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citizen-sade · 8 months

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Rain Check

Inspired by this text post:

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Eddie glanced from his guitar to the digital alarm clock on the side table next to his bed, where he'd been idly strumming for the past hour, not really trying commiting the tune to memory.

He realized the upbeat lyrics of Bruce Springsteen in Steve’s off-key tenor from the bathroom two doors down had trailed off long ago. He vaguely wondered if he’d dozed off again.

Eddie grinned wryly as he recalled learning the hard way about Steve’s singular habit of falling asleep in the shower.

***

He bounced his leg impatiently, eyes darting to the bathroom as the minutes ticked closer to 8:00. Steve had been in there awhile and it was almost time for the Miami Vice marathon.

7:00 turned into 7:15... then 7:30... 7:35... This was stupid. He didn't even like Miami Vice. It was Steve's idea. So, what the hell was taking him so long?

Eddie set the bowl of popcorn on the coffe table before heading down the hallway and rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, "Dude, what are you doing in there? Did you get lost?"

No answer.

Clouds of steam wafted out the door as he opened it to the sound of running water.

“Goddamn. Hot enough in here for you, Harrington?” he asked as he used the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe off an area of condensation from the mirror above the sink.

He stared at the reflection of the seafoam green shower curtain behind him, waiting for Steve to peek out and ask him what he wanted, but his stomach sank when that didn’t happen.

“Steve?”

Still nothing. He inhaled deeply to steady his nerves. Dramatic though it may be, he couldn't help but think back to the time he'd discovered a former bandmate in a similar manner, unconscious in a hotel bathtub from an overdose. He was lucky Eddie had found him when he did, the dipshit.

But Steve was different. Steve Harrington wasn't a junkie. Steve Harrington was smarter than that.

Although, it wasn't like he'd given Eddie a comprehensive list of any potential health issues. Not that he'd asked for one.

Eddie licked his lips nervously as he turned towards the bathtub. He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“Very funny, Harrington."

Nothing.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before reaching for the shower curtain, half-expecting Steve to jump out at him.

“Ha!" The exclamation hung in the air as Eddie yanked the curtain to the side, revealing the lean, naked form of his boyfriend on the floor of the ceramic tub, slumped against the side.

“Oh, fuck—ohfuck—okay—uh—Hey! Steve! You okay?”

Eddie reached in to shut off the water and sat on the edge of the bathtub to lean over Steve, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“Shit... shitshitshit... Steve! Hey!" Eddie eyed him with mounting panic, mentally compiling a list of emergency phone numbers, "Wake up, damnit!”

“Mmm—” the jock stirred, his forehead creasing under his dripping hair in annoyance as he mumbled, “five more minutes.”

Eddie stood up and cocked his head in bewilderment, "What the fuck?”

“Wha—” Steve sniffed groggily, “what’s going on?”

Eddie raised his hands to his hips, “Are you kidding me?”

Steve cracked an eyelid to glance quizzically at him, “Oh, hey, Eds. Everything okay?”

The cold air against his wet skin suddenly reminded him of where he was and he looked up at the trickling showerhead, his face reddening as he scrambled to cover himself.

“Oh, damn,” he groaned, running a hand over his face, “did I fall asleep again?”

"Asleep??" Eddie blinked in surprise but sighed with relief, “Again?! Is this a thing you do regularly?”

“I—uh—“

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“Gee, man, I’m sorry—"

"Thought I was gonna have to drag your naked ass out of there myself."

"It’s just a thing I did—do—ever since I was a kid—”

Eddie scoffed playfully, “Well... don’t fuckin' do it again.”

The sheepish grin he received by way of an apology all but dissolved any trace of genuine exasperation. It was a dumb thing to be mad at him for, anyway.

Eddie rolled his eyes and grabbed the towel from where it hung on the wall to throw it at Steve, hitting him in the face.

“Dry yourself off before you get all pruny. The show's about the start!”

***

It wasn't until later, during a moment of intimacy on the sofa, Miami Vice muted in the background and Steve's eyes locked shyly on their intertwined fingers and the prominent veins that traveled up Eddie's forearm, that Steve had explained how he'd adopted the practice of locking himself in the bathroom as a kid. The running water was enough to partially drown out the sound of his parents arguing in the living room, and he would stay in there a little longer each time, allowing the steady rhythm and comfort of the warm water to lull him to sleep—until he would inevitably be startled awake by the sound of his father slamming the front door behind him in a rage, followed by a hurried knock on the bathroom door and his mother yelling from the other side that he was on his own for dinner. Again.

In Steve's defense, he didn't do it every time... and in Eddie's, he couldn't just not tease him mercilessly for it when he did.

Eddie laid his guitar aside. He was careful not to make too much noise as he snuck to the bathroom, expertly opening and closing the door behind him without a single creak. Once again, the only sound to meet his ears upon entering was the hiss of the water.

He slowly drew back the shower curtain to the familiar sight of Steve curled up beneath the steaming water, damp hair clinging to his flushed cheeks.

Eddie smiled fondly at the shallow rise and fall of his chest and heaved an exaggerated sigh, reluctant to disturb the serenity of the moment.

But they had a game to catch. Lucas would be taking inventory of the party from the basketball court, and God forbid he and Steve show up late to anything together. He could hear the obnoxious kissy noises and prying questions now.

Eddie leaned in to wrap his fingers around the cross-handle knob and, with a quick twist, turned it as far to the left as it would go without shutting off completely.

Steve shrieked, cursing incoherently and clambering to shut off the freezing water.

“SHIT!” he panted, eyes wide when he realized he wasn’t alone. In a daze, he grasped the shower curtain to pull it closed, but instead, managed to tear down the metal rod that it hung from. The curtain rod bounced off his head and clattered against the tile as it came to rest in Steve’s lap.

“Gah! Fuck!” he hissed.

Eddie snorted and clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing as Steve glared daggers at him behind a veil of wet hair, looking like a drowned rat.

A very pissed off drowned rat.

The vision of the so-called King of Hawkins High—usually so smooth; so collected—now fixing him with what was obviously supposed to be an intimidating scowl while sitting naked and waterlogged in his bathtub made Eddie cackle so hard that he had to brace himself against the bathroom sink.

“I’m glad my suffering is so amusing to you,” Steve mocked.

“You should have seen your face, Harrington!” Eddie wheezed as he doubled over at the waist.

Steve blinked and shook his head, tossing his wet hair out of his face.

Eddie's laughter trailed off, “I’m sorry, babe, but you've been in here forever!”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. What time is it?”

“Almost 5:30.”

Steve groaned as he shifted to get his feet under him but failed against the slippery tub floor.

"Damnit, you need to put something in here."

"You mean, like, those... adhesive rubber ducks?"

"Yeah," Steve sneered, "I mean, like, those adhesive rubber ducks."

Eddie watched with glee as Steve made a second attempt to stand and extended his arm, "Don't just stand there, Munson, help me!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez," he grasped Steve's wrist to help him up, only to be yanked off his own feet, falling over the side of the bathtub and into Steve’s lap as he reached up to turn the water back on.

“You dick!” Eddie screeched, "what the hell—" he froze as his words melted into Steve’s mouth.

He instantly relaxed into him, the lukewarm water beating down on them all but forgotten as the tip of Steve's tongue teasingly slid past his lips. Eddie purred against his mouth and Steve withdrew with a cocky smirk. Eddie started as if to protest, but exhaled a heavy breath and hung his head.

“Alright. We're even."

“Mm, let's get you out of these wet clothes,” Steve said, tugging on the hem of Eddie's soaked t-shirt.

“Woah, there, big guy,” Eddie splayed a hand on Steve's chest in a gentle halting motion, “did you forget we’re on a schedule?”

Steve paused, immediately dropping the Casanova act with a petulant huff, “Aw, man!”

Eddie chuckled and pecked him on the cheek as he rose, pulling Steve up with him. He wrung his damp, unruly hair out over the bathtub before twisting to grab a towel and unceremoniously throwing it at Steve’s face. He then grabbed one for himself.

Steve cautiously stepped out of the tub onto the worn plush mat, securing the towel around his waist.

Knowing they couldn’t afford to waste anymore time, Eddie resigned to getting ready in the bedroom so as to allow Steve and his Hair™ their allotted time alone—but not before planting a playful smack on Steve's ass. Steve yelped and grumbled under his breath as he turned to his reflection and the white aerosol can with the picture of Farrah Fawcett that smiled at him from the counter.

Suddenly the door opened again and Eddie peeked in, "Hey, Harrington."

Steve paused mid-spray and rolled his eyes at him in the mirror, "Yeah?"

Eddie clicked his tongue with a wink and the cringiest finger-gun gesture he could manage, “Rain check.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #ficlet #established relationship

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thesmokingguns · 3 months

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Glazed donuts w/ Izzy Stradlins

MINORS DNI 18+ Contains sexual content

Izzy walked into the cafe, his arm wrapping around the brunette's waist, pulling her back away from the counter she was wiping down and banding her back to his chest with his arm slung over her waist.

“Hello Aya darling.” His kiss landed on her tenor before securing both arms in a hug around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as she rolled her eyes at the affectionate man.

“Working, Iz.” She tried to spin away from him but he made a tsk sound, guiding them back towards the kitchen when Sasha was taking out her latest batch of cupcakes.

As soon as she saw the enter she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“You’re lucky this batch needs to cool. Don’t fuck on the counters I bake on, please? I don’t need any help making the glaze for my desserts” The door swung shut behind her and Izzy turned his girl so he could look at her.

The way he smirked, like a cat that just got the cream made Aya shake her head.

“You heard her. No sex in the kitchen.” Izzy’s dramatic sigh at Aya’s words had the corners of her lips turning up, his hand in hers as he pulled her through another door to the back alleyway.

“Guess I’m just going to have to fuck you out here then.” Her front was pressed against the brick wall as he let his big hands slide up her thighs, dragging the retro uniform the girls had picked out for their bakery with them.

They had opened the bakery three months ago in Izzy’s hometown. After he had parted with Guns N Roses he needed a bit of a break to recoup from the loss of a band and having to change his dreams at a point in his life he though he was supposed to be living them.

Luckily his girl had agreed to go and her loyal best friend had made the trek back to Lafayette where they opened up their coffee shop bakery. Aya made the coffee and ran the books while in the back Sasha cooked up all sorts of treats to serve.

They were already making more money than they expected, the location popular on weekends and early mornings for people in town. They created an atmosphere that thrived and Izzy loved seeing his girl happy and finding her home in a place he loved.

He wanted her always to be at home with him.

His mouth was on her neck, long kisses and sucks as she whimpered, pressing her ass back and towards where the guitarist was.

“We could go home. It’s just down the street.” she muttered as his lips finally met hers. His hand sliding into the lace of his panties. His middle finger tapped at her clit, circling it as her juices leaked along her seam.

“You say this like I can wait.” He nipped at her lips, “I’m starved for you, Aya darling.” As if to prove his point to his give he dropped to his knees, his face buried between her legs.

Izzy’s tongue licked over the lace of her panties, pressing the thin material into her wet heat as he tasted her cream through the barrier. With A growl, needing more, Izzy hooked a finger, dragging the fabric to the side as his nose bumped her slit, his tongue circling her opening as he groaned, wishing it was his cock.

Aya groaned, her back arching, thighs parting to give her man more room to feast on her. She loved him most when he was on his knees worshiping her.

Two thick fingers pressed inside of her, her lips parting as she moaned his name. Her knees already shaking as he twisted his fingers, the knuckles drenched with her as he rubbed in a come hither motion, pulled them in and out and prepared her to take him.

“I could touch you all day and I still don't think it would be enough.” He muttered, laying a kiss on the back of her thigh as he started standing.

His lips kissed the roundness of her ass, a possessive impulse had his teeth sinking into it, watching the way his teeth marked her.

Mine. His thumb ran over the indents as he soothe it, fingers still working in and out of her body.

“You ready to take me, darling? Do you want to feel me inside of you now?” His hand slid to his jeans, working his belt off and zipper open.

His eyes on her body was he stroked himself and slid his fingers from her using her cum as lube.

“Just fuck me.” She moaned as his tip slid up and down her seam, spreading her juices around as he made a mess of her. “Fuck, Iz, Please. I need your cock.” He growled, satisfied with her answer now as he pressed forward inside of her

His cock bottomed out as he thrust deep, his balls slapping her clit as Aya let out a sound, her scream and moan sounding like a chant to Izzy.

“Fuck, that’s my girl. Your pussy is suffocating me. Fuck, I love when you squeeze me like that.” His praise as he fucked her, telling her how good she was taking him had Aya’s eyes rolling back, her body shifting so Izzy was hodling her wight as he drolled inside of her. “Give it to me. I want your orgasm, Aya darling. Gonna make my pussy cum so hard you won’t be able to walk back inside. I’m going to stuff you with my cum and have you work the rest of your shift filled with me. Do you want that? Do you want all my cum?” He growled in her ear as the wet slaps of them fucking filled the alley.

“Yes, I want it. Want you to fill me.” Izzy’s hand slid over her clit, two fingers rubbing her as she bucked forward. The explosion of her orgasm had him having to hold her, fucking her as he chased his pleasure with her.

One last thrust and his balls tightened, the surge as he filled her, pumping as the mix of their cum slid out, leaking over both of them and staining them with mixed pleasure.

“You took me so well, aya darling. So fucking well, sweetheart.” He tucked himself back in his pants moving to slide her panties back up. His tongue lapping up their cum as it leaked down her thighs, kissing her lace covered pussy when she was all covered up.

Aya’s legs shook as he slid the uniform back down, slapping her ass and getting a glare from her.

“I still have to be here for an hour.” She warned as they moved back inside. Izzy shrugged, sitting on one of the counter stools.

“For you, I’ll wait forever.”

#Izzy Stradlin #izzy stradlin fan fic #izzy stradlin fan fiction #izzy stradlin fanfic #guns n roses #izzy stradlin fanfiction #izzy stradlin guns n roses #Izzy Stradlin imagining #Izzy Stradlin GNR #gnr fanfiction

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prosciuttulipa · 3 months

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I saw that your requests for JJK are open. Can I get an opera singer girlfriend headcanon for Geto?💃💋

Geto Suguru with an Opera Singer Girlfriend

tw: slight angst at the end (because it's Geto Suguru), but otherwise none.

a/n: This is my first time writing for JJK, so do let me know if you have any feedback or comments!

Geto Suguru likes to think that if he hadn't become a jujutsu sorcerer, he would've pursued something in the arts. Perhaps he would've become an author, or a sculptor. But he's made up his mind to be a jujutsu sorcerer, and so art remains a hobby to him.

Nevertheless, he holds creatives in high regard. He's under no illusion that an art career is difficult, and he admires the consistency and courage it requires. Geto finds it freeing to watch an artist create or perform—it feels like watching birds fly overhead.

Opera is an art he doesn't have a lot of experience with, so he queries about it often at the start of your relationship. How did you get into opera? What do you love about it? Do you have a favourite singer, or aria? Do you have a dream role? He enjoys learning about the art form, but even more so the bright expression on your face as you talk about it.

He asks Satoru for help. Going to the opera was part of Satoru's fancy Gojo clan upbringing, and Suguru pesters Satoru for any knowledge he has on the art. Satoru is unfortunately useless (he always fell asleep during it), but he helps by using the Gojo name to procure free opera tickets.

He makes it a habit to carry extra lozenges for you. Suguru has them for when his cursed technique takes a toll on his throat and tongue. But he's started associating them more with you, when you steal his candies to soothe your throat after practice. He sneaks a few into your bag, just to be safe.

He also brings you warm drinks whenever you meet up. When his throat hurts he tends to chew on ice, but he's heard that's bad for singers. If you have a favourite hot beverage, he makes it a point to always get it for you.

Suguru calls you "my songbird", as a pet name. He uses it when you're feeling a bit insecure about your talent, wanting to cheer you up. "Won't you sing me a tune, my songbird? You have such a pretty voice." If you need an extra laugh, he'll reference the Phantom of the Opera, putting on a dramatic voice: "Sing for me, my Angel of Music! Sing for me!"

As a date idea, you decide to teach him how to sing an opera duet. Suguru isn't very confident in his singing, but he lets you try to coach him. He's somewhere between a tenor and a baritone, according to your observations. His cursed technique actually means he's great at controlling his throat, so he's less inclined to strain his voice.

Unless he's away on a mission and can't physically be there, he'll attend all of your performances. You get a bouquet of flowers after every performance, and a kiss to your cheek as he murmurs praise into your ear. If he's unable to make it, you get a good luck text beforehand, his bouquet of flowers sent directly to your changing room instead.

He asks you to sing him to sleep after particularly stressful missions. Suguru doesn't enjoy opening up about being a jujutsu sorcerer—he'd much rather keep that part of his life away from you—but he still wishes to seek comfort, in his own way. The way he usually does this is by lying his head in your lap, or asking you about the songs you practiced that day. When you answer, he'll express an interest in hearing an excerpt, quickly falling asleep to your voice when you oblige.

My pretty girl with a pretty voice. What else could a man ask for, songbird? Don't be shy. I love hearing you sing.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru headcanons #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #my content #—prosciuttulipa content.

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opera-ghosts · 1 month

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Scottish soprano Mary Garden (1874-1964) and French tenor Charles Dalmorès (1871-1939) as Salome and Herod in Richard Strauss' one-act play at the Manhattan Opera House, March 14, 1910.

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sexygaywizard · 10 months

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Gonna go on a rant that will matter to precisely no one but me but I find it so annoying these "range tests" meant to determine what your voice type is, if you're a bass/baritone/contralto/soprano etc etc it's like the armchair psychology equivalent of vocal classification. "I can sing E3-E6 so what voice type am I?" "You must be a soprano because you can sing high" THat's NOT how it WOrKS... FIRST OF ALL.... ok... Your voice type for solo voice is not determined by your range it is determined by your vocal quality RELATIVE to your range. What is your comfortable singing range is comparatively more useful for classifying choral voice types (Soprano/Alto/Tenor/Bass) because you will be singing with a bunch of other people for long periods of time so you don't necessarily need to be singing in a range that brings out your strongest solo capabilities. You need to prioritize the range that is best for your endurance. But if you ever look up "what's the most common voice type" you're going to see everyone saying mezzo-sopranos even though every opera house in the entire world will tell you that by far the most heavily impacted voice type are lyric sopranos. This is because, if you pull any untrained girlie off the street, yeah, they're most likely going to have a middling range. Does that mean she's a mezzo? NO! Of course range is taken into account when classifying, but along with range is the location of your tessitura (most comfortable/clearest/powerful part of your range) and your passagio (the boundary between your low and high registers). Your vocal range can change over time and with practice, but your tessitura and passagio will probably not. These kinds of things cannot be determined without the assistance of a qualified vocal teacher, not to mention that even a vocal teacher will probably not be able to fully & accurately qualify your voice type until your late 20's or early 30's (and then your voice type may change again as you get past your 50's but that's a whole other discussion). I say this not to gatekeep, but because your voice is not only an instrument but part of your body and pushing yourself to sing an uncomfortable range because you are convinced that you are a certain voice type will physically damage your vocal chords. If you try to lift 200 lbs without having the muscles to do it, you will fucking hurt yourself. Many singers have destroyed their own careers by trying to sing parts that aren't suited to them to try and fill a certain niche, appear more marketable, or simply because they were misinformed.

As a small pro tip, the upper boundary of your range can generally be extended with (safe and proper) practice, but your lower range can not. Your comfort (and I mean comfort, that means without stress) in your low range is a much better indicator of where your tessitura and passagio lie and thus, voice type, than the upper boundary of your voice. HOWEVER. Everybody wants to be a contralto and a bass because they are the rarest voice types. But consistently pushing yourself to sing lower than is comfortable for you is the easiest and fastest way to damage your voice. As is pushing your voice to sound "bigger" than it actually is (most voice types are lyric, not dramatic-- but that's getting into fachs and that's a whole other mess). Sorry but the most common types are the most common types, find peace with your space in the universe. ANYWAYS sorry it's just a pet peeve please be safe and practice good vocal health thank you

#i mostly talk about treble voice types bc that's what I have the most experience with #but for lower voices the most common voice type is the lyric baritone if you are curious.#and i am a lyric mezzo for reference also #anyways tbh if people got questions ask me stuff i'm talkative #i talk

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joansutherlandfan · 1 year

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On this day, back in 1926, Turandot was premiered in Milan at Teatro alla Scala, the posthumous work of Giacomo Puccini, which was finished by composer Franco Alfano.

The story says that on the premiere, after the Liù's death and cortege, the conductor Arturo Toscanini turned to audience saying "Here the opera ends, left incomplete by the death of the late Puccini." And the curtain was lowered. *The following performances included the Alfano's end.

Around January of 1972, the gossip of Joan recording the title role of Turandot spread on the opera world, and on August it proved true, even with Bonynge disapproval, Joan recorded it. Here, an animation of the famous "In questa Reggia" vocal score.

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boltlightning · 5 months

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hey gamers. the dead man’s chest soundtrack has been rolling around my head a lot lately; the extended soundtrack from this playlist has been a godsend. specifically i want to gush about the instrumentation.

the potc soundtracks use a standard orchestra composition, focusing on strings and brass and less on woodwinds. DMC introduces the kraken and davy jones, who are associated with davy jones’ organ (of course) and — well. hans zimmer went nuts and recorded the orchestra, then piped that recording back over the music through a guitar amp. it sounds uncannily like an electric bass (and yes, a guitar now and then), so for our purposes i am going to say it sounds like electric bass with CRUNCHY reverb. it seems a little counterintuitive to associate ancient and cursed beings with more modern, experimental sounds, but altogether it creates this delightful, otherworldly, primordial rock band feel.

let’s take the track from when we first meet davy jones, dutchman arrival, for instance. it gives us a touch of that electric bass underneath jones’ theme when the sailors first show up, then pivots to normal orchestration as will is fighting. HE doesn’t know who they are, only that they’re odd — and when jones shows up finally, you get the bass holding that melody all on its own, this terrifying, growling refrain that sounds like it’s seething just under the surface. an undercurrent…a heartbeat, perhaps.

hold onto that thought. let’s move on. davy jones and his organ. jones having something as dramatic, expensive, and dominating as an organ on his ship speaks to how authoritative his character is — he’s playing his self-pitying music while his crew is breaking their backs to keep this awful ship sailing. he plays it solo, then the entire orchestra joins in, and beneath it all…the thrum of a heart. the melody of jones’ theme fits lock-and-key with the beat of a heart. here, everything is orchestral, but we’ve added the warm tones of choral voices under it all, like this is a horrible waltz that everyone aboard is doomed to keep dancing. and then it spirals into discordant chaos.

as a bonus: pipe organs have the countermelody playing with foot pedals, usually. imagine jones and his peg leg playing this kind of shit while the squid beard tickles the keys

i also L O V E the chorus humming in the back half of the whipping scene. it makes my skin crawl.

this all builds to the second kraken attack, the attack that introduces the viewer to the kraken in person. just…the constant buzz of the bass under these insane, warning low brass flourishes. the guitar-alike sound is in full force here and drapes this growly, eerie echo over the entire score. just when you hit the natural apex of the song, when you think you might reach some sort of musical resolution, it cuts out for a caesura — and bursts back in with the organ melody, huge and overwhelming over it all, as the kraken FULLY CRACKS A SHIP IN HALF. just in case you forgot who made this all happen. this is the EXACT way a heroic theme would triumphantly emerge in any classical piece of work. eat your heart out, holst.

the way jones’ theme is reprised with horns in the ship to ship score is so chilling too. it’s played in will's instrument after all! it's this teeny little bit of hope, a sign the pearl might get away — yet it’s getting lost in all the tenor voices just to really remind you how hopeless this all is. and then everything drops away and jones’ theme fully emerges in the low bass; it’s raunchy and nasty and so, so scary. god. what a score.

they do such a good job with the themes, even without visuals it’s so easy to tell who is on screen doing what in any of the tracks from the wheel of fortune section (specifically heart madness on the extended soundtrack). if there’s soaring brass and string stings, you know local romance heroes will and norrington are trying to kill each other on the wheel. if it’s quiet with a plucky little string soli, low reeds, and snare accents, you know jack is doing some shenanigans off to the side. if there’s deep and growling bass and organ swells, it’s elizabeth and pintel and ragetti racing against the crew of the dutchman for the heart.

in particular there’s this delightful bit in the track immediately preceding it, 3-way sword fight, where the melody starts and stops as all three dudes with swords are getting their footing on the various precarious places they take their fight. it builds and builds, and soon the melody is getting juggled by three different groups of instruments as elizabeth gets drawn into the fight too. talk about chaos.

on a related, but more lowkey character note: i ADORE that beckett’s associated instrument is the harpsichord. you only hear it a little bit in the track when will is bargaining with beckett. the harpsichord immediately puts you in the mind of aristocratic england; it was a household instrument back then, it’s plausibly an instrument beckett could play himself! it’s particular, but at the same time it’s subtle. it’s not dominating. he’s a new player in the game with a unique position, and damn does he know how to play the game.

and FINALLY. to compare beckett to someone ostentatious in a much different way: jack is associated with two themes, summed up perfectly in this track. this big, great, sweeping, seafaring melody we know and love, with regimented snare drum and timpani, the whole nine yards. it invokes jack’s reputation, the captain in his title…and then it fades to that stupid little soli, the gremlin trickster we all know and love.

yet compare that track with this demo of the same themes — it’s the exact same music, just with a solo piano, and it sounds so moody, even when the key and tempo pick up. THAT’S the power of instrumence baby! the texture, timbre, and context of any given melody changes the weight and impact, even if the notes are exactly the same.

finally finally: i hope the timpani player finds a million dollars every day in the street.

ok. phew. this soundtrack makes me want to go learn cello and i needed to get that out of my system. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

#bolt watches potc #pirates of the caribbean #dead man's chest #music #(i worked hard on this i'm putting it in the tag)#hey also. if anyone knows which orchestras recorded the soundtracks i'd be forever grateful!! want to make sure they're credited

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aquidragon · 1 year

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blue eyes and jazz and attitude

Rating: PG-13

TW(s): Potential innuendo to nsfw themes

Summary: You had been dependent on Leon for some brightness in the cruel world you both lived in, and he depended on you as well. After years of being close friends, Leon asks you an important question at a DSO-hosted gala.

Category: Fluff with a sprinkle of angst and spice

Word Count: 1845 Note: I personally pictured re4r Leon from the cutscene of him at the start of the game for his appearance in this fic :)

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His blue eyes were always his most striking feature. A brilliant cyan, brighter than the sky and deeper than the ocean. Every single emotion he felt was reflected in his eyes, light like the sunlit waves of the Atlantic, or grim like restless waters before a hurricane. You felt yourself being pulled towards his daunting gaze, when it met yours from across the room. He smiled at you, his lips tugged in a half smirk.

Leon wore a form fitting, dark navy suit that looked black at a distance. His blonde hair was combed nicely around his angular cheekbones. Every single woman he walked past, looked back to stare at him. You were even certain that you caught some men shooting the agent some glances, before anxiously turning their eyes back to their drinks. You almost laughed at the sight, the universal impact of agent Kennedy on people.

It was like he was a god amongst men. Untouchable, powerful, yet so alluring to stare at. You couldn’t blame them, as you were unable to avert your gaze. He stopped at your table, where you were slowly working on your champagne. The bubbly, pale flaxen liquid swished around your glass as he approached. Leon greeted you with a friendly wave, before taking the seat beside you. “You look lovely tonight,” your name always sounded like hot honey on his tongue.

You looked back at him, mirroring his half-smug grin, resting your chin on your palm. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Mr. Kennedy.” You purred playfully, teasingly lifting the hem of his trouser sleeve by his ankle with your foot. The blonde lifted his eyebrows, an amused huff escaping his nose.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, but I think I look great.” Leon lifted a hand, gesturing a nearby waiter over. “Although, I don’t think I could pull off that dress you're wearing nearly as well.” His voice was a seductive, low tenor. His very tone sent delighted shivers down your spine, which tingled down to the ends of your fingertips.

“I could easily wear the suit you have on, it’s not even a contest.” You teased back, as the waiter set down a glass besides Leon’s hand. It was a mixed drink, a drop of cola amongst a sea of amber whiskey. He quickly took a sip, letting out a delighted groan.

“We can trade clothes later, if you want, doll.” He lifted his blue gaze over his glass, to look at you. “Although, I’d have to see you put it on, no funny business.” Leon took another drink, while your ears heated.

“Awfully scandalous, don’t you think?” You jested, through your flustered thoughts. “President’s favorite, and random communications agent? Human Resources won’t like that.” You decided to take a sip from your own alcoholic beverage, the bubbles buzzed over your tongue. “How do you think people will react when they see us sneaking off to another, closed off room, during a company gala?”

Leon snorted, looking at the nearby party goers, all dressed in their cocktail formal. “Who gives a shit, I outrank everyone in the room; practically.” He looked at you smugly, “including you.”

Your eyes widened in faux dramatics, crossing one leg over the other. You could feel the fabric over your legs tighten. “Even more scandalous, I can’t be seen sneaking off with my superior. That’s certainly against the rules, Graham would have to fire his favorite agent.” You giggled, invested in your little back and forth. A commonality, in your vague relationship with Leon.

“I can put in a good word.” Leon mumbled, looking into his glass. “I’d get demoted for you in a heartbeat, anyway, sweetheart.” His eyes lifted back to yours, in a dazzling flash of ice blue. “You know that.”

You flushed, the flesh beneath your face heating significantly as your heart trembled. “Maybe I should get promoted for you, instead.”

This made the agent beside you double over in a brief burst of laughter, in a good nature. “Might have to rescue the President’s daughter from a parasite-infected, cultist village in Spain before you can reach my level.”

“You don’t think I can?” You jeered.

Leon tapped his fingers on the white tablecloth, inspecting your frame, which made you shiver. You could feel his eyes piercing your skin like ice, making your heart pound against your chest like a deranged animal. “Perhaps with a little bit of training.” He concluded, sarcastically, finishing off his whiskey.

You threw a crumpled up napkin at his forehead, gasping in mock offense. “Rude!”

The faint, orchestral music from the quartet began to play. You recognized the ballroom melody, Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings in E Major, Tempo di valse. A waltz, which attracted most of the couples to the dance floor. You finished off your own drink, as the rhythm took an increase of tempo. Leon lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you want to dance? I’m not much of a dancer, but-”

You snorted, giving him a small grin through the napkin you had used to dry your lips. “With enough liquor in your system, anyone is a dancer.” You rose to your feet, offering him your hand, “I would be delighted to dance with you, Leon.”

He grinned at your name, his larger, rougher hands taking yours eagerly. Without a second thought, he guided you to the dance floor. His spare hand ghosted the small of you back as you reached the ballroom. Leon gave you a nervous smile, which you anxiously returned. Mirroring the actions of the dance partners around you, he pulled your body closer into his own. Your chest lightly pressed against his torso, the warmth of his skin seeped through your clothing.

Clumsy, at first, you slowly began to move your bodies together to the melody of the musical piece. Your black heels complemented his glossy, black dress shoes as you attempted to follow the proper steps. However, your heel met his right toe, making him hiss in pain. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” You whispered, loudly, eyes wide.

“Maybe I should use high heels for a weapon instead of a knife.” Leon grumbled, before breaking into a chuckle. You joined his laughter, your voices melding together in a perfect harmony. Briefly, his forehead rested against yours, as his hand that was on your back wrapped around to the curve of your waist. You exhaled shakily, your emotions whirling around your mind and chest violently.

“Come home with me,” his words were so quiet you almost didn’t hear them, “please.” Your name was so sweet against his lips, you yearned to taste it.

Your fingers traced the rough, wool texture of his suit jacket. It was thick, yet breathable as well. You looked up at him, his blue eyes dug deeply though your thoughts, as his hold on your hand and waist tightened. “Okay, I will.”

You had always found some solace in Leon, as he did in you. When you had first met him, you were a bright eyed, fresh out of college graduate. He was older than you, but you instantly connected. During your first mission together, yourself in the communications office, him in an presumed-abandoned lab established by Umbrella. Your playful banter with him allowed you both to find some brightness in the dim situation he was in.

He had always told you that you provided light in his life. Especially after a hard mission, when he’d return to your apartment, beaten and battered. Once brilliant blues turned dull with exhaustion, and pain. You would sit with him, gently guiding your hand down his back, as he sat quietly beside you. Words didn’t need to be shared, you knew he just needed you to be there. To ground him, to remind him that there was still some good in the world. Even if you weren’t a perfect person, neither you nor Leon were able to escape the flaws that made you both human.

You rested your head against his muscles felt firm, yet soft against your cheek. The music slowed to a stop, with the next song following quickly behind. This time, it was a slow, sultry jazz beat. The lights dimmed, and shifted colors. Soft yellow transformed into a shade of cool blue with a subtle fade. Leon had stopped trying to dance with you, instead, opting for a gentle sway of your bodies linked together.

“Y’know, you and I should get together.” He murmured into your ear, slowly, sincerely. “For real, I don’t give a damn about fraternization policies, or any bullshit like it.” Your nerves bristled, his volume no louder than a whisper.

You looked up at him, your eyes dewy. “Leon,” you bit your lip, apprehensive, “are you sure?”

He laughed, giving you a gentle, kind smile. “I’ve never been more sure in my life.”

You glanced at the party goers around you, too tuned into the music, and murmuring in a low chatter. You really only recognized a few of them, from the hallways of the DSO between offices. The company must’ve been large, judging on the miniscule amount of people you knew. They didn’t know you, but they certainly knew Leon. You had noticed stolen glances from many people, looking over at the prestigious agent, and some unknown agent from home command.

Something deep inside you burned, you may not be known as your position as a communication agent. You could, however, be known as belonging to agent Kennedy. As well as agent Kennedy being all to yourself, despite all the prying eyes. He could be yours, and you could be his. Your mind twisted delightfully at the thought, as butterflies tickled your stomach and your heart fluttered deep somewhere in your ribcage.

“Kiss me,” you blurted, quietly. “Kiss me right now, and I’ll be yours.”

Leon blinked, your boldness had caught him off guard. However, he was always quick to recover. With a mixture of smug delight, he grinned, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve waited for far too long,” he exhaled deeply. Slowly, he leaned to press his lips against your own. In a passionate, yet controlled kiss.

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth as you kissed him back. His lips tasted like whiskey, with subtle hints of honey and his favorite mint gum. You briefly ran your hands over his broad shoulders, the textured fabric of his navy suit jacket tickling your palms. After a frantic heartbeat, or two, you separated. You could feel the eyes of party goers on you, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, instead, wrapped up in brilliant cobalt looking directly at you.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You leaned up to whisper into his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “I’m feeling a bit tired of this party.”

Leon’s chuckle was breathless, as if he were holding his breath while he kissed you. “I like the sound of that.” He winked at you, “drinks are on me.”

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Part Two, perhaps? Let me know! Thanks for reading!

Reblogs greatly appreciated

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #reader insert #leon kennedy reader insert #resident evil 4

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slaygentford · 1 month

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hi um. as an opera enjoyer do you have any thoughts on gounod's romeo & juliette?

just dug through my absolutely unusable inbox (sorry I did that ask meme and never replied I got really busy :/) to find this again because I just saw it last night and I have a couple of points ie an essay. first off the libretto is fucking deranged you have the entirety of one of the greatest achievements of the English language at your disposal

and do this instead

which proves again that the only way to adapt Shakespeare is ballet/physicality/mime because it's the only way of not using his poetry that you can convey his poetry

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adjacent is that obv above they're in their 20s-30s but with dance the acting comes across better bc it's the entire body whereas opera they've gotta stand fairly still and so you're very aware you're watching two 35 year olds do this same scene as 14/15 year olds only singing and singing bad verse besides.

point b leads into point b.5(?) which is I straight up don't like tenors. I've come to accept this about myself. I straight up dislike a tenor. grow up. why are you as a man a tenor. men should either be countertenors (I kno we all saw it six years ago and daily since but let's revisit) or baritone or bass. stop yelling. STOP IT!!!! STOP YELLING!!!!! oh MY god. as you can imagine this makes my life very difficult. not Gounod's fault. I understand that Romeo obviously cannot be a baritone.

b.5: in every French opera you inevitably have the one frenchman in the cast who instead of rolling the r's has decided to swallow them instead which just annoys me. thats the entire point I just dont like it I like French opera fine love it even but oh my godddddd stop it. stop it. get some help.

point d: all of that being said the music alone is absolutely. just absolutely. just absolutely absolutely. beyond beautiful. and obviously we're all there at least in part for the spectacle of it. I spent 43 usd to see her do this

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and obviously that was the bargain of a lifetime and regardless of all of the above I'd go again if I had another 43 bucks to spend. Ive seen her as Violetta as well several years ago and I will say that her Violetta is what took me from a casual opera fan to my current state and I did SPECIFICALLY go see this for her. the chokehold this woman has on an audience is unreal and this + je veux vivre are just really stunning pieces of Gounod's so what can you do.

in conclusion to enjoy this opera you must pretend it is not Romeo and Juliet because it is not Romeo and Juliet. not to be dramatic but it's a garish pastiche that offends me on a base level and if I'd seen it in 1860 whatever when it came out I'd be saying that loudly and complaining for the ENTIRE carriage ride home. but it's 2024 and I can turn on the baz Luhrmann Romeo and Juliet so it's all good. it's sonically really lovely and a great showcase for any soprano

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