#this is what people think conductors are like. this is even what music lovers think conductors are like

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

thirty minutes in i dont know if i can finish this. she fills me with rage

[zanniscaramouche]

No one can claim that I'm fast, but hey! I finally had a moment to sit down and find some fics for a lovely anon who wandered into my inbox looking for classical musician!larry. A few of these are a little bit of a stretch, but hopefully there's something here you enjoy! You'll see little blue hearts along with a lil comment from me on those I have read (admittedly not that many, oops) This is definitely an AU I'd love to see more fic for! It's possible there's more out there, alas it doesn't seem to be commonly tagged. Make sure to tag your fics folks! It makes filtering for things like this so much easier! 💙

🎼 the school of extraordinary lovers // stylinsoncity @stylinsoncity - 191k "We keep telling the other, I love you and I love you, and we do, though we both know where the knives are." - Laura Van Prooyen

harry is a third-year witch and violinist at Laitswold, the only magical academy in the UK, with dreams of taking on the world, and hopefully breaking the centuries-old curse on his family while he's at it. he does not dream of facing off against his childhood rival and duet partner, but louis is back in town after six years abroad, so that's exactly what happens.

🎼 Love Is A Rebellious Bird // 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews - 134k AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

💙 zannithinks: one of those 'classics' that many love! I really enjoyed this fic, and as someone who hears Bolero every year at a local festival I think of this fic often

🎼 Saving Symphony Hall // HelloAmHere @helloamhere - 124k “I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

💙 zannithinks: I looooove this one! A well developed world and lovable OC's, this is definitely the first fic I think of when I think Larry and Classical Music

🎼 Where Words Fail, Music Speaks // Larry_you_know @larryyouknow - 45k Louis is a world class violinist. He’s one year over forty, living his best life in New York. One day, he comes to a small town in Connecticut where he inherited a house from his late father. The town looks nice and its people welcome him warmly. The problem is that Louis never knew his father and he doesn’t intend to change anything about it - his father can stuff his last will up his treacherous ass. In a strange coincidence, Louis meets town troubadour Harry, who seems wonderful to him just right until he reveals that Louis’ father was like a dad to him.

Even though Louis tries to convince himself that it shouldn’t - it hurts.

🎼 Until You Remember // Throwthemflowers - 21k Talented London pianist Louis Tomlinson moves to a small coastal town to escape the elites of his job and the mundanity of his life. Through the music of Debussy he finds a charming, wonderful friend in Harry Styles, the fiancé of the town's mayor. Louis thinks his pining is in vain until he discovers that all may not be as it seems….

🎼 And I'll Be Here When Only the Silence Remains // louisniall @louisniaii - 19k The one where Louis is a top notch mute violinist and Harry might just be the person he trusts most

🎼 Back to the Sign, and Play Through the End // tomlinsunshine - 17k Louis is a globally renowned pianist; Harry is the worst page turner this world has ever known.

🎼 Take more of my space, why don't you? // otfuckingp - 10k Of course, the universe is not on Louis’ side, nor on the side of his mental health. Just as he starts to think they might get away with this empty seat -- yes, they. He and Instrument Man are in this together, a united front against the forces of any more people-- one more person steps onto the plane. He bypasses the first fifteen rows without so much as a falter, but the fact that he slows around 17 gives Louis pause. There aren’t many empty seats in this section... Surely not. Surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to do this to him.

And then there’s another body landing in the seat next to Instrument Man. Well, “landing” might be too polite. Crashing, is more like it. Within the first ten seconds, he’s elbowed instrument Man in the side, dropped something on the floor, and nearly tripped a stewardess with the exuberant flailing of his legs. All in all, completely shattering the tentative silence in row 21 DEF. Fuck.//

Harry and Louis meet on a plane. Louis is not impressed, until he is.

🎼 What is simple in the moonlight, never really is. // judgementdays @judgementdays - 5k And then they're talking, like they always do on late nights. They talk about the future, about the cute girl who was checking Harry out at Tesco's, about the cute boy who asked for Louis' number the other day. They mostly end up talking about their auditions for the school of their dreams, though.

or

Louis plays piano and Harry plays guitar and they're both trying to get into Juilliard but feelings sort of happen.

🎼 Play Me Something Sweet // nonsensedarling @absolutenonse - 4k “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Louis says. Harry just looks at him and lifts an eyebrow in silent question. “How about if you pretend I’m your cello as you try it out, like we used to?” Or Harry's good at a lot of instruments, but his favorite one to play is Louis.

💙 zannithinks: this one is spicey!!!!

🎼 And I've got something missing tonight. // whisperedbrave @louistomlindaughter - 2k That night, much like many others, he finishes his dinner and falls asleep to the sound of his neighbor and his piano.

-

or the one where Harry's upstairs neighbor plays the piano every night. one night he stops and Harry can't sleep.

[faszaakisshobbi]

hi this is just a wee little rant about a upcoming orchestra competition and its really long so im cutting it lol, so read it if you want idk I just need to get some stuff out. its not fully tc related but I do talk about П a bit so??? yeah!

i'm really afraid for this competition coming up. we are combining the top two orchestras who, for the most part, have never played together and we have only 3 weeks and 4 combined rehearsals to make all 50ish students jell. the other orchestra is... slacking to say the least. normally, they are arguably better than the orchestra i'm with, but they haven't been this year and we have played much more challenging music than them which is not how things normally go.

just to lay things out so they might make a bit more sense, we all got the music about a month ago and have been working on it as separate orchestras along with other things so it hasn't been the full focus. my orchestra will be seated on the outside as 1 section principal (which is me!!!), 3rd chair, and 5th chair. and the other orchestra's violas will be on the inside 2nd section principal, 4th chair, and 6th chair. that is how the rest of the sections will be seated as well, but they have a lot more players lmao (the viola section is always super small, but this year both combined we have 6 students lol)

out of all of the sections, violas are likely ones that have it most together despite that ever present stereotype that violas slack off which is untrue in my school at least. The first stand (aka me and my new stand partner from the other orchestra) rocks. also she also goes to Б and we are both doing amazing and both very motivated over others and are both playing pretty complicated stuff. I do also think she hates me and idk why (enemies to lovers 👀 ???) but we've been stand partners before, done duets, and played in a chamber group when I was still on violin and we play well together so yeah 😍 (and ive known her since we were both 9 so I guess we have that going for us)

anyways П quite literally said that if we don't get first place it will be because of the other orchestra. that's so amazing im totally looking forward to that haha lmao. and another thing is П never gets 2nd place. or 3rd. she only gets 1st with a superior rating. and only twice in her 20+ years of teaching has she ever not gotten a superior/1st place and there was a valid reason for that (also her orchestra that year got 2nd only by a few points which is still good). so there is that pressure to need to get 1st- pressure on the students (especially the orchestra that's slacking) but also П puts so much pressure on herself!! last time we had a competition (it wasn't against others it was against a musical standard) she was so stressed that she didn't get ANY sleep and quite literally made herself sick for the days prior. im afraid that will happen again before the competition and im afraid of what will happen if we don't get first. what will she feel? I know when we had a kinda mid/bad mistake in a concert she blamed it on herself but it really wasn't her fault (it was the damn principal 2nd violin. no tbh it was all the players faults). she also is known by many, many people that are both educators and just conductors in the classical music world all across my region and she has a image to maintain and she doesn't want to make herself or the school look bad.

I really don't know how things will go since we haven't even had our first combined rehearsal. the first one is Tuesday and im kinda nervous because my new stand partner is very very judgy and if I mess up she will tell everyone and possibly Б as well so that's so exciting! no it'll be fine and the pieces are fairly simple. one of the pieces is by Mussorgsky who I LOVEEE. I have a thing for Russian composers and Romantic classical music so of course I love him and the rest of The Five. the other piece is some modern thing which I dont enjoy as much but its still pretty cool.

shit this post is longer than I thought it would be, but if you've read this far for whatever reason thanks and i'll probably end up talking a lot more about this and will very likely end up having more orchestra rants so this may become a regular thing. im honestly surprised I haven't talked more about orchestra/chamber stress stuff but yknow 🕺🏽

[zot3-flopped]

I agree about Joel Little too. He is a good producer. He even worked on Taylor's Lover and that album got a few Grammy nominations too. Same way I think poor Tobais was restricted by the limitations Niall has as an artist with his talent or the lack thereof. Harry is the conductor of his orchestra, the x factor and the leader. He leads his team in the direction he wants his music to be made and sound like with his immense knowledge and creative talent as an artist.

Niall just looks at other big artists who is doing well on the charts and book their producers and writers based on those facts. The best example is how he brags and name drops about Joel working with Taylor and Lorde and then during Flicker and HBW era how Greg Kirsten worked with Adele and how he is a Grammy award winning producer. Harry worked with Greg, Tobais and Amy and even Jeff Bhasker who is a Grammy award winning producer. But we never saw him use their achievements to prove a point. Niall's sole criteria to have these people on board is their previous work achievements and who can get him similar success. But this narc needs to know that no one can make a bland basic boring D list artist like him successful no matter who they are.

Very true. Look what happened when Kid Harpoon worked with Shawn Mendes on Wonder. As we've said here many times, Harry is the alchemist in all cases and without him his team don't have the same success.

Horandog worked with Greg Kurstin on Put A Little Love On Me and his terrible moo-ing voice ruined the track.

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 6

Hi , do you got any fluffy johnlock with cuddling

(submitted by here-4-tha-ship)

Anonymous asked: hiii got any johnlock fics where sherlock wants a hug but he feels embarrassed to ask john? thank you sm <3

—–

Hi Lovelies!! I sure do! And enough to do a new list too!! So thank you, people don’t ask for this enough these days hahhah! Hope you enjoy!!

See also:

Hugs & Cuddles and Tooth-Rotting Fluff (Pt. 2)

Hugs & Cuddles Pt. 2 /…/

…/ Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 /…

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 4 

Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 5

A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The shape of the world around us by Salambo06 (E, 15,058 w., 5 Ch. || Lumberjack John / Botanist Sherlock, Different First Meeting, John Has a Beard, Light Case Fic, Flirting, First Kiss / Time, Masturbation, Love at First Sight, Horny Sherlock, John’s Bum, Bottomlock, Tenderness, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Shy Sherlock, Sexual Fantasies) – Looking through the bush, Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken as a man passed in front of him. Sherlock frowned, trying to get a closer look despite the bush. The man was wearing a red plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the man’s arms. Muscular, slightly tanned with golden hairs along his forearms. For some unknown reason, Sherlock found himself imagining them around his waist, holding him tightly. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Sherlock shook his head. Opening his eyes and looking back to where the man stood only a moment prior, he found himself alone. Great, now his only chance to find his way back to town was gone. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[shhhhyoursister]

enemies to lovers/band!au

okay yeah heres the final one, the big boy, the one im probably proudest of, i really really hope you guys like it!!

Matteo was lucky that the conductor liked him, because showing up 10 minutes late to the first rehearsal of the year was bad, even for him. Matteo wasn’t known to be the most responsible member of the band, and usually the only thing he could be counted on to do right every rehearsal was show up, and show up on time. He adjusted his grip on his baritone case as he sped down the hall of the music department, cursing as he checked the time on his phone again, and when he got to the door of the theater they rehearsed in, he cracked it open as quietly as he could.

“Ah, Matteo!” the conductor yelled from the stage, and Matteo flinched before stepping fully into the room, “You decided to show up! I was worried you quit after playing that really loud wrong note at the concert last semester.”

“Which one?” Matteo joked back, knowing that if it was any other professor he would have just apologized and rushed to put his instrument together. He was on a first name basis with Rick, who was probably the most laid back member of the music faculty. Some of the players on stage laughed at the exchange, and Matteo smiled as he popped his case open.

“Just hurry up, we do actually need a full band to rehearse,” Rick said, turning back to his stand with a chuckle, “and poor David looks like he’s going to explode if we don’t start soon.”

Matteo rolled his eyes. As if that would make him set his baritone up faster. He ignored the second wave of laughter that followed the conductor’s comment and grabbed the folder with his music, and made his way onto the stage. He took his seat next to the other baritones, in the third chair, and tried to ignore the glare he could feel coming from the clarinet section.

Matteo was a little upset that he had missed his favorite part of each rehearsal; before Rick got there, when people were still whispering to their stand partners, some quietly tuning their instruments or practicing difficult measures, some tapping their feet and counting out the beats. It felt more alive than when everyone was coming together to play one piece, and while Matteo loved the sound of a full band playing beautiful music, he really needed that calm before the storm. It reminded him that the music that he listened to came from people like him, who had to practice and tune and count and focus to produce the notes and phrases that seemed to flow so naturally.

He risked a glance over at David when Rick asked him to play a note so he could tune the band to it, and, like always, felt a little bit of a shiver run through him when he watched David take a deep breath before playing out a long, perfectly in-tune note. He knew it wasn’t only because of the sound of the clarinet, which Matteo secretly thought was the nicest sounding of all the wind instruments. Although David couldn’t stand him, and Matteo didn’t have too many kind feelings towards him either, it was hard to deny that first of all, David was an amazing musician, and second of all, much less importantly, he was really hot.

Matteo didn’t feel bad for thinking it. Every person in the band who was into men was into David. Matteo would hear girls whispering about him while they were setting up their flutes and oboes, and there was the one guy in the saxophone section who had been trying to get his number for a year. It was old news, but Matteo couldn’t help himself from staring at David when he had long measures of rests, and had to admit that David was the cause of his distraction during some rehearsals.

Rick finished tuning the band, and had them flip to the piece that Matteo was the least confident in. He looked up and took a breath with the whole band when the conductor brought his arms up, and dropped his eyes back to the notes a split second before the downbeat.

Inevitably, Matteo got to a part in the song where he had four measures of rest, and he leaned back in his chair a bit and stretched his neck out. He was counting on his fingers and tapping his foot to the tempo and managed to come back in at the right time, only for Rick to cut them off as he flipped aggressively through the papers on his stand.

“Where is the second page? Why do I only have half of the score here?” He asked angrily, and then huffed and said, “Okay, everyone take out the next piece. David, take over for me.”

Matteo rolled his eyes as Rick walked off the stage, and David took his place in front of the band. David always got the most cocky, smug look whenever he was asked to conduct, and some people rolled their eyes because they knew David was harsher, faster, and much less forgiving than Rick was.

“Okay guys, remember we tried to play this last semester, but some people couldn’t keep up,” his eyes flicked to Matteo, who just shrugged, and then smiled as the frown on David’s face deepened and he continued, “as long as everyone watches me, we’ll be able to get through it. Let’s start at the beginning.”

That won’t be too hard, Matteo thought to himself, and smiled before bringing his lips to the mouthpiece.

They got through the first half of the song with no issues, David going slower than usual to let people warm up to playing it again. Matteo knew that the only reason he hadn’t messed up yet was because his eyes were glued to his sheet music, but he saw that the tempo was changing in a few measures so he would have to look up. Once he did, he caught sight of the serious expression on David’s face, his eyes scanning over the band and darting down to the score in front of him, his arms waving and emphasizing different beats in a fluid and practiced way, keeping the tempo while cuing the other instruments to come in.

“Stop, stop! You were supposed to come in there, baritones, what happened? Are we playing too slow for you?”

Matteo (and everyone else) knew that when David was yelling at the baritones, he was really yelling at Matteo. His animosity was known amongst the other students in the band, so they weren’t surprised to hear a critique aimed at that section of the low brass. That was confirmed when Matteo looked up to see David glaring directly at him, his hand that wasn’t holding the baton clenched tightly around the stand.

They got through the rest of the song with no incidents, Matteo purposefully playing quieter to avoid making any loud mistakes. Rick came back just as David was berating them for speeding up at the end, and he clapped him on the shoulder before waving the missing pages of his score in the air.

“Thank you, David, for re-traumatizing your bandmates. Let’s go back to the first piece, and I promise I won’t yell as much as he did.”

The band laughed and David chuckled (at least he’s self aware, Matteo thought to himself) as he took his seat, with one final glance in Matteo’s direction. They could both see each other from where they were sitting, David being at the end of the second row and Matteo diagonal across from him in the back. He watched as David settled back into his seat and picked his clarinet up, his tongue flicking out to wet the reed, and when David’s eyes shifted back over to him he blushed and looked down at the floor. He scowled, angry that he got caught staring.

***

He struggled through the first week, playing confidently when he could and quieting down whenever he got lost until he could figure out where they were again. Sometimes he found himself so confused he would whisper out of the corner of his mouth, “Where are we?” to his stand partner, and she would roll her eyes before pointing out the correct measure.

The next week of rehearsals, Matteo started out on a much better foot. He was running early as opposed to late, and he hummed to himself as he strolled calmly down the hall leading to the theater. There was one measure of their newest song that he just couldn’t get right, and he flipped open his folder as he walked, knowing that the page with that measure would be at the front. He stopped paying attention to where he was walking, tapping out the beat of the notes on his hip, and just as he turned the corner into the room he crashed into someone leaving, and heard an annoyed, “Are you serious?”

He tensed when he recognized David’s voice, and looked up to see the exact glare he was expecting aimed directly at him. He almost missed the stack of papers that David had dropped, and only noticed when one sheet landed perfectly on top of his open folder.

“Sorry,” Matteo muttered, not knowing what else to say, “let me help.”

“No, I’ll do it,” David snapped back, the glare on his face darkening a little as he snatched the paper on top of Matteo’s folder and said, “I had them organized by section, and by part. You’d just fuck it up. Go set up.”

Matteo took a deep breath through his nose, tired of being torn down every single time David spoke to him, and he took another breath before glaring back and saying, “I wouldn’t fuck it up. I know how sheet music works.”

“Yeah, but if Rick wanted you doing any of this I’m sure he would have asked,” David scoffed, kneeling down so he could gather the papers together, “but he didn’t.”

Matteo bit his lip as felt something angry building in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t professional or smart of him to do but he couldn’t help but bite back, “Look, we all know that you’re just using us to set yourself up for the future, and that’s fine, but it doesn’t give you the excuse to be a fucking asshole all the time.”

He stormed off before he could see David’s reaction, and set his baritone up with trembling fingers. He was already in his seat and tuned up by the time David stalked into the theater with all of the papers, and Matteo watched with a smug grin as David quietly apologized to Rick for being late before handing off the sheet music and taking his seat. He grabbed his clarinet, his fingers pressing down on the keys harder than was probably good for them, and shot Matteo one final, piercing glare before turning to his music. Matteo smiled to himself as the conductor got everyone’s attention.

***

Things got a little more tense after that.

Getting even more on the bad side of the most talented, and most respected (and most feared) musician in the band was not Matteo’s best idea, but he had no idea how to fix it, and didn’t even know if he cared enough to.

Matteo didn’t know exactly what he was going to do once he graduated, but assumed that he’d figure something out. Pit bands were always looking for fresh talent, so he assumed that he would join one of those and get some menial job on the side while he waited to see where his life would lead. He knew that David, on the other hand, had a plan, and it seemed like their interaction in the hallway led David to believe that Matteo was the one thing standing in his way.

Another week of rehearsals went by, Matteo trying his best not to mess up, and failing almost every session. He knew that his conductor was starting to get a little frustrated, and he didn’t know how to explain that his new bout of issues weren’t coming from a lack of understanding the music; it was just difficult to play when you could feel someone openly glaring at you anytime the first clarinets had rests in the music. He and David hadn’t spoken or interacted at all since the incident in the hallway. They had never really spoken before that, so it wasn’t too unusual, but that amount of glaring was new.

And after a day or two, Matteo started glaring back. He would only do it when David wasn’t looking at him, either focused on the music or counting or watching the conductor, and it felt like the smallest form of retaliation that Matteo was willing to participate in. He knew that he couldn’t talk back to Rick, and he was doing all he could to avoid having to actually speak with David, so the glaring was a good alternative.

It was also a bit of a problem, the glaring. Sometimes Matteo would get lost in his own anger, resulting in him getting lost in the music, and Rick would stop the band and tell the baritones to pay attention to the music, not their bandmates, and Matteo would whip his head back to his music, his cheeks red at being caught.

It came to a head during one rehearsal, the first rehearsal since the glaring had started where Rick had to step out of the room. He handed David his baton and walked off with a wave of his hand, and Matteo noticed David smirking in his direction as he took up the position in front of the band.

“Okay, we’re going to start at measure 46,” David said, his eyes yet again scanning over every member of the band, squinting a little as they passed over Matteo, “the low brass has really been struggling with this section, and I’m going to take it faster so we can see exactly who is having trouble.”

Matteo’s eyes widened as he looked over the part David was referencing, realizing quickly that it was the hardest set of measures for the baritone section out of all of their pieces. He looked up again, trying to look determined despite the nerves starting to make his fingers twitch on the valves of his baritone, and caught David smirking at him again. David raised the baton, and Matteo lifted his baritone to his mouth and tried to focus his eyes on the music.

He managed to play through the first few measures correctly, but his nerves got the best of him and he messed up in one of the worst ways you can mess up as a musician; playing during a full-band rest. He felt his entire body tense up as half the band turned to stare at him, and he knew that it was the perfect excuse for David to go off on him.

“I heard that in the baritones, don’t let me hear it again.” David said sternly, the tip of the baton pointing right at Matteo. He looked mad, but there was something slightly encouraging there too, like he was trying to give Matteo another chance.

Matteo was surprised but grateful that his mistake didn’t send David into a fit and really tried to take that second chance and run with it. They started playing again, and Matteo made it through that measure, and then managed to mess up on the next one. He held one note too long and then played a sharp instead of a flat, and David didn’t stop the band but his head flicked to Matteo and he gave him a look that made his fingers freeze, and it took him a measure to come back in because for some reason that look scared him more than the many critiques and looks he had gotten in the past. David looked furious, as if Matteo was messing up intentionally.

They played through the rest of the section, Matteo getting less tense the more measures he played right, and just as they reached the last measure Rick came back into the theater, the door creaking a little behind him, but enough that it distracted Matteo, who not only played the last note wrong, but he felt his face heat up at the monstrous honk that came out the bell of his instrument.

“Matteo!” David snapped, and his other hand grabbed the top half of the baton and quickly bent it, snapping that as well.

Most of the band  gasped, Matteo included. David seemed shocked himself, staring down at the fractured wood in his hands. Rick walked up to him and without saying a word, grabbed the two pieces, and turned to face the band with a stoic expression.

“I think I’ll call it for today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, before dropping a hand onto David’s shoulder and looking up at Matteo and saying, “You two, in my office.”

Matteo gulped, and tried to ignore the look on David’s face as he got out of his seat and made his way over to his case. He put his baritone away slowly, watching as the rest of the band filtered out through the main doors, some shooting him sympathetic looks as they walked out. He might not have been the best member of the band, but he was nice enough that most people liked him enough, and probably felt bad knowing that he was about to get screamed at. He looked away when he saw David walk into Rick’s office hot on his heels, already saying something that would probably get Matteo in more trouble.

He made his way over to the office once he had all of his stuff together, and took a deep breath before knocking on the door and walking in. He entered and saw Rick sitting at his desk, looking annoyed, and David standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he had just finished ranting, his face red and his chest heaving, and he turned to fix Matteo with a glare as he walked into the room.

“I don’t know why two of my best musicians hate each other as much as you guys do,” he started, and Matteo’s eyes widened a bit at the bluntness of his statement along with the compliment, “but you need to work it out before next week.”

“Sir, I don’t know if I’d say he’s one of the best-” David started, his voice hiding the hint of a pretentious laugh, and before thinking about it Matteo cut him off.

“You don’t know shit about how I play.”

David turned to him with tight lips and said, “Well, I’ve conducted you before, so I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah, how could I forget being verbally abused.”

“It wasn’t abuse, if you aren’t going to play right I’m going to say something and I’m sorry if I don't sugarcoat it. I focus on being right, not on being nice.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Matteo muttered under his breath, and just as David turned to him to snap back at him, Rick clapped his hands together, loudly.

“Okay, I know what we’re going to do to fix this.”

***

That was how Matteo found himself the next day, an hour before band was supposed to start, during his only free period of the day, making his way to the music building so he could get to the practice rooms. He was walking slow, making sure to be on time but exactly on time, because he didn’t want to spend a second longer with David than he had to.

To their chagrin, Rick decided that the best way for the two to get along was for David to help Matteo figure out the parts of the music that he was struggling with. He had set up mandatory twice a week private sessions for both of them. Matteo had a feeling they wouldn’t make it past the first week without screaming at each other.

Matteo got to the door of the room he was meant to meet David in, and he could hear shuffling so he knew David was there already. He rolled his eyes and braced himself before pushing into the room.

“Put your instrument together,” David said, not even looking at Matteo as he set two chairs up in front of a stand, “ and get your music out. Let’s not be here any longer than we have to be.”

David finally turned around when Matteo didn’t move, and raised an eyebrow at him. Matteo had been expecting the hostility, and knew what he wanted to say in response.

“If we’re being forced to do this,” he said calmly, dropping his baritone case on the chair and popping it open, “I’m not going to let you be a dick to me. You need to be here just as much as I do. If you’re mean I’ll walk out, and then we’re both fucked. Don’t test me.”

He turned and started setting his baritone up, not waiting for David to react or respond to what he said. He only looked up at him once he sat in the chair and had his music on the stand, and he was surprised to see David look down at the ground, his face almost completely neutral except for the corners of his lips, which were twitching up a little.

“Fine,” David said, sitting down in the other chair, moving his leg quickly when his knee bumped into Matteo’s, “Play it right and I won’t be a dick.”

Matteo rolled his eyes but figured that was the best he was going to get, so he took a deep breath before bringing his mouthpiece up to his lips.

He played through the first few measures that David pointed at, trying to be as quick as he could while still following the tempo David was tapping out and playing the notes correctly. He knew that he had nowhere to hide if he messed up. Not that he really did during their bigger rehearsals, but he also felt much more confident playing by himself. He knew he wasn’t going to mess up the timing of anything, but he was worried about a set of measures near the end that had a beat that was so complicated he couldn’t figure it out.

He messed up right away when they got to it and he stopped, expecting David to make some harsh comment that would have him snapping back, but was surprised when his only reaction was, “Go back a few measures, try it again.”

He tried again and messed it up the same way, and then tried again, before putting his baritone down with a huff. He was frustrated at himself for messing it up, especially for messing it up in front of David, knowing that there was no way he wouldn’t say something sarcastic or rude after Matteo messed up for the third time.

“Why are you counting it like that?” David asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of any mocking or cruel tone. He sounded genuinely curious, but Matteo was still wary.

“I don’t know, because that’s how it looks?” He answered quickly, rolling his eyes, shifting uncomfortably under his horn.

“If I’m promising not to be a dick, you need to promise to take this seriously,” David said, turning to look directly at Matteo for the first time since the lesson had started, “I know you don’t really care about all this, but I do, so if that means teaching you how to fucking count I’ll do it. Now, play it again, but right.”

“Who says I don’t care?” Matteo asked, keeping his baritone firmly in his lap, “And I know how to count. That measure just makes no fucking sense.”

“Yes it does, you just aren’t counting it right,” David said, his voice tight, and he took a breath before saying more calmly, “here, give me your horn, I’ll show you.”

Matteo hesitated before handing it over, and he sighed a little in relief when David took Matteo’s mouthpiece off and took another one out of his bag.

Matteo was always impressed at the sound that David was able to pull out of any instrument he touched. There were multiple times where their conductor would ask David to grab an extra trumpet or sax or flute or set of mallets for a marimba, and would shove him wherever the band needed extra help. The only reason he never sent him to sit with Matteo’s section was because they didn’t have any extra horns, and Matteo was beyond grateful for that.

David pointed at the measure, and said, “See, you’re playing this,” he played out the beat that Matteo had been playing and then stopped and said, “but that amount of notes doesn’t fit in the measure, you’re adding an extra one in the middle. It’s supposed to sound like this,” he raised the baritone to his lips again and played out the measure, tapping his foot loudly as he continued playing so Matteo could hear how that measure fit into the rest of the phrase.

He gave Matteo the horn back after switching the mouthpieces again, and Matteo hesitated before starting to play again, and when he got to the measure and played it the way David showed him, it flowed perfectly into the next one and he even saw David smile a little.

“Yeah, you got it that time,” David said, and Matteo smiled back at him before turning back to his music as David said, “now let’s fix this other part.”

***

After a couple of weeks of the private sessions, Matteo was starting to sense a pattern. They would be completely civil during their one-on-one sessions, David only critiquing when necessary and only with comments that were actually helpful, and then they would get to band and it would start all over again. Matteo would get lost, Rick would snap at his section, he would look over and see David glaring at him or shaking his head in disappointment.

He didn’t know why it was getting to him in a way that it hadn’t before. He always knew that David was a little tougher on him than others, but he had really been hoping that the private sessions would stop the glares and the looks and the scoffs whenever he messed up. If anything, the private sessions only made the actual rehearsals worse.

The second boiling point was reached their third week of the private sessions. Matteo had sat through his perfectly cordial hour with David before band, and was even looking forward to playing that day. He felt like he had finally nailed the set of measures that he and David had been working on so he was excited for Rick to hear him play it right. He was so giddy about it that he even smiled when he caught David looking at him from across the band. David had raised a confused eyebrow at him before shifting his gaze back to the front of the band, and Matteo blushed and looked down at the ground, feeling a little silly.

Again, after a little while the conductor had to step away, and again David took his place at the stand, and picked up the baton. He looked right at Matteo as he told the band that they were going to start a few measures before the one Matteo had been messing up, and he sat up a little straighter and returned the look, nodding when David finished speaking. David nodded the slightest bit back at him before raising his arms, and Matteo breathed with the rest of the band before bringing his mouthpiece up to his lips.

And it was like nothing had changed. Matteo found himself getting lost watching David’s waving his arms in all directions, wild but completely in control of himself and the band. He missed one note and David’s eyes flicked to him, and held there as Matteo panicked and stumbled his way through the measure that he had spent two weeks of private lessons fixing.

He saw David’s jaw clench and he cut the band off with a sharp wave of his hand, before turning his full body in Matteo’s direction to say, “So the last few weeks have been a total waste of my time?”

Matteo didn’t think before standing up and walking off the stage, and out of the theater. He ignored the whispers and looks that followed him out, didn’t think about when he was going to be able to go back and get his case and bag and music, and he walked to the hallway of practice rooms and entered one, slamming the door behind him.

***

He emailed Rick and got permission to skip rehearsal the next day, the conductor ending the email with We really need to figure this out before your issues with David end up hurting the rest of the band. Matteo had read the response and collapsed back into bed, glaring over at his baritone (in the case, his roommate and friends brought his stuff out for him after he left).

It was also the first night of the first concert in the music department. Matteo wasn’t performing but he was required to go, and as he got himself ready in his appropriate concert attire, he worried over the fact that David was going to be there, to perform and to watch. Matteo couldn’t think of something he’d like to do less than watch the dude who embarrassed him in front of their entire band perform and get endless praise for it.

Matteo sat quietly next to his friends throughout the concert, and when David walked onto the stage, he felt himself tense up. His best friend Jonas, a trumpet player who was more than aware of the situation in and out of rehearsal, put a hand on his leg and squeezed, trying to offer a bit of comfort. Matteo smiled tightly at him as David lifted his clarinet to his lips and took a deep breath.

No matter how much Matteo hated him, he couldn’t ignore the fact that David was the best clarinet player he had ever heard. It was like his body and his clarinet were formed together, the way he breathed sound through it and moved around it, how quickly he could run his fingers over the keys and play the most complicated string of notes without a single flaw. Matteo found himself entranced by the song David played, and he opened his eyes when the last note faded out into the otherwise silent theater, and he watched as David kept his clarinet up for a beat after the song finished before his eyes opened, and they looked directly into Matteo’s as the audience clapped around him.

He looked away as quickly as he could, ignoring the face Jonas made at his sudden movement, and tried to focus his attention completely on the girl who stepped up next with her violin. He only let his eyes flick to David once more before the concert was over, and while his view was obscured because David was sitting a few rows ahead of him, Matteo could see his fingers twitching in his lap, probably resisting the urge to make the player follow his lead. The concert was over after that last girl, and Matteo turned to his friends quickly to stop himself from staring in David’s direction again.

Coincidentally, (or not at all) the night of the first concert in the music department was also the night of the first party being held by some people in the percussion section, a couple of guys who had a big house that was perfect for hosting a bunch of drunk but mild-mannered music majors.

Matteo had barely even wanted to go, knowing that his reputation amongst the rest of the band was not a great one. He wasn’t hated, but most only knew of him because of the amount of times per rehearsal the conductor would have to stop and critique the baritones (him) or tell the baritones (him) what measure they were on, and now because of all the new drama with David. He also didn’t want to face his bandmates after walking out during the last rehearsal, but the pushing and prodding of his friends made him reluctantly agree.

“Dude, we’re gonna get you so fucked up you can’t even think about what an asshole Schreibner is,” Carlos said as they made their way to the house.

Matteo snorted as they turned onto the correct block, and they quickly spotted the house that was holding the party. There were lights and music loud enough that they could hear it down the street, and Carlos and Abdi started whooping before running over to it.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Jonas said when Matteo hesitated near the front door.

Matteo waited another second before shoving into the house, and throwing back over his shoulder, “Who cares about that asshole, I want to drink!”

And drink he did. Matteo was on his third beer after only twenty minutes, and he was considering it a win that he hadn’t seen David yet. He could feel himself getting more drunk, and didn’t know what he would even say to David if he saw him. He was glad that the little corner of the room he and his friends had grabbed seemed to be pretty hidden away.

Matteo was handed a joint after a little while and he grabbed it quickly, sticking the end in his mouth and taking a deep hit. He closed his eyes as he blew the smoke out his nose, and took another hit as he opened his eyes slowly, and saw David walk into the room. He didn’t seem to notice Matteo though, seemingly focused on getting to someone that was standing in the opposite corner.

“I didn’t know that David and Leonie are friends,” Carlos said quietly, staring over at the two, “she’s in the orchestra with Kiki. I heard she’s just like David but worse.”

“Matteo would love her, then,” Jonas said, ruffling his hair, and he flipped him off before taking another hit and passing the joint along.

“Why are talented and attractive people such assholes,” Matteo said, and when the three other boys turned to him, their eyes wide, he asked, “what?”

“Did you just say something nice about David?” Abdi asked with a grin, and Matteo rolled his eyes as the boys all oooohed.

“Me saying he’s attractive and talented isn’t nice, especially when that was the lead up to me calling him an asshole,” Matteo said, grabbing the joint when it was handed back to him, “I don’t have a single nice thing to say about David. He can play good, but he’s a piece of shit and nobody is going to hire someone with his kind of attitude. He thinks just ‘cause he can play and wave his arms around in the air that he’s going to become a famous musician and conductor, but he needs to work on being a decent fucking person first.”

His rant wasn’t the most coherent, but it felt good to get off his chest, and he leaned back against the wall and took a hit to emphasize his point. The boys were quiet, and when Matteo raised an eyebrow at Jonas, he tilted his head to the front of the group where David was standing, scowling at him.

“We need to fucking talk.” David growled out through his teeth, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, looking like he was going to vibrate out of his skin with the amount of tension in his body.

Matteo said nothing but handed the joint off, and followed after David when he turned and walked out of the room. He was done. At that point he didn’t give a fuck if he got kicked from the program, or if he was fucking kicked out of the school, because he and David needed to settle whatever their issue was then and there.

David led him down the hall and he knocked loudly on a door before shoving it open, and grabbed Matteo’s wrist to pull him inside. Matteo noticed it was a bathroom, and quickly glanced around to see if anybody was watching them. He wondered what they thought was happening. Someone in the band would probably recognize the stiff way David was holding his body, and see Matteo trailing almost lazily behind him, and know that something was about to go down. But someone else might just see two boys going into a bathroom together at a party, and come to a completely different conclusion. Matteo almost laughed at the thought. Yeah, he was gay, but he didn’t know if David was. He didn’t know if David even had the time or patience to date or hook up with anyone.

He could tell that his apparent apathy towards the situation was just pissing David off further, so he closed the door slowly, not even locking it before leaning back against it with a bored sigh. He definitely wasn’t actually as calm as he looked; he crossed his arms across his chest so the shaking in his hands would be less obvious, and it was taking a lot of effort to keep his face neutral when he saw how angry David was. He didn’t think David was going to hurt him or anything, but he was terrified about what the fight could lead to when it came to his position in the band.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is, Matteo, but I don’t have any kind of attitude. I care about what I do and I want it to be done right. It’s not my fault that you don’t care enough to actually try, but it is really fucking with my experience here,” David said quietly, his voice a little too calm for his red face and clenched fists, “I can’t conduct a band when I need to stop every five seconds because you lose your place.”

Matteo snorted, and leaned his head back against the door. It was taking him a minute to figure out what he wanted to say and he was surprised that David was quiet, like he was giving Matteo the time to think.

“David,” Matteo said, after figuring out what was probably the dumbest part of the whole issue, “you’re good enough to be hired anywhere. Me being a shitty band member won’t stop you,” he paused for a moment, and then picked his head up and said, “And I do try. I’m good. The only reason I’m still here is because they know I’m good. I just don’t need to prove it like you do.”

He was glad that his mind was clear enough to get his exact point across, and he watched David as his words sunk in, realizing that David had probably drank too, considering the way he was leaning back on the counter, his legs a little unsteady. David stared at Matteo for a minute before standing up straighter.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” he said, “I know I’m good.”

“Then why are you such a dick?” Matteo asked, “Like, specifically to me? Yeah, you yell at everyone but you’re just mean to me. Are you homophobic or something?”

Matteo couldn’t stop the thought from drifting through his mind and out his drunk mouth. Maybe David was, and there was going to be no way to solve the issue. What the fuck would he tell Rick?

“What? No, I’m not homophobic,” David said, looking like he wanted to laugh at the idea but was too confused to, “I’m trans.”

“Trans people can be homophobic.” Matteo said, shrugging, knowing that it was a stupid point to make. He was honestly just happy for a break in the tension.

David actually laughed, before tilting his head and smirking at Matteo and saying, “Trust me, I’m not. That would be kinda weird considering I’m also not straight.”

The way he said it made something hot bloom in Matteo’s stomach, and he hated his stupid, gay brain for reacting. That statement combined with the look on David’s face, and the fact that despite their stupid rivalry David was still really fucking hot, was making Matteo lose sight of the original conversation a little.

“You’re hot.” He said, verbalizing his thoughts before he could stop himself, and then he clamped his mouth shut and bit his lip, half terrified that David was going to get angrier, and half glad that he was just getting everything off his chest thanks to the alcohol in his system.

David fell back against the counter, the smirk dropping from his face, and he blinked before stammering out, “Uh. What?”

“I think you heard me,” Matteo said, shrugging, and then he looked off to the side before looking back at David’s confused face and saying again, “you’re hot.”

“Why- what does that have to do with any of this?” David asked, and Matteo couldn’t tell if he was angrier but he sounded different, in a way that made him stand up against the door a little.

He just shrugged again, and then stared at David as he tried to work through whatever was going on in his head. Matteo watched as he stood still for a minute, his fists loosening and tightening at his sides, and he watched as David’s eyes scanned up and down his body with the same focus they would scan the band with, and he watched as David pushed himself off the sink, took a few confident steps forward, and shoved Matteo against the door and pressed their lips together.

Matteo’s eyes widened and then slid closed as he felt David’s hands clutching tight onto his hips, and he grabbed at David’s arms and just as he started moving his lips David pulled away roughly, and was back against the sink in a second.

“That was a bad idea,” David said, holding onto the edge of the sink, avoiding Matteo’s eyes by looking off to the side, “we’re both drunk, we’re fighting, we can’t do that.”

“We don’t have to fight,” Matteo said, knowing that it probably was a bad idea but stepping forward anyway, until he was close enough to see just how tight David was anchoring himself to the sink, “you can tell me to fuck off and I will. Or,” he said, taking another step closer until his foot was kicking against David’s and he could reach out and grab his wrist, “I can stay.”

David only looked back at him when he felt the tug on his arm, and he looked down at Matteo’s hand before looking him in the eyes. Matteo took a risk and slid his hand down, grabbing David’s, and was shocked when David used that grip to pull him in for another kiss, backing him up until his back was smacking into the door again. He got an arm around David’s neck before he was pulling away,  again, and Matteo sighed as David rubbed a hand over his face and said, “Fuck, no, this is such a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Matteo said, rolling his shoulders as he asked, “can you just make up your mind? This is hurting my back.”

David looked at Matteo again, looked him up and down the same way that he had earlier that night, and something seemed to click. He tilted his head again, his eyes filled with a sudden new brightness as he stepped forward, placing his hands on the door on either side of Matteo’s hips, boxing him in.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he said, and Matteo raised an eyebrow, amused, before he continued, “whatever happens tonight happens, and then we don’t talk about it, and it never happens again. Deal?”

Matteo thought it over for a minute, more trying to get one last little jab at David by making him wait for an answer, and once he saw David’s face go from confident to bordering on annoyed, he grinned and stuck out his hand, and said, “Deal.”

David ignored his hand but grabbed his ass and pulled him in close, his hands dragging up to Matteo’s waist as their mouths met again, and Matteo slid a hand into David’s hair and let himself melt against the door.

***

Matteo woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a bad headache, both of which he attributed to the hangover he almost definitely had. He couldn’t even remember drinking that much, but the pain behind his eyes was more than just him being tired like usual. He got himself out of bed, just wanting to drink some water and get into a hot shower to wash away the sweat and alcohol from the party.

He got into the bathroom and turned the shower on, tugging his shirt over his head as he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. He blinked at himself in the mirror, taking in the pale face, the fucked up hair, the red eyes, the bruise on his neck, the-

Matteo jolted forward and slapped his hand over the mark on his neck, before moving it so he could gawk at the dark purple and red. Seeing it brought back a rush of memories from the night before, memories that Matteo couldn’t believe he had forgotten, and he stared at himself with wide eyes and let out a quiet, “Fuck.”

***

Matteo debated whether or not he should skip the next band rehearsal. He knew that realisitcally he couldn’t, and that skipping because of a hickey was so dumb that he shouldn’t have even been considering it. He just didn’t want to face his friends and have them ask questions, and even more than that he didn’t want to see David.

He figured that David wasn’t planning on showing up for their usual private session, so he got to band with just enough time to still be considered early, and he found a quiet corner of the theater to set his baritone up in, a row of seats off to the side. He smiled when he saw Jonas come in, but it fell quickly when he saw Jonas notice the hickey on his neck, and the pure joy and confusion that came over his face.

“Dude!” Jonas exclaimed, staring obviously at the mark, “Who gave you that?”

“Someone from the orchestra, I barely remember his name.” Matteo said as casually as he could, having thought of the lie on his way to band. Jonas nodded with a grin and held out his fist, and Matteo rolled his eyes and bumped his against it, grateful that the idea of him and David hooking up was so unbelievable that it wouldn’t even enter Jonas’ mind.

“And what happened with Schreibner?” Jonas was bouncing on his toes, excited for the news and probably expecting a story.

Matteo snorted and rolled his eyes again, before turning back to his half-assembled baritone, and shrugged and said, “We worked it out.”

Fucked it out is more like it, Matteo thought to himself, and he shook his head to rid it of that kind of thinking.

Matteo got settled in his seat, listening to the cacophony around him, and then finally let himself glance around the room to see where David was. He was surprised when he didn’t find him, unable to think of any other time where David showed up late (besides that one time with the sheet music), but the doors suddenly burst open and the conductor walked in, David hot on his heels as always, whispering as they finished up what looked to be an intense conversation.

“Sorry we’re late, we got caught up discussing the sequence of songs for the concert, but I’m glad to see you’re all ready to go.” Rick said as he grabbed his baton, and he waited for David to sit in his usual seat in the clarinet section before counting them into their first song.

Matteo spent the entire rehearsal trying his hardest to not stare at David while doing exactly that, but he was lucky that David never returned his gaze. He seemed to be actively avoiding looking in Matteo’s direction, which made sense considering the deal they had made, but he was still a little let down that David didn’t even look at him. He even found himself disappointed when David didn’t end up conducting that day, and got up and went over to his case once they were dismissed.

He was glaring at his bottle of valve oil, realizing that he was low and was going to need to go get more, when a shadow fell over him. He looked up with a smile, assuming it would be Jonas, but it dropped when he saw David standing there. He had his jacket on, his clarinet case clutched tightly in his hand, and his backpack on his back, and he was staring down at Matteo with something between apathy and irritation on his face.

“Where were you earlier?”

Matteo raised an eyebrow. He tossed the valve oil back in his case before snapping it shut, and stood up and gathered all of his things before turning to face David again and shrugging, letting his eyes drift to the side as he said, “I figured I’d give things a day to chill after...you know.”

“After what?” David asked, with a tilt of his head, and more pointed, forced confusion on his face than Matteo had ever seen. Oh, so that was how it was gonna be.

Matteo smiled back tightly. “You know what, never mind. I’ll be there next time.”

There was a moment where David’s eyes darted down to Matteo’s neck and back up just as quick. His cheeks got a little pink. Matteo smirked.

“Good.” David said simply, and then turned and left. Matteo stared after him, and smirked when he saw David turn again to look at him one more time before almost jogging out of the theater.

Matteo heard a snort from behind him, and he whipped his head around to see Jonas standing there.

“Fuckin’ dick,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the door, “what was he yelling about this time?”

“Nothing important.” Matteo said, shrugging again, readjusting his grip on his baritone case as they started walking towards the door.

“Is it ever with him?” Jonas joked, elbowing Matteo in the arm, and they both laughed as they left the theater, Jonas waving a goodbye to the people who called out to him. Nobody said anything to Matteo, and he sighed as they made their way down the hall.

“Who knows, man,” Jonas started after a second, pausing and then turning to Matteo with a grin, jabbing him again, “maybe Schreibner is just secretly gay and super jealous of whoever gave you that hickey.”

Matteo snorted, before laughing out loud as they got outside. He shook his head and chuckled when Jonas shot him a confused look.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

*****

The next day that Matteo was meant to meet David, he woke up, and the anxious and dark feeling that settled over him immediately made him want to turn over and go back to sleep. It didn’t have anything to do with David, Matteo knew that, had a diagnosis that proved that, but he couldn’t help the dread that filled him at the thought of sitting in a practice room getting scolded over and over again by the same guy who had given him a hickey the week before.

He lit a joint as he left his place. There were tons of off-campus apartments around his school, and he had managed to get a place with Jonas. It was small, but they had all the rooms they needed, and a balcony attached to Matteo’s room for him to smoke on. It was perfect.

Smoking that day was a bad choice, though. He had gone to band high before, and knew that his fingers would be slower and he wouldn’t be able to focus, but it wouldn’t be any different with the fog filling his head. The only difference was that at least he would be out of it enough to not be bothered by the criticizing.

But by the time he got there, he had almost forgotten that before he had band, he had to see David. He knew it would be obvious he was high, and was preparing himself for whatever David would have to say about it. He was also a little late because he needed to take a minute outside of the building to breath and calm himself down. The weed had done the job of dulling everything coming in, but the anxiety twisting up inside of his gut was still pretty active. He took another shaky breath before pushing into the practice room.

“You’re late.” David said sternly, turning in the seat to glare at Matteo as he shuffled in. Matteo barely acknowledged that he had spoken besides a half shrug until he was settled in his chair, with his baritone set up.

“Bad morning,” he said in a quiet voice, before putting his music on the stand and saying, “let’s just start.”

David went easy on him at first, starting off with one of their simpler songs just to make sure Matteo understood one set of measures that the entire band had been messing up. It didn’t require much complex counting or a lot of movement, so Matteo was playing fine. It was a little further into the session when David switched to a different song, one that Matteo could play most days, but not with his fuzzy brain and fingers that started to shake when David pointed at the measure he wanted Matteo to start with,

He barely got through the first measure before David was cutting him off and telling him to start over, and then stopping him again to count out the beats, and then finally stopping him again when Matteo was playing at a tempo so wrong that he didn’t even know what he was doing.

“Okay, stop, stop,” David said, and he flopped back in his chair with a huff, “what the fuck is going on today?”

“Nothing,” Matteo muttered, leaning back in his chair as well, but crossing his arms over his chest, “I told you, bad morning.”

David turned to stare at him, actually looking at him for the first time he had come in, and Matteo saw understanding dawn on his face before a glare took its place.

“Oh, I get it,” David said, shifting back in his chair, “you’re really trying to get kicked out, aren’t you?”

“No, what the fuck?” Matteo said, shaking his head at the idea.

“So you thought coming in stoned was a good way to keep your spot?”

Matteo froze, before asking quietly, “Are you going to narc?”

David rolled his eyes and snorted, and opened his mouth, before closing it again and leaning back more in his chair. He squinted at Matteo for a second, and then asked, “Why did you do it?”

“What?” Matteo asked, running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the side because he hadn’t even thought about what could happen if David told anyone that he had showed up high.

“Get high, before coming here? If you aren’t trying to get kicked out? Did you think it was a good idea?” David seemed almost amused by the conversation.

“None of your fucking business.”

“I kind of think it is, though, if you’re going to be showing up here, at a time that I only agreed to meet at because you need help-”

“Shut the fuck up, you have to be here just as much as I do, in case you forgot,” Matteo snapped, feeling himself losing a bit of the control that he was usually very careful to hold onto, “and if you really need to know, my brain is pretty fucked up and coming here and getting yelled at by you doesn’t help. Shockingly, it makes it worse. So if you’re going to run off and tell the department that I’m high, make sure they know it’s because you’re so unbearable to work with that it’s the only way I can get through it.”

David stared at him, and swallowed, his face unreadable. Matteo took a deep breath and looked down at the ground, his pulse pounding in his ears. He pressed his fingers down on the valves of his baritone as he tried to get his breathing back under control after losing his temper, and with the new panic that was filling him. He was done for. There was no way David would let him get away with all of that, and Matteo knew that the department would not be happy to hear that he showed up to a rehearsal high before screaming at everyone’s favorite.

“Okay,” David said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Matteo’s head whipped to him. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed that you’re high right now,” David said, but his voice was still soft, and he was looking at Matteo with the closest thing to sympathy on his face that Matteo had seen from him, “but brains can suck. And I get that I can be...blunt.”

Matteo snorted. “Blunt, sure.”

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” David said, and he took his phone out of his pocket and started typing, “have you ever listened to the songs that we’re playing?”

“Well, he played new pieces for us in the beginning of the semester. And I hear them when we play.” Matteo said with a shrug. He had never really been the type to listen to band music. He loved it, and loved playing it, but it already took up so much of his time. When he was listening to music on his own he usually chose stuff that he couldn’t tell you the time signature of.

“Yeah, but sitting in a section of a band and listening to the people around you is really different from hearing it like the audience does,” David said, barely looking up, “we still have some time before rehearsal, so let’s just listen to the songs until it’s time to go. I’ll point out some parts that you’re struggling with so you can hear how you fit into everything else.”

“Oh. Okay. That sounds good.” Matteo said, staring at David in shock as he kept tapping on his phone. After a few seconds, Matteo could hear the run that starts the first song in their program. David raised the volume and set his phone on the stand, and then leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips turning up as the clarinet came in, playing the solo that David played every class.

“That person played it better,” Matteo said under his breath, a little uncomfortable with how suddenly accommodating David was being. He was sure light teasing was still safe. He smirked at the eyebrow David raised.

They listened to the next couple of songs, David pausing every now and then to point things out or tell Matteo to listen to the part coming up next. Matteo could see his hands twitching on his lap, tapping along to the beat, and sometimes, seemingly without even noticing, his hand would come up and with just a finger he would conduct to the room. Matteo watched until it seemed like David wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, and he leaned back in his own chair, and closed his eyes.

He was still listening, and he continued tapping his foot to the beat of every song that played. As the last note of the last piece played out in the room, Matteo let out the breath he had taken in and held during the final crescendo. He didn’t realize until then that he hadn’t even put away his baritone, the horn just resting in his lap, his hands moving across the brass and pressing down on the valves of their own accord.

“We should probably head out,” Matteo heard, and he opened his eyes slowly, not expecting to meet David’s as quickly as he did. David was staring at him with another unreadable expression, biting his lips as his eyes darted around Matteo’s face, down to his lips, before he bit his own and jumped up from his chair with a, “yeah, we need to be there in ten. Let’s pack up.”

*****

[insert blah blah whatever but then the conductor is like haha later this week im gonna be gone and david is gonna conduct all of you the whole time and matteo is like “lol k” but it actually ends up being fine?? And matteo plays better and david doesnt have to say anything to him and near the end he actually SMILES at him and matteo is like okay oaky….this is kinda nice i like not fighting with this dude also hes STILL SO FUCKING CUTE]

[flash forward to a couple weeks later they're still kinda getting along like they are still constantly teasing and bantering and arguing but its like,, nice and funny and ,maybe flirty??????]

“Why can’t we talk about it?” Matteo asked, finally, snapping his case shut and turning to stare at David’s suddenly stiff back. He heard David’s case zip up after a second, before he turned around, a tight smile on his face.

“Talk about what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made it obvious he wasn’t pleased.

“Stop acting like it’s fucking crazy that two people who don’t like each other got drunk at a party and hooked up,” Matteo said, rolling his eyes at David’s carefully controlled expression, “just because you’re so busy and important doesn’t mean you have to be boring.”

“I’m not boring,” David hissed, but he flopped back down in his seat and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling before saying, “I don’t want other people in the band finding out. I have a reputation with them, and I know that...I know this would make things weird.”

“If anything they’ll be jealous of me,” Matteo said with a laugh, “as if you don’t know how many of them eye fuck you while you’re conducting.”

“I’m not...oblivious,” David huffed, and Matteo smirked when he saw his cheeks get red as he looked down at the ground, “and that’s not it.”

Matteo tilted his head, trying to figure out what David meant as he looked up from the ground but off to the side, chewing on his lip. Somewhere in the back of his head a thought started brewing, and once he thought it it was impossible not to clear his throat, and take a breath before asking, “Is it because you think I’m bad? Like, a bad player? Do you not want them knowing you hooked up with me?”

“What? Matteo, no,” David looked at him sincerely for the first time since Matteo had started the conversation, and he reached a hand out, and Matteo jumped when it wrapped gently around his wrist, “I don’t think you’re a bad player, and that...that isn’t the problem. You aren’t the problem with this.”

“Then what is?” Matteo asked, exasperated even though he was the one to ask.

“It’s them,” David said, gesturing vaguely out but Matteo could guess he meant their bandmates, “I love them, but do you know how hard it would be to lead a group of people, including lots of people who have hit on me, if they knew I hooked up with the one member of the band that I-”

“That you what?” Matteo asked too quick, excited to hear the answer.

“That they have seen me get angry in the past- perhaps angrier than necessary.” David said calculating and slow, like admitting it hurt him somewhere deep. Matteo kind of hoped it did. After smiling to himself at that he refocused on the point of the conversation.

“Do you really think I’m planning on telling any of them?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “The only other people I talk to besides you are Carlos, Abdi, and Jonas, and I’m not telling them about any of it because I don’t want them giving me shit for any of it.”

“Why do you even want to talk about this?” David asked, looking up and fixing Matteo with a hard stare, “It happened a while ago, and it’s not like we had some romantic fucking moment of reconiliation. We got drunk, we argued, we hooked up, and now we can move on.”

“Well,” Matteo said, licking his lips and shrugging before looking up at David again, knowing that he didn’t really have a reason besides, “I had fun.”

David opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and then opened it again and just went, “Okay?”

“Didn’t you?” Matteo asked, trying for confidence, but coming off as a little desperate with the way he twisted in his seat to make sure he would catch David’s answer.

“I mean…” David started, his cheeks getting darker as his eyes darted around the room, then down to Matteo’s lips and up to his eyes again as he said, “yeah. I did.”

“Yeah, so,” Matteo said, shrugging again, “what’s the big deal if we acknowledge it? It happened, and now we-” he cut himself off, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “and now we see what happens next.”

David’s eyes popped open. Matteo shrugged again before standing and picking his case up, and his bag, and taking a couple of steps to the door. He turned when he heard silence behind him, and saw David frozen in his seat, still staring at him. He stared back for a moment before gesturing out the door and asking, “Are you coming?”

David blinked and nodded, before getting up and gathering his things as well, and he followed Matteo out the door, and they made the short trek to rehearsal.

Matteo felt different sitting down next to his bandmates that day. He was still full of adrenaline, but felt ready to play, quietly humming one of their songs to himself as his fingers pressed down on the associated valves. He couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking to David every few minutes, and he caught David looking back just as Rick walked onto the stage. David coughed and looked away, and Matteo smiled to himself before leaning back in his seat.

He could feel David’s eyes on him throughout the rehearsal, and he was surprised, but it encouraged him to keep sneaking peeks as well. His eyes would wander up from the page even when he was playing just to catch a glimpse of David in his seat, sitting up straight, his strong arms and shoulders holding the clarinet up, his lips wrapped around the mouthpiece-

Matteo was glad he had a lot of rests.

“David! You were supposed to come in there!” Rick yelled suddenly, smacking the score in front of him with his baton, “You’ve never missed that cue before, what’s got you so distracted today?”

The band was silent and they watched David blush as he said, “Sorry, Rick, I’ll focus better. Won’t happen again.”

The conductor just shook his head before telling them to start the piece over, which was followed by angry grumbles and the sound of papers flipping. David looked down at the ground, his cheeks an angry red, and Matteo bit back the smile that threatened to grow on his face.

[david cancels their next private lesson and matteo is like what why and then he gets to band that day and david is conducting again and he basically ignore matteo the entire time and matteo is a lil mad and then after matteo goes up to him and is like “hey wtf why did you cancel on me and then not even correct me when i messed up” and david is like “fuck cause youre super fucknig distracting now and i cant spend an hour alone with you and then get up in front of a group of people and conduct like an idiot cause im too busy thinking about YOU” but hes likes embarassed and actually mad about it and matteo is like oh my god are we going back to the anger i thought we were passed that and davids like well i guess not and matteos like lmao do we need to hook up again cause that seemed like it worked pretty well last time and david is like,, so fucking pissed but is more pissed that hes kind of into that idea so he locks the practice room door and basically they hook up in the practice room because wow what a fantasy that is]

[things are like….weird but chill for a while after that. It seemed like being able to hook up with matteo again made david less distracted by him in a destructive way and even put a bit of a pep in his step?? And matteo notices that hes being a bit nicer to everyone, not just him, and hes actually smiling and complimenting matteo during their private sessions, and even though nothing is explicitly referenced they both know something's going on. Neither of them would call the other a friend though]

[this is after they hook up the third time, which is the first time that isnt completely out of anger but they arent really friends They just happened to run into each other after a concert and were both being a bit flirty and matteo was very boldly like “hey uh come back to my place” because he thinks and david actually does]

“Tell me something about you,” Matteo said, turning his head and propping it up on his arms so he could see David. The light was low in the room, and the plant near his lamp was casting strange shadows on the walls, and on David himself, leaned back against the wall like he was.

“Uh,” David started, his eyes dancing around the room as he tried to think of something, “I started playing the clarinet when I was-”

Matteo reached out and pinched his leg. David twitched, and raised an eyebrow at him. Matteo hoped that David was okay with the fact that he just kept touching him. It was hard to keep his hands away, and he didn’t know David’s comfort level with non-sexual physical contact. So far he seemed more amused than anything else.

“Tell me something not related to music.” Matteo said, and David snorted at the request.

“Why?” He asked, reaching down to push Matteo’s hair out of his eyes. He bit his lip, wishing that David kept his hand on him longer.

“I just think, you know,” Matteo said, hoping he wasn’t pushing it by sliding his hand onto David’s thigh, the same one he had pinched, “might not be the time to to get into that topic. Just in case.”

I don’t want to start arguing when we just had really great sex and we’re like five minutes away from cuddling if I play my cards right, is what Matteo was thinking, but he figured he got the point across.

David hummed, and nodded, the amused smile still on his face, and tilted his head against the wall and said, “Okay, let me think.”

Matteo stared at him, from where the blanket was draped over his lap, up his bare chest, up the angle of his neck, and still found himself blown away at how beautiful he was. He sighed, glad that David wasn’t watching him swoon.

“Okay I got something,” David said suddenly, turning to Matteo, his eyes bright, “so, growing up we had a cat. My sister got to name it because she was older, and she named the cat Martha Jones, after a Doctor Who character. That cat fucking hated me.”

Matteo laughed, but David didn’t look like he was done, so he prompted him with, “And?”

“Years later, I moved in with my sister, and she wants us to get another cat. So, we go to a shelter, and there’s a cage in the back with a sign on it that says ‘Martha Jones’. Completely different cat, but of course my sister says we have to see her.”

Matteo nodded, enthralled.

“So she goes to ask a worker, and this dude says that that cat was a biter, would hiss, and scratched anyone that went near her unless they had food. Laura insisted, because she’s stubborn, so they brought us into a room and the dude basically tossed the cat in with us and closed the door.”

“That doesn’t sound safe.” Matteo said, shifting closer until he was able to rest his head in David’s lap. He couldn't hold back the need any longer, and he was pleased when David started playing with his hair.

“It wasn’t, she immediately scratched me so bad I started bleeding,” David said with a chuckle, “but she chilled out after a bit, my sister was very persistent. After like 20 minutes she was purring in my lap.” David finished with a proud smile down at Matteo.

If Matteo hadn’t already been crushing that would’ve sealed the deal. It did make something soft settle in his chest, and made his hands a little tingly, and he didn’t think twice before asking, “Can I see a picture?”

David looked thrilled at the question, and he leaned over to grab his phone. Matteo watched, biting back a grin as David scrolled through his pictures before settling on one and handing his phone over, obviously excited for Matteo to see.

The first thing Matteo could make out was a metal music stand, the same basic kind he had in his room for practicing, but it was tilted so the tray was lying flat. He grinned at the cat bed that was resting on top of it, and actually awwwed out loud at the pretty calico, splayed out on her back in a sunbeam. The stand was in front of a large window, and Matteo could see plants around it, and he wondered if it was David’s room.

“Yeah,” David said, looking at the picture again himself before putting his phone down. Matteo felt a tug on his hair, and he looked up to see David staring down at him, and he said, “now you.”

“Me? I don’t have any cats to show off,” Matteo said, wrapping his arms around David’s legs so he could squeeze himself closer.

“No, now you have to tell me something about yourself,” David said, rolling his eyes, but his face was softer than Matteo had ever seen it.

“Oh, shit,” Matteo said, not thinking that David was going to turn the conversation on him, and he hummed for a second before saying the first thing he could think of, “well, I like to sing. When I was younger I used to have a vocal coach and everything, now I mostly just sing whenever my roommate isn’t home.”

It wasn’t something he brought up, or really thought about too often, because ultimately the decision for him to stop the training was out of his hands, and he regretted not being able to go farther with it the same way he could with the baritone.

“Why’d you stop?” David asked, his voice soft, as if he could sense the sadness underlying the statement.

“Well,” Matteo said, shifting back a little bit so he could roll onto his back and say it up to the ceiling, “my mom was the one who got me the lessons, I had already been taking them for the baritone for a year or so. My dad got pissed, because I was already singing in the church choir at that point, and he didn’t want singing to distract from my other music shit. When I got older, uh,” he paused to take a breath, “there was a while where my mom wasn’t living with us, so all the singing lessons stopped. I stopped singing at church, too, and, well. I was better at the baritone anyway.”

He hadn’t noticed that while he had been talking, David had slid down more on the bed until he was resting on his side, and he was staring with a concerned look when Matteo turned to him again,

“They have vocal coaches through the school,” David said, an arm inching across the mattress towards Matteo, “you can sign up for one, if you want. I can get you the email of the person who sets them up, I-”

Matteo laughed at David’s eagerness to help, cutting him off, and rolled back over onto his side, surprised at how close he found himself to David. He felt a hand gently sliding onto his hip, and he bit his lip, his eyes meeting David’s, and he leaned in to kiss him.

David didn’t seem to have expected it. He made a sound, and Matteo worried for a moment that he was going to pull away but instead he was pulled in closer, David’s hand sliding onto the small of his back. He pulled away, and David rolled onto his back, his cheeks pink.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any of that,” Matteo said, and he hesitantly let his head drop onto David’s shoulder, and then let his arm drape across his stomach when David tangled their legs together, “it’s just something I do for fun now.”

“For fun,” David repeated, and then took a breath and asked, “since the topic of music is back on the table, do you want to hear a secret?”

Matteo looked up, amused, and then propped his chin on David’s chest so he could see him better, and he said, “Yes, please.”

“So, I can play almost every wind instrument, right? And brass too, and I can figure out percussion pretty quickly. I can pretty much play anything you’ll find in the average wind ensemble, and then some.”

Matteo rolled his eyes, “That’s not a secret.”

“Yeah, but,” David took another breath, and it seemed like it actually pained him to say, “I can’t play anything with fucking strings.”

“Really?” Matteo asked, leaning up a bit more so he could see the hurt on David’s face, and he grinned, and questioned, “not even guitar? Or ukulele? Even I can play those a bit.”

“Nope,” David sulked, “nothing. One time my friend gave me her violin to try and she said I should be banned from ever touching anything with strings again.”

Matteo covered his mouth with his hands to stop the giggles that were threatening to pour out of him. It wasn’t like there was any actual expectation that David was able to play every single instrument that existed, but the shame he seemed to be feeling about his own inability was hilarious.

“Now you have to tell me something else too,” David said, poking Matteo in the cheek, obviously trying to change the subject,

“You offered that information up freely, I don’t have to tell you shit.” Matteo snarked back. He was still reeling from how strange this new dynamic was, and he wanted to push a bit, see what was allowed.

David scrunched his face up before suddenly grabbing Matteo’s wrist and flipping him onto his back, David hovering over him, looking much too pleased with himself. Once he could tell Matteo wasn’t going to try to move he slid his hand off his wrist and down his chest, onto his hip, and blinked his dark eyes slow and said, “Tell me something.”

“I can speak Italian,” Matteo blurted out immediately, unable to resist a hot, mostly naked boy pinning him to his bed.

“Oh yeah?” David asked with a grin, “Fluently?”

“Yeah,” Matteo said, his eyes wide as he stared up at David, “my dad’s from Italy, we spoke it when I was growing up.”

David hummed, still looking down at Matteo with the same cocky smile on his face, and said, “Say something.”

“No,” Matteo refused, and with a sudden burst of confidence he slid his hand onto the back of David’s head and said, “kiss me.”

David’s eyes widened but he smiled, and did as told. The conversation ended there.

*****

A few days later, a weekend, Matteo walked out onto his balcony. It was midday, and he had already eaten and gotten the work done for his academic classes, so he had an unlit joint dangling between his lips. He stretched, and squinted when the sun shone down on him bright enough to hurt his eyes. He dashed back into his room, intent on finding the sunglasses he knew were somewhere, and he saw something balanced against the wall in the corner that made him pause.

It was a ukulele, his ukulele, one that a random family member had gotten him when he was first accepted to the school. It was a bright blue, and Matteo knew that with most instruments a bright color didn’t ensure the best quality, but he didn’t mind because he barely played the thing. It was good enough for the random time every few months where Matteo would decide to teach himself a new song.

He thought back on his conversation with David. He felt the corners of his lips twitch up, remembering David’s pained face when he revealed his secret, and with a small laugh he grabbed the neck of the ukulele and tucked it under his arm. He found his sunglasses on the floor next to his desk, and slid them onto his face before walking back out the door.

He leaned against the railing of the balcony as he lit the joint, smiling around it, and puffing the smoke out his nose. His room faced out to an empty street, across from a bunch of buildings that he was sure nobody had gone inside for years. He liked how private it felt, for the years he had lived there he had only seen a handful of people out there.

Which made it the perfect place for him to pluck out a few random chords on the ukulele without the judgement he usually faced when playing music. He wasn’t good by any means, but he knew enough chords to play enough songs to keep himself occupied. There were even a few times when he and Jonas had played together out there, usually after a few beers or joints when Matteo was feeling less self conscious about giggling as he badly played along with Jonas actually playing his guitar.

He puffed on the joint, his eyes closing under the sunglasses as he started strumming. His fingers had settled naturally on the frets, playing the chords to the last song he had taught himself, one Jonas had played in his car that got stuck in Matteo’s head. He hummed along, but stopped when the joint almost fell out of his mouth. He took a step back, rolled his shoulders, and started playing again.

The joint did fall out of his mouth, tumbling to the ground at Matteo’s feet, thankfully not setting anything on fire, when he heard from the street below him, “Matteo?”

Oh god, he recognized the voice immediately. He bent down to grab the joint and stubbed it out on the ashtray conveniently right next to him, and took a deep breath before peeking over the railing. And he was right about the voice, as David was standing there, a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, squinting up at the balcony.

“Uh, yeah,” Matteo called back, lifting a hand to wave awkwardly before realizing that he was still clutching the ukulele, so he set it down, his fingers tight around the neck, “that’s me.”

“Nice shades.” David said, smirking up as he moved his hand from his eyes. The sun was going behind some clouds so the glare was gone, and Matteo lifted the sunglasses from his eyes with a blush.

“What are you doing over here?” Matteo asked, leaning over the edge so he could get a closer look. David had a bike next to him, and a backpack tight on his back, obviously either coming or going from somewhere.

“Oh, well, actually,” David said, digging the toe of his shoe into the ground like he was embarrassed by the question, “I was just taking a shortcut.”

Matteo snorted, and looked down at his arms folded across the railing. He didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t expecting to see David obviously, and it didn’t seem like David’s answer matched his reaction to the question. He wanted to know what that was about. After an almost awkward silence, just as David’s hand tightened around the handle of his bike, Matteo quickly asked, “Do you want to come up?”

Something about David made Matteo do that a lot, blurt out things that drifted through his head that he wouldn’t usually say without a second more to think about it. He blushed after he asked, looking down at his arms again, not wanting to watch David uncomfortably decline. Sometimes it was hard to remember that they weren’t really supposed to like each other.

“Okay.” David said, confidently, and Matteo’s eyes snapped back down. David was looking up at him with his head tilted, a smile on his face like Matteo’s question was a challenge.

“Oh,” Matteo responded, needing to take a minute to realize that David was actually agreeing, “um, go around the front and I’ll buzz you in?”

David nodded, and hopped on his bike and disappeared around the corner of the building. Matteo let out a breath and rushed into his room, looking around with wide eyes to see what he needed to quickly kick under his bed and shove in his closet. He managed to tidy his room up enough to not be embarrassed by the time the buzzer went off, and Matteo ran to it, not even knowing if Jonas was home but desperately hoping he wasn’t.

He pulled the door open, biting his lip when David came into view, smiling slightly in that cocky way he did. He felt like he would swallow his tongue if he spoke out loud so he waved David into the flat, blushing at the chuckle David let out as he did so, and David bowed his head as he walked in, stepping past Matteo and stopping in the entrance to the main part of the flat.

“We should go chill on your balcony,” David said, looking around like he had never been there before. To be fair, the only time David had been there they were stumbling through the dark to Matteo’s room trying to keep their lips connected, so he didn’t blame him for taking the time to look around in the daylight.

Matteo nodded, and then realizing he hadn’t actually said anything since David came up, cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure.”

He led an amused David through his room, pointedly avoiding looking at his bed, his face flushing although he kept his eyes trained forward. David didn’t say anything, or even show in any way that he remembered the fact that just days ago they had been wrapped up in each other in that very same bed, kissing and touching and a lot else. Matteo didn’t know how he was so nonchalant about it when the sight of the bed instantly brought the taste of David’s lips to Matteo’s head, the feeling of his hands on him, Matteo’s hands in his hair. He shook his head and pulled the door to the balcony open harder than he meant to.

He was glad that they had chairs set out on the balcony, ones they had found outside some other building when they first moved in. They didn’t match but they were surprisingly comfortable and most importantly, not broken. Matteo only sat after David had picked a chair, and looked up at him, an amused smile still on his face.

“I should tell you that I lied, earlier.” David said suddenly, after Matteo sat. He looked up, confused, at David’s smile.

“Lied about what?”

“I wasn’t really taking a shortcut.”

Matteo raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

David nodded, and bent down, digging around in the backpack at his feet. Matteo settled back in his seat to watch until David sprang back up with a book in his hand.

“Don’t tell anyone,” David started, flipping to a page near the end, “but I might sometimes sneak into buildings in a way that isn’t totally...legal.”

Matteo smiled at that, tilting his head, and asked, “For any particular reason, or do you just like the thrill?”

David smiled back, not cocky, and said, “It is pretty thrilling, especially when you get chased out by security guards. But I really do it for this.”

His cheeks got a little rosy when he handed the book over to Matteo, and Matteo’s jaw dropped when he looked down at the page. He was expecting words, but instead there was a sketch done in black pencil, and it took Matteo a minute to piece together what it was.

[idk dude figure out what he drew i guess lmao i dont care enough to try to write this part rn]

“These are… really good,” Matteo said, flipping through the pages. He didn’t really know if David wanted him to but he didn’t try to stop him, so Matteo let his eyes wander over the pages.

“Yeah, well,” David said, sounding a little sheepish, “it’s a hobby, I guess.”

Matteo was quiet as he turned page after page, finding sketches of more abandoned buildings, random people, different plants. A cat popped up a few times, which made Matteo smile, along with the doodles of instruments and staff lines half filled with notes. He didn’t realize how long he had been absorbed in the book until he noticed he was on the second to last page. He stared at the drawing that seemed somewhat familiar, a barely-started portrait, a head with short swooping hair, a button nose, a small smile-

“Okay, um,” David said quickly, his hand darting out to grab at the book, “yeah, a lot of those last ones aren’t finished. Not really that interesting.”

“I thought they were,” Matteo muttered, a little annoyed at being interrupted. He had been enjoying himself.

“I, uh,” David started as he shoved the book back into his bag, “don’t usually show that to people.”

Matteo tilted his head. He had never seen David look less sure of himself. He leaned back in the chair, biting his lip, his eyes avoiding Matteo’s. He seemed almost… shy? Timid? Words that Matteo would never associate with David.

“Well, you should,” Matteo said after a moment of silence, “it sucks that you’re amazing at that too.”

That got a bit of a chuckle, and Matteo grinned at David until their eyes met. There was a beat, and then David looked away again.

“I don’t know,” David said, his cheeks getting pink again, “that’s something I really only do when I need to escape. I just… go somewhere, and draw whatever I can find. I don’t really show people because I’m not doing it for anyone else. Like… you know.”

Matteo had a million questions about what he meant by that, but David had crossed his arms over his chest and looked off to the side after saying it, his jaw set. He let out a long exhale through his nose, and Matteo got the hint that he didn’t want to further dissect that statement.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, quiet, trying to figure out how to turn the conversation back around. He could tell David maybe hadn’t meant to say as much as he did, maybe was a little embarrassed at revealing something so personal. Showing off a picture of his cat a week or so prior was nothing compared to talking about something that he was actively keeping to himself. His escape, from what Matteo knew was a very stressful and hectic life.

He thought for a moment, his eyes darting around the balcony to find something to change the topic, to stop David from looking so uncomfortable. His eyes landed on his ukulele. He paused there, the thought alone making his heart race and something nervous twist up in his stomach, but before he could stop himself he reached out and grabbed it, letting it settle in his arms the way it always did. David didn’t look over until Matteo accidentally twanged one of the strings.

“Um,” he said, when David’s eyes widened and a grin started growing over his face, “I’ll trade you.”

The grin stopped, David tilted his head in confusion and asked, “You’ll trade me what?”

“You told me about what you do that’s just for you, that you don’t usually share with other people,” Matteo strummed, quickly adjusting a couple of the tuning pegs until the sound was just right, “only fair that I do the same.”

“I didn’t think that playing the ukulele was that important to you.”  David said, uncrossing his arms, relaxing back into his chair a bit. The tension was gone from his face, and his lips were curved up at the sides.

“It’s not,” Matteo said with a smirk that looked more confident than he felt, and he took a deep breath before putting his fingers on the frets.

He started strumming the song he had been playing when David showed up, looking down at his hands because he knew he would need to focus on the chords and not on David looking at him. He took another deep breath, tried not to think about it, and started singing.

“There once was a bittersweet man and they called him Lemon Boy….”

Matteo hadn’t considered the lyrics before singing them, just picking a song that was fresh in his head so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by messing up, not that David would have been shocked by that. It was a simple song, pretty, one that he didn’t have to think too hard about. But as he sang it, as the lyrics came out of his mouth less timid with every word, he felt butterflies in his stomach. He got to the chorus, and closed his eyes.

“Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together,” he sang, ignoring the heat he could feel spreading across his cheeks, “I helped him plant his seeds and we'd mow the lawn in bad weather.”

Matteo stumbled on a chord, managed to fix it in a second but he knew David heard it. He continued, though. David had reminded him of that often, not to stop when he made a mistake.

“It’s actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him...”

He sang the next verse, getting a little sloppy with the chords as he failed to not think about the words he was singing. He got through it, got halfway through the next chorus, and was suddenly cut off when loud classical music started playing from David’s bag. His hands stilled, and he opened his eyes.

It was as if David hadn’t even noticed he stopped, or the sound coming from somewhere near his feet. His eyes were wide, shiny and dark, staring into Matteo’s, leaning forward in his chair like he didn’t want to miss a single word, a single strum of Matteo’s fingers over the strings. His head was tilted, lips parted just enough that a long shaky breath could escape, his hands gripping tight to the arms of the chair. He looked awed by Matteo’s mediocre performance.

David’s gaze snapped down to his bag when the classical music started again, and he whispered an, “Oh, shit,” as he dug through it. He pulled his phone out and Matteo expected him to put it to his ear, assuming the music was a ringtone, but instead he could see it was an alarm that David turned off with a slide of his finger across the screen.

“I was supposed to be home a while ago, I need to, uh,” David cut himself off as he stood, shoving his phone into his pocket and zipping his bag closed before swinging it onto his back, “I have to do my shot today.”

“Oh,” Matteo responded, not understanding what David meant. He wasn’t able to say anything else, like singing had taken the rest of his voice for the day.

“You know, testosterone?” David stuttered out, nervous, as if Matteo didn’t already know he was trans.

“Oh,” Matteo said again, almost smacking himself in the face when he blurted out, “have fun?”

That made David pause, his franticness to leave slowing as a smile grew over his face. He bit his lip, and then to Matteo’s shock, let out a laugh.

“I’ll try my best,” he said, winking. That action alone was enough to have Matteo collapsing back into his chair. David turned towards the door, put one foot back into the apartment, and then stopped before saying, “oh, and Matteo?”

“Yes?” Matteo said, leaning forward again, greedy to hear whatever David was about to say.

“One day I’ll show people my art. Have an exhibit at a museum, maybe.” he said, turning his head so he could look back at Matteo with a soft smile on his face, “but only if I can hire you to sing there.”

Matteo’s jaw dropped, his face turning bright red as David walked through the door. He flopped back in his chair, waited until he could hear the clicks of his door opening and then closing, and let out the breath he had been holding for who knows how long.

[monotonous-minutia]

Brief history of Les contes d’Hoffmann edits (the short short version) + Summaries!

Kudos to anyone who gets through all of this, but I recommend at least reading the first part if you plan on watching this opera next week for Operablr Pride Month. It will help you find/choose a version to watch!

For the differences in the summaries to make sense, we need a little background info.

The very very very short version of why there are so many edits:

Offenbach died before he could finish the score. Most of the prologue, Olympia, and Antonia acts were done; the Giulietta act and the Epilogue were not, which is why those are the parts that vary the most across the different edits. Additionally, much of the material that varies belongs to Nicklausse/the Muse. The reason for this is that the mezzo in this role cancelled last minute, and the replacement didn’t have time to learn the entire role before the performance, so the Muse monologues, Violin Aria, and much of Nicklausse’s dialogue were cut; the ending monologue was replaced with spoken speech. Since the premiere—which is another story for another time—several conductors, directors, and music scholars have attempted to reconstruct the opera based on Offenbach’s drafts and notes, and in some cases their personal preferences. Additional shoutout to good old Guiraud, who finished a lot of the orchestration that Offenbach didn’t get to, which is some of the only stuff to survive most edits.

Also, I should say: apparently in addition to there being no definitive edition of this opera, there’s no definitive history either. I swear every book/article I read about it says something different so this is the best I could do. So if there are any inaccuracies, apologies in advance.

Now there are a lot of people that have tinkered with this opera, but there are a few main ones that compiled what are dubbed “critical editions,” because they did a bunch of research and a lot of people end up using edits based on what they did.

In chronological order, those critical edits are:

Choudens: The shortest version, and one most people are familiar with.

Oeser (1): Longer with a lot of missing material added, also fairly well-known.

Oeser (2): Even longer with a ton of new stuff added! (My personal fave but pretty rare)

Kaye/Keck: Uses some of the material rediscovered by Oeser, but also adds a ton of other stuff, particularly in the Giulietta act, as well as re-orchestrating significant portions. Not many of these either.

and apparently there’s another one called “OG Offenbach” or something like that but as far as I can tell there haven’t been any recordings of it or much about what it looks like, but from what I gather it’s fairly similar to that last one, with some adjustments based on yet more new-old material discovered.

And, of course, every single production I’ve ever seen/heard puts its own spin on things! So while most have the general formats as seen below, literally no two are exactly alike.

A bit more detail on the versions:

Choudens

This is one of the first people to edit the material after it was butchered for the world premiere. It’s the short version of the opera with the most material missing, though to be fair he did improve upon what it had been before. His is (unfortunately) the edit most people are familiar with:

Prologue: Chorus of Spirits of wine and beer. Lindorf monologues about stealing Stella from Hoffmann. Students party in the tavern and ask Hoffmann to tell a stoy; he sings the famous "Ballad of Klein-Zach." When taunted by Lindorf about his love life, Hoffmann decides to tell everyone the tales of his Three Great Loves. Act I: Olympia. Hoffmann is in love with the “daughter” of Spalanzani, his science professor, unaware that she is a robot. Coppélius sells Hoffmann magic glasses that make him believe Olympia is a real human, despite Nicklausse's insistence that she is a mechanical doll. Olympia is presented to the guests at her coming-out party; they marvel over her. Hoffmann serenades her and dances with her, but Coppélius arrives to take her apart, and Hoffmann realizes he’s been in love with a robot the whole time. Act II: Giulietta. Choudens put the Giluietta act second instead of Antonia. At a party, Nicklausse and Giulietta sing the famous Barcarolle; Hoffmann counters with an aria about how love is futile. Nicklausse tries to warn Hoffmann to be careful of Giulietta's lover, Schlémil, but Hoffmann of course does not listen. Dapertutto arrives and makes a deal with Giulietta to trick Hoffmann. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann and steals his reflection. When Hoffmann realizes his reflection is gone, we get the famous Septet (the only thing I’m grateful to Choudens for). Afterwards, Hoffmann kills Schlémil  to get the key to Giulietta’s room, but Giulietta leaves with Pitichinaccio instead. Act III: Antonia. The singer Antonia is sick and it’s her singing that is killing her. Hoffmann, who’s been looking for her for months after Antonia and her father moved specifically so he couldn’t find them, has finally found her. They promise to run away and get married, but before they can, Dr. Miracle forces Antonia to sing until she literally dies. Epilogue: Hoffmann has finished his stories. Nicklausse makes the connection that all three ladies are actually metaphors for the real-life Stella. Hoffmann yells at him. Stella walks in on a drunk Hoffmann who mistakes her for his lovers; she leaves in a huff with Lindorf. Nicklausse reveals his identity as the Muse (in spoken dialogue) and asks for Hoffmann’s devotion. Hoffmann gets a reprise of his Giulietta act aria, but this time committing himself to the Muse and his art.

Oeser (1)

This one, which is also very common, isn’t Oeser’s *actual* edit but combines his with the Choudens one, so it has a lot more material than the previous one, but not as much as the longer Oeser version.

Prologue: Very similar to Choudens except we get the Muse’s opening monologue explaining their motivations (winning Hoffmann and saving him from Stella) before the rest of the action. Act I: Olympia. Pretty much the same but sometimes Nicklausse gets a different aria. Act II: Antonia (which here comes before Giulietta). Almost exactly the same as Choudens’, but Nicklausse gets to sing a lovely aria about love and art which is really a love song for Hoffmann. Act III: Giulietta. Pretty much the same, except it’s the third act instead of the second act. Epilogue: Starts pretty much the same, until the Hoffmann/Stella confrontation which is now put to music. Then we get a reprise of Klein-Zach followed by the drinking chorus, after which the Muse reappears. The opera ends with the Muse’s closing monologue and chorus about how Hoffmann’s suffering will make him a greater artist.

Oeser (2)

Pretty similar to the short Oeser version described above. The most dramatic changes are really just in the Giulietta act, though there’s some extra material in Olympia too (that one waltzy duet I’m always gushing about) and sometimes more sung material for the Muse in the epilogue as well. Oeser’s longer Giluietta act: Has the same basic plot points, except instead of going right from Dapertutto making the deal with Giulietta to Giulietta seducing Hoffmann, we get a gambling scene where Giulietta serenades the guests as they play cards, during which each of the characters gets a little moment. Then Giulietta leaves and Hoffmann follows her, and she sings sadly about her dismal situation which leads into her seduction of Hoffmann, and the rest of the act ends pretty much the same, except sometimes there’s no Septet.

Now, on to possibly the wildest of them all:

Kaye/Kecke

This one is rare; there’s only a few recordings that even attempt it, and very few get it to the letter of what these two scholars compiled. Once again, most of the changes are in the Giulietta act and Epilogue; the only real changes in the previous acts are in the orchestration of some parts. Kaye Giulietta Act: Starts pretty much the same, with the Barcarolle and Hoffmann’s derisive aria, and Dapertutto making the deal with Giulietta. We get a gambling scene here too, but it’s not as long or dramatic and Giulietta gets a different aria. Hoffmann kills Schlémil for the same reasons, but it happens before Giulietta steals his reflection; essentially she’s bribing him before she pretends to fall in love with him. Hoffmann gets in trouble for killing Schlémil, and in a fit of rage tries to kill Giulietta, but kills Pitichinaccio instead. Kaye Epilogue: It starts with a chorus for the students kinda trying to talk Hoffmann down from his crazy stories. We get the same Nicklausse-Hoffmann confrontation, and the one with Stella, and a reprise of Klein-Zach, but in addition to the drinking chorus repeating we get a kind of ominous reprise of the “Glou! Glou!” chorus from the prologue, after which the Muse enters and we get the same ending monologue but it’s got some extra pieces.

So the short short version ended up pretty long huh? Anyway, I hope it's helpful!

If you want more detailed summaries to follow along with when you watch the opera, see below!

More detailed summaries!

Choudens

Choudens is one of the the first critical edits of the opera and, despite the fact that it’s been discredited multiple times, is still inexplicably used a lot and is what a lot of people think of when they think of this opera.

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with his friend Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the song, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia. Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird. Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric saleman, enters and displays his various wares, including a variety of contraptions but primarily eyes. He manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalazani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for what she truly is and is

humiliated. Act II: Giulietta (Choudens is the only edit that has Giulietta second instead of third) Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) After Hoffmann and Nicklausse leave to play cards with the others, the Captain Dapertutto comes in, announcing he plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He attracts the courtesan with a diamond (and a deceptively pretty aria) and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. Hoffmann returns and Dapertutto leaves. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann, who serenades her with a fairly famous aria that gets reprised later for a different reason (keep an eye out for that). Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Giulietta tells Hoffmann that Schlémil has the key to her room, and if Hoffmann can retrieve it, she’ll meet him there later. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or "Sextet and Chorus"). Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Act III: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to find Antonia for him. When the servant leaves to do so, Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that

Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him

two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann, only to find him dead drunk. He mistakes her for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. The students all leave and Hoffmann is alone with Nicklausse, who reveals himself to be the Muse of Poetry. The Muse declares her devotion to Hoffmann and asks for his in return. Hoffmann, hearing this, repeats his song from the Giulietta act, this time declaring his love for the Muse and promising to return to his art.

Oeser (1)

The short Oeser version is the other Most Commonly Seen edit (I think it’s about a tie). It's similar to the Choudens edit in many ways, with some significant additions, which are in blue below: Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. They leave to

join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia (When Oeser made his edit, he rearranged the acts to their original order, placing Antonia before Giulietta.) Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a

party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) After Hoffmann and Nicklausse leave to play cards with the others, the Captain Dapertutto comes in, announcing he plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He attracts the courtesan with a diamond (and a deceptively pretty aria) and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. Hoffmann returns and Dapertutto leaves. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann, who serenades her with a fairly famous aria. Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Giulietta tells Hoffmann that Schlémil has the key to her room, and if Hoffmann can retrieve it, she’ll meet him there later. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or Sextet and Chorus). Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Nicklausse exits, telling Hoffmann it’s time for him to choose. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse, serenading Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but will make him an even greater artist.

Oeser (2)

The long Oeser version (my personal favorite) follows the short one fairly closely; most of the major revisions are in the Giulietta act. This one is pretty rare—I’ve only found one video (which is a terrible production unfortunately) and one audio recording (which is the greatest audio recording of this opera that currently exists). New material in green text:

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. Then we get my beloved little waltzy duet where Nicklausse invites Hoffmann back to the party and Hoffmann denounces cynics who disbelieve the power of love. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius

enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance.

Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) As if summoned, the Captain Dapertutto arrives and introduces himself, ominously revealing that he knows who Hoffmann is as well, and in general just acts creepy. Hoffmann and Nicklausse warily leave him behind and go to join the others playing cards. Once they’re gone, Dapertutto announces his plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He sings a diablical aria and attracts the courtesan with a diamond, and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. She and Dapertutto join the card players. Hoffmann is losing miserably, much to Nicklausse’s chagrin. Giulietta serenades the guests with a song about love, not-so-subtly aimed at Hoffmann. We get a pretty epic chorus as the game goes on. [Sometimes we also get and aria from Schlémil about having lost his shadow.] Giulietta leaves and Hoffmann follows her, giving Nicklausse his cards and asking him to finish the game for him. Nicklausse protests and tries to follow Hoffmann, but Dapertutto holds him back. Hoffmann joins Giulietta in her room. Giulietta despairs over her feeling of being trapped and suffering. Nicklausse comes in and tells Hoffmann to get ready to leave and that he’s coming back for him. He leaves, and Giulietta tells Hoffmann he should as well, but he refuses to leave her. Giulietta tells him to steal the key from Schlémil that he uses to lock her up at night, saying if he does so, she will devote herself to him. Hoffmann agrees to do so and sings his aria. Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or Sextet and Chorus) [sometimes the Septet is left out in longer Oeser edits]. Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover, Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Nicklausse exits, telling Hoffmann it’s time for him to choose. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse. She declares her love and devotion for Hoffmann and asks for his in return. She calls upon the Spirits of Wine and Beer, who she says have aided her in her efforts; they repeat their chorus and disperse. The Muse serenades Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but

will make him an even greater

artist.

Kaye/Kecke

the Kaye/Kecke version is the most recent critical edition and hailed by many as the most definitive (aside from that “OG Offenbach” one I can’t find anything about). There are actually very few “true” Kaye productions out there, but a few that attempt it. A lot of the changes are just in the orchestration and, in the spoken-dialogue version, a lot of dialogue; the vast majority of the plot and action stay the same. The big differences are in the Giulietta act. Again, I’ll use some new-color text (orange) to indicate differences between this and previous editions.

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). (also he sometimes mockingly serenades Olympia before his other aria.) Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. Then we get my beloved little waltzy duet where Nicklausse invites Hoffmann back to the party and Hoffmann denounces cynics who disbelieve

the power of love. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards

Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) As if summoned, the Captain Dapertutto arrives and introduces himself, ominously revealing that he knows who Hoffmann is as well, and in general just acts creepy. Hoffmann and Nicklausse warily leave him behind and go to join the others playing cards. Once they’re gone, Dapertutto announces his plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He sings a diabolical aria and attracts the courtesan with a diamond, and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. (Here’s where the plot deviates, and the Oeser parts from earlier don’t appear at all.) The guests return looking for Giulietta, who sings a song for them as they play cards. Hoffmann gets distracted by Giulietta and gives Nicklausse his cards. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann and convinces him to duel Schlémil to get the key to her bedroom. Hoffmann does and kills Schlémil. Nicklausse finds Hoffmann and, learning about the duel, begs Hoffmann to leave with him. Hoffmann refuses, wanting to see Giulietta. Nicklausse leaves to find a means of transportation. Giulietta returns and continues to seduce Hoffmann, who falls for her completely. She asks for his reflection as a keepsake; he’s helpless to resist her. Dapertutto returns; Giulietta relinquishes Hoffmann to him. Nicklausse returns as well, in time to find Hoffmann has lost his reflection. Once again he begs Hoffmann to leave, but Hoffmann refuses, still insistent that Giulietta loves him. The chorus returns, mocking Hoffmann for being duped. The police arrive to arrest Schlémil’s killer. Furious, Hoffmann attempts to stab Giulietta, but misses and kills Pitichinaccio, who is revealed to be her real lover. Giulietta despairs over his body, and Nicklausse finally manages to drag Hoffmann away. (There is no Septet in Kaye edits.) Epilogue Back at the tavern, the students sing a disbelieving chorus as Hoffmann finishes his tales, telling him to come back to reality. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down. He then encourages everyone (including himself) to get blackout drunk. The chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer from the prologue returns, creepily overlapping with the students’ drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song, mockingly dedicating it to Lindorf, before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. (Sometimes Stella gets an aria here, basically telling Hoffmann “you don’t know what you’re missing by rejecting me.”) Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse. She declares her love and devotion for Hoffmann and asks for his in return. The Muse serenades Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but will make him an even greater artist. (Sometimes the final chorus is extended, with comments from the other characters announcing that the future is his.)

And there you have it!

As mentioned before, there are a ton of variations on all of these. Choudens edits and short Oeser edits are often very similar, but even they will have random chunks cut here and there, sometimes move things around, and of course it’s always a toss-up which aria Niclausse is going to get in Act I and if he’ll get the Violin Aria.

If you got to the end of this, kudos. Seriously. I could barely make it through, and I elected to write the thing.

[memeadonna]

Playing with your Heart

Hello all! This story was inspired by a conversation @fox-knives and @malicealieness had with me about Sero pining after a Y/n who was already in a relationship. Because I am a classical musician by trade, this happened! It was a lot of fun to write and talk about, and I really hope you enjoy!

Sero Hanta has been in love with you since you first met, but you’ve already got a boyfriend. When tensions rise between you and your beloved, he has to play the supportive friend and be there for you - right? So why does he want more?

Warnings: NSFW content, recreational drug use

Here are the links to the pieces of music referenced in the story:

Voi Che Sapete

Als Luise die Briefe

Merry Go Round of Life

When people thought of classical musicians, they most often thought of someone posh and straight-laced, someone snobby with way too much time on their hands who won’t listen to a piece unless the composer was long dead. Sero had learned from experience that this was very far from the truth. He was an anomaly himself – a piano prodigy who took up percussion one day because he was bored, and had been accepted on a full ride to UA – one of the top university music programs in the world. He also gave off the aura of someone laid-back and lazy without a care in the world, and he did smoke a lot of weed. Like a lot of weed. Regardless of that, he was well-liked and well respected among his peers. He had a lot of friends who played a variety of instruments and genres, (and from people in the teaching and music therapy specializations too), and nobody ever treated him as less than once they realized he was a massive dork.

Unlike most universities, UA boasted a mix of genres its students could study. There were classical musicians, jazz musicians, pop, rock, singer-songwriter… you could find just about everything here. And among all of that, Sero had found you.

You were a classical singer with stars in your eyes the first time you had met him, and as you had excitedly introduced yourself and asked him if he was the same Sero Hanta you had seen perform a few years ago, adoration hit him hard in the chest. The way you smiled at him made him want to pick you up and kiss you, and when you spoke about music – about his music – with such joy in your eyes…

He fell hard and he fell fast. You were a classical singer, so while he went to orchestra, you went to choir. You always smiled and waved at him in the halls, and helped one another with your theory homework. Every day he fell a little more in love with you, and every day the two of you got closer and closer.

The only problem was that you had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who happened to be one of Sero’s best friends, and biggest rivals. Bakugou Katsuki was one of the most talented musicians Sero had ever met. He had perfect pitch, and could make absolutely any instrument sing. He didn’t play the piano (or anything with a keyboard), but he played just about everything else. Violin, cello, trumpet, clarinet, piccolo, bass, percussion… people called him the one-man orchestra. He could play more instruments than Jirou Kiyoka, who was one of the university’s best and brightest.

Bakugou wanted desperately to be a conductor, and that’s how he had met you. The two of you were taking the same elective conducting course, and had agreed to practice together. One thing had led to another, and the two of you had been going steady for a while now. Sero loved seeing you happy, but god if it didn’t make him so fucking jealous that it was with another man. What he wouldn’t give to be the one you looked at that way.

He noticed you seemed less happy about six months into your relationship with Bakugou. You and Sero had finished your counterpoint assignments together before one of your classes, and after conducting your smile seemed a little more forced. You didn’t give Sero a hug like you normally would, and as you paused outside of the percussion studio’s door clutching an art song book you looked sort of… lost. He had been practicing his marimba when you had shown up, and he had stopped to smile over at you.

“What’s wrong, Cherubino?” he asked sweetly. He called you that because the first thing he’d ever heard you perform was Voi Che Sapete, and he couldn’t get that performance out of his head. Hearing you asking someone to tell you if the feelings that overwhelmed you were love made him want to pull you off of the stage and into his arms while he kissed you senseless.

He also liked that it meant cherub, but the real reason was that he kept slipping up and trying to call you “Cariño”, but it was easy to change that into “Cherubino”, even though they didn’t sound remotely similar.

“Well,” you blushed and began to fiddle with your hair. God, he wanted to braid it or stick his nose in it while he hugged you. Your shampoo always smelled so good, like marigolds on a sunny day. “The spring showcase is coming up.” You started. He knew about that, of course, it was one of the biggest events of the year for UA University. The crowd was typically at least three thousand strong, and only the best and brightest got to perform. “You know how someone from our conducting class was going to be given the opportunity to conduct the orchestra for one of the pieces?” oh, he knew how much you wanted to do that. As he was about to comfort you for not getting the part, you cut him off. “They chose me.”

“That’s wonderful!” before he could stop himself, he was hoisting you into his arms and spinning you around. He set you down, and noticed that you looked anything but happy. “Cherubino?”

“Katsuki’s mad at me,” you replied, fidgeting a bit. “I knew how much he wanted it. He told me I only got the position because they want him to play the violin solo, and I can’t even get mad at him because he’s right.”

Sero started to curse the blond boy out in Spanish. “How could he say something like that to you?” Sero grit his teeth. “It is not true. He’s just mad that you’re better than him.”

You looked away like you didn’t believe him, and Sero felt the overwhelming urge to sock Bakugou across the face. You forced a smile. “They also asked me to sing at the showcase. Guess what I’m going to be singing?”

“Hmmmm,” he calmed instantly at your seemingly lighter mood, rubbing his chin like he hadn’t already read the email that had gone out. “Voi che sapete?” He asked coyly.

“Certo!” you nodded as you grinned at him, and if you were his he would be kissing you stupid right now. “Do you want to get lunch? Bakugou went off to go talk with Kirishima and apparently, he doesn’t want to be seen with both a viola player and his girlfriend. One’s bad enough.”

“It would be an honour to take you to lunch, mi media naranja,” he packed up his mallets and you hummed Als Luise die Briefe. It was a short piece about a scorned woman burning her lover’s letters, and cursing the fact that her love for him would still burn within her.

“I’ve played that before,” he told you, smiling over at you. “On the piano. Maybe we could jam out sometime.”

Your eyes lit up. “Yeah, sounds like fun!” you beamed at him. “I’d love to. I’ll get us a practice room. Do you have the sheet music?”

“Oi!” you jumped as you heard Bakugou call your name from across the hall. “Let’s go get lunch like you wanted.” He looked between you and Sero, his frown never changing. “We’ve got something to celebrate, don’t we?”

You broke out into a cheery smile. “I asked Sero if he wanted to come with us,” you answered, tugging him out of the percussion room and into the hall with you. “Because I didn’t think you were still going to want to go for lunch since you ran off with Kirishima.”

Bakugou looked between you and Sero. “He’s coming on a date?” he asked skeptically.

“Ah, right,” you smiled over at Sero. “Sorry. Rain check?”

“Rain check,” he agreed. “Have fun, Cherubino.” He waved at you and you trotted back into Bakugou’s arms. He placed a kiss on your lips as the two of you interlocked your fingers. His heart twisted as you looked over at Bakugou with such adoration. Bakugou, however, wasn’t looking at you. He was staring directly at Sero.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You beat out a 4/4 pattern while Sero watched you intently, the metronome in his head ticking the time exactly. You beckoned with your free hand, painting music only you could hear with your fingers, using ten paintbrushes at once to carve out a masterpiece.

You came to the end of the piece and held the final note in your palm. You kept the energy in the room captive for a few moments longer, and when you released it, Sero smiled at you. “Perfectly on time,” he smiled. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous about it.”

You looked up at him. “Just that Katsuki keeps criticizing me whenever I try to practice and he catches me,” you smiled softly. “I get he’s trying to help but it really does the opposite. We start rehearsals with the orchestra soon, and I don’t want to look stupid in front of everyone.”

Sero frowned. “Well, you won’t look stupid at all, Cherubino,” he smiled. “You’ll look graceful and beautiful, and you’ll shape your music so exquisitely.”

You smiled softly at him. “Thanks, Sero,” you smiled.

A few days later, after your first orchestra rehearsal, you slunk back into the percussion room looking absolutely defeated. He had been practicing with his newest kalimba, playing something from a Ghibli movie. You had walked in and he had immediately swept you into a hug.

“What’s wrong, mi media naranja?” he had asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer as you held him tightly.

You looked up and smiled bravely. “It’s okay,” you answered. “I just – Katsuki was being – he screamed at me during rehearsal and called me incompetent.”

He pulled you into another hug, eyes blazing with fire. He had turned down the ability to be a part of this piece’s performance – he had wanted to see it – but he knew he just had to be. He would swap with someone just for you, so he could be there to support you.

“What is with you always running to him?” You jumped as your boyfriend stood in the doorway. “Own up to it – you came unprepared. You were being incompetent. Grow up and accept it. Do better next time.”

“Hey,” Sero snapped. “As an orchestra player you’re supposed to listen to what she does. You’re not supposed to question the conductor.”

“Shut up, I wasn’t talking to you,” he glared at you. “Show some backbone. Are you really going to let this third-rate-”

“Katsuki,” you snapped. “Leave Sero out of this. You are in the wrong, not me. And you had better apologize.”

“There’s that fire I love,” he pulled you out of Sero’s arms and into his own. “But you’re a damned fool if you think that conducting was anything but half-assed. I’m saying this because I want it to be good, baby. I’m your concertmaster, not to mention your featured soloist, so you should listen to me.”

“No, you should listen to me. Do not yell at me during rehearsal again,” you snapped back, bristling as you brushed past him, minding the violin case as you passed.

Sero was there at every rehearsal. He watched you conduct, watched you command authority from the podium, and shape the music as Bakugou soloed on the violin. Bakugou seemed to be playing within the lines, and jabbered at you to do it his way whenever he could. After every rehearsal you looked tired and defeated, and Sero usually took you to get boba while Kirishima lectured Bakugou about proper rehearsal etiquette. This happened every day for the two weeks leading up to the concert, until the night of the dress rehearsal he snapped. You had already run through your rehearsal of Voi Che Sapete, and Sero could not have been prouder as you sauntered off the stage. God, he loved you. Even watching you from the back of the orchestra, he was blown away from your stage presence. The sweater you wore laced up at the back with a bow resting at the swell of your ass. He might have been staring at it for a little too long, but he didn’t mind having an extra mallet.

As you stepped up to the podium, he admired the way your ripped jeans hugged your figure, and then how you adjusted yourself. You raised your hands, took a breath, and began to conduct. Bakugou stood up from his chair for his solo, and started out a bar early. He kept going, glaring defiantly at you as you continued the piece. Some of the musicians caught up with Bakugou, others stayed with you. You cut the orchestra off. “Let’s start again from bar-”

“If you’re going to cue me wrong,” Bakugou hissed. “You shouldn’t even be on that podium.”

You looked back at him coldly. “I hadn’t cued you yet, Katsuki. If the concert were not tomorrow, I would have hired another soloist. If this were a professional concert, you would have been fired by now,”

“Oh really?” He snapped. “Well, if this were a professional concert, then they wouldn’t have hired a pathetic amateur like you! And you know what, fuck you! We’re done. If you can’t keep our relationship out of this, I don’t want a relationship anymore.” He packed up his violin and left. “I’ll see you all tomorrow at the concert.”

You remained composed, but Sero knew you well enough that he could read the emotions boiling within you like a book. You cleared your throat. “Alright. I would like to go over bars-”

Your composure broke as soon as you and Sero were back at his place. You had planned on spending the night at your boyfriend’s, and he was supposed to be your lift, so you were stranded on campus. At least you had your concert clothes and makeup bag, and of course your best friend here to comfort you. You sobbed into your hands, body shaking as Sero watched you ugly crying. A pizza with your favourite toppings and a bubble tea sat untouched in front of you as he rubbed your back. How were you so beautiful even wailing in anguish and huffing with sobs that shook your whole body?

You threw your arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder as he got close enough, holding him tightly as he stroked your hair. “It’s okay, mi media naranja,” he spoke softly into your hair, savouring the smell of marigolds once more. “Let it out. I’m here.”

He hummed softly to you as you slowly began to stop crying, and then you were just lying pliant in his arms, fingers playing with the beaded necklace he had worn today. “Hey,” he spoke. “Can I get you anything? Water? Doritos? Craigslist ad for a hitman?”

You laughed at that. “Edibles?” you replied.

He hesitated. You had never done any drugs with him before (or at all, as far as he knew), so seeing you blinking up at him asking for his weed he was ashamed to admit he was sort of turned on and excited that you wanted to share some with him. Mostly excited. Yeah.

“Pick something that’ll wear off by morning. I don’t want to do the concert high,” you told him.

He went to his stash of candy and retrieved some of his gummies. He picked out a package of lemon ginger and blueberry acai gummies and walked back over to you. He handed you both packets while he went back to the kitchen to get some beer for you, and when he came back you had eaten one gummy out of each packet.

“¡Pucha! You’re only supposed to have one the first time and see how you feel,” he sat beside you. “Eat some food and we’ll watch a movie.”

You reached for a slice of pizza and cuddled up into him. He put an arm around you as he popped his own gummies, and the two of you ate pizza. “What did I do to deserve such a shitty man?” you sighed. “I – I just don’t know anymore.” You snuggled into his chest, finishing the crust of your pizza and sipping on your boba. You looked up at him, fresh tears brimming your eyes. You wiped at them harshly as you set your drink back down “I’m lucky to have you, Sero. I really am.”  

He leaned down and before he could stop himself he was kissing you, one hand coming up to cup your face in his palm. You didn’t pull away, and when he did you were staring at him with wide eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he mentally cursed himself out as you processed the kiss. “I’m sorry mi media naranja. I just-” you reached up and kissed him back, soft and timid and sweet. You tasted like pizza and brown sugar and as he pulled you into his lap everything in the world made sense to him. Your kisses grew more and more desperate, and he responded in kind, running his hands along your thighs as he helped you straddle him, your fingers dipping under the black fabric of his hoodie.

This was so wrong. You were holding his hands now, and each zinging kiss sent electric shocks zooming through his body. This was wrong – you were still grieving your relationship for Christ’s sake – but as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled away just the slightest bit – enough so you were panting against him and he could see your kiss-swollen lips – he was addicted. For him, there was just no going back.

You kept kissing him as you squirmed in his lap, and he wanted to pull away and tell you that if you kept that up, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back. As you finally chucked off your pants and underwear, he realized you had absolutely no intention of holding back. No intention of stopping. Your hands found his belt as you went back to kissing him, and he squeezed your ass with one hand while his fingers toyed with your slit. He felt a burst of pride as he felt how wet you were, and as you fished his cock out you spent only a few moments stroking it before you were guiding it inside of you.

He hissed at the sensation, shivering as you wrapped your arms around him and tugged on his hair. You began to move your hips, sighing against him as he deepened your kisses. He hadn’t wanted this to be your first time. He’d always imagined wining and dining you, sweeping you off of your feet and carrying you to bed where he would ravish you completely, but as you mouthed at his neck and held him tightly, nothing had ever felt more perfect.

“God, who could ever stand to lose you?” he asked out loud, running his fingers through your hair. “I think I’d die of sadness.”

He kissed you as you tried to respond, not sure he could stomach a rejection yet. You continued to ride him, still slow and unhurried as you just enjoyed his warmth. The intimacy. He held you like you were all that was precious to him, and as you began to slowly speed up, you felt him bucking into you. He kissed you again to stop himself from saying he loved you out loud, relishing the feeling of your fingers sneaking under his hoodie and shirt to trace along the lines of his body.

Your heavy breathing and quiet noises filled his senses, along with the sweet smell of marigolds and the feeling of euphoria your every touch brought him. “H-Hanta,” you spoke breathlessly against his lips, and his heart skipped a beat. You wrapped your arms around him once again, this time with your skin against his skin. “Hanta please.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes and he pulled you into another kiss, one hand finding your clit while the other sat on your hip, helping you ride him.

Your phone started to ring then, and the two of you ignored it as you lost yourselves. The edibles were kicking in now, leaving everything hazy and distant and a little foggy as you tangled your tongue with his. “Feels so good,” you whined a tiny bit as you said that, and the breathy need in your voice made sparks dance around his abdomen. The phone rang again, and he ignored it still as he trailed the arm up away from your hip and pulled your body flush to his. Chest to chest, he continued to play with you and hold you close and listen to your little sounds.

He let a few of his own slip as he enjoyed you, and if he had had any less composure he would have been drooling. He braced your legs against his body and clumsily rolled the two of you over so he was between your legs now, and you were under him. You pulled your arms out of his hoodie to brace yourself, but after a moment your arms and legs were wrapped around him and he was in absolute heaven. He started mumbling to you in Spanish, confessing every little dirty thing he wanted to do to you. He told you that you were beautiful and talented and that he loved you. He told you that Bakugou was the world’s biggest idiot. He also told you nasty words about how perfectly your cunt squeezed him, and as you tugged his hair he almost wondered if you understood.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” he mumbled. “Are you close?”

You nodded, locking your ankles behind his back as you once more pulled him into a kiss. That message was clear enough, he thought as he returned a hand to your clit, the other bracing himself against the couch as he held back his orgasm with everything he had.

“Mi media naranja,” he cooed, kissing you between his words. “My better half. My other half. My-” he lost his words as he watched you fall apart for him, rendered speechless by the heart-stopping moans you were letting out – so quiet but so filled with passion – and the faces you were making as your back arched and you began to throb around him. A few more strokes and he was joining you in bliss, the feeling warm and tingly as it spread throughout his body. He struggled to breathe for a few seconds as you pulled him into another kiss, deep and desperate and perfect. He lay on you for a few moments, basking in the afterglow as he rested his forehead against yours and breathed against you, giving you the occasional kisses.

Post nut clarity began to settle in as he pulled himself out of you, but as you shyly smiled up at him, he wrapped you in his arms and gave you another kiss. The phone rang a third time, and this time both of you saw the caller ID.

Of course it was him. Bakugou knew just how to ruin the moment.

Sero pressed decline as you stood and stretched, the muscles in your shoulders tense and his spunk sliding down your thighs. He had to physically restrain himself from scooping you up and carrying you to bed (and only partially because he didn’t have nearly the balance he did when he was sober). “I’m gonna have a shower,” you said awkwardly, pointing.

“Okay,” he agreed.

“Then can we cuddle?” you looked so shy as you asked that, wringing your hands. “I feel safe when I’m in your arms.”

His heart was about to win the gold medal for freestyle gymnastics if you kept that cute look on your face. He broke out into one of his trademark grins. “Mind if I join you?” he asked coyly.

You held out your hand to him, and he stood up as he accepted it. He gave you a lingering kiss you leaned into, and then tried to lead you to the bathroom, but as his pants fell down, he turned and faceplanted. Your laugh had never sounded so sweet before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Sero arrived about an hour before the concert started. You were dressed in a set of tails with your makeup done (he had watched you do it in amazement, and had just about asked you to do eyeliner on him), and as you got adjusted and warmed up (both vocally and physically), he was once again mesmerised.

You chatted with some of the other classical singers as you waited for the orchestra to arrive, and as Sero left to go warm up he found himself so incredibly reluctant to do so. He had woken up with you in his arms, and if he had to go a day without that ever again, he was sure he was going to die.

Bakugou arrived his usual thirty minutes before the concert, and you ignored him as you and the main conductor went over notes from the previous rehearsal. The hotheaded blond sauntered up to you and waited to be noticed, and he only grew more and more irritated as you ignored him. The conductor left you alone and you finally turned to face Bakugou.

“Hey,” he spoke gruffly. “You didn’t answer any of my calls.”

“I didn’t have a reason to,” you replied, calm and collected.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Look, you were right. I’ve been an asshole. I’ve been in the wrong, and I’m sorry. Now come here and give me a hug.” He opened his arms for you.

“No,” you answered flatly.

“What do you mean no?” Bakugou snapped.

“As for your solo, you will play it the way I want you to. I am the conductor. As for our relationship, you made it clear we no longer have one, which based on the way that you’ve been acting lately sounds like the best option to me,” you answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a show to conduct.”

“That’s it?” Bakugou hissed. “You’re just going to walk away from us like that?”

“You were the one who walked away,” you smiled over at him. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. Like you said, if you can’t keep our relationship out of this, I don’t want a relationship at all.” You looked so damned powerful in your tails as you faced the blond down. Did he even know those were his own words? “Break a leg, Bakugou.” Sero felt his heart swell with pride.

The concert started and Sero was absolutely transfixed as you stepped up to the podium. You commanded such authority in front of the crowd, deadly calm and ready to emote. It was no small wonder why you had been chosen to conduct this piece – a switch had been flipped in you, and you carried yourself like a conductor.

Bakugou waited patiently for his cue. When you made eye contact and gave it to him you didn’t linger. He played the solo exactly the way you wanted it, fingers dancing across his fret board and managing to make the piece almost melancholy. You played with that emotion, bringing out certain sections to highlight Bakugou’s playing. Sero was under your spell as he watched you move, and he smiled as he realized this was where you belonged. You were in your element without a doubt, and he was so, so proud of you.

As the piece finished you once more held all of the energy in the room within yourself, and only once you relaxed did thunderous applause fill the hall. You took your bow with a smile, and if Sero didn’t have to play the next piece he would have chased you down backstage and kissed you stupid.

Despite loving the music, he couldn’t wait to be done. Just a few mote pieces until the concert ended, and next up was you. Your character was totally different as you stepped out, no longer that powerful conductor he had seen before. Now you were Cherubino, the young man curious about love. The music swelled as you described the sensations flowing through you, and Sero wanted to call out “Yes!” as you asked if they were love.

You finished the piece with a smile, and the crowd once more erupted into applause.

Now Sero definitely needed to find you backstage. You took your bow and made your exit, and the next time he saw you, you were receiving flowers as a thank you for being a soloist. Bakugou held his own bouquet awkwardly in one arm, his violin in the other hand, but Sero could not have cared less about him as he abandoned his mallets to meet you backstage. “You were amazing, Cariño!” he declared, picking you up and spinning you around. He set you down and the two of you hugged.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you smiled at him and pulled away. Bakugou glared at him over your shoulder, and he grinned as he flipped the blond off behind your back. “So, are you hungry?” you asked sweetly, and the sweet scent of marigolds surrounded him once more. Your bouquet was made up of them, and when you got home he was going to insist you press them. You leaned in close and whispered “We can skip out on the cast party and go right to bed if you want.”

Sero had to physically stop himself from proposing on the spot.

[ceilingfan5]

13, 2, 2? ::3

OOPS IT GOT LONG SORRY TO STRETCH YOUR DASH

(Soulmates au, Enemies to lovers, “Fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck”)

“Fuck. Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck this shit. Fuck-” Taako can’t breathe. He’s holed up in the university bathroom with his shirt half off, looking at the absolute very end of the world. Taako, like most people, was born with a birthmark that was supposed to show the first place his Soulmate would touch him, but there must be some mistake. Sure, the psychedelic colors are spreading, still swirling magically under his skin in a near-perfect handprint shape, just like in the movies, but Taako hasn’t met his soulmate yet. What’s worse? The only person who touched him today was his mortal enemy, That Guy From Music Theory That Never Shuts Up. 

Oh no. This absolutely won’t do. 

His slouchy top barely covers it, either. He tries covering it with the concealer he has in his bag, but just like in all those rumors from middle school, nothing works. True love shines through. But it can’t be true love! Taako remembers the absolute contempt he felt when K...Krabbins. Kravix? When that jackass squeezed his shoulder after their group presentation where Taako let him do all the work. It was absolutely an I’m-going-to-throw-you-under-the-bus-for-this-one-shitbag sort of squeeze, something Taako’s not unfamiliar with, and Taako had given him his winningest smile and pulled that offending hand right off of him. There was no love lost there. So has Cupid lost his goddamn mind, or is...is That Guy Taako’s soulmate?

Taako’s gut plummets faster than a lead fart. He’s got to find this guy and prove he isn’t actually his Soulmate. And then he can go back to living his fun and sexy and free lifestyle. 

He’s easier to find than Taako expected. He’s just sitting around in the common area, studying a thick textbook. Taako didn’t even buy any textbooks this year. Obviously they aren’t a match. It’s clear as swarovski crystal, baby. 

Taako walks right up, sweating to death in his sweater but absolutely about to let the public see his divine embarrassment, and he slams his hand down on That Guy’s table. He’s going to go full intimidation with this one. He gives That Guy a narrow look when he jumps and pitches his voice down a little to sound more serious. 

“We have to go on a date.”

The Guy stares back at him--funny, his hand is wrapped up. Maybe he punched somebody for talking shit about a dead ass wig wearing piano fucking composer. It takes him a second to find his voice, but when he does, it’s that affected accent Taako hates so much. 

“I’ll be honest, Taako, that’s...not exactly what I thought you were going to say.”

“Is that a no?” Taako squints at him.

“More of a...why, I’d wager?” The Guy- Kravitz. Kravitz is it, according to the silver sharpie on his fancy notebook. Taako knew that. 

“Does it matter? You, me, mmm...Italian food. The Phoenix. 7pm.”

“Today??” Kravitz splutters. Taako allows him no mercy. Serves him right. Especially as sweaty and nervous as he looks with Taako so close to him. Eugh. 

“Did I stutter? Now’s your chance to opt out. Three. Two.”

“I- I guess- sure. Why not.”

“Perfect.”

Taako wears a turtleneck and a short skirt, the full, easy-to-move-in kind in case he has to run away or climb out a bathroom window. In case, you know, the guy is a full-on creep and not just the kind of person who likes to lecture the teacher on why the textbook has inaccuracies that poison the study of music and ruin the experience for entry-level musicians like his compatriots. 

God. 

He shows up fashionably late to find, to his surprise, that not only has Kravitz already gotten them a table, he’s dressed up, and...unfortunately, he cleans up tasty. Maybe he’d be super fucking gorgeous hot, you know, if he could keep his mouth shut. 

Taako takes his seat and more than his fair share of breadsticks, ready for the guy to bitch and moan about it, but he just raises an eyebrow. 

“So,” Taako says. “You got any hobbies, or are you just into music?”

“I do really enjoy music, and I spend a lot of my time practicing, but I also like playing games like poker. I also spend some time at the gym, and...I’m sorry, the way you keep looking at me. Is this an interview? I feel like I missed something.”

“Maybe so,” Taako says vaguely. They order, and Taako’s slightly surprised to find that Kravitz has good taste. Hm. Interesting. 

They trade tales from other classes and parties they’ve been to, and against his will, Taako starts...enjoying the date. He finally has to steer the subject back to why he hates the guy so much. 

“So why the fuck do you take music class so seriously?”

“Why?” Kravitz thinks for a moment, itching at the bandages on his hand. Maybe it was a burn. Maybe he’s a shit terrible cook, which is another great reason to hate him. Although that hasn’t been a dealbreaker in the past. Shit cooks are always impressed when you’re a great cook, and Taako loves being the center of attention. 

“I’ll tell it to you straight, Taako. And I don’t think you understand. I’m a music major. I play fifteen instruments. I-” his accent slips, and oh, his real voice? Honey butter. Taako may or may not be blushing. “I’m going to be a conductor. It’s an embarrassment for that class-- for basic, entry-level fucking music appreciation to be one of my requirements. Taako, I could teach that class, do you understand?”

Taako understands that he likes the way his name sounds in that low voice of his. Fuck. 

“Okay, yeah, maybe that would make me an asshole too.” He hesitates, and bites his lip, and then the bullet. “What happened to your hand? It was fine this morning.”

“My hand?” Kravitz clutches it. “Nothing.” 

“Liar.” And then Taako knows. “Your soulmate mark showed up. Didn’t it.” 

Kravitz stares at him. His expression is impenetrable. 

“And why would that be?”

Taako takes a gamble. 

“Mine did too.” And he yanks his turtleneck to the side to reveal his mark, practically glowing in its respendency. It almost seems like a shame to cover it. 

Kravitz frowns. And he pokes at his ravioli with his fork. And he unwraps his hand. Glorious, swirling colors, even more passionate than Taako’s, are revealed. Taako swallows. 

“So what does this mean?” Kravitz asks. His tone is intentionally level. 

“I don’t know,” Taako admits. “I guess...I guess we could go on another date? Maybe even...see where the night takes us?” 

Kravitz hesitates, but he nods. 

“I think that’s worth a shot.”

[beckydoesthings]

various fics of hxl that i adore reading! this list is quite lengthy, but feel free to message me if you have any questions!

*will continue to be updated. also, if i mistagged you, i apologize, i do not know how to tumblr*

Love Is a Rebellious Bird

E | 134k | @100percentsassy and gloria_andrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

i think this tickled every bone of my musical self and also made me cry (are you seeing a theme here??) one of the first fics i fell in love with and one i keep coming back to.

Collision

E | 226k | @tequiladimples

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

the world building in this one is insanity - so much good mythology mixed in and it made me screech with joy. i think i can firmly say that i did not expect where the plot went, but that made the story so much better.

Flour and Chocolate

M | 145k | @danosphere91

It was nice, for a bakery he supposed.

Then he approached the display cabinet.

And the foreboding slammed into him. Because every product had letters next to it. Letters. GF, DF, V, O, VGN.

What. The. Fuck?

Lifting his eyes to the chalkboard menu spread across the back wall Louis felt physically ill. ‘Gluten-free’, ‘organic’, ‘vegan’, ‘paleo’, ‘dair-…’ Wait, what the fuck was a paleo? He had entered some hipster-trash establishment and it was more than time to get out.

OR

Louis is a single dad and Harry works at the newly opened bakery down the street.

the miscommunication in this fic is SO REAL and makes for a good read. the rest of the flour and chocolate series is also fantastic. i thoroughly enjoyed both the ziam and ed/niall arcs that bring the whole story together.

run away home

E | 106k | @hattalove

Louis stands, in the middle of a clearing with his hands in his pockets, and stares. This boy—God, this gorgeous, gorgeous boy. He seems so clumsy, confused at the best of times, but there’s a wisdom about him as he speaks, a maturity that belies his age.

Louis is hopelessly, wildly attracted to him.

or, louis is a successful jockey down on his luck, struggling to get his life back on track after an injury. harry has a horse, a house fit for a prince, and a broken heart.

it takes them a while to figure out that they need each other.

this makes my inner horse girl extraordinarily happy - even if i don’t know anything about horse racing. louis’ story in this is beautiful and makes the whole piece worth a read.

waiting for the tides to meet

E | 60k | @nauticalleeds

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

gorgeous soulmate AU that gives me summer cruising vibes. worth the read for the lettuce scene alone (i kid, i kid)

Do Not Go Gentle

E | 70k | @afirethatcannotdie

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust.

Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back.

“Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters.

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

okay i’ve watched maybe 3 episodes of Gray’s Anatomy, but i feel like this encompasses the vibe of the show: medical stuff with a hefty dose of angst and sexual tension

Falling For Me Won’t Be A Mistake

M | 58k | @all-these-larrythings

Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn't know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he's ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him.

one of my favorite mpreg fics so if that’s not your cup of tea, then don’t read it. i love surgeon harry with a vengeance, but honestly Gems and Niall are iconic in this one.

Watching the World Fall

E | 11k | @crazyupsetter why won’t it let me tag :(

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

i have a soft spot the size of Antarctica for Late Late AU fics (we stan James Corden) and for exes to lovers so this checks all the boxes.

autumn leaves

E | 27k | @suspendrs

“Brave?” Harry frowns, caught off guard. “No, not particularly.”

“You seem brave,” Louis decides, pushing off the wall and stepping on the butt of his cigarette. “You are strong, and you are not mean. That’s good,” he assures, touching Harry’s arm gently.

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” Harry smiles ruefully. “I’m really not anything special.”

Or, Harry is an American soldier in France during World War II, and Louis is a French waiter that doesn't mean to fall in love with him.

love love french AUs and while this one isn’t sunshine and rainbows, it’s a beautiful yet heart wrenching piece. warning for period typical homophobia

caught up in your love affair

NR | 8k | @disgruntledkittenface

“And the corgis took to you straightaway,” Harry remarks.

“That’s true,” Louis chuckles.

 “I’ve spent the last 29 years being barked at,” Harry deadpans, jerking his hand toward Louis, “this one walks in, absolutely nothing.”

Louis outright giggles at that, saying, “They were just lying on my feet during tea.”

“Wagging tails,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“It’s because they don’t understand flirting,” Louis tells him, “you can’t charm them the way you do everyone else.”

Royal AU. Prince Harry announces his engagement to Louis Tomlinson in an interview with longtime friend and BBC host Nick Grimshaw. Inspired by Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

just. 8k of royal fluff. that’s literally it and i adore it so much.

Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You)

M | 54k | @rainbowsandgucci

”Due to unforeseen circumstances, help is needed here at the orchard for the impending apple season. Looking for someone able to start within the next week or two at the most, is willing to do whatever miscellaneous tasks are needed, such as picking & packing apples, running the cash register, and other handywork that may need to be done. Must be good with customers, and able to lift up to 50lbs. Help will be needed until at the least the end of October. Please contact the number found on this page, or come out to the orchard and ask for Harry. All the love xx” --- Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles. Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn. He also starts to fall in love with Harry. Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

i never thought i would enjoy an apple orchard fic?? but it’s so good?? farmer harry makes me laugh to think about, but the heartbreak in this fic is so. real.

Mine Would Be You

E | 114k | @crinkle-eyed-boo

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

exes to lovers drama but make it extra sad. the fact that we see so many facets to this story just makes it all the more painful, yet beautiful. this fic also reminds me of how much i love one mister niall horan.

One for Luck

E | 96k | @leavingonatrain

The very first time Louis remembers hearing Harry Styles' deep, deep voice, he's just won gold at the World Equestrian Games and he's officially back on Great Britain's Olympic team. He's also three sheets to the wind, drunk on victory and champagne, and there's a gorgeous boy whispering in his ear. Life's grand.

(AU: Louis and Harry are professional riders on the British Olympic team.)

again, i know nothing about horses, but i like to pretend i do for the sake of this fic. it’s beautiful, it’s smutty what else could you ask for?

Nothing But You On My Mind

E | 83k | @absoloutenonsense

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

i absolutely. definitely. sobbed tears at this fic. it’s just so beautifully painful to read. don’t want to spoil anything, but this is a must.

Adore You

M | 67k | @isthatyoularry

“We invited our new acquaintances from uptown. You’ve simply got to meet their oldest son!” said his mother with a flourish, and suddenly it became abundantly clear as to why his parents had so adamantly demanded he join them in Deansville for the entirety of the summer.

Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. Harry doesn’t want to get married, but Louis does. They don’t fit, but then again they really, really do.

Vaguely set in the 1920’s. Headpieces, jazz, fashionable canes, and flapper dresses, and that.

i strongly relate to harry in this one! one of my favorite historical AUs and honestly i love the thought of louis in well fitting suits.

leave it to the breeze

E | 81k | @hattalove

Louis couldn’t be prouder of his bake, but there’s something—there’s something. Something about Harry Styles and the earnest way he measures, pours, mixes, scrapes. Something about the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he knocks the air out of his batter.

or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

i. love. the. great british baking show. baking + h&l is amazing. and another reminder as to why niall is the absolute best.

Paint The Sky With Stars

M | 62k | @icanhazzalou grrr let me tag

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

gorgeous historical fic that’s so accurate and painstakingly written. i keep coming back to it!

When It’s Late At Night

M | 25k | @all-these-larrythings

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

remember when i said i love Late Late AUs? yeah. i love that louis gives absolutely zero shits in this fic until he gives all the shits.

Chasing Empty Spaces

E | 79k | @domestic-harry

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

gorgeous historical AU that goes through Harry’s struggle with his sexuality wonderfully. this one also made me cry.

Resist Everything Except Temptation

E | 100k | @domestic-harry

The lethargic sound of heels clicking against wood resonated across the sea. Footsteps descended the staircase, every assured step creating a menacing aura as it grew closer. Perspiration gathered along Louis’ palms as the rhythmic sound halted in front of him.

“Captain,” Malik greeted.

Louis watched out of his peripheral as Malik’s boots shuffled back a few steps. Sweat matted the hair along the nape of Louis’ neck as he waited for something to happen. He felt as if a sharp blade was twisting his gut as the silence became tangible. There was a metallic slide of a sword being pulled out of its sheath, the sound startling Louis out of his cocoon of sterile shock. His shoulders jumped as the tip of a blade flattened underneath his jaw. Louis’ distorted reflection stared back at him in the polished metal. Engraved rose petals twisted his appearance as they crawled up the length of the sword. The sword lifted and took Louis’ chin with it.

Standing in front of Louis was Captain Styles.

OR

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

love this pirate AU that’s got one badass gemma styles. also, harry as a super cool pirate in gorgeous clothes makes me super happy!

i’ll make this feel like home

E | 49k

Harry to groans himself and then takes a deep breath. “Okay, well. Here’s the thing. I peed on a stick.”

Louis isn’t able to get more than a shocked “What!” out before Harry’s steamrolling on.

“I peed on a stick and it says it’s positive, but you always prattle on about how it’s best to go to the doctor’s before you get excited, you know to confirm it because sometimes hormones are off or you have like a tumor or some shit and get false positives and what if I’m dying and-”

“You’re pregnant?!” Louis shouts out, stomach dropping as the words leave his mouth.

“Um, yeah… maybe.”

[the one where Louis' hopelessly in love with his best mate... who just happens to be pregnant with another man's baby.]

baby momma harry with hot mess!Louis is a recipe for disaster, but this one has plenty of fluff to make up for it.

Hands Clasped Tight

E | 44k | @afirethatcannotdie

“What am I looking at here?” Harry asks.

“This, my friends, is a ‘proof’ Instagram account, run by your students,” Liam announces.

“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall adds.

“I heard about that,” says one of the math teachers. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence that you’re dating is pretty damning.”

“Really,” Louis says dryly. “Do you think being married for three years might have something to do with it?”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married.

love love teacher harry and louis that’s mostly funny fluff with a little angst. just a teeny amount. reminds me of my own experiences with meddling students haha.

*updated 2/16/21*

[officialwagnerrant]

Wagnerrant Review #6 - Tristan und Isolde

Work: Tristan und Isolde Bayerische Staatsoper Date of performance: 31.07.202

Team Director: Krzysztof Warlikowski Conductor: Kirill Petrenko With: Jonas Kaufmann, Anja Harteros, Okka von der Damerau, Wolfgang Koch, Mika Kares, Manuel Günther, Dean Power, Christian Rieger

Review: @beckmessering

Here’s an entirely hypothetical question: when not very familiar with an opera, is a Regietheater production with hotly anticipated role debuts the best opportunity to form an emotional understanding? Answers may vary, but take it from a someone whose opera education had a shamefully large Tristan-shaped hole: Krzysztof Warlikowski’s Tristan und Isolde at Bayerische Staatsoper is a production to to gnaw on – conceptually elusive and a puzzle with many pieces, but finally a great reward in scenery and in music.

Jonas Kaufmann lends Tristan his well-known baritonal timbre, although it’s not quite as prominent as usual. His voice is dense and rich, though not artificially darkened, and brings delicate piani as well as strength to the role. The third act with Tristan’s near-incessant monologues of increasing volume and intensity provide an audible challenge that doesn’t leave Kaufmann’s voice untouched: he sounds somewhat taxed by the time he’s finally allowed to collapse once and for all. Granted, it’s a punishing and brutal feat; the sheer amount of energy required to sing oneself to death likely isn’t equivalent to the amount a badly wounded man would still have. Kaufmann thus doesn’t quite look to be on death’s door despite a shirt soaked in progressively darker shades of red, but he nonetheless he provides a well-grounded interpretation of one titular character. He steers away from classic hero territory into something more nuanced and disconcerting if one only looks closely enough – Isolde, for that matter, hits the nail on the head when she replies “Frag deine Furcht!” to his “Und welchen Feind?”. He’s scared – or perhaps haunted by thoughts that won’t leave him alone, unable to keep his hands and his gaze still when not singing. He doesn’t outright long for death, but from the very start, he sure doesn’t seem at ease with life, either. Something isn’t quite right with Tristan – and just the right person is needed to unleash it fully.

That just-right-person is Anja Harteros as Isolde, who deserves perhaps the audience’s grandest ovation. Vocally, she is still in excellent shape until the last measures of her delicately sung Liebestod, having preserved her gleaming heights and pristine sound over all three acts. Her middle register, uniquely crystalline and incredibly poignant, could conceivably serve to distinguish her voice from thousands. Yet her singing by far isn’t too pretty to show feelings – Harteros’ voice suits a seething young woman with a rich inner life that progressively unfolds throughout the opera. “Lass’ uns Sühne trinken!“ is an actual threat, one that Tristan wholeheartedly embraces. After losing herself in love in the second act, she reemerges from it lonely and bitingly aware of it. Her grief, like her rage, is controlled yet bone-deep, and it inevitably leads her to die. Perhaps something wasn’t quite right with Isolde, too.

Wolfgang Koch sings Kurwenal with a vivacious, robust baritone that energetically prizes life – a great contrast to Tristan’s inclinations. However, Koch stays far from acting clownish, particularly in the third act, where he wears the worry about his friend on his sleeve, but ultimately remains powerless against Tristan’s impending death. While the latter ecstatically sings himself into delirium, Koch remains comparatively static, demonstrating his character’s inability to help and by extension, vastly different attitude towards life.

Okka von der Damerau’s Brang��ne is a well-meaning figure trying her best to put Isolde at ease in this admittedly highly tense situation. While initially reminiscent of a caring aunt, the two women’s bond becomes far more sisterly in nature once the first act’s dialogue – or perhaps conspiracy – around Isolde’s secret potion stash unfolds. She braves the act’s finale with top notes of impressive volume and provides a surprisingly bright, silvery metallic sound for a mezzo. Considering the standout dynamic between the two women, it’s perhaps fitting that her voice blends so smoothly with Isolde’s and even elicits comparisons to a soprano’s sound.

Mika Kares as King Marke packs much disappointment into his clear, well-articulated bass, though it’s about far more than the good old besmirching of honour – this betrayal is personal to him and runs deep. Regrettably, he’s given little to do once he has discovered the wrongdoers in each other’s arms except stalk back and forth between Tristan and Isolde, so he resorts to various pronounced eye movements that verge on accidentally amusing. Brangäne’s single look of horror upon assessing the scene says more than any eye movement could.

Kirill Petrenko’s conducting is fluid, gentle, a statement in and of itself never at the cost of the singers. He crafts the prelude into an intensely lyrical treat, promising much and delivering on that by keeping the orchestra’s sound light yet rich enough to satisfy. He eschews heaviness, but never at the expense of intensity. Particularly the tense moments of the first act are played out very well, and the performance is audibly a successful collaboration between singers, conductor and orchestra: the singers are never drowned out, the orchestra makes its mark, and Petrenko himself brings both together with excellent timing to savour a spectrum of emotions.

Director Krzysztof Warlikowski transplants the setting into a wood-panelled room with high ceilings that traps all characters within its high ceiling, allowing them little escape from what troubles them. This room serves as a continuous backdrop throughout all three acts, although each act adds elements uniquely suited to the current happenings. During the prelude, two silent dancers dressed as almost frighteningly life-like dolls, one male and one female, appear. Their movements are tentative, childlike, evocative of a fragile state as they interact and cautiously touch each other. In the second act, a projection that previously illustrated the view outside a ship’s porthole serves as perhaps an emotional window into the lovers’ psyche. It shows grainy, black-and-white footage of Isolde sitting – waiting – alone on a bed, suggestive of a security camera’s spying eye. In the film, Tristan enters only during “O sink hernieder” and the two sit silently next to each other sans any eye contact, while the real-life Tristan of course has of course entered the stage some time ago. While both of these elements receive their resolution in the final act, the act two film is already subtly reflective of the singers’ actions onstage. While the first act was far more dynamic in terms of interaction, much of this movement disappeared once Tristan and Isolde fell in love, causing the lovers to remain comparatively static during their time together. This takes some time to notice and even more time to get used to, but it allows for much inference on the nature of this love. It’s of the paralysing sort, and it can’t coexist with normal life and regular interaction. There is wallowing in this love or interacting with the rest of the world – but ultimately, a choice will be have to be made. It’s a consuming love, yet clearly not of the physical or even romantic sort, judging from the frequent lack of touch and eye contact – perhaps it’s more of a kinship, a matter of two people having found a part of themselves in each other that they had lost. In any case, the concept avoids the stylisation of Tristan and Isolde’s love as something bright or pure – they may be enraptured, but their state of intoxication doesn’t induce wishful thinking in the audience. The music, more than anything else, connects the lovers with the onlookers. It’s a maddeningly subtle concept of interaction that can easily be taken as stiff or confused with lack of ideas, and the only time it doesn’t pay off is during King Marke’s confrontation in the second act, where Mika Kares isn’t given enough space to physically communicate the emotions of the normal world.

The place of Tristan’s youth in the third act finally unites the previously introduced ideas: Tristan awakes at a table surrounded by dolls seated at a dinner table and dressed like the one representing him in the prelude. As he recalls the early death of his parents, the suggestion that he grew up in a boarding-school atmosphere and carried the burden of being orphaned plants the core idea that he comes from a place of loneliness. Absent a place of emotional safety and affection, his outlook on life is shaped by the inner fragility and unsteadiness he was instead endowed with, and causes him to escape into a love – or a construct – that opposes this life. The question of whether his love is static and at odds with life by nature or rather by Tristan’s nature remains somewhat open, but both are conceivable. During Isolde’s Liebestod, the projections return, showing the lovers lying side by side on the bed again while the room floods with water. As the two inevitably drown, they gaze into each other’s eyes for the first time while the film turns colourful. What initially seems oddly romanticising of death and clichefully pleasant becomes exceptionally poignant when seen as the lovers’ attitude towards death and final fulfilment rather than the director’s views.

It’s an interpretation that becomes more wrenching the longer one thinks about it – multi-layered, elusive, and it refreshingly strays from unduly heroic characterisations that don’t fit the story well. Admittedly, the focus is somewhat aimed at Tristan, and by necessity of the set, much of the psychologization of Isolde in the first act has to occur in the same setting Tristan’s mind will eventually be dissected in. Partially bound by the story and partially by the staging, she can’t be given the same due, which, considering Harteros’ standout Isolde, is a slight shame. Nonetheless, the production doesn’t feel uneven, and when adding music and singers, it becomes a harmonising whole entity. I myself may have closed my eyes in an attempt to fall in love, and I don’t see anything more befitting this opera.

[mysoftboybensolo]

I want you to hear my theory. What if Laszlo likes opera because that's what he really wanted to do? I'm not saying that maybe he wanted to be an opera singer (or maybe he did), maybe he wanted to be a professional pianist and play in the orchestra or be the conductor of the orchestra. But he couldn't be because his father broke his arm, so he turned to psychology to explain what happened to him that tragic night. (1/2)

So Laszlo continued to go to the opera because it reminds him of what could have been in his life, you know what they say, that you always long for what you will never get. I don't know if this is something that is talked about in the books, but, I feel that Laszlo would not go to see German repertory operas because that language reminds him of his father and the fear and anxiety that man caused him as a child. (2/2)

P.S: I feel that Laszlo would be more fond of operas in Italian or French. What do you think?

Ok, so let's open up this can of worms, let's go!

I so see Laszlo being a conductor or even a composer if his arm was never injured. Music is clearly his first love that never died, considering that he has his own box at the opera house, and he was called a musical prodigy as a child, I could see him creating music while growing up and instead of going to Harvard, he'd go to a conservatory in Vienna to study music. Whether it is to create music or to control it, Laszlo would have become world renounced for his work. But sadly, his father was a dick and ruined any possibly of Laszlo pursuing an career in music and can only be a part of it from afar, but if you consider the deleted scene canon, can still play a French horn.

On which kind of opera Laszlo would like, I did have to do a little digging to give a proper answer. We know he at least likes Verdi, since he had a record of Verdi's Aida playing in the background during the Mary dinner scene, he asks John to come to the opera to see Rigoletto in the beginning of the series, another Verdi opera, and then Mozart's Don Giovanni, performed in Italian, in the final episode. Considering that people believed that operas were best performed in Italian and it was more fancy (upper-class rather), it isn't surprising that Laszlo would gravitate towards that language, and I can see why one would think Laszlo would avoid German operas, but I think that overall, story, music and tone would not fully stop him from enjoying an opera performed in German.

None of those operas are exactly happy endings (unless you think Giovanni deserves to be dragged to hell, which yes, yes he does), their tones are pretty dark, but they all one thing in common, tragic love. Aida and Radames are star-crossed lovers , Gilda sacrifices herself for her unfaithful love, and Donna Elvira is heartbroken after being dumped by Don Giovanni. To go back to my first assumption when I wrote the first chapter of The Alienist and the Soprano, I think Laszlo tries to live vicariously through opera, and the one thing he felt he lacked in his everyday life? Love. Yep, Laszlo is a sucker for love stories, I'm calling it.

Opera can be separated between three eras, Baroque (1600-1750), Classical (1750-1830) and Romantic (1830-1900), and Laszlo would perhaps like the Romantic era best, beside living during it, but because it was intense and emotional, compared to the other two, which were often social commentaries and musically light. Some composers I think Laszlo would like besides Verdi; Richard Wagner, who often chose legends and myths to create larger than life stories, Mozart, who ranged from light and vocally challenging The Magic Flute (specifically thinking of The Queen of the Night's aria) to the dark and twisted Don Giovanni.

Sorry it took me a while to respond and I hope I answered everything you wanted. Thank you for the ask!

[hitogatarock]

takt op. illustration novel # 7

Fledermaus : "A Lovely Toy"

a special short novel entry for the game takt op. Destiny by the City of Crimson Melody by Ishihara Sora ( 石原宙 ).

illustrator : Eshuaru ( エシュアル )

All translations are belongs to me, make sure to credit properly if you plans on sharing this! Enjoy reading!

Link source • twitter post

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character appearance + color code : Fledermaus , Avril

——————————————————————

"Ouch, ouch ouch..."

Rattling around, I finally succeeded in getting my face out of the piles of junk and scrap parts that were piling up in the room. My room is made up of two almost ceiling-high piles of junk, mainly picked up from the rubbish dumps on the above ground, which take up most of the volume. When one of them collapsed, the other pile started a chain reaction avalanche, creating a sea of oily junk.

"Oh dear me, a girl's anger surely is frightening..."

This is all due to the fact that I have offended Avril. Avril is an apprentice Conductor girl with a winning temper and pride. She is the person I have been asked to pair up with on this expedition to Austria. It all started when Avril, who wanted to become an official conductor as soon as possible, asked me to sign a "contract" with her. A "contract" is the act of entrusting a Conductor with a musical score, which is the lifeblood of a Musicart.

The cooperation between the Musicart and the Conductor will be deepened, and the Musicart's fighting ability will be greatly improved. After all, the fact that there's a contracted Musicart was the proof of a good Conductor, but usually, the "contract" is what the Musicart asked to the Conductor.

Furthermore, it is a thing that presupposes the existence of a deep scarlet between the two parties. But Avril was so proud that she offered to do it, and she looked so desperate, that I found it funny and ended up making fun of her.

— You stupid Fledermaus! You're always making fun of people! Then mind your own business!?

As a result, she shouted mindlessly at me and stomped out of the room, her face so red that I wondered if she was an eggplant or an octopus in her previous life. The door was closed in anger, and the compiled pile of junk collapsed. What is this? Is this a lovers' quarrel?

"You can't be a great Conductor if you bend your protrusion just because a Musicart teases you a little~?"

I think to myself, pushing the junk that fills the room into a corner to make room enough for me to walk.

"It doesn't seem like the kind of thing a young lady would do, to be "reverse-proposed" by a Conductor, does it?"

Oopsie. I was going to offend her by saying these things. But, that face...... pukukukku. She's usually so victorious and relaxed, but when I see her coming at me with that look of having lost her composure, while healthily hiding that peachy reddish kind.... as expected... Bukkukku. Even when I think back on it, I can't hold back my laughter.

"Huh.... she's really boosted my immune cells."

After a quick laugh, I thank one apprentice Conductor girl for the amusement and good health she has brought to me. I continue to look around the messy room, and when I realise that this will not be cleared up by the end of the day, I sit down, cross-legged, on the floor.

"Well, I could always tidy all of this up."

By nature, I don't mind being messy. I don't care about the mess, I know exactly where everything is. Tidying up is, after all, a service to others. It's about organising, arranging and arranging things for someone else in a way that is clear, easy to navigate and pleasant. I don't need it. What matters to me is whether it is pleasurable. It's a very simple policy, and if I enjoyed it, I'd be willing to tidy it up.

Thinking back, how long has it been since I had my second life as a Musicart? Well, it can't have been more than ten years, can it? To be honest, I'm bored. I keep doing the same thing over and over again. Of course I am interested in technological progress and tinkering with machines. But it doesn't excite me as much as it used to. It's understandable.

This is because there's no spare capacity left in human society today to develop technology. In such a situation, the only thing that is amusing is to make fun of people. Human beings are a strange thing, no one is the same. There are certain tendencies, but they also vary in the way they get angry. The best way to distract yourself from boredom is to use people as toys. That's what I have learnt in my long, short, but still long Musicart life.

But sadly, the longer I've known someone, the less likely they are to approach me. Well, no one would go out of their way to approach me knowing that they would be teased. However, that cutie Avril is different. She tries to get involved with me, even though she still doesn't understand me.

She was teased and taunted, but she is undaunted. Thinking back, it was also her who constantly said to me, "You should at least keep your room clean streakily". If I had done as she said, I might not have ended up under all that junk.

"After all, I can't afford to lose someone as valuable as she is."

It's the stubborn Avril anyway. You didn't complain enough and are still at the front of the room, aren't you? Fufufu, That's the kind of thing that never grows on you.

"Wait for a minute~. Conductor Avril~"

I deliberately make a weak voice and leave the room, my body bending.

"Oh my-my?"

She was already not there. I look down the corridor to the left, right and ahead, but there is no shadow of her.

"Good gracious. Has this grown on you unexpectedly?"

Has he finally grown tired of me and gone to another Musicart? Unlike Musicarts, who live forever, humans grow up quickly. And so did everyone else, who soon grew old and soon died. Lovely toys always break down so quickly.

......

I turned around in the scattered room, and amongst the countless pieces of junk lying around, one tin toy caught my eye. It was a clown-shaped, spring-loaded walking toy, about 20cm high. It was the oldest piece of junk in the room as far as I could remember. Fancy circus costume. Teardrop make-up. The clown was lying on the floor, staring at me with a sad face.

"Why don't you look at me with such a face?"

A clown is a jester who always makes people laugh with their antics. It is precisely because they are such a clown that the tears they shows are so impressive. After all, it's the same with Avril.

— Hey, hey, Fledermaus! Make a "contract" with me!

So, the strong-willed Avril shamelessly pressed me to forge a "contract" with her. Blushed face. Couragedly. Twisting her steel pride. It must have taken her days of struggle to say those words. Should I say it? Should I not say it? I can see her struggling in her bed, ruffling that long, beautiful hair. And then.

Click—.

At the end of a straight corridor. There, I heard a small sound and realised that a figure had moved. As I recall, Avril was wearing hard-heeled shoes today. Shoes that made just such a noise when she stepped on the floor.

"Hmph..... I should step up a bit too, shouldn't I?"

I went back into the room, opened a drawer in the machine oil-stained work desk and took out what looked like a small bouquet of flowers. A mistletoe swag. Swags are wall decorations. Mistletoe is often used in Christmas swags, as mistletoe has magical powers and is often used as a talisman. This one was given to me by Jupiter for a reason, and I had left it in my desk drawer, thinking I would give it to someone in the right mood.

Next, I pick up the tin clown. Then I put mistletoe swag in his hands. This clown was broken and not moving when I picked it up, but after patient repair and modification, it started walking again. Bit-by-bit. Bit-by-bit. The spring was wound full, and the clown was made to stand in the corridor, and then he began to walk clumsily, step by step, towards the turn where the figure had just moved.

Crick, crack. Crick, crack, just like that.

Around the turn again, I saw a figure move slightly. Nothing, really. I don't think of it as a sign of reconciliation with the girl who left with a red face, not at all, not even a little bit. I don't think at all that I'm trying to make her smile a little before she goes off to the harsh battlefield. But just like that clown, I don't want to lose nice things, that's my selfishness.

Crick, crack.

Crick, crack.

Crack.

As the clown reached the turn, a white, luster hand hesitantly reached out from the shadows and picked up the mistletoe swag. I am relieved that it seems to have worked. This will put her in a better mood.

The fun is yet to come. The clown will be decapitated in three seconds and fireworks will spurt out at you.

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— translator notes : even at the end, koumori was really a trickster😭 poor avril she just got happy recieving the bouquet why you want to blow the tin clown as well? but anyways, this week's entry was really interesting because we get to see more musicart-conductor interactions🥺 and that statement where koumori was risen for the second time as a musicart tho👀 I hope you enjoy! next week I'm gonna predict bolero tho.

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[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2021 #1: In which Cameron takes Donna on a date

[CN: food, food shopping, and eating mentions]

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After nearly a year of letting Donna do all of the asking, Cameron asked Donna out. While strolling down the produce aisle of the supermarket on a routine shopping trip, Cameron asked her, “Hey, do you wanna go on a date to a museum with me sometime soon?”

Donna looked up from the carton of raspberries she’d been inspecting, and smiled at Cameron. “A museum? I would love to!” 

An hour later, as Cameron and Donna worked together in the kitchen to put away their groceries and other supplies, Cameron said unprompted, “I went to a lot of museums in Japan.”

“Oh?” Donna responded, intrigued.

Cameron went back into the refrigerator to retrieve some cold cuts and the mayonnaise, “I’m hungry, I’m gonna make some sandwiches, okay?” As she put slices of bread into the toaster, she said, “I’d wander into them, after walking around aimlessly through the city, when I wanted a place to sit. And then I’d actually walk through them, and it was always nicer, and more soothing than I thought it would be?” She paused to grab some clean plates and butter knives from the dishwasher, and set them down on the counter. “And then I’d always go home, and ask Tom to go with me, but we never did, he was always too busy. Which would disappoint me, and make me feel alone in the world. But I started to like going to them by myself, and in the end, I was kind of relieved that he never came with me. It wouldn’t have been the same, and I don’t think he would have even like it all that much.” 

The toaster dinged, and Cameron went to fish the bread out.

Leaning comfortably against the counter, Donna watched her, and asked, “What made you think of all that? Anything in particular?”

As they assembled their sandwiches, Cameron said, “Well, I haven’t been wandering around lately. I’ve been here, at your house.”

Donna spread mayonnaise on her toast and gently corrected her, “Our house.”

“I like that it’s your house,” Cameron insisted, as she shook some potato chips from a new bag onto her plate, “I mean that in a good way. I’ve been here, though. For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, I don’t feel lost. And I don’t know, I thought it might be nice to go to a museum, as opposed to just ending up at one.”

The following Saturday morning, Cameron drove them up to San Francisco. They chatted happily for the forty minute drive, and then when they pulled up to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Donna went quiet. And then she said, “Oh…you meant an art museum!”

As they entered the parking garage, Cameron said, “What do you mean, I meant an art museum? What did you think I meant?”

Timidly, Donna admitted, “I thought you meant the natural history museum.”

“What are you, ten?”

Donna frowned, “I love natural history museums.”

Cameron parked the car, and turned off the ignition. “Honestly, so do I. But who takes their girlfriend on a date to the natural history museum?!”

Donna took off her seatbelt and said, “I would be into that. That sounds like a great date!!”

They bickered, still trying to sort out their miscommunication, all the way from the parking lot up to the museum’s ticket desk. Cameron purchased their tickets, and the young woman behind the desk handed them admission stickers, and a catalog, which Donna took from her, after politely thanking her.

As they silently walked together into the first gallery, Donna said, “Well, confession: I don’t really ‘get’ art.”

Cameron shook her head irritably. “I don’t believe that. You’re a musician.”

“That’s different!”

They walked quietly around the room, stopping at photos mounted to the wall, reading the placards next to them, and then they walked into the next gallery, which was overwhelmed by one large sculpture, a 30 foot by 30 foot curtain of silk fake flower petals sewn together, and hung from the ceiling. 

“What was I just saying about not getting it?” Donna looked up at the flowers, and dejectedly huffed, “…I don’t get this.” Unsure of what else to do, she opened the catalog, and found a description of the sculpture. Quietly, Donna read the name of the artist and title of the work: “Jim Hodges, No Betweens. 1996.” She skimmed the following write up, which started with a description of how the artist’s friends and family had helped him pull apart fake flowers and iron out and prepare their loose petals, and ended with a reference to the AIDS crisis, and to the work’s sense of ‘yearning and loss’ and ‘friends and lovers who have died’. She tried to make herself read it, but couldn’t.

Cameron’s gaze was fixed on the curtain. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get it. Maybe you’re just supposed to feel it.” She looked the piece up and down, trying to wrap her mind around how tall and how broad it was. “Like with music, or a movie. No one ever says, ‘I don’t get it’ when they turn on the radio or go into a theater. You just give it your attention.”

Donna felt a rush of affection for Cameron, for her mind, for everything Donna didn’t yet know about her, and looked over at her. Unable to resist though, she countered, “Oh, people have definitely said ‘I don’t get it’ about music, just ask the rich French theater-goers who threw fruit at the first performance of Stravinky’s The Rite of Spring.”

Cameron didn’t say anything at first, and then she looked at Donna, “Wait, they threw fruit? God, people are awful.” Then, after another second, she said, “Wait — where did rich people get fruit to throw if they were in a theater?”

The skeptical scrunch of Cameron’s gloriously full, ashy blonde eye brows made Donna giggle, but then, as she thought about it, her eyes widened. “I don’t know! I just remember my high school band conductor telling us about it during rehearsal.” Mouth still slightly agape, Donna turned her attention back toward the piece of art in front of them. Absent-mindedly, she said, “I guess…maybe he meant ‘threw fruit’ in a figurative sense….” 

Cameron laughed quietly at her, and Donna tried to do just what Cameron had suggested: give the sculpture her attention. “I suppose,” she said, “that if I could feel things about your code, I can try and feel this.”

Cameron hadn’t thought about the Cardiff Giant or its BIOS in what felt like ages. A happy warmth spreading through her chest at the memory of Donna saving her code, Cameron slipped her hand into Donna’s, and whispered, “See? You know plenty about modern art.”

[hwauas]

🎭: "Last dance" — 1

crossover! park seonghwa (박성화) & kim chungha (긱청하) - 1,830 words

'I wish i had more time by your side', was all Chungha could think about. Originally so joyful, the kind to cheer up anybody, she was today sadder than she ever had been.

She was very expressive, and her face was the part everybody could look at to guess her feelings. But tonight, the only thing people could see was sadness. In fact, she was more than sad: she was devastated. She was trying her best to hide it, but she was sometimes failing and couldn’t hide it. It was impossible. The secret she was keeping was too much to handle. And this secret was the reason for her broken heart, of her messed up future life.

Her arms on her lover’s chest, her head on his shoulder as they were dancing the slow dance playing in the background. Everybody's eyes were on them. Who would miss a chance to see the princess dancing with her lover?

Her eyes landed on a man. And as soon as their eyes met, the man had a smirk showing off how proud he was: this man knew the secret. This man knew everything. Chungha’s heart broke a little more. She was trying her best to hold her tears back — which was a tough task.

'I can’t believe we’re gonna have the eternity to dance this way together', was all Seonghwa could think about. Nothing was official, but he wasn’t scared to call Chungha his: his girlfriend, his lover, his future wife. She was his. His only.

He was very protective over her. He was also very demonstrative; since he was too shy to tell her directly he loved her, he was demonstrating his feelings with gestures, and other words — they were the opposite of the other, but they say opposites attract.

His hands on her waist, he was leading Chungha through this dance. He couldn't kiss her forehead, even though he would have loved this. His head was simply resting on the top of Chungha's. On his face, everybody would see he was feeling proud. He was proud to call Chungha his, and to show them all she was his.

No doubts about this: they were each other's soulmate.

Slowly, the music stops. The musicians followed the instructions given by the conductor, and they all placed their instruments on their lap or on the ground to take a break.

But shortly after, a sweet melody was heard in the room: a delicate melody, the one created by a few slight tinklings on a crystal glass.

Everybody turned around to face the person who created this melody: a tall man, quite impressive because of his strong aura, well dressed. He was the one who did this.

“Chungha. My daughter. Can you come please?”

The man extended his arm to ask Chungha to come — which she did. She softly grabbed her father's hand, and approached him to stand by his side.

“I've always said that i didn't want this country to see me die. What type of king would i be to let my beloved citizens witness my death? What type of king would i be to die, and leave you with a horrible scene of my body? I want my country to remember me as a king, not as a dead person.”

Chungha was lowering her head, looking at her hands before her lower stomach. She was nervous: she knew a few minutes were left. A few minutes were left before her life became a mess.

What would his reaction be? How would he react towards you? Will he let you explain yourself? And what happened? Will he be so mad he won’t let you talk to him?

“This is why finding a future husband for my daughter, your future queen, was something important to me. And today… i want to let you know that i’ve found the perfect person for Chungha. I believe he’ll be helping her through her reign, and will be the best support for her.”

The people in the room were all clapping and screaming, happy to know there is an heir. Seonghwa was clapping too, and had a big smile one — one of the prettiest Chungha have ever seen.

“Can we please greet him? Chungha’s fiancé, Jongho!”

Everybody was clapping again, screaming, whistling. They all were happy for them both. But Chungha wasn’t happy for them both.

Jongho came by her side, and wrapped an arm around her waist. It was as if he knew what to do to hurt them both: to hurt Chungha and Seonghwa. He was waving his hand to the others, a big smile, and an innocent one. He was faking the happiest fiancé ever. While Seonghwa’s eyes teared up, just as Chungha’s. They were the only ones, here, unhappy about this announcement. The two sad souls lost in the euphoria of the moment. The two souls, sad, mentally devastated and in the dark, in this bright room.

Even Jongho squeezing her waist slightly wasn’t enough to snap her out of her mind.

Seonghwa ran away when he couldn’t look at Jongho and Chungha any longer. The more he was looking at them, the more he was devastated. It was unbearable.

Chungha wasted no more time, and ran after him. Everybody stopped celebrating this news, they were all shocked by what they just witnessed.

Jongho first stayed there, and tried to calm everybody by giving fake excuses. Yet the king quickly cut off Jongho.

“What are you doing, son? Is that how you think she’ll come back? Is that how you think she’s gonna be less sad? Don’t you think it’s your time to run after her?”

Jongho rolled his eyes, and walked to the door Seonghwa, and Chungha ran through.

“Fuck…”

He cursed when he was all alone. He was nonchalantly walking around to try and find them both.

“Seonghwa! Wait!”

Chungha screamed after the one she was truly in love with, and Jongho heard it too. He walked towards the spot he heard the scream from. He found Chungha, holding on the man’s waist, crying in his chest, as he was wiping away his own tears. He wasn’t holding back on Chungha, and Jongho guessed it was because of how devastated he was.

He stayed aback, hidden, to listen to them.

“You knew it, didn't you? I’m sure you knew it!”

Seonghwa was looking down at Chungha, holding onto his shirt, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“I did.. but i tried to talk to him multiple times.. I don’t wanna marry him.. You’re the one i love.. you know that, right?”

“Why didn’t you tell me your father was planning to do this? Why didn’t you at least warn me? I thought i was the prince he had chosen! Can you think about the how i felt when i heard his name? How i felt when i saw him standing next to you?”

“And can you think about how i feel knowing i’ll have to kiss him because he’s my husband? And how i feel knowing i’ll have fake happiness by his side?

Seonghwa stayed quiet. He didn’t say anything else. And Jongho was already feeling happy about the moment. He knew he was the problem: and he loved it.

“No matter what’s happening, you’re the one i love.. Trust me, Hwa…”

“Jongho stole everything from me.. He stole MY everything..”

“He didn’t stole me from you. We’re not over. And he won’t steal our family from you.”

Chungha wrapped her arms around Seonghwa’s waist. Jongho was surprised about her words, and Seonghwa seemed to not understand what she was seeing.

“Our.. family..?”

“I’m pregnant, Hwa. I’m pregnant with your baby. I’m gonna pretend the baby’s Jongho’s, but i won’t let the baby call him dad. You are the baby’s dad. And no one else.”

“Chung-”

“The baby will call me dad. Whether you like it or not.”

Jongho came out from his hiding-place, the same smirk as before on his lips. he was in control, and he loved this situation.

“The baby won’t. I won’t let him, or her, doing so. You won’t ever be someone to the baby.”

Seonghwa wrapped an arm around Chungha’s shoulders, and brought her closer to him. Jongho was acting proud, but Seonghwa knew he already won the fight. The family they built together was enough to trust they were not over.

“You’re gonna tell them it’s my child. But if the child doesn’t call me dad, won’t it be weird?”

Jongho still had his smirk on. He thought he was trapping them.

“Do i call my dad dad ? I don’t. The baby’s gonna call you Jongho. And so will i.”

Seonghwa smiled. He didn’t trap them at all. Chungha was right. And he trusted her: they were not over.

The elder let go of Chungha when he heard footsteps. And the man who entered the room was the king; a good thing Seonghwa let go of Chungha.

“How is it going, Jongho?”

“It’s doing good. Isn’t it, Chungha?”

The woman, taken aback, came by Jongho’s side, and shyly wrapped an arm around Jongho’s.

“Y-Yes…”

She was looking down to her feet covered with her dress.

“Chungha announced to me she’s pregnant. Isn’t it good news, his Highness?”

The king was shocked by this sudden announcement. Seonghwa tried to hide the anger he was feeling, and Jongho was showing how proud he was by this big smile.

Chungha waited for the king to say something, to react, while she was tightening her hold around his arm to try and punish him.

“This is amazing, my daughter! I have to tell them!”

The king left, almost running to the main room, while Seonghwa and Chungha were giving a deadly glare at Jongho.

“What? You would’ve told him sooner or later, no? You better thank me.”

Jongho squeezed his arm to be free again. He walked away, happily, ti the main room too. And quickly after, Chungha and Seonghwa heard screams and clappings: the euphoria.

Chungha looked back at Seonghwa. Again, the man looked devastated.

“He’s indeed stealing my family… I should be the one there, under the clappings.”

Seonghwa lowered his head, holding back his tears.

“This won’t last. As soon as i can.. i’ll leave him. I wanna love by your side, and nothing can hold me back.”

“But… and the kingdom? What will they think if you leave him? And i don’t want you to run away either.”

Chungha approached Seonghwa, and took both his arms in hers.

“I don’t care about having a kingdom if you’re not my king.”

Seonghwa passionately kissed Chungha. And she kissed him back. This kiss was full of love and passion: it was everything they were feeling for each other.

Seonghwa picked up Chungha, bridal style, and walked away.

Neither of them were caring about going back there. They wanted to spend some more time together, before everything changed...