#she could play the flute violin piano and of course she sang

[carewyncromwell]

“Everyday people, in their own sweet way, Like to add a coat of paint and be what they ain’t! That’s how our little game is played, Livin’ like a masquerade, actin’ a bizarre charade, While playing the saint!”

~“Facade” from Jekyll and Hyde

x~x~x~x

Ahhh, no!! Carewyn!! D:

Ahem -- yeah, this is a counterpoint to a piece I’ve done in the past about Jacob and how he got ensnared by Charles Cromwell and R’s web...but this is going to take a little bit of explanation! First, though, my musical accompaniment while working on this includes Things Are Not What They Appear from Pocahontas II: Journey to a New World, Elsie Lovelock’s cover of Trust in Me from The Jungle Book, and Wolfsong by Omnia. 😊

Okay, right to it. Those of you who know Hogwarts Mystery, there’s a moment toward the beginning of year 6 where MC meets Jacob in his old room at Hogwarts, after following Sickleworth the Niffler, who’s carrying a white quill that it turns out is a threat from R, reminding MC that R still intends to “collect” on one of their friends’ lives. Well, this scene has always bugged me, because Hogwarts is supposed to be nigh impregnable, to the point that even Voldemort couldn’t get inside during the First Wizarding War -- so how does a non-Hogwarts-graduate like Jacob get in so easily?

My answer -- that is not really Jacob. In my canon, the person Carewyn instead meets is an agent of R, who -- with inside help from another agent who plays as the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor -- was able to sneak into the school and impersonate Jacob with Polyjuice Potion. And this agent impersonating Jacob is none other than Carewyn’s maternal uncle and heir to the Cromwell Clan, Blaise. 

Blaise Cromwell is a character who -- quite honestly -- I think deserves multiple punches to the face. He is ridiculously possessive of his family, seeing them as akin to prized toys that no one else is allowed to touch but him, and his sister Lane and her children are no exception. Blaise is just as determined as Charles is to force Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn back into the fold of the Cromwell Clan, and he has no moral compunctions that might temper that desire. He’s more than willing to lie, deceive, torture, or even kill to achieve that goal. And because he was raised by Charles -- who like Jacob and Carewyn was born with immensely powerful Legilimency -- Blaise became a master of Occlumency at a young age, all in the effort of maintaining some privacy in and control over his own mind. This Occlumency and Blaise’s rather convincing act makes it so that Carewyn at first has no idea that she’s not speaking to her brother...at least, not until Blaise as Jacob collides with her in Knockturn Alley, while Carewyn herself is disguised as Patricia Rakepick. But for now, Carewyn is completely unawares...not just because Blaise was so good at capturing Jacob’s mannerisms and overall attitude, but because he sounded so sincere, speaking of his desire for their family to be as it once was. It made it so that when he so “reluctantly” accepted her help with the Vaults on the condition that she not involve her friends “unnecessarily” the way he did Duncan and Olivia, Carewyn didn’t suspect anything amiss. And well, Blaise does want his family as he once had it. He wants his sister Lane back at the Cromwell estate...and he does want her children there with them. Sure, for her and them, it’d be a cage, but they’d learn to accept it. They were family, after all -- the Cromwell estate, and the Cromwell Clan, was where they belonged. 

For however terrible of a person Blaise is, however, I will point out that the moment Blaise collided with Carewyn in Jacob’s old room was the first time he’d really been able to interact with his niece. And however much he was focused on his goal, it didn’t mean he felt nothing, seeing her for the first time. 

Lane had been Blaise’s favorite sibling when they were young -- admittedly largely by default since they were closest in age and Lane was both intellectual and disinterested in social gatherings enough that Blaise enjoyed her company -- so her departure had a profound impact on Blaise, just as it did the rest of the Clan. He missed his third sister dearly, and hearing that she’d not only married a Muggle, but that that wretched man then proceeded to abandon her and her children upon Jacob’s Hogwarts letter arriving at their door, Blaise felt a surge of overprotectiveness toward both Lane and her children. They deserved better than what they’d had to live with -- they deserved to live well, not in poverty; they deserved to be treated like high society, not like freaks; they deserved a real home with the Clan, not living in a Muggle gutter. Jacob and Carewyn’s experience with their father should prove to them the superiority of wizardkind over Muggles -- not drive them further into the arms of Muggle lovers like the Weasleys or Mudbloods like Olivia Green or Ben Copper. With Blaise himself a widower and single father, he’s imprinted some of those twisted paternal instincts onto both Jacob and Carewyn as well -- and when he met Carewyn for the first time while disguised as Jacob, he witnessed her capacity to love first-hand. For while he wore her brother’s face, this usually stoic, pretty little teenager fussed over Blaise, fixing his robes and expressing sincere and open concern for his safety. The closest comparison point Blaise had for Carewyn’s behavior was that of his own deceased mother, Marilyn -- and yet there was no sense of asserting control here, with Carewyn. Charles only used “concern” as a means to an end -- to get a better read on who he was talking to. Even Marilyn would express concern by taking some authority over her children -- telling them to sit up straight, fixing their collars and hair to make them look perfect, because she wanted them to succeed, which would also reflect well on her. But not Carewyn. Her caring was given with no caveats or conditions -- no semblance of dominance or control. It was so...selfless.

Blaise had had no concept that any relative of his could be so weak-hearted. And yet all it did was make him want to bring her into the fold more.

People are rife to take advantage of a child like this. The people around her already have taken advantage of her. These ‘friends’ of hers that she’s so desperate to protect from us...what have they done, to deserve her caring? Who are they, to deserve her loyalty? Muggle lovers, Mudbloods, paupers and orphans...they are not her family -- we are her family!

The thought made Blaise’s inside flare with resentment and anger. 

And I intend to treat her like it. 

At one point during their meeting, Carewyn asked the man she thought was Jacob if something was wrong. Blaise tried to play this off, simply claiming he was lost in thought. Sensing Carewyn might be starting to pull away from him, Blaise offered a shred of vulnerability. 

“...It’s just...the last time I saw you...you were only a child. You still would be a child, if not for the Cursed Vaults...”

Some resentment slipped out despite himself. As much as he wanted his family back together, and as much as he knew his father Charles’s word was law so long as he was head of the Clan, Blaise really hadn’t wanted his son or any of his nieces and nephews to be involved with R. He’d fought hard to keep Tristan and Pearl and Claire’s children out of this whole mess. 

“...I wish I could shield you, Pip. I wish that...things could be just the way they were.”

Carewyn’s eyes softened. Feeling compassion in her heart for who she thought was her brother, she then opened up her arms and encircled “Jacob” in a hug. The gesture made Blaise flinch. 

“Me too,” Carewyn murmured. 

The warmth of her embrace flooded Blaise with a strange, trembling kind of pain -- an ache he hardly knew the origin of. He so rarely received hugs as it was, but this kind of hug in particular -- however much it comforted Carewyn as much as him, once again, there was no sense of transaction, no sense of control. She was just offering him comfort, and she found comfort herself just in giving it...such a weak-hearted gesture, and yet expressed by such a firm, warm embrace. 

Abruptly, before he fully knew what he was doing, Blaise had lashed his arms out and seized hold of Carewyn, cradling her against his chest the way he did his own son, Tristan. The strength of his hug made Carewyn give him a light squeeze in return, which in turn made tears clutch at Blaise’s throat. Forcing them back fiercely, the heir of the Cromwell Clan simply held on tighter, resting his head on top of Carewyn’s as a choked song drifted absently from his lips. 

“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms... When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, So I hung my head and cried.”

Blaise hardly knew the origin of the old song anymore, aside from it being his main choice of lullaby for his son, Tristan, when he was young. Carewyn seemed to know it, though. Her lips even curled up in a small, sad smile of her own as she sang the chorus with him --

“You are my sunshine...my only sunshine... You make me happy when skies are gray... You’ll never know, dear...how much I love you... Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Patricia Rakepick had told Blaise that Carewyn was a true Cromwell, when she sang. Seeing what she meant, by hearing the warm, trained tone of his niece for the first time, made Blaise squeeze Carewyn that little bit tighter.

Oh, if only his mother could’ve heard her, Blaise thought of Marilyn at the grand piano so many years ago...if only she’d had the chance to hear Lane’s daughter sing...

“We can’t forget Laney’s baby. We must get something for the baby...”

When Blaise finally forced himself to let go of Carewyn, he cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together as he turned away. 

“...I should go. The longer I’m here, the more of a chance someone’ll see me. Can’t afford to get you in more trouble, on my account...”

Carewyn frowned. “Mm...”

Even with how disappointed she looked, she still nodded. Blaise turned to her much more seriously. 

“Best not tell anyone I was here, Pip,” he said. “If your friends are anything like mine...I doubt they’ll just stand back and watch, if they know you’re helping me with the Vaults.”

Carewyn’s eyes fell away as she nodded again grimly. She clearly didn’t need to be convinced -- she’d already come to that conclusion herself. 

Good, thought Blaise coldly. The more she separates herself from them now, the easier it’ll be for her to let go of them and return home to us. Then she’ll know what home and family truly are.

The memory of trying and failing to completely modify Ben Copper’s memory outside the Ice Vault -- of seeing him fearfully mumbling Carewyn’s name in his sleep in the Hospital Wing, after he was recovered -- made Blaise’s fist clench around his wand as he left the room and disappeared down the hall. 

Everything would be the way it should be, Blaise thought, once he brought Lane and her children home. He’d make sure Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn had everything they could ever want, once they came home to the Clan. He’d make sure they were content -- that they’d have everything they needed, at home, where they belonged.

Then they’d stay. They’d stay, and never leave again.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand. 

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin. 

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

-

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him. 

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans. 

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.” 

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard. 

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question. 

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!” 

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.” 

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?" 

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this." 

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'." 

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it. 

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject. 

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.” 

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened. 

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.” 

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling. 

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?” 

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?” 

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.” 

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked. 

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.” 

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down. 

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.” 

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased. 

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.” 

[stargazer-balladeer]

Songwriter Reader [Phantom Thieves]

anon: ik u got so many p5 asks but um what about the phantom thieves with a songwriter reader? like reader plays piano and sings an orginal; the other thieves definitely KNOW who it is for. It depends if *target* will get it instantly, turn into tomato, or dense and need a forehead flick 👉👈

Characters Included: Akira Kurusu, Ryuji Sakamoto, Ann Takamaki, Yusuke Kitagawa, Makoto Niijima, Haru Okumura, Futaba Sakura & Goro Akechi

Note: Don’t worry love, you can request p5 over and over again. No need to be shy :) I’m also very creative with the title :)))) (note: sarcasm). Hope ya’ll enjoy this!!

Reader’s Gender: Neutral

Warning: None

Akira Kurusu

-Oh, he knows the song you are playing is for him. He has the smuggest look on his face. But this boi is so proud of you and is falling deeper in love with you. 

-He loves how you can compose a song, play a piano and sing. He is in-love with your voice though, he thinks Kamisama (God) has given him an angel in disguise. 

-He’s so supportive of you that he cheers you on if you want to make a career out of this. He’ll be there when you need a shoulder to cry if someone (mainly your parents or the adults) criticize your future. He’ll comfort you as he whisper comforting words in your ear. He’s not allowed to pick fights since he’s under Probation ;-; poor bby boi

-He might help you in composing some songs, but don’t expect much. He’s not really a newbie in the Music Department but he’s not in your level, yet. If you’re willing to teach him how to play piano, he’ll be elated. 

-It was a Talent Show in Shujin Academy when you suddenly show up on stage with a nervous smile on your face. He was shook. Why was his s/o there? Don’t they have stage fright?

-It isn’t until you play your first note in the piano when he relax himself, but he was astounded when you started to sing as well! He was surprised yet proud of you at the same time.

-When you finish, he’ll run to you going downstairs and pick you up and spin you around in pure happiness. He doesn’t care if everyone’s watching as he kiss you in the lips, you either super embarrassed or flattered at his action. 

-Hey, atleast the whole school knows that you belong to him :)

Ryuji Sakamoto

-He’s confused yet proud that you can compose, play and sing. I can see him being oblivious to the fact that the song is about him. Because he’s not really paying attention to what you’re singing, he’s just watching your figure in amazement. Yeah, someone may need to snap him out or else he’s drooling at the sight.

-Like Akira, he loves how talented you are (sanaol). He full-on support you if you want to make a career out of this. If he ever finds out someone is criticizing you, he’ll pick a fight with them. But if its either your parents or adults who criticize you, he’ll be so mad but do nothing. He’s still just a teenager, he don’t want to end up in jail!

-Don’t expect him to help you though, he has no music abilities whatsoever. He might help you when it comes to writing lyrics, but other than that? Just.. no.

-If you stand on stage with your music notes and piano, he’ll be that guy who cheers the loudest for you. But when you start to play, he’ll shush anyone who’s making a sound. 

-He didn’t get what the lyrics has since he wasn’t listening but the melody was good! He’ll congratulate you but when he notices you being pouty, he’ll be hella confused. What did I do?

-Just flick his forehead and explain to him what you sang about, and you’ll have a apple-faced Ryuji :)

Ann Takamaki

-I believe she knew that the song was meant for her, but is still unsure. Please tell this bby girl that the song was meant for her because she might not look like it, but she’s insecure. But when she realize its for her, she’ll have a big and happy smile on her face.

-She’s proud that she has a s/o that is so talented. Be prepared for her countless compliments towards you. If you ever feel insecure about your talented abilities, don’t worry! She’s already here by your side, complimenting you left and right. You can’t help but believe her though, I mean, how could she lie with a face like that?!

-I can totally see Ann knows how to play an instrument, hopefully a violin so you two can play together and have loads of fun! But if she plays something else, like recorder or flute, then you two can still play together. 

-She’s supportive towards you, telling you to believe in your dreams and don’t let other people get in the way in achieving your dream. But if she sees you crying because someone is criticizing you, you bet your ass that she’s ready to fight them. No one says that to her s/o without getting away!

-Ann wants to burst into tears when you started to play and sing at the same time, she was already beyond surprise when you appeared on stage, but when you started to play? She just wants to cry because because she’s being too emotional. Makoto has to calm her down as the others sweatdropped.

-Everyone basically knew it is directed to Ann, which made her giddy and embarrassed at the same tme. She’s so proud of you that after your performance, she drags you to spoil you.

Yusuke Kitagawa

-DENSE AS A ROCK :) Like everyone knew it was for him, but he sits there, listening to the music with a content smile on his face. He doesn’t know that the lyrics was for him really :( Poor bby.

-”That was a magnificently beautiful performance you had!”

-”Yeah! And the lyrics is about you!”

-”...”

-”...”

-”... eXCUSE ME?!”

-He’s very proud that you have something you are passionate about and enjoys listening to your music while he’s painting. He’s glad to have a s/o that is passionate about the art of music. If you want, he can teach you how to paint and you teach him how to play piano.

-He’s interested in learning to play since he believes that if he’s passionate enough, he can learn how to play the piano. I think he’s also interested learning how to compose a song, probably composing a song immediately after you teaching him how.

-He’s also supportive if you want to make a career out of it, because it’s also how he feels with his artistic skills. If someone criticize you, he would be so angry that he goes into a rant about how beautiful your music is and how disrespectful that person is towards you, regardless if its an adult or a parent. He also doesn’t like people using you for their benefit so he shy you away from people like those, who were “seeking talentful people”. Yeah, no thanks.

-He’ll be surprised to see you standing on stage though, and watching you play and sing so animatedly amaze him to no end. Futaba would probably tease him because of his awestruck look on his face while they watch you play. 

-Once you finish, you can bet that he will run up to you and rant about how gracious and beautiful your performance was. He wouldn’t realize the lyrics were meant for him until you told him. He became a happy boi after that :D

Makoto Niijima

-She knows that the song was meant for her but she doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or flattered by it. But she’s so proud of you that she can’t find the big smile on her face, despite her embarrassment. When she walks up to you, her face was so red that she fumbles her words around. Please pull her into a hug and she’ll calm down :)

-She’s proud that your gifted in the music department, and will help you if you need some help. Yes, I can imagine Makoto being good at music, mainly violin or piano as well. You two can play together in the piano as you sing.

-She helps in composing some songs, adding or switching some words here and there. It also helps her relieve some stress as she hears you playing the piano. Sae is also thankful for you if you ever play in their house.

-Makoto is supportive of you, of course. If you want to pursue being a pianist or a singer, she’ll be your cheerleader. But if someone criticize you, she’ll tell them off before telling you off as well to stand up for yourself. 

-Makoto almost had an heart attack when she saw you on-stage. Like no joke. She’s sweating and pale white, she’s nervous than you were -_-’ But she means well. 

-When you started playing though, she knew instantly that this song you composed was directed at her. She was blushing all throughout your performance. She’s still blushing even when she’s coming near you. Please hug your mommy ;-;

Haru Okumura

-Another girl who instantly can tell that the song you’re playing is for her, but instead of being embarrassed, she’s flattered as she hums along your song. This girl also has no shame in declaring her love for you as she pecks your lips after your performance, watching as your face burst in red while giggling softly.

-This girl has some skills in music as well since her father wants for her to be a perfectionist, and it comes with her training since it requires patience and grace. She can totally play the violin, imagine Kaori and Kousei from Your Lie In April (without the dying part whOOPS--), that’s you two.

-She’s so helpful whenever you suddenly got music block and couldn’t find any inspiration to make music. She’ll drag you outside so that you could be inspired. She even helps you in composing some music, I swear this girl knows so much than you -_-’

-Haru’s also very supportive towards her s/o’s dream in pursuing music as their career and would help them make their dream a reality. If someone criticize your choices, Haru would just pull you away from them. She doesn’t like dealing those who criticize other’s ideals, it’s best to just walk away.

-She would be so surprised when she sees you on stage, she cheers the loudest for you. When you began to play, she listens intently, not wanting to miss anything you do. It’s almost scary for the group as they watch Haru watching you intently with a easy-going smile on her face.

-You bet that she’ll give you a bouquet of flowers (don’t ask where they came from though) and lots of kisses from Haru :D

Futaba Sakura

-The only music she knows is Vocaloid and Anime Openings and Endings. She actually finds classical music to be boring, but when it comes to you, she’ll be excited to hear it. Be proud that you’re an exception :D (if ever you play classical music though)

-Futaba wouldn’t know that the music was directed to her until someone pointed it out or she hears her name in the lyrics, then she’ll be beet red at once (much to the amusement of the group). Futaba would be so shy that it would take time for her to come up to you and congratulate you. So you need to be the one who approach her in this scenario.

-She has little to no idea about composing music like you do. But she’s willing to learn about it, as long as she can see that happy smile on your face. Be aware that it takes patience to teach though, since she can throw a tantrum or two if she doesn’t get it.

-Futaba’s also supportive (I think all of them do, lol) about wanting your hobby to turn into career and cheers you on. She may or may not have also upload a video of you playing piano and singing in YouTube :) If she hears any criticism (DANCE SO HARD THAT IM CAUSING A SENSATION-- *slap*), she’ll hack into their phone and practically make it die and unusable :)

-Futaba practically lets out a shriek when she saw you on-stage, which made her embarrassed since people are starting to look at her. She shrunk into her seat as she watches you in wonder as you take a seat and began playing. The song was relaxing for her as she started to enjoy it.

-it isn’t until Akira (her big bro) tease her about her s/o singing about her. Futaba’s face turned even more red in realization as she buries her face into her hands, wanting to disappear already. (Mommy Makoto is glaring at him for stating that).

-When you approach her after the performance, she could hardly talk. You need to hold her tight so that she could calm down. Poor NEET bby girl ;-;

Goro Akechi

-He’ll know it at once when you started to play, he also has the smuggest look on his face, but not as much as Akira’s though. He’s so proud of you that he wants to kiss you right there and there, but he has a reputation to hold. Opted instead to handing you a bouquet with your favorite flowers in them. But he would also resort to kissing your forehead.

-I can also see him playing the piano, atleast some. Since he rarely has time for himself, so he knew only little about playing. But you could teach him! If you suggest it to him, he’ll be ecstatic that he’s already pulling you to the piano.

-He loves hearing you sing though! He already loves your voice, and you singing? It’s a dream come true for Akechi.

-He’ll also be useful in helping you coming up with lyrics and melodies in the song, he knows a selection of melodies so he’s very useful for you if you get stuck.

-Though at first he’s against the idea of you wanting to continue playing and singing and make it your career, but soon enough, he warm up to the idea of it. He’ll then keep supporting you from here on end. If someone criticize you about it, then he’ll step in and use his sharp tongue to avert their attention to him. In his mind, it’s better if its him being criticized instead of you, so he’ll do just that.

-Akechi would be surprise to see you on-stage though, but when you started to play, he’ll relax and smile. He’ll listen contentedly to your music and singing voice. But he’ll have that smug smirk on his face.

-When you finish, you better expect Akechi waiting for you to get down the stage (hOW DID HE GET THERE SO FAST--?!). He gives you a genuine smile as he gives you the bouquet and kiss you on the forehead. He’s cherishing the moment while he still can, afterall it’s only a matter of time before...

[x] Main Page || [x] Persona 5 Page

[whitewolfandthefox]

I've run out of words my song. Jaskier X reader, super angsty? Maybe reader spent loads of time helping Jaskier with his lyrics and rhymes and is now dying in his arms after they were attacked by something?

Prompt: I’ve run out of words, my song

Summary: Jaskier x reader; an attack leaves you wounded, Jaskier desperate to get you help.

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: whole lot of angst, major character death, description of injuries

Masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist!

A/N. This is a sad one, not gonna lie guys. It was not very happy to write, I apologize for the angst in advance

My Song

You doubled over, tears running down your face as you clutched at your stomach, aching as you laughed at Jaskier’s joke. The bard grinned at you, delighted at your reaction to his comment. You gripped his shoulder, leaning on him as you gasped for air, lungs protesting at your actions. It took a few minutes, but you eventually calmed down, wiping your face with a handkerchief handed to you by your lover. He took your hand, squeezing it gently as you recovered, his arm supporting you as you wheezed slightly, grinning up at him brilliantly.

“It really wasn’t that funny, love.” He admonished you, ignoring the stares the two of you were getting from travellers passing by.

“Fine, if that’s what you would like, darling. It was a terrible joke, and I laugh out of pity rather than amusement. Is that more to your liking?” You poked him in the chest, fake pouting as he pretended to recoil, hand covering where you poked him as a wounded expression came over his face.

“Wounded, by the love of my life, of all people! How could you betray me like this?” Jaskier keeled over backwards, arms flailing as he caught your shoulder, tugging you down into the grass with him as he fell. The two of you had ventured out to a small hill just outside of the town you were in, packing a lunch of cheese, bread, and wine. You were content to spend the afternoon in the quiet before having to perform that evening. 

Jaskier had been invited to perform for a nobleman in town, he was having a celebration for his daughter’s birthday and she had requested the famous bard perform at the feast. Jaskier had of course accepted, especially after hearing of the offer of free lodging and meals while there. You had joined him, having begun to perform with him, the two of you getting along like pigs in mud. The two of you had met at Oxenfurt; Jaskier had been at the university to give a guest lecture and you had been there for a performance. You were a master violinist and composer; you had been debuting a song cycle you had written for an ensemble.

The male bard sought you out and the two of you had hit it off, spending many nights in the pub before eventually falling into bed together. When it had been time for Jaskier to leave he had pleaded with you to come with him, and to both of your surprise you had accepted. You had never really travelled as a bard before, preferring to reside in your hometown and only venture out for performances. You were in fairly high demand, but had decided that you could use this time to compose. You had followed the bard to meet up with the Witcher, your quiet demeanor seeming to help Geralt accept you into the little group fairly quickly; you weren’t as loud and obnoxious as Jaskier was at times. You still plucked at your instrument each night, but it was quiet, sometimes soothing. 

Jaskier would often join you, and the two of you began performing together at inns. You didn’t often sing, your voice was fine, but you preferred to play your instrument, to let Jaskier have the spotlight. When you found yourselves playing for the upper class, you would perform a few songs of your own, the ladies enjoying listening to the higher tones of your violin before Jaskier took over again with a dancing tune. 

It was the same pattern this evening; Jaskier and yourself performing some of his better known songs before you took center stage as you played your own compositions. The birthday girl performed her song on the piano, the audience politely applauding as you joined her, playing a duet that both of you knew before you performed another one of your originals. As a new round of wine and ale was served, Jaskier took the stage to perform faster paced tunes, you retreating to the side for a break of your own. As you moved through the room you were stopped a few times as people congratulated you on your performance. You felt your cheeks flush at the praise, never having been comfortable with the attention before escaping to the corner your pair had claimed. 

A serving girl was quick to stop by with a plate of food and drink for you as you settled your instrument back in its case. You tucked into your meal, enjoying the food as you watched Jaskier stir the crowd into a frenzy, the uptight lords and ladies relaxing as the booze flowed and the night grew darker. You always enjoyed when he played, watching his nimble fingers work the strings on his lute, listening to his clear voice dance over the melody. Jaskier was a master showman and he knew it; drawing the crowd in before releasing them to enjoy whatever he launched into next.

Break finished, you rejoined your lover, your bow dancing over the strings as you harmonized with Jaskier’s folk songs, foot tapping along to the beat as the dancers whirled around the room. You watched the skirts swirl past you, catching on dancers’ legs as they passed each other, boots stomping the stone floor in time with the song. The room grew warm, the smell of sweat and spilled booze growing strong. The two of you played until the early mornings, finally staggering back to your assigned room once the last of the drunks and late night lovers had made their way from the ballroom.

You tiredly turned your back to Jaskier, silently asking him to unlace your dress. You shivered as his finger released you from the cloth, dropping it to the floor before coming back up to whisper down your bare skin. You felt your hair swept from your back before his lips pressed into your shoulder, teeth nipping at the skin as you gasped. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your skin, making his way up your neck to behind your ear, teeth scraping at the spot that always made you melt.

You were suddenly whirled as your back was pressed against the wall, the wood cold against your skin as slender fingers caught your wrists, Jaskier holding your arms above you. You sighed as you felt a knee shoved between your legs, heat pooling in your core at the action. Lips met yours, a messy kiss as you fought for dominance. You finally relinquished control as the bard dominated, hard body pressing against yours, tongue exploring your mouth. Your wrists were pushed together, one hand pinning them as the other came down to grip your hip, digging bruises into the skin. 

A squeak was drawn from you as Jaskier lifted you, legs wrapping around his hips as he carried you over to the bed, teeth nipping at the crook of your shoulder as he made his way over to the bed. He dropped you on the mattress, climbing after you once his clothes were shed, body covering yours as his thighs straddled your hips, his mouth chasing your lips. You lost yourself in a blaze of pleasure, the feeling of skin on skin as hands explored familiar places, the night passing in a blur of skin, sweat, and dirtied sheets, your bodies never leaving each other as the two of you lapsed into sleep.

**~*~*~*~**

It was a late start the next morning, the entire keep slow to wake up after a night of partying. You and Jaskier took a late breakfast in the common eating area before Jaskier charmed a lunch out of the cooks. You had laughed behind your hand, grinning down at the table to hear the verbose gestures that the bard was making. You set out a little bit later, Jaskier lamenting the loss of feather beds and warm water to bathe in.

“But think of the stories you will write once we see Geralt again, I’m sure his last contract was interesting.” The Witcher had been talking about an Alp before you left, a substantial reward being offered once the creature was disposed of. The two of you would meet up with him at an inn in the next town over before continuing your journey. Geralt generally had a direction in mind, you and Jaskier wandering behind him.

The day was a beautiful one, the clouds slowly passing through the serene sky. The birds sang in the trees, you smiling up at the flashes of colour that flitted through the branches around you. Jaskier sang under his breath as he walked next to you, fingers laced together as you swung your arms between you. Your attention was pulled upward, murmuring an invocation to the gods in thanks of the day.

You and Jaskier had been walking for hours, deciding to stop for a brief lunch before continuing. The two of you settled underneath the shadows of the trees, your head in your lover’s lap as you relaxed on the cool ground. You peered up at him, a soft smile on your face as you watched him, Jaskier writing notes into his little notebook he always carried with him. He was always writing, your bard, inspiration hitting him at any moment. He was your muse, your song, everything you had composed over the last few months of travelling had revolved around him.

Your recent composition started off sweet, following the soft sounds of young love, slowly growing to a crescendo of passion. Lovers clashed, the melodies and harmonies alternating with each other as they slowly weave together to fall low, doubts and troubles weighing on a relationship. The music went dark, the lower pitch enhanced by the fear and desperation that was felt as lovers pulled away, flames died out and relationships ended. Just as it felt as if nothing would end happily, a lone flute sang out above the heaviness, crying out for the gentle notes of love as it fought to overcome the differences. Slowly, other instruments would join in, the tone lifting as the feeling of reconciliation wound itself in, the harmonies twisting around the melody once more, complimenting each other just as lovers do. 

You hadn’t written past that point, intending to take your music into a high crescendo, fondness and trust underlying the notes as you slowed the rhythm, a soft beat finishing off the cycle with a gentle, loving tune. It was some of your best work, you thought, and you were so excited to finish it. You hadn’t shared it with anyone, wanting to to have the complete works and to be able to play it in concert, nothing else would do it justice. You wanted to play it for Jaskier, to sit in the front row with your violin, show him just how much you loved him.

You drifted for what felt like hours, Jaskier’s hands playing with your hair soothing you as you fell into a doze. It was the silence that finally brought you back to awareness, the absence of the songbirds the first warning you got that something had gone wrong. You sat up, frowning at the trees as you looked around for what might have caused the birds to take flight. The bard looked as well, years of travelling with Geralt teaching him what to watch for.

You stood silently, Jaskier rising behind you as your hand went to the dagger you wore at your side, unsheathing the blade before holding it loosely in your hand. Neither of you were fighters, staying as far away from Geralt’s hunts as you could. Jaskier would sometimes get closer, but the Witcher didn’t often allow it, preferring to know that the both of you were safe and he could focus just on the monster and not on protecting the two of you. That didn’t mean you were entirely defenseless; Geralt had spent many hours teaching you and Jaskier the basics of defense, in case you were ever in a situation like this. 

You heard a twig snap behind you, whirling around as you searched for the source of the sound. You felt Jaskier place his back against yours, also looking for any indication of whatever was now hunting you. You felt more than heard something drop from the trees above you, shoving the man behind you out of the way before you dove away yourself, feeling claws rake down your arm as you moved, opening thin lacerations in your skin.

You turned to see a pale human-like thing in front of you, long claws hanging from its fingertips as it stalked towards you. You could see its ribs, the bones outlined by the translucent skin that clung to its figure. As you backed away, you searched your mind for what monster this was, trying to remember the sketches Geralt had shown you. You gasped silently as the name came to you. This was the creature the Witcher had gone to hunt, the Alp. What had happened to him, that it had managed to find you?

The thoughts were pushed from your head as the thing slashed at you, barely managing to dodge as you spun out the way, feeling claws grasp at your tunic. As you turned back to face it, you could see Jaskier slowly moving behind it, his own dagger gripped tightly in his hand. Desperate to keep its attention as he moved into position, you lifted your blade, tightening your fingers before you darted forward, stabbing with the blade before ducking under an arm.

You backed away, trying to keep the Alp distracted but also trying to stay out of striking distance. You were fairly successful until you tripped on a root, falling backwards as your hands went out to catch you. You closed your eyes, waiting for the strike that was sure to come. You heard a shout, eyes flying back open at the lack of impact to see Jaskier waving his dagger at the monster, terror clear on his face as it advanced towards him.

As you stood, you saw his eyes flicker towards you, a brief flash of relief passing over his expression as he saw you standing before he refocused on the Alp, yelping when it swiped at him, claws managing to catch the fabric of his doublet, tearing through it as easily as a hot knife through butter. You saw red, a haze of rage settling over you at the sound of your lover’s fear. You ran forward before jumping, sinking your dagger into the creature’s shoulder with a yell. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, let it hurt Jaskier.

The creature shrieked as your silver blade pierced its skin, whirling to dislodge you. Your body went flying, breath leaving you in a rush as you hit a tree, sliding down the trunk to land in a heap at the base. The Alp was on you before you could regain your bearings, claws tearing through your clothes and into your skin as a cry burst from your lips.

“Y/N!” You distantly heard, the monster suddenly gone from in front of you, replaced by a concerned looking Jaskier. You groaned as his hands clamped down on your shoulder, feeling the blood slide down your skin as it soaked the cloth.

“Come on, we have to go while it's distracted.” With the bard’s help, you stood, shakily leaning against him. A groan left your lips as you took a step, the pain flaring at the movement. You looked over to see the monster writhing on the ground as it clawed at its eyes, a shimmering powder on it’s skin. 

“Silver powder, it’s my last resort.” Jaskier had followed your gaze to the monster, a wry grin on his face, which was quickly replaced by concern as you collapsed slightly before catching yourself. He slung your uninjured arm over his shoulder, trying to support as much of your weight as possible.

You were in agony, it felt like there were red hot knives digging into your skin, poking and prodding to get further and further under your skin. You could feel yourself getting weaker as blood rushed forth, slowly soaking the sleeve of the dress you had chosen. You felt a pang of sadness at that, this was one of your favourite gowns, Jaskier had always mentioned how much he loved that colour on you.

You don’t know what alerted you to the movement behind you, as lost as you were in the pain. You turned your head slightly to see a white wraithlike creature bearing down on you, claws raised to slash. Too weak to get a warning out, you let your arm drop from your lover’s shoulder before staggering to the side, legs threatening to collapse. Sensing the weaker prey, the Alp followed you, arm coming down to rake down your chest and abdomen. A scream tore its way from your lips, mixing with Jaskier’s cry to form a discordant sound, the harsh notes ringing in your ears.

As you fell to the ground, you distantly observed the flash of a sword as it rose and fell, the Alp’s head falling with it. A silver hair framed the face that appeared in your vision, golden eyes filled with concern before it was replaced by a blue-eyed one. You smiled up at Jaskier, coughing slightly as the pain made itself apparent. You felt something run down your chin, though you didn’t have the strength to reach up and wipe it away. You felt yourself being pulled upwards, body propped into a half-seated position as the bard held you in his arms, back against his shoulder.

A hand appeared in your vision, pressure building on your chest. You struggled to move your head, managing to look down to see cloth pressed against your abdomen, quickly staining with your blood. You let your head fall backwards, gasping for breath as you choked, spitting the liquid in your mouth out as you fought for air. Jaskier’s face was full of agony, tears running down his cheek as he spoke, the words slowly filtering through the haze of exhaustion that was quickly overcoming you.

“-awake, please Y/N, you have to hold on - to get Roach - need to get you to a healer-” you could hear the agony in his voice as he begged you, pleaded with you to stay with him. You hated to hear his beautiful voice break, frowning as he choked on a sob. Your partner should never sound like this, should never have the hurt that was on his face. You wanted to console him, fighting to move any of your limbs in order to do so. You fought against the heaviness, wanting to tell Jaskier that you were okay.

Using every ounce of willpower you had left in you, you raised your hand to cup his cheek, seeing the red fingerprints you left on his skin. You attempted a smile, trying to look reassuring as you felt more liquid slide down your skin, coughing to try to clear your airway. “I’ve run out of words, my song is done. Continue to sing, my love, to tell your stories. Remember me that way.”

Exhausted, you let your hand fall away, eyes closing as you heard Jaskier sob, his body shaking against you as he clutched at you, begging you to “stay awake, please, open your eyes, you can’t go, I love you, I need you-”

**~*~*~*~**

Geralt returned with Roach, having run to find her and the healing supplies in his pack. As he entered the clearing, he froze at the sight of Jaskier clutching your body to him, his entire frame shaking with the force of his sobs. Moving towards his friend, he bowed his head and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to support him through this time, a single tear running down his cheek.

The bard continued to plead with you, beg you to wake up, to come back to you, but you remained limp. You lay motionless in his arms, face serene in death as you left behind broken hearts and an unfinished song.

**~*~*~*~**

Add yourself to my taglist!

@riviawitch3r / @scarlettwitcher / @ayamenimthiriel / @uncoolcloudyhead / @secretsthathauntus / @vintage-mind-young-body / @creamysacrilege / @hina-chans-stuff / @bastardfruitsandbasil / @shewritesinthethirdperson / @widowvinter / @unnamedmaincharacter​ / @thenocturnalsyren​ / @loudlycolorfulkryptonite​ / @whatawildone / @geraltmrwitcher / @psychosupernatural / @chickennooget69 / @just-antiyou / @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot / @onlyhenrys / @l-km07 / @iloveyouyen / @itsemmyb / @iloveyouyen / @persephonehemingway / @summerartist4life / @thedragonsbirthgiver / @blackrockshooter780 / @lamnothome / @jade10077 / @dreaming-about-starfleet / @ginreagann17 / @xmother-mortemx / @thavsstuff / @logan-loves-bullfrogs / @sageandberries-png / @morelikebyesexual / @maan24 / @winchesterandpie / @my-secret-life-1

[undertaleowl]

so i saw awhile ago that you would do him but you just needed to research a little, so take as much time as you need for this, but could you write g paps if he caught his s/o singing and they had an absolutely gorgeous voice?

Aww, this is adorable! I know I say that about a lot of my asks, but all that means is that you all are amazing at thinking of such sweet asks. One-shot under the cut, honey! Sorry this took so long. I smiled like a lovesick fool the entire time I was writing this, holy cow. Song referred to in this one-shot is called “On the Radio” by Regina Spektor. You can listen to it here → https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1sX9Oicbr-Q

AO3 Link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17482211/chapters/42475082

WC: 1,470

On the Radio

He was coming home from another night at the lab, and he was annoyed. His brother was more obnoxious than usual, making far more snide and snarky comments than what he himself had deemed necessary. Papyrus knew that the remarks were more centered around the fact that their research so far had been more inconclusive than what they were hoping for. So, it was no wonder that both of them were a little more than on edge. All he wanted to do was get home, hope the research sorted itself out in his absence, and relax, hopefully with you in his arms. He really hoped that you hadn’t stayed up waiting for him.

He sent a quick text message to you that said he was on his way home. Even if you were asleep, it made him feel better to know that everyone was on the same wavelength about situations. He was thrilled to see the bus arriving just as he walked to the stop.  Once you had found out that he couldn’t use as much magic as many other monsters, you made him promise not to teleport as much.

“But dearest, do you know how many germs there are on a single bus seat? How much bacteria repopulate every second on the grime of public transportation?” he had tried to cajole. You simply had raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a monster, you’re not infected by germs. Monster ailments are more personal and are transferred from soul to soul rather than through human germs,” you had retorted. In that one instance, he cursed himself for rambling to you about the intricacies of the average monster’s inner workings.

“However,” he thought to himself, trying to cheer himself up, “The bus is never full at this hour, and the movement of the bus is rather useful for thinking.”

The clouds hiding the moon and the muffled thunder indicated that some rain was on the way, so he was actually thankful for the bus that he used to detest. He got on the bus and saw only one other person, who was snoozing in the back of the bus. He sat in the middle, to observe the human in the back and to see any potential people entering the bus from the front. The bus driver, a girl in her mid-twenties with wavy, dirty blonde pixie cut, and large round-rimmed glasses switched the radio station.

“Is this station okay with you?” she asked, pointing at Papyrus in her rear-view mirror. He nodded, ambivalent. It’s not that he minded the music. It seemed soothing enough, nothing like the ruckus of noise that his brother liked to listen to when he worked. Papyrus didn’t really like music while he worked, but in an atmosphere like a bus, the distraction from the grunginess of the vehicle was welcome. After a few minutes of the first song, the second song began. A calming but still upbeat plucking of the violin echoed throughout the bus, almost matching up with the rain drops.

A piano joined in with the violin plucks. The jumping in puddles feeling in the music changed to a stick barely altering the course of a river, smooth but still rhythmic.

“Ah, ah, ah-ah-ah-ah. Ah, ah, ah-ah,” the lady’s breathy voice sang in a crisp staccato. As the rain started, so did the beginning of lyrics.

This is how it worksIt feels a little worseThan when we drove our hearseRight through that screaming crowd…

He didn’t know why, but the song vaguely reminded him of you. He was methodical and reserved, a gentleman scientist. You, compared to him at least, were more unpredictable, spontaneous. When you had wanted to go out for dinner one night, he was startled.

“Did you not make reservations?” he had asked. You laughed.

“No. Most of the restaurants that do reservations are too fancy for what I was thinking. What kind of food do you feel like?”

He had never done that before meeting you. Go to wherever to do whatever you were feeling at the moment. It was…

Uncomfortable.

Troubling.

Worrying.

Beautiful.

Exhilarating.

Fun.

He didn’t know how you did it, but for someone who liked planning everything, he sure did like being spontaneous with you. The song was bubbly and switched from controlled to spontaneous, just like you and him. The sway of the bus and the pitter-patter of the rain added a sense of welcomed ambiance to the song, and despite everything at work, he felt content.

All too soon, even before the song was over, his stop came up. He smiled at the driver. “Have a good night. Thank you.”

The driver looked surprised at his thanks, but she gave him a smile in return.

“Good night to you too, sir.” She let him off and he walked for about twenty seconds before entering his apartment building. After so fondly reminiscing about you on the bus, he was even more eager than before to hold you close.

When he opened the apartment door, he was pleasantly surprised to hear the same station that had been playing on the bus echo through the apartment. Only, the voice sounded…different. Not a bad different. This voice was more clear, strong, and less breathy than the voice on the bus, sounding like a clarinet chorus rather than a flute soloist.  He felt his strange soul thrum faster when he heard the first voice through the second voice when the volume of the song decreased. Was that…?

Quickly but quietly, he went over to your living room area. You were skimming over a magazine while lounging on the couch, singing almost absent-mindedly, and there was no doubt that the heavenly noise was coming from you. The second refrain’s climax began and all he could do was smile like a fool.

Oh, by the stars and galaxies above, you were perfect, weren’t you?

This is how it worksYou’re young until you’re notYou love until you don’tYou try until you can’tYou laugh until you cryYou cry until you laughAnd everyone must breatheUntil their dying breath~!

He rushed into the living room and kissed the crown of your head for as long as he could without seeming creepy. You craned your neck backwards to smile up at him.

“Hey. Glad you’re home. You worked a little later than usual tonight,” you said quietly, as to not disturb your probably snoozing neighbors. You puckered your lips slightly to invite your boyfriend to kiss you, and he did so happily as the song ended.  

“Thank you for the concert, dearest. I am a very fortunate skeleton to have been your audience,” he commented. You smiled bashfully, and he had to restrain himself from sighing like a lovestruck high-schooler when he saw a delicate blush dust over your cheeks.

“Oh, you heard that, huh? Sometimes singing makes the place feel less empty when you aren’t here,” you explained sheepishly. He chuckled and came around the couch, and he offered his hand, almost seeming like he was bowing, like the gentlemanly skeleton he was. You took it, and you let out a squeak when he pulled you into another kiss, this one full of nothing but pure adoration.

“Just when I thought that I couldn’t be any luckier,” he said as he pulled away reluctantly. You chuckled, honestly a little shocked by his sudden spontaneity.

“You…really liked me singing that much?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, not even missing a beat. “Especially because I was listening to this song on the bus, and the entire time I listened to it, I thought of you,” he admitted. You brightened.

“You were listening to this station on the bus?” you asked, amused laughter in your voice. “You were reminded of me?” You laughed again. “And this entire time, I was thinking of you!”

Papyrus felt his soul swell as he stepped closer to you. “You know, in science, they say that coincidences are highly unlikely?”

You smirked and stepped closer to your boyfriend. “Oh yeah? How unlikely?”

He didn’t know what you did to him, but Papyrus smirked right back at you, suddenly filled with a sort of carefree recklessness that he had only seen you exhibit. “As unlikely as this, dearest.” He picked you up bridal-style and kissed you again. Seeing the pleased shock in your eyes made him chuckle. When he finally pulled away, you giggled weakly, a little breathless.

“I guess we really are on the same wavelength, in more ways than one,” you retorted as you kissed his cheek bone, the scientific reference and the kiss making him beam like he had just won a Nobel Prize.

And to think, your mutual happiness and romance of tonight’s events had started with a song on the radio.

[tevotbegotnaught]

“The conductor…in the power he has over others…it is in his interest as a human being, as well as that of his musical achievements, to resist the temptation to misuse it. Tyranny can never bring to fruition artistic-or for that matter human- gifts; subordination under a despot does not make for joy in one’s music-making. Intimidation deprives the musician of the full enjoyment of his talent and proficiency. Yet I should certainly not want to impugn the employment of earnest severity or even the occasional borrowing of the Bolt of Zeus; the latter if the hand knows how to wield it, can in exceptional situations bring surprisingly good results. Severity is a legitimate even indispensable means of dealing with people...”

Bruno Walter

In my Summer of 42 (years), I was a college freshman…again. With neither Mexican weed nor dormitory hijinks to distract me, I worked through the full Brooklyn College Core Curriculum and a handful of music courses. My degree plan also required an ensemble each semester. When the Assistant Dean interviewed me, he looked over my CV and immediately suggested their Jazz Band. After hearing them, I chose a contemporary music ensemble founded by a composition professor. Fall semester, she was on sabbatical and a trumpet prof, Juilliard guy and veteran freelancer, ran the class. To begin, he sat everyone in a circle and asked us to play “Happy Birthday" in hocket. Most of the class was unsure of the melody and some also thought it a stupid idea. With our nonstandard instrumentation, we massacred Second Viennese School composers for the rest of the term.

Spring term, the founder returned. She was just over five feet tall, brown-skinned, with narrow shoulders and mineshaft dark eyes. When she listened, her head nodded while bottomless eyes fixed on you. Raised in a distressed country, her life moved from prodigy to conservatory-trained professional with impeccable musicianship: piano, score reading, solfege, conducting, improvising, composing. Then, she came to the US, with zero money and English and rebuilt her career from scratch. At BC, she conducted the orchestra until politics pushed her out. Now, she gave composition lessons and led this ensemble.

Our roster still read as spare parts: three singers, three pianists, two flutes, violin, saxophone, clarinet, guitar; some highly skilled, others not. For most, English was a second or even third language. Our professor's first assignment: list your colleagues’ instruments, find pieces for a subset of our forces, select only pieces written after 1960, bring scores/parts for audition.

The following week, we presented our finds. First, someone showed her a John Cage duet. As she turned pages, Maestra’s face went blank .

“Why did you get this?”

A mumbled answer.

Maestra closed the score. “You got eet because eet looks easy. Didn't you? First of all, it’s a short duet. Three, maybe four minutes of music. Nothing to do on a real pro-GRAM. Not serious. Not serious at all.”

More mumbling.

“Get something else. Thank you.”

She jabbed the score into their hands, then addressed the class.

“Nothing about John Cage. John is extraordinary. When you choose music, don’t just take a name you theenk you know. Read the score. You are musicians …supposed to be….”

Next, one of the singers produced a folio. Its font, ornate and oversized. I winced. Maestra saw it was a Puccini aria with piano accompaniment and recoiled.

“After nineteen-sixty? Thees? You are kidding me!”

Again, she faced us.

“Thees is NOT opera work-SHOP. I know some of you did not make it there. I'm very sorry about that. Please find some other music to sing. There are so many good theengs. I hope you will find out. Music does not end with Verdi, Puccini.”

So it went. Gratefully, she anticipated our poor choices and suggested some pieces.

Meastra spoke Spanish to some students, aware of the terrain they navigated and supportive. Jorge, a Mexican pianist, was one of her projects. He was a skilled player, an enthusiastic and warm colleague. His giggle often broke up the class. In our third meeting, we rolled the piano front, Jorge sat on the bench. While he longed for mama's home cooking, he wasn’t missing any meals in Brooklyn. His midsection expanded well beyond his tight-waisted pants, straining shirt buttons. Maestra questioned him on preparation: “you’re playing the second movement, what about the third?”

Unaffected by the prodding, he began to play. A minute in, she said, “stop”.

He continued, eyes closed.

She shouted, “Stop! I’m telling you, STOP"

He looked over.

“JORGE….WHAT…ARE…YOU….DOING?”

It wasn’t meant as a question. Jorge smiled and gently shook his head.

“Why are you smiling? Look at you!”

Her voice leveled.

“This is not ready. It’s better, but it's not ready.”

She shifted.

“I am very worried about you. Look..at…your…STOMACH. You need to take better care of yourself. You know, pianists perform in pro-FILE. Theenk what you show to the audience.”

Jorge wasn't smiling. He put his hand on his belly.

“Everyone should con-see-der an exer-CISE pro-GRAM. I am forty years, Dio mio! Almost FEEFTY years older than some of you. Take care of yourselves.”

She dismissed him with a sweeping gesture.

“Ok, who is next? Anna, where is the list? Geeve it to me!”

Her assistant, a brilliant, tiny, Yankee grad student, always cleaned up.

Maestra partnered Jorge with another pianist for a Gyorgy Ligeti duo. Its ingenious architecture, a complex cycle revealed one beat at a time. In Yogi Berra's construction, half the score was ninety-nine percent rests. The players needed infallible inner time. While they played, Maestra leaned over the piano, right hand supporting her, left turning pages. She nodded her head slightly in tempo. The pianist's hits charged toward and away from each other like Pacman's gobbling goblins.

“You are late!” she slammed her left hand down. They went back. Another hammer blow. Back again. The piece never made it to the program.

At the end of the initial class, she approached me about Milhaud's “Le Creation du Monde", a chamber work for winds, including alto saxophone. We didn’t have the other winds, of course, but a young woodwind quintet, in residence for the year, would help out.

“Le Creation" story moves from brooding chorale to a raggy bolero where the winds pass around jumpy tunes, then strut them all, polyphonically, in a joyous finale.

At the first of four rehearsals, we were less than half personnel. Maestra had been enthusiastic about the quintet, encouraging us to meet, hear and study with them. But they were collaborating with major artists and appearing all over the world. Their residency, now in name only. No one in the group even bothered to return her emails. Our conductor was livid. (Later, the assistant assured us that Maestra never returned emails, either.) In rehearsal, the music just marked time. In long stretches with no tune and no landmarks, I fell into a hole and missed my entrance.

“What are you DOING! Counting! Count-ting! I can’t do everytheeng for you.”

Concert day was the first we all sat down to play. In the midst of my disciplined colleagues, I was a bellowing hippo. During the chorale, my slow descending notes were either out-of-tune, out-of-time, the wrong dynamic, or all three.

The baton came down hard “NO..NO..NO. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

“How can you be late. It's jazz. Jazz! You play jazz? Right? You know who is John Col-TRANE? Play it like Col-TRANE! Why should I have to tell YOU this. Come on!”

I wore other hats that night: soprano, clarinet. Still, my mind remained fogged through the Milhaud finale.

The quintet players all demolished their solos. With a huge smile, Maestra gave each well-deserved bows. When they were done, she flashed her eyes at me, scowling. Then, jerked both her hands upwards, like she was flipping a pool toy. I stood up and stared straight down.

Next semester, a composition student brought a score. It was mostly squiggles and arrows, notation designed to move the music forward without defining functional harmony or conventional melody. She conducted a circle for each “bar”. We could gauge the length of each gesture and respond in time. Simultaneously, she sang the gestures using their pitched start/end points, conducted, turned pages and offered substantive commentary. If one of us was even a second late, her glance immolated them.

I became friends with some of her students. Waiting outside her office, they often heard shouting. When the door opened, students walked out in tears. Some planned to work closely with Maestra toward their Master's or DMA. Those plans would change...

An alumni couple created an endowed chair for Maestra, protecting her from political games. To celebrate, students accompanied her to the donors’ Connecticut home for a musicale. We loaded two vans with the usual music school suspects: waifish Asian virtuoso string players, an Eastern European sturm und drang pianist, a diffident “difficult” composer, and bit players like me.

Both donors were in their eighties and fabulously rich, earnest, lefty intellectuals. The wife wore a gas mask-like apparatus, its hoses attached to a whirring box on her back. I strained to understand her speech, but her eyes shone with love and curiosity. The couple warmly welcomed us to a large room packed with guests.

I was part of a quartet: oboe, flute, clarinet and piano, playing a student work. The composer, a young Dominican guy, rising star in the program. A Caribbean undergraduate writing skilled takes on contemporary European music. His piece used the difference-tone clusters of Gyorgy Ligeti: loud, high notes, staggered and longheld, producing acoustic anomalies: window-fan undertones and piercing oscillations. Bathing in timbral waves and madly counting beats, I couldn’t find the piano part, though we made it to the end without requiring oxygen or a conductor. The composer took a awkward bow and disappeared.

With Maestra as Maitre’d we served up a baroque cello sonata, Beethoven piano music and some Sondheim. Then, our little foursome loudly dropped a turd on the buffet table.

The donor husband was one of those ruddy-faced white guys who wear baggy corduroys and turtle necks over their barrel physiques. He sought me out, towering above me as I packed up my clarinet.

“What did he mean with that piece?"

“Sir, I…I wouldn’t want to represent the composer, he never said anything about..”

“Now, you must know something.”

He was an important man accustomed to getting answers, fast and in full.

“I know my part and how it fits with the others. The woodwinds are playing difference tones, Stravinsky used...”

“Why didn’t HE explain that to us? We go to concerts all the time. Conductors explain new music. They give examples, give context. You can’t just write something like that and expect people to automatically understand it.”

Gulp....“Of course.”

“It’s his responsibility to help the audience understand the music”

I looked over. By the buffet, the composer was holding a plate, one of the string players laughing next to him. Mrs Donor approached me, extending her hand. The box on her back hissed and clicked. Above the mask, searching eyes, below, a voice from a radio in another room. Was she talking about the quartet? It was too uncomfortable. I interrupted.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality and the opportunity to play for you. You and your husband are so generous.”

She squeezed my hand and leaned in, radio transmission drowning in static. Her husband came to her side.

“My wife is saying we've been to many, many concerts of new music. Starting way back, with Lenny Bernstein. He taught us there’s always something to learn. He introduced us to many extraordinary artists”

He put his hand lightly on her back. Over her shoulder, Maestra was listening to a guest, head level with their sternum, eyes searchlights in reverse. The radio faded and its whirring submerged in the din.

We got back very late. Our vans parked by the gatehouse and turnstile on the east side of campus. A few yellow lights glowed in the music building. Maestra thanked us. We said goodnight.

Drifting on an acoustic sea, our ancestors explored sound, harnessing the waves. Between foaming peaks and psychic undertow, they found power. From our African beginnings, to the stars, every lineage counted on those who navigated, who mastered instruments, who carried in them songs and stories. They became the music, while it lasted.

[kcrabb88]

Astra and Fantine, sight and sound?:D

Sight:

What’s their favorite color?

Astra: Astra’s is green! Either very light green or that deep kind of hunter green. I generally tend to feel this way because she’s very good with plants and that spills over into the colors she likes. Plus her eyes are green. 

Fantine: Yellow and like, goldish/copper colors! I think Fantine is one of those fair-haired people who could wear yellow well, you know? This thought process spilled over into Pirate AU, where she does not have fair hair, but she still wears a yellow kerchief in her hair. 

Do they have any art on their bedroom walls?

Astra: Astra has floral and landscape paintings on her walls! She can afford really nice paintings, so she buys them to make everything more colorful. She picked out the ocean paintings in René’s room too, and now that I think about it she probably decorated Michel’s study for him, too. And the library. The house is very much In Astra’s Power and if she can find literature based art she’d buy that too. I have a lot of thoughts on this apparently. 

Fantine: I’m not totally sure what canon Fantine would have on her walls, but if it was a modern AU I ABSOLUTELY imagine her having photos everywhere in all kinds of different frames. This is a happy AU, so lots of goofy photos of her and Cosette. It would be adorable. 

(If applicable) What would their fashion sense be like if they weren’t limited by money, uniform regulations, animation budget, etc.

Astra: Astra does have a lot of money, so she can largely pick out the dresses she wants, which tend to include a lot of blues and greens and things with floral patterns. Though Astra’s hold ups are of course, gender expectations more than money, so when she makes it to Nassau she likes wearing skirts and shirtwaists that are way less constricting than her dresses. Sometimes she’ll wear breeches but she likes the former more. Though if I continue on into a 4th book at any point I Have Plans for her learn to be pretty formidable with a sword so it might be more breeches then, for practicality. 

Fantine: In a modern AU I see Fantine in a WHOLE LOT of sundresses. Her whole closet is full. In canon, I like flowy dresses for her, or things with floral patterns, or birds, or anything like that. 

Sound

What’s their taste in music?

Astra: She plays harpischord really well and keeps up with the latest compositions. She also likes violins. 

Fantine: In canon I’m not sure how much she gets to hear music, but I think she’d like the piano and how soothing it is. 

(If applicable) What would their taste in music be in a here-and-now AU?

Astra: In modern AU she really likes the Indigo Girls, and stuff that sounds similar. And musicals. But she likes female musicians a lot and tries to support like, indie groups and things. She’d probably listen to Florence and the Machine and stuff like that as well. 

Fantine: In a modern AU I think Fantine would love love love to blast the top 40 on the radio. Plus old good sing along classics. Anything she can sing to I think would make her happy.

Can they sing? Do they sing? (Two different questions!)

Astra: Yes, she can! She has a really pretty soprano. There are a lot of reasons both Imogen and Michel fell in love with her but she’s very musically inclined. Does she sing? I think she did a lot when she was younger, and also to Rene when he was a baby. As she got older I think she sang more to herself than at a party like she might have done before. 

Fantine: I think Fantine is not necessarily like, the best technical singer, but she’s very enthused, so it sounds good anyway? So yes to both! 

Can/do they play any instruments?

Astra: As stated above, she plays the harpsichord! She’s very good at it. 

Fantine: When I picture Fantine with an instrument I see the flute? I’m not sure why, but I like it

Dance?

Astra: She can dance because she was taught to, but I’m not sure she likes to. Dancing involves a lot of conversation from people she uh. Probably just doesn’t want to talk to at a ball or a party. 

Fantine: Yes yes yes. I bet Fantine is both a good dancer and good at it. I also feel like she’d be good at ballet in a modern setting. 

[mandarinenschaeler]

band?? ?

Okay, since I apparently never mentioned this (I can’t believe it, I love bragging about my awesome band mates. I love them all.) here comes a probably way too long post (again).

Basic informations

Our bands name is “Steak’n’Wodka”. That’s actually already our third name I think? And there were really strange suggestions. We literally just came up with weird shit and translated it with google translator into latin.Including me we are five cool humans. We even got a dumb amateur website here (it’s sadly in german, but it’s just overall dumb shit. It’s not much so if anyone wants I can translate it) and an completely empty youtube channel here (so much shameless self promotion!).Please send all fanmail (if ya want to) to steaknwodka@gmail.com

How it came into existence

To understand this you need to know that our class always does a big sleepover ehen the school year ends. We are thirdy people in our class and a girl has this big piece of ground with a part of the forest, a lake with a small island in the middle, an amazing house and another small wooden empty shack near the lake. We always sleep between the shack and the lake outside.There’s also never alcohol or stuff like this, just amazing meals, some music and fun (in the evening there are also many serious conversations between close friend groups).Okay, late in the night we decide to go to our matresses lying on the grass (some people also slept in the shack). But of course we don’t go to sleep. We just lay there and talk and at 2 am or something there is a meteorit shower. And I don’t know who got that idea (probably me tho) but one classmate and me started to sing “Rudolf the rednosed reindeer” (in the middle of summer, what the heck) and after that we talked about our english teacher.When we first got her as teacher she really was horrible, making up random rules, telling us we can eat while class and screaming at us the next day because we did that (hell, she even wrote a letter to our parents). She got better within the two years we have her but her nickname “Satan” still sticks with her.Okay, we got in that night the idea to think of a theme song we could sing every time she enters a rule and it kinda was like “Here comes the Satan dödöDÖDÖ, here comes the SATAN DÖDÖDÖDÖ” (that’s horrible to read but freaking catchy and awesome when it’s sung). That was inofficially the moment our band came into life. And we two sang the whole night until 5 am, fell then asleep and had to go to school at 5:30 (#Fix my lighthouse) by foot. It was a freaking long way (5 kilometres or something while carrying our stuff). Yes, it was our last schoolday that year and we all just slept on the floor in our bedrolls while the teacher did something else.We called ourselves “IOCOR vulputate et defectum humoris” at first but I was the only one to remember the name tbh. We were just three band members back then and it means “YAK, superhero and flawed humour” (Yak the animal because that’sour drummers nickname, vulputate because it was my dream to become superhero (still is tbh) and flawed humour stood for our guitarist because her jokes are super lame but funny because it’s her who tells them and her laughter is so infectious). After a while we shortened it to “IOCOR” and changed it then to “Steak’n’Wodka et defectum humoris”. But in the end it is “Steak’n’Wodka” because it’s cool and trashy at the same time. Steak because remember that classmate who was singing along with me and who’s our drummer? It’s his favourite meal and he’s a freaking expert in all steak things (it’s also somehow an insider)? Wodka because that was my nickname for a short time period after the drummer discovered that my family name sounds like a vodka brand (because my parents are both polish, also wodka means vodka in german, but i guess that’s pretty obvious). I looked it up and there was really a brand with this name. The bands name was also inspired by “Crash’n’Burn”, a BL comic by Mikiko Ponczeck but they don’t need to know about that lmao.

About my wonderful bandmembers

After a while the three of us realized we needed a singer. What a coincidence, we have this one girl in our class whose voice is a pure angelic voice. Holy. I’m blown away every time I hear her sing. And after another while a girl with who I have a kinda toxic friendship also decided to join us as second guitarist.Me: just learnt to play the flute in third grade. Quick at learning new instruments tho but never practicing them. Plays kazoo and didgeridoo whenever the band needs this crap. The didgeridoo isn’t even a real didgeridoo. Just a rolled up french notebook. Also writes the songtexts, has the ideas and is the connection who organizes everything. Yes, they try to compensate hard that they can’t play a real instrument.My sneaky classmate and only male (why he’s sneaky is another story but I refer on tumblr always this way to him): an amazing drummer. Plays the drums for about five years now. I should ask him later how long and add it.The girl with the flawed humour: guitar and keyboard. Is also a pure soul btw.The girl with the angelic voice: singer, also can play the guitar, piano, organ and violin. Helps me with writing the songtexts. So freaking talented. Is the only one to take our band really serious, followed by me.The girl I have this kinda toxic friendship with: Also guitar.

The truth

We haven’t even one song finished and never had a gig. We just sang one time in the park while going to the bus stop downtown and sang a bit at the bus stop for fun and two girls gave us some cents. But that doesn’t count. Our singer had many gigs tho, on days of open door and in the church.We didn’t even have a rehearsal once, we just talk about how we want to play the songs like “okay, the insruments build uptension, then suddenly they are quiet. You sing a high “paranoia” and then the piano joins you while singing “creeping deep down under my skin”, then all instruments play again” and stuff like this.

Our not yet released (or even finished) albumWe plan on calling our first album “Seven mornings with Satan” as hommage to our english teacher Siebenmorgen because that basically means “seven mornings” in german. it will have seven songs, the “mornings” and tell a story, but I will add that later because my family is already sleeping and my loud keyboard could wake them up.

BUT THANK YOU FOR ASKING, ANN!!