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halfmoondaze · 2 months

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Flickering Desieres

A fic collaboraton with @heavyhitterheaux

Born and raised in Y/H/T, Y/N knew from a young age that she wanted to be a singer and that she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way of her dream becoming a reality.

She would go on to perform in local bars and coffee shops that were known to have open-mic nights and spend the rest of her time writing her own songs and posting videos of her singing on Tik Tok.

She posted a song that she had written called “Drowning in the Blue” on the platform, not thinking much of it. However, the song quickly gained traction and went viral, amassing over 230 million views.

As the song gained popularity on Tik Tok, she quickly caught the attention of music label executives who were eager to sign her.

After careful consideration, she chose the small independent label “Adagio Records Co.” And the rest was history.

Every single time an opportunity presented itself, she would sing. Whether it be around the house, performing for family, or local talent shows. When she saw an opportunity to sing, she took it.

Meanwhile, Jack had just finished filming his latest movie starring Matt Damon and Casey Affleck called “The Instigator” in Portland. Overall, Jack felt more inspired than ever to go back to the studio and create new music. The last thing that he ever wanted anyone to think is that he was leaving music behind for acting, because that definitely wasn’t the case.

“Look if it isn’t the movie star.” Urban said as Jack entered the recording studio.

“Hey man.”

They did their secret handshake as Jack sat down next to him.

“How was Portland?” Nemo asked.

“Wet.”

They started laughing from Jack’s response and Nemo just simply shook his head.

“The label got me this list of the possible female singers we could bring in for the feature” DJ Drama said as he sat down.

“Shoot, let’s hear it.”

“Doja Cat?”

Jack thought for a second. “No”

“SZA?”

“No”

“Y/N?”

Jack pauses for a moment.

“Who is Y/N? I’ve never heard of her. Is she a new artist?”

“Her song blew up when she posted it on Tik Tok not too long ago. Since you hardly ever go on there, I didn’t really expect you to know.”

As Jack quickly learned about Y/N’s music, he became captivated by her sound as a singer which was something unlike anything he had heard before. A sound that was both fresh and somehow nostalgic. With hints of 90’s R&B, soul, and smooth jazz; mixed with contemporary pop. He found her songwriting skills impressive and authentic. He was hooked.

At this point in time, the choice was obvious and he couldn't wait to meet her in person.

He felt as though this would be a good move for him seeing as the most he ever did with another female artist was hop on the remix version of a song. However, this time they were starting from scratch and knew that this was something that his fans had been waiting for. New features with new people.

It was true that he was worried about the hype surrounding him and his career dying down, but knew for a fact that as soon as he made the announcement surrounding the single being released, it would pick back up.

That morning, Y/N showed up early to the studio wearing a men’s button up shirt as a dress, knee socks and sneakers wanting to be comfortable for however long that she was going to be here for.

“Y/N, you must already know Jack.” DJ Drama introduced her.

Jack went in for a hug but Y/N stopped him reaching out for her hand for him to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you.”

Jack smiled.

“Good things, I hope” he joked as he shook her hand.

Jack went on and introduced Y/N to Urban and Nemo.

“We are glad to have you here. Thank you for helping us out” he smiled.

“Happy to help.”

“Would you like to go over the song?”

“No, I’m good,” she said as she entered the recording booth and put on the headphones.

Jack was taken back by her confidence but thought it was very attractive.

“Ok. Whenever you’re ready” he said.

That’s when Y/N who was supposed to sing the chorus to his song “Locked In” however, she completely changed the lyrics and Jack stopped her mid performance.

“Can we stop?” Jack asked as he looked over at Nemo who simply nodded his head.

Nemo stopped the track and waited for the both of you to agree on the next steps.

Y/N takes off her headphones and turns to Jack wondering what the problem was, but deep down she knew.

“Those aren’t the lyrics” he said and turned to Nemo. “Do you have a copy of the lyrics you can give to Y/N?.

“Oh, I know what the lyrics are”

“Then why aren’t you singing them?” Jack asked not understanding what was happening at the moment.

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, I was told to come here to help you with your lyrics which is what I did.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your label approached me to help you write a hit. And that’s what I'm trying to do."

“My last album was very successful.”

“I don’t think an album that scored 2.9 on Pitchfork would be considered successful.”

Jack looked at her stunned, not knowing how to respond.

“No offense, but your music is on a surface level” you replied not missing a beat. “You talk about all this generic stuff like proving your haters wrong, bragging about your conquests…nothing groundbreaking” you paused. “You never reveal anything about yourself.”

Jack clenched his jaw as he crossed his arms, but he didn’t look away from you as you were talking to him.

“I’m sorry?” he raised his brow, feeling a mix of surprise and irritation. No one had ever challenged him like this before.

“You’re not really saying anything” Y/N pressed. “If you want to stand out, you need to be more vulnerable”

He scoffed.

“And just spill my dirty laundry into the world?” he shot back. “I’m not doing that”

“Suit yourself” Y/N shrugged. “But don’t expect your fans to care for your music if you’re not willing to be real with them.”

With that Jack left the studio without another word, clearly pissed off because of the exchange that had just happened.

Y/N turned to look at DJ Drama who couldn’t contain his laughter.

“Did I say something wrong?” Y/N curiously asked because as far as she was concerned, she was simply being honest with him.

Jack walked out of the studio and headed over to Craig Kallman’s office who was the CEO of Atlantic Records and he quickly knocked on the door. Hearing his voice say ‘Come in.’ He proceeded to enter.

“Jack, what’s up?” He asked as he looked up at him.

“There’s a bit of an issue with the collab with Y/N. I don’t think she’s the right fit.”

Craig simply looked at him before offering his advice.

“Jack, I know it can be challenging working with a new artist, but I think Y/N can bring a fresh perspective and new life into your music.”

Jack sighs as he sits on the sofa across from Craig’s desk.

“I’ve built my career on my own terms and I don’t want to compromise my authenticity for the sake of a hit song.”

“We’re not asking you to compromise Jack. We’re asking you to explore new possibilities and push your boundaries as an artist.” Craig says, his tone gentle but firm. “Let’s just call it a day and start over tomorrow; I’ll let Y/N know”

Jack was feeling somewhat reassured but still conflicted.

He stood up, thanked Craig and exited his office hoping that things would go better tomorrow

#jack harlow imagine #jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow x you #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow concepts #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow fanfiction #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #singer!reader #famous!reader #harlow jack

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yuzu-adagio · 1 year

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Howdy folks!

Cohost is probably gonna wind up being my main

I am Yuzu Adagio, an easygoing capybara vtuber. I tend to play retro and indy games. I like games that are complicated, cute, turn-based, weeby, procedurally generated, deckbuilder, roguelite, RPG, or queer. I shy away from horror and public lobby multiplayer. My vibes range from quiet and chill to moderate gremlin, depending mostly on what I'm up to. She🏳️‍⚧️they.

OK I AM BACK. So are Kassil and Dovei, maybe actually this time??? 🍋 Wed 3/6, 7 PM EST: Shufflesanity 🍋 Thu 3/7, 7 PM EST: Terraria Calamity w/Kassil and Dovei ASW forecast: No On horizon (THERE'S A POLL ON THE DISCORD): return of Celeste, return of Love Yourself, LttP (or other) Randomizer, Randothon practice, Mario Golf GBC speedruns

Under the cut: Links, sideblogs, survey, personal tags, credits

Models: Honey Kudzu

Art, png: @rhodo

pfp: Linkitin

Emotes: AzureOwlStudio, @gasexplosionatthescalpelfactory , self

This account stays mostly on brand: Stuff about me, vtubers, capybaras, games I'm currently playing, friends' content @lemon-presto: Fandom stuff, shitposts, other assorted mostly-fun stuff @durian-agitato: Serious or darker or heavier or more controversial stuff (like politics and human rights)

Here's a feedback survey if you want input <3

Common tags include #adaginfo: Announcements #doodledagio: My MS Paint paint.net trackpad endeavors #yuzu moments: Clips #this should be tagged as something: seems kinda vaguely trigger-y but I can't figure out a good descriptor

twitch_live

#adaginfo #I guess I'll reblog this every time I update it?#vtubers of tumblr

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ladywaffles · 27 days

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Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47442676

T | 1/1 | 2.4k

Ilsa tries to make sense of the world, after being welcomed back into the fold.

or: how the IMF learned (to varying degrees) to trust Ilsa.

Title from Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18. I’m particularly fond of Movement II: Adagio sostenuto. Often considered one of the most popular piano concertos of all time, it was used as the score to the 1945 film Brief Encounter, and parts of it inspired Lorne Balfe’s score of Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning, Part One.

After two years at Lane’s side, Ilsa knows she should feel at ease in London. It is her city, her sanctuary; Lane, like her, was MI-6. He didn’t like coming back to London any more than she did, too aware of C’s eyes on him whenever his feet touched British soil.

Ethan Hunt and his IMF team have effectively freed her. Atlee confessed to setting her up; her government has taken her back. She is reinstated, avowed, welcomed back into the fold.

And yet.

She feels eyes on her everywhere she goes. It is hard for her fellow agents to trust the woman they have not seen in months, years. Some of them—the new ones, fresh-faced Oxbridge grads seduced into espionage by the false belief they could be the next Ian Fleming—do not know her as anything but a ghost story. Some of them—the older ones, her former fellow agents, already on edge and inherently distrusting, given that they are the ones who survived where their compatriots did not—still believe the story Atlee fed them: that she is a traitor to her government, her queen, her country, and she has duped them all into believing she is not, a triple agent waiting to strike.

It’s hard to let go of old habits when everyone acts as if nothing’s changed.

London is her city, it is her base. So why does it feel like she hasn’t come in from the cold until she feels familiar eyes watching her and turns to see a flash of green and a muted grin, a hooded figure that looks too much like Ethan Hunt—

And winks at her, staring her dead in the eyes, and before she can blink, her phone is buzzing with a text she knows will be from an unlisted American number with new mission parameters and he’s gone again—

Why does it feel like coming home?

///

Ethan believes her outright.

It’s the rest of them that take time to come around.

Despite the fact that he’s survived nearly three decades in their line of work, Ethan is still an optimist at heart and believes the best of people.

(“You know, he once asked me if I remembered being sweet,” Luther tells her when they’re on a sleeper train. Benji is knocked out in the bunk above her, happily snoring away. “If I could remember that far back. Ethan thinks he’s jaded, but he’s the best of all of us.”

As if I need you to tell me that, she wants to say.

“I know,” she replies instead.)

It should be Benji who opens up to her first—he’s the newest field agent of them, the easiest to dupe, the least experienced. Not to mention their shared country, even if Benji foreswore any allegiance to Her Maj when he took that IMF job.

Then again, she did stun him with a defibrillator. And shoot at him.

Brandt, she knows, will trust her when hell freezes over. Luther loves his gossip, and he coughs it up easily that Brandt was a part of the operation Ethan used to go undercover in Serbia that involved the murder of no less than seven people—and Brandt was the unwitting fool whose visceral reaction was used to sell the fact that Ethan really had gone rogue.

He’s as likely to forgive her for playing the double agent as he is to sprout wings tomorrow and start to fly.

No, it is Luther who comes around next; he too know what it is like to be disavowed by your government. There is no announcement, no balloon. One day, Luther goes from holding her at arms’ length to sharing knowing looks with her over Moroccan tea while Benji and Brandt snipe at each other.

Benji may have fooled Hunley’s polygraph for months, but she’s much better than a polygraph, and Benji’s not trying to hide as much anymore now that the IMF has been reinstated.

He openly adores Ethan, and who can blame him? They’re all here because of Ethan. Ethan is the sun they all revolve around, his gravity pulling them in closer and closer until he’s all that they can see.

It grates on Benji, that Ethan likes her and he can barely stand to be in the same room as her alone. He questions himself and his judgment of her.

But Ethan, endlessly kind and much more observant than she thinks others give him credit for, knows.

She’s not stupid. She knows that part of the reason he treats her the way he does—smiling, body relaxed, posture open—is to show the team, his team, that she is one of them. They can bring her into the fold. He is giving her his own seal of approval the best way he can.

They’re in Manila, backing up another IMF team, when it comes to a head.

Ethan is out doing what Ethan does best, which is to say, running down an agent like an idiot chicken with his head cut off, causing thousands of dollars in property damage as he does, and so it’s just Ilsa and Benji waiting for him at the extraction point.

Benji’s shoulders are hunched towards his ears as he guides Ethan through the winding market streets. A chill runs down her spine, and Ilsa puts her hand in between Benji’s shoulder blades and shoves down, just as a hail of bullets rains through the walls. She puts her body over Benji’s; she can barely hear him yelling directions at Ethan, the automatic rifles pounding through her ears.

She grabs her pistol and waits for a moment, but before she can return fire, a bomb goes off and Benji sighs.

“That’ll be Luther and Brandt. C’mon, we should get going before they come back.” Ilsa lets him help her up.

“Thank you,” Benji says.

“For what?”

“Saving me. I guess Ethan was right.”

She raises an eyebrow, and Benji huffs a laugh as he runs down the stairs to the idling van where Luther and Brandt wait for them.

“I can trust you with my life. Sorry it took so long.”

He slides the door open for her, ever the gentleman.

“I can’t say I blame you,” she says with a wry smile. “But I’m happy you’ve realized that. The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“What’re you yapping about? We’ve got places to go!” Brandt yips from the passenger seat.

“Oh, nothing,” Benji says as he slams the door shut behind him. “Just how I’ve finally confessed my undying love for Ilsa, and we’re going to elope in Vegas the second you turn your backs.”

Ilsa grins, toothy and bright, as Luther hits the gas and they all go flying down the road.

///

Benji is playing barista in the lobby while Ethan tries to break into the building from the roof. It’s been a whirlwind of activity since MI-6 officially “loaned” Ilsa to the IMF. In theory, she still owes her allegiance to Queen Elizabeth and Great Britannia; in practice, Ilsa has made a bubble for herself with Ethan’s merry band of men.

She sits shotgun in the utility van they’ve coopted as their mobile base. Brandt is behind the wheel. He’ll let anyone drive but her.

Ilsa turns off her radio and cuts him off before he can work himself up. “I know you don’t like me,” she says bluntly. “I don’t need you to like me. I don’t care, frankly, if you do. But I do need you to trust me, however little that may be.”

Brandt’s jaw clenches.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he starts. “You’re too good of an agent. To go undercover for two years, limited check-ins, almost no handling…. It’s hard. You sold it to Lane. You sold it to your country. How am I ever supposed to know if what you’re telling me isn’t a lie?”

“You were an analyst,” she says. “Analyze me.”

“That’s not my job on this team,” he grits out. “I don’t get to judge.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

It’s Ethan’s, goes unsaid between them.

“But you do it anyway,” she states.

His grip tightens on the wheel. For a spy, he’s doing a terrible job of masking his emotions. Then again, he has no reason to hide the fact that she makes him uncomfortable.

“I keep it to myself,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to. I thought that was the whole point of Ethan’s team. Being open with each other. It’s unnerving, I understand. I’m British, the stiff upper lip comes much more naturally. And in our line of work, trust can get you killed.”

Brandt turns to look at her finally, fully engaging in the game of wits they’re playing.

“Lane trusted you.” Ilsa scoffs. “Lane didn’t trust me. He needed my skillset and my access. ”

“Ethan trusts you.”

“Ethan Hunt is a good man. I would never do him harm willingly.”

“And unwillingly?” Brandt asks.

She shifts in her seat, redistributing her weight. She’s starting to lose feeling in her legs. They never do tell you how much of espionage is hurrying up to wait for hours on end.

“There are casualties. But I do not intend for Ethan to ever be one of mine.”

Brandt tilts his head back ever so slightly.

Approval.

“You can’t protect him forever, you know,” Ilsa tells him. “It’s not your job to keep Ethan safe. Ethan is more than capable of doing that himself.

“I let him down once before.”

“And you think he holds that against you? From what I’ve heard, he couldn’t care less about that. You played your part perfectly,” she says.

Ilsa quirks an eyebrow. “Unless… You’re still angry that he played you?”

Brandt looks away. Bullseye.

She wants to laugh, but it would be cruel. “We’re all pawns in the game, Brandt. We use each other and burn each other and leave and do it all again the next day. If you can’t handle that, then why are you still here? It’s messy out here in the field. Go back to your desk, be an analyst again. Do good work from there. ”

“Because I believe,” Brandt says. He reaches over and turns her comms back on, and that ends the conversation.

She understands. It’s as good as she’ll ever get from Brandt. Even the most cynical of agents would fall victim to it, Ilsa thinks to herself.

Ethan Hunt is a force of nature. It’s hard to go back to real life, once you’ve had a taste of him.

///

“I thought you were bad news,” Luther offers. They’re in Miami, fresh off of a flight from the middle of nowhere after thirty-six hours of running down the newest threat to global security. Ethan handed them all hotel room keys and told them to shower, sleep, and eat. Ilsa fell face-first into bed and slept until sundown.

After a shower and a selection of the best street food Little Havana had to offer, she and Luther returned to the hotel bar. They’re sipping daiquiris, watching the night life explode around them.

“I know,” she laughs.

“You remind me of a woman I used to know,” he says. “She was brilliant and smart, and Ethan loved her.”

“He’s too kind for the likes of us,” Ilsa replies.

“I didn’t like you. I didn’t want to. I’ve watched Ethan go down this road before. The last time I had to pull him out of it, I ended up scuba diving in the San Francisco Bay to retrieve an unexploded nuclear ordnance that nearly ended life as we know it.”

Ilsa sips at her daiquiri; the rum is making her cheeks flush. Benji told her this story on one of the long flights they took, crossing from one corner of the world to the next. She knows how it ends.

“I’m flattered that you think that, Luther, but—”

“I’ve known Ethan longer than anyone. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’m not. Ethan doesn’t let people in like he used to. I knew him when we were fresh-faced kids who didn’t know a goddamn thing. So when I tell you that Ethan has kept you here for a reason, I am telling the absolute truth.”

“Of course he needs me,” Ilsa says. “Otherwise you’d only have Brandt left to help keep him and Benji out of trouble, and where would that leave us?” she jokes, smiling easily with the alcohol in her system.

But Luther is stoic. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Don’t hurt him,” he says. It’s not an order, more of a request—an entreaty.

“I don’t mean to.”

“And that’s why you will, eventually.”

Ilsa watches the boats on the water, bobbing through the tides. The sails stand out bright against the inky darkness of the night.

“You all love him so much,” Ilsa says. “He can take care of himself.”

“He can,” Luther agrees. “But we care about him enough that he doesn’t have to do it himself.”

///

In her line of work, there is no such thing as personal space. Close quarters are simply an occupational hazard.

Why she’s ended up in the trunk of the getaway car, pressed on top of Ethan as they brace themselves against the walls with every wild turn that Brandt takes, she could not explain.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks. “I’m not squishing you, am I?”

“Ethan, I’m on top of you. I should be the one asking that question.”

“But I’d never tell if you were,” he says with a toothy grin. “I was married once. I know better than to say anything.”

In the space between breaths, he becomes solemn again. He’s probably seeing his wife’s face.

“Is she safe?” Ilsa asks.

“As safe as she can be, after being married to me,” Ethan answers.

“Not as safe as you’d like her, then.”

He smiles sadly. “If I had my way, I’d know where she was, locked away in a part of my brain that no one else could get to. Just for my own peace of mind, to know that she’s happy and alive. Thriving. That’s all I wanted for her.”

“But you can’t.”

“But I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” “Still,” she says. “I’m sorry. Our lives are not easy. But there are people who love you.”

“The best people in the world,” Ethan agrees.

“Doesn’t it ever grate on you? How they hover?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He stares at her. Even in the dark, his eyes are bright. “I understand why they do it. They mean the best, in their own ways.”

Brandt hits a curb, and Ethan’s arms circle her waist, pulling her to his chest to keep her from hitting the top of the trunk.

“Thank you,” she tells him.

She means it.

#mission impossible #ilsa faust #ethan hunt #benji dunn #luther stickell #william brandt #ethan x ilsa #lamby.fic

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hoochieblues · 3 months

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jane eyre handers for the wip meme?

Ty! This idea was entirely @aria-i-adagio's fault, but it tracks so well.

It's been very much on the back burner because gestures vaguely at everything but basically it's straight up Jane Eyre, chapter by chapter, except starring everyone's favorite blond bombshell apostate mage throwing lightning at people.

Lowood becomes a Circle Tower, and the themes of oppression/class structure/equality blend neatly with the universal Dragon Age themes of... well, oppression and (in)equality. Very on brand. Helen becomes Karl (until he dies of Tragic Hero Disease) and if Anders is Jane, of course Rochester has to be Garrett Hawke. Add in some Free Marches political wrangling and the whole 'trying-to-keep-baby-mages-secret' aspect of child guardianship... and then things get complicated.

Chunk o' chapter 1 under the cut.

________________________________

He was far away, lulled by the rain and floating on phantasms when the library door opened.

“Where’s the Ander?” Joven demanded. “Alora, did you see where he went? He’s not in here.”

Anders held his breath, clutched the edges of the book, and tried not to blink. He heard footsteps—the three of them, clustered at the door—and then Lissa gave an exasperated snort.

“He’s behind the curtain, you dolt. Look. Over there.”

Anders closed his eyes and wished a thousand horrible things would happen to her. Possibly all at once. He hugged the book tighter, and was still holding it to his chest like a shield when Joven ripped back the curtain. Anders opened his eyes and glared at the boy.

“What do you want?”

Joven’s broad, bullish face folded into a scowl. He turned to his sisters. “See how he speaks to me? The churl!” He smacked an open palm against Anders’ shoulder. “Say, ‘what do you want, messere.’ I’m Messere Reed to you.”

Anders made no effort to disguise the curl of his lip. But he’d go along with it, if it shut Joven up. “Fine. What do you want, messere?”

Lissa and Alora giggled. Lissa pushed her brother’s arm. “Are you going to let him talk to you that way, Jo? Truly?”

Like a cloud milling slowly over a hillside, realisation spread across Joven’s face, where it turned to indignation. His scowl deepened and he grabbed Anders by the back of his shirt.

“I want you to come here. Come here and address me properly.”

Joven had four years and a substantial size advantage over Anders. There wasn’t much way of resisting when he dragged him forcibly from the window seat and flung him to the ground. Anders caught himself on his hands. The book he’d been reading scuttered across the carpet, pages flying. The bright illustrations looked like jewels spilled on the floor.

“He was stealing a book, Jo,” Alora whined, pointing. “He shouldn’t even be reading our books. I don’t think he can read.”

She simpered at Anders. It was, despite her pristine good looks and perfectly curled hair, a deeply ugly expression.

Joven drew himself up to his full height, looking as imperious as he could manage, which didn’t bode well for his future as lord of the Reed estate. Anders tensed, waiting for the inevitable blow. He didn’t actually see Joven draw back his arm. That was surprising. Perhaps the boy’s martial training had been paying off. Maker, perhaps he’d even make it as a knight some day. The thought of that made Anders grin, even as his cousin’s closed fist struck the side of his head. Pain bloomed like a flame. Anders’ teeth snapped together, his jaw shaken and his bones jarred.

“That’s for being rude to me,” Joven announced. “And for your impudence to Mama. And this is for the look on your face when I spoke to you.”

His foot connected with Anders’ stomach. Anders hunched, dry-heaved, and fought the instinct to curl around the pain. He would not give them the satisfaction. Not until he had to. He swallowed the awful taste on his tongue and focused on breathing.

“You have no business taking our books!” Joven went on, grandstanding for the girls now. “Mama says you’re a dependent. Your filthy Ander father spent all your mother’s money and left you none. You ought to beg, not to live here with gentlemen’s children like us, eating the same meals we do, and wearing clothes our mama pays for.”

The girls giggled. Lissa scooped up the book and handed it to Joven. Anders glanced up to see him weighting it in his hand like a discus.

“Oh, no. No, don’t—”

“I’ll teach you to take my books. They are mine, you know. This whole house will belong to me in a few years, when Mama’s gone. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of the mirror and the windows.”

Anders shuffled back on his hands, but an idea was a precious thing. Once Joven had one in his head, perhaps because such an event was so rare, it was impossible to shift it again.

He’d made it only halfway to the door before Joven threw the book. Anders tried to duck, but it caught him in the side of the head, sharp corners first. The pain was immediate, wide and vast. A wet trickle slid down his temple.

The anger was familiar. Anders knew rage intimately, in all its forms: the kind that boiled up, hot and rapid; the kind that surged in a tide, coating everything it touched with salt and bitterness; and the kind that came down like light, like a blinding wash of something pure and bright, burning away his resistance. He’d been angry for years, angry with grief and sorrow and resentment, angry with injustice, with pain and irritation… but this time he felt it more deeply than ever. It burned in the twist of his gut, the ache of his teeth, the sting of his injured pride. It burned in the pulse of blood that dripped from his head, whispering with power and promise. And, when he raised his arm to shield himself from the next blow, it burned all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Something flared behind his eyes, under his skin. After that, Anders wasn’t sure what happened.

Alora screamed for the maids while Lissa grabbed a rug and tried to beat out the flames. Joven wailed and yelled as if he himself were on fire… Anders was mostly sure he wasn’t but, as he tried to get up and help, Joven let out a guttural yell and hit him again. He stayed down this time, as close to the ground as he could get, beneath the reach of the scalding rage and all the terrible things he might do. Beneath the fists and knees and curses.

Beneath the low and terrible song in the blood.

#my fic tag

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oldmanffucker · 5 months

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The Crew carries out 'Motor Vehicle Sundown (Event)' by George Brecht, from Fluxus' first publication, An Anthology of Chance Operations.

(this is a description of a group performance art piece) (click Read More to see the instructions for this event that the crew is performing)

To the unsuspecting passerby, delivery driver, neighbor, patron on the block or otherwise in the area, the street might look almost like the night sky - lights winking stars and airplanes. They might jump as the quiet bustle of the city block is suddenly and sporadically lit up with the syncopated sound of car horns and car doors and car trunks and car radios sounding or slamming or blaring. They might even be struck by the fact that, if they stand there long enough at their living room window, or on the sidewalk, or sit idling in their car, or glancing out the window from their low lit dinners, that the cacophony is almost…..melodious. Sounds almost orchestrated and looks almost choreographed. They may even furrow their brow in perplexity as their eyes and ears roam over all of these to see one, two…four people standing in various empty parking spots, shouting “HEAD LIGHTS.” “FOOT-BRAKE LIGHTS ONNNNNNNNN” (one person will hold the word for three seconds, another will speak it so quickly, “footbrakelightson” that it’s over in the space of a second). Someone will knock on their head, standing there on the asphalt, next to the parking meter, breath curling thick and visible from their nose and then, a few minutes later, slap their own cheek. Someone else will mime walking to the back of an invisible car (announcing as they open the door, open the trunk, close the trunk, close the door).

All the while, some car or another continues to flash its head lights (high beam, low beam, off. One second, four seconds, five seconds, two seconds, three seconds), someone in another car can be seen grinning widely, folding down the passenger seat - first quickly, then back up, then with moderate speed, then back up, then slowly, languidly, and back up.

And then, gradually (adagio), the cars and the people inside them will quiet and still, the block growing more and more hushed as each engine cuts, each body standing in the cold quits their shouting and their miming and their clamoring and simply stands, breathes.

It’ll be a few moments still before all the twinkling and honking and slamming ceases, and the silence will trickle into the consciousness of people participating, and they will each crane their necks and strain their ears to be sure that the symphony has ended, that every instrument has reached the double bar, every bow has stilled.

Then when they’re sure the conductor has lowered his baton, the doors will open one last time and the expectant, pregnant pause will burst with a whoop and a cheer and a watery laugh and a giggle and a “Jesus” and a “Babe you look freezing” from all directions.

If the unsuspecting passerby, delivery driver, neighbor, patron on the block or otherwise in the area had stayed this long, they may be inclined to clap for the performance. Or, they may simply shake their head and exhale though their nose and bury their hands deeper in their pockets and carry on toward home, wondering if any of that was really what it looked like, or if they simply got carried away in what might have always been the mundane beauty of the city streets at night.

[Note, Frenchie proposes that those who walked, biked, carpooled, or otherwise did not operate a car to get to dinner tonight will also get the cards, and they will walk to a spot where a car would be parked and they will instead shout the instructions rather than enact them.]

Transcription in image description.

#ofmd #text post #ceramics au #fic #fluxus #george brecht #prose #this is to me fanfic but its a deep cut lmfao

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tsevents · 8 months

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street fashion floods dongdaemun design plaza and nightclubs amp up for the last great afterparties of summer. with seoul fashion week just around the corner as the first event on the global fashion week calendar for the s/s 2024 season, the the goal is to go bigger and better than ever. to turn more eyes than ever to the event, a partnership with several management agencies based in seoul has been announced, not the least of which are the four companies calling the new the four building in seoul home.

seoul fashion week officially takes place from september 5 to september 9. unofficially, a kickoff brunch is being held the day prior, beginning the week in earnest for the celebrity masses of seoul. talent from adagio, culture creative, everlast entertainment, and secret garden have all been courted to take place in the event to help raise the event's profile. naturally, in exchange for front row seats at shows and top-tier access to all of the week's activities, the talent rosters of these companies, regardless of typical vicinity to the fashion industry, are expected to show up and participate in organized events and press calls.

event schedule:

the following are event highlights to prompt thread and plot setting ideas. this is not necessarily all-inclusive of all possible seoul fashion week-related settings that can be used for the event. everyone is welcome to explore the seoul fashion week website and related news for further ideas.

sept. 4 - marie claire korea brunch: hosted by the popular fashion magazine, the marie claire korea brunch will be held the day before fashion week kicks off. the brunch will be held at the rooftop event facilities of the four's northwest tour (housing adagio's offices and facilities). brunch will be prepared by private chefs and mixologists to launch the week off right. after taking the mandatory pictures at the small red carpet photo op area, the atmosphere will be fairly casual and attendees may mingle as they wish, though marie claire korea staff and fashion press will be present. attendees will include celebrities, social elites, designers, and fashion journalists. free goodie bags will be on offer from several brands, spanning beauty, jewelry, and food industries. as this brunch is held at the recently opening the four and is meant to spark the buzz for fashion week, attendance here will be most expected. sept. 5 - 9 - runway shows & exhibiton: a complete schedule of runway shows and the adsb andersson bell exhibition can be found here. a number of front row seats to each show will be dispersed among celebrity guests as seen fit, as will admission tickets to private visiting hours to the exhibition. it is common for brands to welcome celebrity guests to dinner or reception after the show. sep. 9 - dazed korea x ul:kin x cahiers seoul fashion week afterparty: as fashion week comes to an end, seoul collection brands ul:kin and cahiers join fashion magazine dazed korea to serve host to the most exclusive afterparty of the week at a high-end hotel and club venue in seoul. a night of dancing and djs, this is a guest list only party for seoul's top stars... and anyone else who might belong to a top seoul entertainment agency. after a week of photo ops and always being on, the afterparty promises to be a lively end to a busy week.

event prompts:

the following prompts can be completed until the end of the event. completion of each prompt will result in earning one booking point, for a total of up to five booking points. for ease of access, please tag completions of these prompts with #thefoursfw.

threads: complete at least five threads related to the event. each of the threads must be with a different muse and you must make at least three posts of your own towards each thread (starter / reply / reply or reply / reply / reply). this prompt may overlap with the other thread prompt below. new interactions: participate in threads with at least three muses your muse has not previously threaded with. you must make at least three posts of your own towards each thread (starter / reply / reply or reply / reply / reply). this prompt may overlap with the other thread prompt above. participation proposal: submit a proposal for your muse to be involved in seoul fashion week festivities in some way other than watching a runway show or attending the brunch or afterparty by using this form. feel free to get creative, as long as it can reasonably fit within the scale and budget of seoul fashion week. some example ideas are: modeling in a runway show, having a runway show for their own brand, giving an opening or closing ceremony performance, giving a performance as part of a runway show, djing an afterparty, acting in or directing a campaign film for a seoul fashion week brand, filming a fashion week vlog, etc. character development item: create and post a character development item related to the event. if the muse completes the participation proposal, this can be related to that. if not, you're welcome to make the item related to the skeleton of the event itself. some general example ideas for character development items can be found here. the source submission: submit an article, forum post, or blind item to the source blog related to the event.

ooc info

this event will run until saturday, september 16 at 6am kst (acceptance time). please tag event-related posts with #thefoursfw. participation in this event is optional, though encouraged.

#thefourevent #thefoursfw

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into-the-brekkerverse · 11 months

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Into the Brekkerverse Participants

Hello everyone! Today I am very pleased to announce a list of all participants in the competition!

A list of the Round One matchups will be up on the 20th.

A Night at the Crow by Bunnytrix

A Shift in the Air by Just_Another_Bookworm

Adagio by Whitherward [@whatanybodygets]

Band-aids on our Bullet Wounds by Patrocool (all_the_homo) [@patrocool]

Big Reputations by downn_in_flames [@downn-in-flames]

Condemn it to its Future by dimtraces

Hand on Gun, Knife to Your Throat by Celestial_Mess1

Helping Hand by boybi_i [@thatonecrowguy]

It's a Feeling of Distance by FullyRealized (WitchHobi) [@shounenoujojo]

Kaz Morningstar by MysticPirate [@theeladymystic]

Liberosis by foxykyuu15

Nothing's Changed At All by whynotcherries [@whynotcherries]

One for Sorrow by endoftheword [@endoftheworldhere]

Out of the Brambles by thegoldenkneazle

Plan F by bbeautifulboy [@bee-a-lover]

Stains That Don't Wash Out by SeeMaree

Sugar We're Going Down Swinging by animmortalist

Sweet Summer, Sweeter Company by Serene_Alien (Serene_Victory_77)

The Bastard Saint of the Barrel by Spikey44

The Crow King by boybi_i [@thatonecrowguy]

The Etovost Plague by Spikey44

We All Fall by Just_Another_Bookworm

With Bloody Feet Across the Hallowed Ground by madnessiseverything [@gunpowdersyrup]

#six of crows #into the brekkerverse #kaz brekker #competition info

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figureskatingfanblog · 1 year

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Early 23-24 Music Announcements

Men

Sihyeong Lee (KOR) - SP: Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve, performed by The Crown (choreo by Katherine Hill & Benjamin Agosto) ; Cloud by Elias (choreo by Joshua Farris)

Yaroslav Paniot (USA) - SP: choreo by Rohene Ward (unknown music atm); FP - The Show Must Go On (choreo by Katherine Hill and Benjamin Agosto)

Koshiro Shimada (JPN) - FP: Danse Macabre

Dinh Tran (USA) - SP: L.O.V.E

Juheon Lee (KOR) - FP: Game of Thrones (soundtrack)

Yuma Kagiyama (JPN) will be keeping his programs from the 22-23 season.

Women

Starr Andrews (USA) - SP: Alien Superstar

Hanna Harrell (USA) - SP: Malagueña (Electro); FP: Adagio in G (Epic)

Jill Heiner (USA) - FP: Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Audrey Shin (USA) - SP: Pina (soundtrack); FP: Skyfall

Rion Sumiyoshi (JPN) - SP: Blood in the Water (choreo by Misha Ge); FP: Enchantress

Ahsun Yu (KOR) - FP: The Queen’s Gambit (soundtrack)

Dabin Choi (KOR) - SP: Hymne L’Amour; FP: Lovers (Chuno OST)

Pairs

Valentina Plazas / Maximilliano Fernandez (USA) FP - Top Gun: Maverick (soundtrack)

Anastasiia Smirnova / Danylo Siiantsya (USA) - SP: Earned It by The Weekend (Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack); FP - Beneath Your Beautiful by Labrinth (ft. Emeli Sande)

Linzy Fitzpatrick / Keyton Bearinger (USA) - FP: Pirates of the Carribean (soundtrack)

Annika Hocke / Robert Kunkel (GER) will be reusing their 22-23 FP.

Sara Conti / Niccolo Macii (ITA) will be reusing their 22-23 FP.

Ice Dancing

Misato Komatsubara / Tim Koleto (JPN) - RD: Ghostbusters

#figure skating #music announcements #pairs skating

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themusicaldesk · 11 months

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The Truth About a Legend

By Leonard Bernstein

One day in 1962, I received a call from Glenn in Toronto. He was to play Brahms' D Minor Concerto with me and the New York Philharmonic the following week in Carnegie Hall. He said, "Oh boy, have I got some surprises for you; I have made such discoveries about this piece." I thought, "Well, wonderful." Any discovery of Glenn's was welcomed by me because I worshipped the way he played: I admired his intellectual approach, his "guts" approach, his complete dedication to whatever he was doing, his constant inquiry into a new angle or a new possibility of the truth of a score. That's why he made so many experimental changes of tempi. He would play the same Mozart sonata-movement adagio one time and presto the next, when actually it's supposed to be neither. He was not trying to attract attention, but looking for the truth. I loved that in him. A week before he was to come to New York, he made that call to announce that he had some really new ideas about the Brahms, and to prepare me for them. I said, "Along what order? You're not making a big cut? You're not taking a huge repeat that Brahms didn't write?" Because he had made it sound so extraordinary I didn't know what to expect. He said, "No, it's just a matter of tempo here and there, but I just want to warn you because you might be a little shocked." I told him nothing he could do would shock me because I knew him too well by now, and I was almost unshockable.He arrived and set forth three unbelievable tempi for the three movements. In the first place, they were so slow that the first movement alone took about as much time as it should take to play the whole concerto. It was all in six—the whole first movement had to be beaten in six. There was no sense of alla breve, which, of course, is the point of the movement—or, rather, there was no sense of that fine line between 6/4 in two and 6/4 in six. It's a kind of tightrope which you walk so that at any moment you can veer toward one side or the other—be more flowing, or be more sostenuto, whatever—according to the needs of the music. This, however, was no tightrope. This was having fallen off the tightrope into the safety net called adagissimo—and this for an allegro, mind you. I said I was perfectly willing to go along with it, pour le sport, so to speak, as maybe he had something there. . I also said that I thought we'd have an empty house before we got to the slow movement. Glenn laughed. "Wait till you hear how the slow movement goes, which is also in 6/4. It's exactly the same as the first movement's 6/4. It's just like repeating!" That was his major discovery: the two movements were really both aspects of the same movement, and therefore both—6/4's had to be the same. After an hour of this, we finally got to the finale, which is a 2/4 Hungarian thing, and no matter how much you hold back in the Hungarian manner, you can't possibly do it in four. It's a 2/4 thing, and you can subdivide or hold back all you want, but you can go only so far. I did forewarn the orchestra a little about this. I said, "Now, don't give up, because this is a great man, whom we have to take very seriously." There were some very odd looks when we began the rehearsal, but they were wonderfully cooperative and went right along with it. Of course, they did get tired: it was very tiring. After the rehearsal I asked him, "Are you sure you're still convinced about the 'slowth' of this piece ?" And he said, "Oh, more than ever; did you hear how wonderfully the tension built?"In those days, we had our first concert of each weekly series on Thursday night, which was a kind of dress rehearsal in which I talked to the audience. It was a chic night, the night to be there. You could never get a ticket for Thursday night. I sometimes had a piano, and illustrated points about the music being played as I do on a television show, all in order to bring the audience closer to the music. That night I thought, "What am I going to talk to them about?"—when obviously the main subject of the evening was going to be our performance of a Brahms concerto and Glenn's interpretation of it. So I said to Glenn backstage, "You know, I have to talk to the people. How would it be if I warned them that it was going to be very slow, and prepare them for it? Because if they don't know, they really might leave. I'll just tell them that there is a disagreement about the tempi between us, but that because of the sportsmanship element in music I would like to go along with your tempo and try it." It wasn't to be a disclaimer; I was very much interested in the results—particularly the audience reaction to it. I wrote down a couple of notes on the back of an envelope and showed them to Glenn: "Is this okay?" And he said, "Oh, it's wonderful, what a great idea." So I went out, read these few notes, and said, "This is gonna be different, folks. And it's going to be very special. This is the Glenn Gould Brahms concerto." Out he came, and indeed he played it exactly the way he had rehearsed it, and wonderfully too. The great miracle was that nobody left, because of course it had become such a thing to listen to. The house came down, although, if I remember correctly, it took well over an hour to play. It was very exciting. I never loved him more. The result in the papers, especially the New York Times, was that I had betrayed my colleague. Little did they know—though I believe I did say so to the audience—that I had done this with Glenn's encouragement. They just assumed that I had sold him down the river by coming out first to disclaim his interpretation. It was, on the contrary, a way of educating the audience as part of Thursday night's procedure. All this was not only misunderstood, but repeated and repeated and multiplied exponentially by every other newspaper that wrote about it. Then Harold Schonberg, the ex-chief critic of the Times who wrote the infamous review, wrote a Sunday piece in the form of a letter to "Dear Ossip"— Gabrilovitch, I assume. "Dear Ossip, you vill nyever guess vat last night in Carnyegie Hall hhappent!" sort of thing. The piece was based on this notion of betrayal. He has never let that notion die, and because it's so juicy it has undergone a kind of propagation all over the world. However, the "juicy" part is what did not happen. (For me, the juicy part is what did happen.) Of course, a defense is very weak, once a legend is born. It's rather like the Radical Chic Black Panther legend, which I can never seem to set straight. I have the feeling, even now, that trying to make this story about Glenn clear by telling the truth can't really erase the now legendary, but false, version. Glenn laughed about it. He has that kind—had that kind of ... (I can’t get used to this idea of putting him in the past tense)—Glenn had strong elements of sportsmanship and teasing, 'the kind of daring which accounts for his freshness, the great sense of inquiry which made him suddenly understand Schoenberg and Liszt in the same category, or Purcell and Brahms, or Orlando Gibbons and Petula Clark. He would suddenly bring an unlikely pair of musicians together in some kind of startling comparative essay. At some point, early on—I think when he was doing the Beethoven C Minor Concerto with me—Glenn and I were going to do some work at my apartment, so I invited him to dinner first. This was the first time Felicia, my wife, had actually met him. As you know, Glenn had a "cold complex." He had a fur hat on all the time, several pairs of gloves and I don't know how many mufflers, and coat upon coat. He arrived and began taking off all, or at least some of these things, and Felicia met and loved him instantly. "Oh," she said, "aren't you going to take off your hat?" He had a fur astrakhan cap on, and he said, "Well, I don't think so." At length, he did, and there was all this rotting, matted, sweaty hair that hadn't been shampooed in God knows how long. It was disappearing because it was so unhealthy. Before I knew it, Felicia—before "Have a drink" or anything —had him in the bathroom, washed his hair and cut it, and he emerged from the bathroom looking like an angel. I've never seen anything so beautiful as Glenn Gould coming out of that bathroom with his wonderful blond clean hair. There was a marvelous relationship that sprang up instantly between Glenn and Felicia which lasted through the years. I remember when during the summer of 1955—several years before we met Glenn—Felicia was waiting to give birth to our son, Alexander. The doctors had miscalculated, so we had an extra month to wait. It was June; there was a heat wave in New York; she was in her ninth month and very easily tired and disgruntled. One of the great sources of comfort to us during that month was Glenn's first recording of the Goldberg Variations which had just come out. It became "our song." Of course, the haircut Felicia gave Glenn didn't change his lifestyle at all. I remember we had a recording session a week after the dinner, and he had the fur cap and gloves back on along with all the rest of it. He'd whip the gloves off, record a few bars and then whip them on again, or he'd stop suddenly in the middle of a take and race downstairs to the men's room to nm his hands under hot water. He'd come back, gloves on, and start again. He was very unpredictable, but always very approachable. He had a strange combination of dogmaticism and great humor, which don't usually go together. The humor never, to my knowledge, went away. The one time I saw him on his own turf, so to speak, was when I was making a Canadian tour with the New York Philharmonic, and we stopped in Toronto. Naturally I had to call up Glenn. I went to see him at his apartment, which was a shambles— months of mail stacked up along with newspapers and test pressings. You had to pick your way between piles of things. There he was in the midst of all this, at his special Chickering piano, which he had prepared to sound rather like a fortepiano, or as much like a harpsichord as possible. I wanted to see his apartment and said, "Oh, this must be the bedroom," but he wouldn't let me go in—apparently it was an even worse mess. In any case, he said, "Let's go and do my favorite thing." So we went down and got into his car, he being wrapped up in all his furs and gloves and hats, with all the windows up, the heat turned on full blast, and the radio turned on to a good music station, also full blast. We drove around the city of Toronto, just listening to the radio and sweating. I couldn't stop sweating, but he loved it. I said, "Do you do this often?" He said, "Every day." This was a man who was fascinated by the Arctic and the North Pole. In fact, at that very time he was making the incredible documentary about the North. He'd been there twice and was just about to go again because he was so fascinated by it. For this man, who was so afraid of the cold, to be attracted to the cold, is a paradox that only twelve Freuds could figure out. Here was a man you could really come to love. We became very close friends, but when he stopped playing in public, I saw less and less of him. I regret that, because it was a real relationship, based on a mutual appreciation of the sense of inquiry. He had an intellect that one could really play against and learn from. He was about fifteen years younger than I, I think, but I never felt that he was my junior, in any sense. He was a real peer, in every sense. When he died, l just couldn't bear it. ©1983 Amberson Holdings LLC. First published in "Glenn Gould Variations – By Himself and His Friends", edited with an introduction by John McGreevy, Publisher: Quill, New York.

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moonlighthollowss · 2 years

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@disasterbri

<< Previous | Next >>

San Marashino, Uptown

Star: Gardenia, it’s so lovely to see you and Zircon come to our birthday party for Moon.

Gardenia: Well, Zircon and I were friends with Meteor and, as his friends and Moon’s godparents, we should at least see her on her eighteenth birthday! Star: Hah! You don’t say. We’ve got quite a lineup of guests tonight for the party.

Well, we have Adagio Glass from the Glass Inc. The San Maraschino Times will announce his engagement to our Moon after midnight tonight. Of course, the wedding will be a social event just like this party tonight.

Of course, you know the Crystal family, the founders of Landgraab Industries. Well, Pure Crystal is the true founder and her husband married into the family…

Snowe: Are you ready, Moon?

Moon: Ready as I’ll ever be. Too bad I’ll have to leave this wardrobe behind.

Snowe: I mean, you can buy new clothes.

Moon:Still, all the memories I have of this city are irreplaceable. I’ll miss my room.

Snowe: We should get going before the reporters for the engagement pictures come.

Moon: Right, let’s get out of here.

Cinnabar: Hands up! All of you! This is a robbery!

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sophfandoms53 · 2 years

Note

I just realized that at least half of those voice actors from the new Sonic show were also on Friendship is Magic. Ashleigh Ball is the most obvious one, but there's a few other names I recognize from that show.

I NOTICED THAT TOO LMAOO

Ashleigh Ball (Rainbow and AJ), Shannon-Chan Kent (Pinkie’s singing VA) and Kazumi Evans (Rarity & Luna’s singing AV, also Adagio) are the big ones I noticed, but Brian Drummond and Vincent Tong have had their fair share of voices on FIM too.

I’m googling stuff as I type this and omg even Ian Hanlin was in FIM as Sunburst.

So legit 6 out of the 8 ppl in the cast that have been announced have all been in Friendship is Magic. That is both amazing and hilarious.

They’re all good voice actors and I so look forward to their performances.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic prime #mlp fim #mlp

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kissmeau · 1 year

Note

👁️ …my muse describes the way your muse looks.

👂 …my muse describes the way your muse sounds.

🫱 …my muse describes the way your muse feels.

👃 …my muse describes the way your muse smells.

👄 …my muse describes the way your muse tastes.

I want the full ride for Astra 😈👀

@distopea | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒

Even the doorknob felt familiar against his palm, a specific chilliness he had been used to with no recognition. It was all the same, the smell of old and new books, the shine of the furniture, and the natural illumination from the big square window. Yellow color bathing Astra like fresh honey out of its hive, capturing him to turn him into the Queen. He had been born to rule, Autumn thought when he peeked at the smile welcoming him.

It was a genuine smile. The mask was off, and the show ended; Autumn entered the same office, but someone else was sitting behind that desk. Same silhouette, same shapes, same factions, but uncovered from lies. Finally, it had come the time Autumn could appreciate the blonde as he was: a brutal riot behind a chill cascade, in which he would gladly shower despite the savagery in the background, as Anthony —Astra could be valued as a shelter made of the most robust wood.

"You misplaced the books. Again." Autumn set his insincere complaint, tracing his fingers through the authors before picking one book and organizing it. "I'm not your help anymore; I'm a student. But I can't resist myself from old habits." An adagio melody eclipsed the room; it was Astra's laughter. His voice was in a perfect tempo for each situation, never overwhelming a single nook, an almost mathematical vibration to create the perfect strike for a man expecting a precise response.

Unluckily for Astra, Autumn had learned by heart the waltz of his steps. Before he could trap him face facing the library, Autumn turned, cusping his face to refrain him from what was on his mind. "I'm not the only one who can't resist old habits, huh?" It was a tender smile but never as delicate as the kisses Autumn started to deposit on his neck. Astra's skin felt like the first warm blow of the wind during spring, announcing the end of a severe winter.

Autumn drew his breath against Astra's earlobes when he held his leg and pressed him against the collection of books. Astra's grip was of a jeweler having a unique stone at the tip of his fingers: smooth, sophisticated, and rather graceful but firm enough to avoid the loss of the finest treasure. To be in Astra's hands felt kaleidoscopic; the changes in the pattern would be eternal, but there was the guarantee of beauty in his confinement.

Astra bit at his neck; Autumn rolled his eyes from the pleasure of being owned by him, moving his head in the direction of the pain, seeking more. The strands of blonde hair caressed his nose, liberating the aroma of slow-burning wood. Autumn inhaled the odor as if it had become his oxygen to live. Astra's scent was permanently shut by other smells in the surroundings, but that sublime combination of pine and carnation would be detected by Autumn in a room full of people. No one more than Astra could smell hard and soft, rough and delicate, pungent and sweet, furious and clement.

"Dearest, hey." Pet names were new between them; better said, they were now free from mocks and fighting over dominance. They came naturally, genuine, warmly, and rampaging Autumn's heartbeat like a parade, patting a few gasps out of him. "We can continue at your place. My first class begins soon." Astra's thumb played on Autumn's lips, looking at them with adoration and eagerness, but he was a man that understood duty. But duty and desire are concepts that don't get along well, and Autumn is much less patient than him. He took the finger between his teeth and then spat it out. "Fuck that. I want a kiss. Give me a good luck kiss." Astra waited, smirking, not giving in, not letting him go, keeping Autumn as prey that had to battle for his release.

"... Please."

Astra tasted like an addiction. He was an intoxicating substance flowing through Autumn's veins. Too good to deny him; he is entirely evolving. He had gone without his kisses for a long time, and Autumn felt in withdrawal. Now, back in his arms again, Autumn could taste the hectic danger, fire near gasoline, absolute devastation, the stampede of wild horses, and the fall into the ocean's depth.

But Autumn didn't mind at all.

The taste of destruction was much better than the taste of cessation.

#distopea #I have also been destroyed by this #if you want to find me I'll be one with rocks #I have no more emotions left #❜ «Astra/Autumn» ❛

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vettelsvee · 6 days

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✷ 　　　　 ·

　 ˚ * . HI, WELCOME TO VEE'S FORMULA 1 SERIES MASTERLIST

IMPORTANT INFO YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW!

i try to post as much as i can. however, if my busy university student schedule doesn't let me, i apologize in advance. also, english is not my first language, so there can be mistakes (feel free to let me know about them!)

most of my series have more than ten parts.

i work with both reader (you read the story as if you were the main character) and oc (original character, created by me). you can get to know about my oc here!

for now, history, adagio for two and just like you are available on my wattpad account in spanish.

some of the series will have extra content in form of one shots, interviews, blurbs, etc. because i like expanding my very own universes quite a lot (sorry!)

if you wanna be tagged to some series’ taglist just let me know on private message, anon or comments

feedback, comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! don’t be afraid to let me know your opinions, i don’t bite <3

꒱࿐SEBASTIAN VETTEL

HISTORY SERIES | seb x fem!oc (face claim: emma stone) ⋆ documentary style with a total of 15 seasons seb, not long before he announces his retirement, is offered by apple tv the opportunity to do a documentary alongside his wife about their formula 1 journey. even if it is a bit contradictory to his beliefs of having a private personal life, it is required due to the hard criticism both him and his wife, diana, had to face during their whole carreers, especially at the beginning of them and, of course, when they both met. everyone loved the paddock royalty, but there was no secret that they were, for years, the villains of a story full of secrets, lies and manipulation.

TWO IN A PLAN SERIES | rbr seb x jenson gf!reader x jenson ⋆ fake dating, unwanted pregnancy jenson's gf gets pregnant and, for the moment, needs to hide it from jenson himself. seb's gf breaks up with him over a phone call a few days before meeting the vettels, and he needs to find a fake gf. will they be able to help each other keep their secrets, or will their mutual plan end up being a disaster they might not regret as much as they should?

ADAGIO FOR TWO SERIES | aston martin seb x violinist fem!oc (fc: victoria bronova) ⋆ divorce, cheating, friends to lovers, slow burn romance, age gap

MORE COMING SOON!

꒱࿐OSCAR PIASTRI

JUST LIKE YOU SERIES | oscar x fem!oc ⋆ mclaren intern, grumpy x sunshine claire webber, mark webber's niece, has a mental breakdown and is so confused about what her life would be after university that she decides to follow her biggest role model's steps and she becomes mclaren's engineering intern - only for her to hate that australian guy who's uncle represents, oscar piastri.

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