all.

So rooming with his insomniac brother had been… a trial, to put it kindly.

Luckily, his expensive soundproofing headphones and eye mask helped Wes keep his strict sleep schedule without much intervention. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stop the call of nature, which is how Wes found himself awake at nearly three in the morning, faced with an empty bed and a missing brother.

“Come on, man,” Wes groaned, heading to the desk and his charging phone. Insomnia or not, Soul could have at least left a note or something before wandering off. Easy-going he may be, he was a big brother first and foremost, and he worried about Soul being alone in a strange place at such a late hour.

Thankfully, before he could finish his text, the prodigal son returned, looking… rather alarmingly flushed, actually. Late night walks were not that strenuous, especially at Soul’s base speed of ‘meander’.

“Hello?” Wes said, setting his phone back down. Soul looked at him with wide eyes, making a strangled sound before his back hit the door and he slid to the ground, hands over his eyes. Wes was at his side in a heartbeat, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You okay, Soul?” he asked, looking him over for any sign of being jumped or attacked.

“Peachy,” Soul groaned into his hands, bony knees up to his chest.

“Wanna explain before I assume the worst?”

Soul sighed. “I may have found the baby grand in the restaurant while I was walking around.”

Wes grinned. Ah, yes, that made sense. He had wondered how long Soul would be able to resist the chance to play such a lovely instrument. “Got caught by the front desk?” he said sympathetically.

Soul nodded.

“Got chewed out, huh?”

Soul shook his head.

Wait, what?

“She liked my composition,” Soul nearly whined, curling up further away from a very confused Wes. Again, huh? Soul was a talented composer, whether he believed so or not, but praise of his music had never flustered him like this. In fact, Soul only got flustered like this around…

Soul must have sensed the wide, shit-eating grin that spread across Wes’s handsome features, because he didn’t even have his mouth open all the way to tease his brother about a certain blonde front desk agent before Soul was shoving his jacket in Wes’s face, hissing for him to shut the fuck up, Wes.

[lilyjford-blog]

Things I've Learned Since Sending My Son to Boarding School:

The first week of school, I got a handful of texts--most of the one-word variety. Fine. Epic. Fun. Yeet. Yes. No. Okay.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I wasn't.

I got two phonecalls. The first ended in him hanging up on me, and then I threatened to tattle to his advisor if he didn't pick up the line. It was not my finest moment. I cried for three hours when it was finally over and spent many more complaining to anyone who would listen.

The second phonecall wasn't much better. He didn't hang up, but he was monosyllabic, and I could feel his attitude in waves.

I did not cry again. I got angry. I also got over it.

Then came the panicked emails: Where are my dress pants? Where's my soap? What music should I use for my trombone audition? Where can I get trombone sheet music? Do I have batteries?

Somehow, hours away, I was still responsible for knowing where everything was. I kindly reminded him that he unpacked his stuff and put it away, but hey--check your drawers.

Week Two had a few more texts, a bit more substance, but no real information. No details. He was fine. Fine. Okay. Good.

I wasn't. I was bereft. Mourning. Desperate. Curious.

Good news started pouring in: Jazz Band. Chamber Orchestra. Great lessons with the vocal teacher. Chorus invites. Chorus auditions. A Humanities teacher with a sense of humor. Baritone notes in the Freshman Musical.

And bad news: Math is hard. Have I mentioned that math is hard? Oh my God, I hate math. Wait. My Spanish class is taught in Spanish? I thought this was Spanish I. Emersive what?

Still, communication was shaky. I backed off my obsessive--er, interested--texting. I didn't call. I gave him the space he wanted.

It killed me. I literally sat at home scouring the school's website for information. I probably knew his schedule better than he did.

Then, it happened. The Moment. I've talked to a bunch of parents since sending my son to Boarding School. I've heard a ton of advice. I was told he'd come around, that the relationship would grow, that he'd call when he needed me. I was told to trust the process, and trust the school, and trust the adults who were looking out for him. I was told to give him room to breathe, and room to make mistakes, and room to fix them himself.

He did that, the first two weeks. He advocated for himself. He asked for help. He spoke honestly to his teachers about his concerns and passions. I knew none of this, of course. You can't fit personal growth in a single Yeet.

I just knew, when he sent me a text saying he was sitting under a tree crying, that I was an hour and thirty-some minutes away.

The Moment, then. The one that I couldn't mess up. The one when I realized, no matter what, I was still his mom and he was still fourteen.

"Please call me."

And he did.

He beat himself up. He missed a mandatory meeting for a trip he really wanted to take. He forgot his inhaler in his dorm and, when he got back to practice, the team had already left. He was going to miss the final auditions for the musical because he was leaving campus for a family wedding. His math homework was late because he forgot to hit submit. His Spanish group gave him a smaller role, so his grade was lower.

In other words, it was a no good, terrible, very bad day.

I couldn't hug him. I couldn't make faces to cheer him up. I couldn't take his hand or see his face or wipe his tears. All I could do was listen.

So, I listened. I waited for him to take a breath.

And then I became a better mom. Right there in my kitchen, biting my tongue, framing my answer, telling myself I couldn't mess this up.

I told him that no one expected him to be perfect. I told him that everyone was allowed to make mistakes. I reminded him that he was away from home for the first time of any length, completely responsible for himself, with an intense schedule and advanced classes, and it was perfectly normal to have a bad day.

I told him he'd had enough time to beat himself up, and that now it was time to think of possible solutions: Talk to your teachers, be honest and admit your mistakes, learn from this, be better tomorrow. Send that email. Request that meeting. Trust that the school you said felt like home, the school you are now making your home, lives by their own motto.

Forgive yourself. Because I forgive you. I'm not angry. I'm not disappointed. What you're doing is hard, but you're doing it. I am so, so proud of you.

I told him that I loved him.

Together, we made a plan for picking himself up and attempting to find a way to fix what went wrong. I told him the plan might not work, but that was okay. The important thing is that, instead of spending the night crying under a tree on that beautiful, brick-lined campus, he tries to make things right.

He told me he loved me. He said, "Thank you." He hung up.

I cried. I cried and cried and cried. Maybe I was disappointed. Maybe I was a little angry. Maybe I was worried and scared and full of doubt. But none of that would have served The Moment. None of that would've served him. None of it was serving me.

The next day, he found out that mandatory meeting had been rescheduled. He got permission to read for his audition early. He got razzed by the cross country team, but it was all in good fun. He stood up to his Spanish partners. He decided to go to Math Study Hall for his next homework assignment. He set new alarms in his phone for important events.

He was smiling. I could see it through his text messages. Oh, and he sent text messages. They had more than one word. He even said he loved me.

Communication hasn't been a problem, since. He calls when he needs help. He emails or sends messages when good things happen. There are still one-word answers, but I've learned to trust them for what they are: Good news. Happiness. Adjustment. Time constraints.

I text him once or twice a day. I respond to every email. I call when he says he has time. It's not enough. It's never enough. But it's Enough.

When he called me, when he listened, when he worked to fix his problems, I learned that I could trust him. I could trust him to call when he had a problem. I could trust his silence. I could believe in him and his stupid Yeet.

I miss him. I miss the everyday role I played in his life. I miss the mom I was. But The Moment taught me to love the mom I'm going to become.

She's okay. She's going to be okay. And you know what? So's her son.

[min-minn]

Symphony - Chapter Six

A03

Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, tenor prodigy and top student at the Salchow Institute of Music, is looking for an accompanist.

And word around campus is that Yakov Feltsman, Head of Music and conductor of the prestigious Institute Band, is looking for new members.

Yuuri Katsuki is just looking to survive his next Piano recital

OR

The Yuri on CONCERT Music School AU that we all deserve

Pairings: Viktor Nikiforov/ Yuuri Katsuki

Rating: Teen And Up

Content Warning: Anxiety

A/N: First, can I just say, I'm so sorry this took so long. Life has finally settled down, and you can all thank soft Korean dramas for getting me back in the mood to update. I need my boys like I need air. I need their soft little moments.

A huge thank you to everyone for your patience, your support, your general amazingness. I've said it before and I'll say it again, this fandom is magical. Thank you.

WON'T MAKE ANY PROMISES AGAIN BUT, my dream is to update fortnightly. Fingers crossed I can do it. Stay tuned for more disaster-bi-Min. The only promise I will make is that this fic will be completed before I die. Its become my solemn duty.

Lots of soft-Korean-drama-love,

- Min

Translations:

ミール - (miiru) - literally "Meal"

Yuuri found his voice as they were walking to the bus, managing to disentangle himself from the group and pull Phichit back with him.

“Phichit, please,” he gasped, reaching to grab his friend’s hand and squeeze it desperately. “We need to talk.”

Phichit was still starry eyed, gazing after the group in front of them like he’d just won some kind of lottery. But when he saw Yuuri’s face, flushed and fearful, his eyes grew sombre.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry,” and his voice was soft. He reached down to hold Yuuri’s other hand, clasping at them, bringing Yuuri close and slowing them down so they could lag behind the rest of the group.

“I know it was wrong of me,” he said, watching the ground as they walked. “I betrayed your trust and it was really stupid but, come on!” and he waved a hand at the group of students, all laughing and singing and jostling each other as they walked. Christophe and Jean-Jaques and Seung-gil and Mila. Names he’d known for years. Names that belonged in Broadway lights and glossy magazine titles.

And somehow, they were one of them.

The main thought going through his mind, despite it all, was how important this was for Phichit. How hard Phichit had worked to get himself into the Institute Band. The countless hours of practice and preparation. This was his dream. It meant everything to him, and Yuuri wanted to fight for it. Wanted to make it a reality and watch his best friend soar.

But for him…

What did he want?

He’d gone along with the original idea because of Phichit. Because Phichit had convinced him that Viktor had wanted him to audition…

Viktor.

As they meandered through the quad, Yuuri caught glimpses of Viktor’s silver hair amongst the crowd. Flashes of his profile, face beaming, smile like the sun…

Try as he might, over the past few weeks, Yuuri just couldn’t get that first practice out of his mind. The way Viktor’s voice had filled every cell in his body and set it alight. The way his own hands had responded, coaxing music from the piano keys like he were penning a new language. A language just for them…

He wanted to speak it again.

“You’re … an asshole,” Yuuri mumbled into his scarf, still watching the crowd and slowly coming to terms with what was really happening. “And this is insane.”

Yet, despite his anger and fear, it was starting to dawn on him. He was in the band. He’d been accepted.

He’d get to perform with Viktor again…

And somehow, even if Viktor was just being kind. Even if he were just taking pity on Yuuri, that was okay. It was okay because it felt good.

“But it’s real, Yuuri!” Phichit squealed in response, shifting to grab a hold of Yuuri’s arm by his side as they walked, skipping slightly to catch up as the group came close to the bus stop. “This is really happening!”

“Yeah,” and Yuuri found himself giggling despite himself. It was insane. It wouldn’t last. But maybe, just for now, he could let himself enjoy it.

“I’m still going to kill you, though,” Yuuri said with a laugh, falling into Phichit’s shoulder to knock him off balance.

The two were laughing heartily by the time they reached the bus stop, Phichit still hanging off Yuuri’s arm. As their bus pulled to a stop, Yuuri felt the back of his neck tingle uncomfortably. He turned and saw their group preparing to board, Viktor standing near the back…

Watching him.

The blush was instant and fierce. Viktor’s eyes were disarming – achingly beautiful pools of blue set in a silver frame – and Yuuri couldn’t help the way his body seemed to respond on its own, heart stuttering, knees growing weak. He swallowed, realising he’d probably been laughing a little too loudly, instinctively rubbing the back of his neck.

And he tried not to notice Viktor making his way towards them.

Phichit made a noise at the back of his throat, smirking back at Yuuri as he noticed. “Can’t say no to that, either.”

“Sit next to me, Yuuri!” Viktor suddenly said in a sing-song voice, face breaking into a smile as he took a few steps closer. Yuuri almost stepped back, his throat closing in on itself. Viktor’s voice should be a normal sound, by now. Shouldn’t send thrills through Yuuri’s nerves like he’d just been struck by lightning. Shouldn’t turn his legs to water and close off his throat.

But Viktor was close now and Yuuri couldn’t breathe.

“He’d love to!” Phichit said instead, still tangled on his arm and almost bouncing on the spot with excitement. Yuuri threw him a desperate look, but Phichit only winked.

“I’m going to find that tall, dark, and handsome double bass,” Phichit said, glancing over to where Yuuri could see Christophe boarding the bus. He glanced back and offered a friendly wave to Phichit who all but bounded after him like a puppy. Yuuri could only stare after them as his friend disappeared onto the bus, leaving him alone with Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, who was still waiting for some kind of reply.

“O—Okay,” Yuuri said lamely, not daring to look Viktor in the eye.

“I have so much I want to ask you,” Viktor said, the smile all too obvious in his voice. “I’m so happy you decided to audition, in the end.”

“Y—Yeah, well,” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck again, shuffling along next to Viktor as they boarded the bus. “It was all Phichit.”

They paid their fares, flashing their student IDs and making their way onto the bus. The only seats available were at the back, tucked in the corner behind the rest of the group. Yuuri offered a shy wave to a few of the members – Seung-gil, who he was acquainted with from the SIM Orchestra, nodding stoically in response. He could see two younger students – Guang Hong he knew as well, a saxophone major like Phichit, and next to him, another boy who he assumed must be the remaining saxophonist from the case on his lap. They were chattering away as they shared a phone screen, Guang Hong glancing up and smiling as Yuuri passed. He could feel his nerves settle somewhat as he realised that there were at least a few members younger than him – as he realised they weren’t going to try and eat him alive the first chance they got. Maybe he could even make some friends…

“Window or aisle?” Viktor offered as they reached the back of the bus, gesturing to the empty pair of seats. Yuuri swallowed.

“I—I don’t mind,” he whispered, attempting a small smile. Viktor blinked and seemed to be momentarily distracted. Oh. Was that too indecisive? Yuuri chewed on his lower lip as Viktor watched after him intently. Was he having second thoughts? Did he want to sit with Chris instead—?

“Y—You first, then,” Viktor said with a nervous laugh. Nervous? No, it couldn’t be. Yuuri was suddenly reminded of their first practice together – how Viktor had shuffled his feet and stammered his words. He could only put it down to awkwardness. Yes, that had to be it. Yuuri’s complete lack of social skills probably put him off guard. He must be used to people with far more confidence. People who actually knew how to hold conversations and weren’t reduced to a blabbering puddle around his good looks.

Yuuri ducked his head and settled himself in by the window, clutching his satchel in his lap, trying to cover up the obvious holes and tattered material. Viktor sat beside him as the bus began to move and, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice.

As the bus rumbled into gear, Yuuri couldn’t help but glance past Viktor to where Phichit was sitting down next to Christophe, already engaged in animated conversations and laughing loudly. Yuuri smiled as he watched – Phichit was obviously smitten. It warmed his heart to see his friend so happy, and Christophe seemed to enjoy the conversation too. Though Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what his relationship was with Viktor. Surely they were together, after what Yuuri had seen earlier. The chemistry was palpable, even now, Chris glancing Viktor’s way every now and then…

“—together?” a voice cut across his thoughts, coming at him from a distance. He snapped back in his seat, turning to see Viktor looking at him with his brow creased, eyes bright and searching.

“S—Sorry?” Yuuri asked softly, chiding himself.

“Are you and Phichit together?” Viktor asked again, his mouth a thin line.

Yuuri blinked. “What?” And before he could stop himself, another blush bloomed across his cheeks. “Phichit?” and his voice was all but a squeak.

“Yeah,” Viktor glanced away, a smile across his features that seemed strange somehow. Out of place. “You guys seem close,” and the way Viktor’s voice grew soft did strange things to Yuuri’s heartrate.

“Oh, no!” Yuuri threw his hands up, waving them in front of him to try and get his message across. “No! We’re just friends.”

“Oh!” and Yuuri watched on as that strange smile suddenly broke into an honest grin. He couldn’t quite place the difference – they seemed just as bright and warm and Viktor – and yet…

“That’s good,” Viktor said with a huff, seeming to relax. Yuuri’s mind melted into static as he tried to make sense of it all. Good? Why was it good?

“I mean, not good!” Viktor suddenly cried, sitting up in his seat and leaning forward.

“Relationships are good, I mean. Good to have. And Phichit seems like a great guy!” and now it was Viktor’s turn to gesture wildly, hands moving like he’d said something wrong.

Yuuri was sure Viktor was speaking another language.

“H—He is,” Yuuri said quietly, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what, exactly, Viktor was trying to say. His thoughts quickly turned to Christophe, and it all clicked into place. Of course. Viktor was worried about Phichit. Worried about Phichit and Christophe, seated together, laughing together…

“Christophe seems like a great boyfriend,” Yuuri managed to say, glancing towards the pair and offering a small smile. Saying it out loud seemed to help the strange ache he felt in his chest because of course they were together. How could someone like Viktor Nikiforov be single?

“Oh, Chris is very single,” Viktor said with a laugh, leaning over and waving at Chris. “Aren’t you mon cher?”

Chris glanced up, tilting his head ever so slightly. “I am?”

“Very single,” Viktor said with a wink.

“Oh! Yes,” and Chris smiled, glancing pointedly at Phichit who seemed to melt on queue. Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat.

Chris was single.

“And… you’re single?” Yuuri blurted out, voice quiet, blushing furiously as he heard the words leave his mouth, glancing up at Viktor through strands of hair that had an annoying habit of falling across his eyes.

Viktor made a strange noise – something between a groan and a whimper. A laugh? What was it? But Yuuri could hardly follow the thought through, because Viktor was looking back at him with such a strange expression on his face that had him holding his breath…

Almost like … excitement.

“Yes!” he said, a little too enthusiastically, flashing a bright smile that made Yuuri feel like he were in the middle of summer rather than bundled up for winter as he was now.

Single.

Viktor was single.

“Very single!” Chris chimed in from across the aisle, giggling a little like it were some kind of inside joke. “Getting him to the clubs is like pulling teeth.”

“Chris!” Viktor cried, scrambling in his seat. The other man just laughed, Phichit giggling along with him. Even Yuuri had to stifle a laugh that suddenly threatened to bubble out of his throat.

“Ignore him,” Viktor said with a sigh, offering Yuuri a weak smile as he relaxed back into his seat. Yuuri could see the beginnings of a pink flush across Viktor’s cheeks and oh. Oh.

Viktor was embarrassed?

Yuuri felt like his world was falling off its axel.

He decided to very pointedly keep his gaze straight ahead, far too enraptured by the way the soft colour of Viktor’s cheeks had set his heart racing. The awkwardness of the whole conversation was catching up with him. Why had he even asked that—?

“I’m not actually sure where we’re going,” Viktor said after a beat, one finger on his lips as he suddenly grew pensive. “I’m meant to be deciding, but I hardly go out for dinner…”

Yuuri furrowed his brow. “You don’t?”

Viktor smiled softly at him, “No, I rarely get the chance. Between the NYCO and SIM, my nights are usually booked.” He was staring ahead in a distant way, and Yuuri found himself imagining Viktor, at rehearsals or practicing, coming home late and getting straight into bed. It was an image he couldn’t seem to make peace with – so contrary to what he’d imagined previously. From Viktor’s outgoing nature, Yuuri had always assumed he’d be quite social outside of school.

Perhaps he’d had it wrong all along?

“What about you, Yuuri?” Viktor asked suddenly, eyes growing bright. “Do you know somewhere we could go?”

“M—Me?” Yuuri squeaked, blanching at the suddenness of the question. Viktor was asking him?

“I’m not…” he desperately tried to sift through his scrambled mind, trying to remember the last time he’d eaten out.

“T—There is a nice place … near here,” Yuuri managed, fidgeting with the satchel in his lap as he glanced out the window at the city passing by. “ミール it’s called.”

Viktor blinked at him, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Mi…du?”

Yuuri ducked his head to hide the instinctive smile, “Oh, it’s Japanese,” he said softly. “It means ‘Meal,’ but it’s the Japanese way of saying it.”

Viktor was still staring at him, eyes wide. “Midu,” he tried again, and Yuuri felt his heart race dangerously close to some sort of cardiac arrest. The way the syllables rolled off Viktor’s tongue, adorably awkward around his accent… it was enough to make Yuuri weak.

“C--Close enough,” he said with a small chuckle, feeling that same smile tug his lips. Viktor was still staring at him, the blush from earlier still apparent across his cheeks.

“You’re Japanese,” Viktor stated simply.

“Yes,” Yuuri said slowly, attempting to tuck some of his unruly hair behind his ear. “I moved here just under four years ago.”

“Let’s go to Midu then!” Viktor said suddenly, and before Yuuri could stop him, he was jumping up in his seat and calling out across the bus. “JJ! We’re going to Midu!”

Jean-Jaques – who Yuuri realised must be called JJ amongst friends – turned towards them, seated a few rows in front with a phone pressed to his ear. He glanced back toward Viktor with a confused expression, giving him a slow thumbs up before turning back to his call.

“What a relief,” Viktor said with a sigh, sitting back down heavily. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find us a decent place.”

Yuuri felt a familiar spike of fear in his chest. “A—Are you sure?” Yuuri asked, voice breaking in his panic. “It’s just a local yakitori bar. Nothing special.”

“If it’s a place you go to, Yuuri, I’m sure its great,” and Viktor’s smile was soft. Achingly soft. Yuuri was glad he was sitting down.

“Let’s look at the menu!” Viktor suddenly said with all the excitement of a child, whipping out his phone and opening up the browser in one swift movement. Yuuri leaned in instinctively, catching a whiff of Viktor’s cologne as he drew unknowingly closer to his neck. It was intoxicating, and Yuuri wondered absently that it must be expensive.

“That’s the one,” he said, pointing at the screen as Viktor scrolled through his search. Viktor opened it quickly, fingers pausing over the screen as he took in the restaurant’s website.

“Ah, which one’s the menu button?” Viktor asked as the wall of Japanese loaded under his fingers. Yuuri scanned it and pointed to one of the buttons, but rather than follow his instruction, Viktor just handed his phone over instead, their shoulders brushing together as he leant closer.

Yuuri wasn’t expecting the touch to affect him so thoroughly, but he suddenly found it quite hard to breathe as a strange current of soft electricity shot through his veins.

Around the furious beating of his pulse in his ears, Yuuri managed to grip the phone with two shaky hands, focussing on scrolling through to the menu to keep his mind from unravelling entirely. The smell of Viktor’s cologne was heavy now, and Yuuri could feel the warmth of Viktor’s arm through his sleeve like a furnace. And Yuuri realised, with a strange blooming warmth in his chest, that Viktor didn’t pull away, either. If anything, it felt like he was pressing even closer, though Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was Viktor’s own movements or just the sway of the bus beneath them.

All the same, it sent shivers straight through his chest and directly into his abdomen, and he was sure his blush would be embarrassingly apparent by now from the way his ears were burning,

Luckily, Viktor didn’t seem to notice, more focussed on the screen as Yuuri slowly scrolled through some of the images. He saw a familiar photo of a bowl of katsudon and paused.

“This one’s my favourite,” he said softly, voice weak.

“Will you order it?” Viktor asked, his pitch rising as his eyes sparkled. Without missing a beat, he leant in slightly closer and added, “Could I try some if you do?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly as he jerked his head in surprise. Viktor wanted to … try some? From his plate? He tried to stay present but felt his mind reel with possibilities. Viktor eating from his plate. Reaching over to take a bite off of Yuuri’s chopsticks…

Viktor’s own eyes grew wide and he suddenly pulled away ever so slightly, the shift snapping Yuuri back to reality.

“Or,” Viktor said slowly, clearing his throat and glancing back down at the screen, the excitement slightly dampened. “Actually, I’ll just get one of my own.”

Yuuri felt all the air leave his lungs.

Where he was teetering on the edge of hopeful before, now he was mired in despair. Because of course. Of course Viktor wouldn’t want to share with him. That would be strange. He probably hated the idea. Had probably said it because he’d forgotten who he was actually talking to…

“Is there anything else you like?” Viktor’s voice, soft and careful, cut across Yuuri’s thoughts. Yuuri realised he was still holding Viktor’s phone, leaning away as he unconsciously tucked his head into his scarf. Without meeting Viktor’s gaze, Yuuri moved to hand the phone back to Viktor, desperately trying to think of how to salvage the awkward social situation.

But instead of take the phone back, Viktor just leant in again, pressing against Yuuri’s shoulder once more as he watched the screen.

“This one?” Viktor asked, gesturing to the next item on the menu; okonomiyaki.

“That one’s quite nice, too,” Yuuri found himself answering shyly despite himself. Viktor didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness in Yuuri’s tone, however. Instead, his eyes lit up as he took in the image, casually zooming in, fingers spreading across the screen and Yuuri found he couldn’t help how his eyes followed the movement.

As a pianist, Yuuri was naturally drawn to fingers. Found himself calculating if people could reach a full octave or not. Wondering how they’d hold up performing glissandos…

Now, all Yuuri could think of was what Viktor’s fingers would feel like.

Because even in simple gestures, Viktor’s fingers were mesmerising. Like every touch were important – deserving of some sort of special care. Yuuri had had enough experience with performers to understand they were slightly different to most. Understand how much their profession permeated every aspect of their lives. Yet he realised, with a strange surge of awe and soft surprise, that Viktor lived his performance. Every gesture, the tone of his voice, the set of his lips, it commanded attention. Spoke of a deep sense of knowing. Knowing others were watching him. Self-aware…

As entranced as Yuuri was, the new knowledge suddenly made him feel incredibly distant, somehow. As if the chasm he’d imagined between who Viktor was and who he was had suddenly widened tenfold.

“What is it, exactly?” Viktor asked, brow furrowing, and even that simple expression had Yuuri reeling. It took Yuuri a moment to realise Viktor was referring to the menu.

“I—It’s … a sort of pancake,” he fumbled for his words, earlier thoughts scattering to the back of his mind. “Savoury.”

“Interesting,” Viktor said with a soft smile. “We’ll have to get one of those, too.”

They continued like that for a while, scrolling through the menu, Yuuri explaining the different food and drink softly as Viktor kept track of what he wanted to order. And Yuuri wasn’t too sure how he felt about it. It was almost too easy, the way the conversation flowed and ebbed. Far easier than any conversation he’d had before, despite how hard his heart was trying to tear itself out of his chest. And as they talked, it didn’t take long for Viktor to laugh, though Yuuri couldn’t remember what he’d said to illicit such a response. Such a melodious, beautiful response.

He decided making Viktor laugh was easily the best thing in the world.

And Yuuri found, with a small jolt of surprise, that he was soon laughing too. Really laughing. Gasping for air and snorting because Viktor was still trying to pronounce Japanese words and it was too much.

As he wiped tears from the corner of his eyes, Viktor smiling at him in such an attentive way that Yuuri couldn’t help but stare back, Phichit suddenly called out from across the aisle.

“I haven’t heard him laugh like that in ages,” and Yuuri tore his eyes from Viktor’s to give Phichit a decidedly threatening glare.

“Oh?” Viktor asked next to him, eyes still trained on Yuuri’s face. “Is that so?”

“D—Don’t mind him,” Yuuri shuffled back into his seat, tucking his face into his scarf. He decided the blush across his features was more or less permanent, now, though the instinct to hide it was still very strong.

How he’d survive the rest of the night, he had no clue.

And all too soon, they were rounding a familiar corner, coming to the block where the yakitori bar was. Yuuri reached to press the button that would signal the driver to stop, careful not to touch Viktor as he did so. Viktor was glancing out the window, eyes searching.

“We’re close?” he asked, furrowing his brow at the shops and apartments around them.

“It’s not all that well known,” Yuuri said sheepishly, wondering for the millionth time if he’d made the right choice. “We can still go somewhere else if you’d—”

“No!” Viktor cried suddenly, the fringe of his hair drifting across his eyes as he jerked himself back into his seat, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean—”

And Yuuri felt the laugh simmer in his throat, escaping as a giggle he couldn’t control. He wondered if he’d ever get used to how excitable Viktor was. How charming...

“It’s okay,” Yuuri smiled softly at him, and as all the panic and doubt and sense of inferiority threatened to cloud his thoughts, Yuuri realised it really had been a long time since he’d laughed like this. Smiled like this. Since he’d felt so at ease.

And as the bus came to a stop and the group began disembarking, Yuuri found the prospect of a night with Viktor to be all too inviting, after all.

[acuppellarp]

Welcome (again) to A Cup-pella, Wen! We’re excited to have you and Cora Anderson in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: Wen + she/her Age: younger than some buildings Timezone: GMT+1 Ships: Cora/Bottoms, Cora/Happiness, Cora/The world outside the closet Anti-Ships: Cora/Forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Cordelia Rhiannon Anderson Face Claim: Natalie Dormer Age/Birthday: 29 / January 5, 1990 Occupation: Actress Personality: charming, charismatic, driven, ambitious, judgmental, proud, superficially outgoing but hermetic with her feelings. Hometown: Greenwich, CT Bio: The person that’s influenced Cora’s life the most is, undoubtedly, her mother. Which is remarkable considering she was only alive for the first three years of Cora’s life, and her daughter doesn’t really remember anything about her. But Morgan Anderson (Lady Morgan, technically) was Richard Anderson’s first love, and she was gone before she could do anything to tarnish his idealized image of her.

Carrying the legacy of a perfect woman is not exactly an easy task, but Cora had the good fortune to be mostly perfect just by virtue of winning the genetic lottery. She had her mother’s light blond hair and porcelain skin, and her father’s striking blue eyes. She was bright and outgoing, effortlessly charming, and - thanks to her father’s firm hand - perfectly polite even at only five years old. Which may have been the reason why her father’s second wife immediately fell in love with her and treated her like her own.

Her childhood was busy in a very structured way. She had classes at an exclusive and challenging private school, and a wide variety of extra-curriculars that for some reason she never got to choose. But the more Cora grew, the more she looked like a blue-eyed version of Morgan. So why wouldn’t she want to do exactly the same things her mother had loved?

Cora learned ballet and drama. She played polo and practiced fencing. She played the piano and tried not to fidget in her seat when her father took her to special father-daughter outings to listen to symphonic orchestras and watch famous ballet companies from all over the world. She always wondered why he didn’t take Blair instead. Blair loved music. But her father was never that concerned with Blair’s interests.

When she was fifteen, Cora traveled to Wales to spend the summer with her mother’s family, and learned there was a whole new set of expectations to fulfill on the other side of the pond. She didn’t just have to be perfect like her mother: she had to have the background to belong in the same circles Morgan used to thrive in.

At Benenden School, Cora quickly realized being at the top of the food pyramid in Connecticut meant next to nothing among the daughters and granddaughters of British peers and centuries-old family fortunes. Cora’s accent was wrong. Her posture was wrong. The way she carried herself, the people she knew and didn’t know, her father’s job, the things she’d worked so hard to learn at school - it was all wrong.

But Cordelia Anderson had been trained to be perfect. And that was exactly what she was going to be.

When Christmas break rolled around, she refused to go home to Connecticut. She went to her grandparents’ manor in Wales, sat her grandmother down, and asked her to teach her. Through the years, she’d learned to be malleable - to become whatever her father expected her to be - and now she wanted Lady Rhiannon to undo everything Cora had been molded to be, and start over from scratch.

By the start of the Spring Term, not even the teachers could tell she’d ever set foot in America. And now that she’d climbed up to the same level as the rest of the girls, all she had to do was charm her way to the top.

She finished school at 18, with her social calendar full to the brim with high society events, every academic achievement she could get her hands on, and an enthusiastic acceptance from Cambridge where she planned to study History. 

A call home was all it took to inform her she would be doing no such thing. She had an audition with the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London, where she would be studying drama - just like Morgan before her. Maybe her father would’ve let her go into History instead if she’d told him that was what she wanted, but he never asked, and she knew better than to tell.

Cora was a natural on stage, which she blamed on a lifetime of embodying the role of her father’s dream daughter. She soon became the most promising new talent in London’s theatrical circuit, and she was even invited to perform with a select few at one of the most important galas in the city. Everyone who was somebody was therem and among them, there was Leopold. Lord Leopold, technically. She didn’t feel much of anything towards him - good or bad - but her father liked him. He had contacts, Richard said, not only a title. He wanted Leopold for her.

Cora had been acting since she was three years old, and she’d read enough about love to know what a woman in love should feel. And even if she didn’t feel it herself, she acted like she did. Leopold, she figured, was pleasant enough. He was head over heels in love with her, and - as he constantly repeated - the only reason he hadn’t proposed yet was that she had to finish college first. And then law school. And then, of course, settle into her rightful place in politics next to his father. Cora was more than happy to wait.

While her boyfriend built the foundation of their future life together, as he liked to put it, Cora graduated from RADA and made her way to the big leagues at the Shakespeare Theatre Company. And for the first time, she thought she could really feel all those things women in love were supposed to feel. The butterflies, the heart skipping beats… she was in love with London and its stages, and London fell in love with her.

With several Olivier awards on her shelf and an undisputed seat among the West End’s current royalty, Broadway has set its sights on her. And though she’s declined several offers out of loyalty to the city that owns her heart, she’s now been offered the lead on the upcoming all-female version of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, and she couldn’t say no.

Pets: None. She owns a couple of horses who live at her grandparents’ estate, but they’re not exactly pets. She’d love to have an Old English Sheepdog if she ever puts down roots somewhere.   Relationships:

Blair Anderson: Younger sister. They’re not close because Cora’s been in the UK since Blair was 9, but there’s no animosity on Cora’s part. Her sister is just virtually a stranger (though she’s definitely heard a lot about her from their father) so Cora doesn’t find relating to her particularly easy.

Bea Smith: They did a show together at the Shakespeare Theatre Company a few years back, and they’ve stayed in touch. Though Bea had a bit of a straight girl crush on Cora, Cora was completely oblivious. If she’d known she’d have been very flattered but not really surprised.

Jessi St. James: When Jessi was in London for her semester abroad in college, her class had a workshop experience with the Shakespeare Theatre Company and Cora was one of the professional actors who ran the lessons. They’ve stayed in touch through the years, and Cora is excited to see what’s been going on with Jess.

Serena Smythe: They went to the same prep school in Connecticut when they were kids. Their fathers are acquainted and they were friends, though it was never a very close friendship. Though they wouldn’t exactly call each other ‘friend’ in the strict sense of the word, they’ve both been trained to know you never lose a contact that may come in handy later, so they’ve kept a friendly relationship going.

EXTRA INFO

Twitter name/twitter URL/description: Cordelia Anderson | @cordeliaranderson | Actress. Currently in NYC, but my heart is still in London. “We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”

Five latest tweets:

@cordeliaranderson If I don’t tweet in the next 15 minutes, assume I looked the wrong way to cross the street and was run over by a cab. @cordeliaranderson #faq Friday: not related to @gillianA, but I’d be happy to sign those adoption papers #makeithappen @cordeliaranderson Went to TKTS Times Square thinking it’d be like the one at Leicester Square, was nearly trampled by the crowd #liveandlearn @cordeliaranderson First reading for investors! Ever seen a one-woman reading of Midsummer Night’s dream? #trailblazer @cordeliaranderson  Mark my words: if there is ever another US/UK war, it shall be over the biscuit controversy.