#Allegro/Adagio

[theficpusher]

Know What You Need by nonsensedarling | E | 3805 Harry always thinks he knows what he needs, but Louis knows better.

Fellowship of Eroda by SadaVeniren | E | 5367 “Join our DnD game,” Niall had said. “It’ll be fun,” Liam had said. Neither of them had thought about the fact their DM was Harry Fucking Styles. Though in fairness they didn’t know the full history behind him and Harry Fucking Styles. aka Louis may have had a four night stand with Harry and now he's stuck in a DND campaign with him

Three Cheers for Involuntary Attraction by checkthemargins | E | 7870 The one where Nick is accidentally dating Louis.

Allegro/Adagio by coffinofachimera | E | 9082 Harry sets out to provoke Louis when he fails to give him sufficient attention.

Fuck U Betta by jacaranda_bloom | E | 11438 There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst. OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

Why we can't have nice things by SilverStuff50 | E | 12100 "Lou has gone home," he muttered. "I tried to persuade him to come back but he's fed up of being constantly whined at." He looked pointedly at Harry, who huffed and shrugged. "Excuse me Liam, I wasn't whining," Harry whined. "He had a dig at me remember." Liam shook his head tiredly, and guided a now slightly limp Zayn over to the sofa. "It wasn't a dig Harry," he said quietly as Zayn snuggled into him and glared at Harry again, before nuzzling into his boyfriend's chest. "You were complaining about your ex and all Louis said was that he Dommed you badly. You were literally saying the same yourself a second before. He was agreeing with you." "He said I was brat!" Harry shouted, standing up now, indignant. "You are a fucking brat!" Zayn's voice was a bit muffled into Liam's chest but Harry could hear the anger in his voice. OR Harry is being a brat. He knows it, his friends know it, and most of all, Louis Tomlinson knows it.

Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice by harriblou | M | 13487 “You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.” Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing. “You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

Death Wish by Speechless | E | 22067 Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

PA [Series] by whoknows | E | 59243 Harry doesn’t think of himself as a womanizer, not at all. Sure, he enjoys sex, enjoys how women feel underneath him, and by some people’s standards he has sex with quite a lot of people, but that’s no reason to tell him that he can’t have a female PA anymore. It’s especially no excuse for giving him a male PA who’s possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world who won’t even let Harry look at him for too long. Sometimes Harry hates his life.

[moonbeam-dragon]

Thank you, Thomas!

Today was my birthday. I just turned 16. My sibling got me a Roleslaying with Roman poster and it was signed.

You probably didn't know who it would go to and you probably won't see this. But thank you, Thomas! This was my favorite present.

[3rdblah]

Every chapter three character better come back, yes that is a threat

[roleslayingweek]

Day 6

Today's prompts: Family and the Fey!

[bendghey]

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all who celebrate from my OC family! 🎅🏻🎄

[qstarhalo]

Oh Gentle Heart Lamb, we're really in it now

[colours-inthedark]

gahhh this is adorableeee <3

Dog Musical Terminology

[aicollider]

Master Yoda composes Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98 with Brahms

YODA: Ah, young Brahms, struggling you are with Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98. A wise decision to seek my guidance. Together, we shall compose a masterpiece. BRAHMS: Master Yoda, I am honored to have your assistance. I am particularly struggling with the structure of the symphony. How should I approach the movements? YODA: A symphony, always a journey it is. Understand the structure, you…

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hi! I have a question, how do I write the movements of a ballerina? I'm writing a novel and now I'm at the part where my protagonist is dancing ballet for an audience in the theater. Could you help me with how to write her movements? I'm in doubt about how to write this

Some Ballet Vocabulary

Adagio: “Slow tempo.” In ballet, a tempo in which the dancer moves slowly and gracefully.

Allegro: “Brisk tempo.” In ballet, a tempo in which the dancer moves briskly and excitedly.

Allongé: “Elongated.” An adjective used to describe poses that are stretched and elongated, like an arabesque.

Arabesque: A pose in which the dancer stands on one leg—either straight or demi-plié, and either flat-footed or en pointe—while extending the other leg straight behind at a right angle. The shoulders are square with the arms held to create a long line from fingertips to toes.

Arriére: "Backwards." A move that indicates backwards movement or motion.

Ballón: “To bounce.” A light jump. Used to indicate the delicacy of the movement or jump.

Chaseé: To slide.

Elevé: A rise upward onto the toes.

En l’air: "In the air." Indicates a movement or leg position that is held in the air.

Fondu: To melt (a melting action).

Frappé: To strike (like lighting a match on the floor).

Glissade: To glide.

Jeté: To throw.

Pas de deux: A “dance for two,” or duet, in classical ballet.

Petit saut: A small jump.

Pirouette: A complete turn of the body on one foot, either turning inward or outward, with the body centered over the supporting leg, the arms propelling the turn but remaining stationary during the turn, and the eyes “spotting” a fixed point while the head quickly turns.

Promenade: A slow pivot of the body while standing on one leg.

Rèvèrence: “Bow”. Traditional port-de-bras and port-de-corps showing respect and gratitude to the ballet master or audience.

Tournant: “Turn.” A term paired with a movement to indicate a body turn.

Variation: A solo in classical ballet.

Although ballet actually began in Italy, it was formalized in France in the 17th century. Ballet terminology has remained largely in the French language. Ballet dancers across the world learn and can communicate with this universal ballet vocabulary.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Dance

Hope this helps with your writing! If I wasn't able to include the right words you need, you can go through the sources. Still, remember your readers when describing the scene — perhaps some of them might not be familiar with these terminologies.

[gentlemean]

I present to you: The Whitegull River Symphony.

A classical symphony in four movements, inspired by @thesiltverses! The most recent episode swept me away in a river of creative inspiration, and I couldn't help but follow this stream to whatever murky depths it wanted to take me.

Creative thoughts and details beneath the cut.

The Whitegull River Symphony is written in f-Minor for a full symphonic orchestra. My rendition was created in FLStudio, using Spitfire's BBC-Symphonic-Orchestra plugin, as I am just one mediocre violinist without an entire orchestra at hand.

First Movement: River Angels, Allegro Assai

The first movement is dominated by the steady rhythm of the celli and violae, who act as the slow waves of our murky river. Among these waves, the faithful have prepared a sacrifice. Their hopeful prayers flick aross the water in the first half of the movement, and are answered by the scutteling, chittering spawn of the river in the second half.

Second Movement: Pilgrimage of the Prophet, Adagio

In the second movement, we focus entirely on our favorite little prophet (whose brilliant performance inspired me to make this. The existence of this symphony is your fault, @sassylich). He marches on through the silt with slow steps, while the clarinet plays his theme. His little schemes behind the scenes are played by the string section, the obvious warning signs are announced by the horns. Nevertheless: In the end, everyone is playing his tune.

Third Movement: The Withermark, Andante

And here we go, the river's might is unleashed. The angels of the river god approach unstoppably, drawn here by the prophet: His clarinet is setting the tune for the overwhelming wrath of the trawlerman. Nothing can stand in its way, but after the tides have calmed, new life can grow in their wake.

Fourth Movement: Katabasis, Allegro Assai

Katabasis, the descent into the depths. Nothing escapes the greedy maw of the Trawlerman, nobody can float above, untouched. All the instruments we've hear so far return, desceding into the roiling depths of the bassline. This is not a comforting or hopeful ending, this is an apocalypse.

[nihiltism]

context nico is a Ghost Put Into A Body That Is Not His and therefore he has all the memory and some quirks of Some Kid He Isn't and while i think this is Very interesting because it gets me into interesting thought spirals like "ok but what Would define him as himself wheres my line between brain and soul" and "Can You Get Autism Grafted Onto You" i also feel like this is probably a parallel to a disorder that i dont know the name of

my oc allegro (and adagio by proxy) 🤝 my oc nico

these are not supposed to be actual portrayals of any kind of mental disorder and I think if I said they were I would be doing those communities a disservice with my portrayals of them. that said the way a brain works isn't something I can make up and really shouldn't so I'm doing research on mental disorders similar anyway despite these guys having Fantasy Problems. and I'm in between a rock and a hard place here because these guys are Not representation and I don't Want them to be coded as any kind of disorder but they're already similar enough to them that if I just make shit up instead it'll look like bad representation instead of Not representation

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 8: FM Static

Bearblr Promptober Day 8: Autumn Leaves

Summary: In which Carmen has a panic attack in front of his girlfriend for the first time.

Warnings: Panic attack, swearing, trouble breathing, mentions of vomiting, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described) in mind, she/her pronouns.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

GIF by @hotch-girl

08 Oct 2024

The wind sounds different through autumn leaves.

It’s high pitched, crisper. Bit like an out-of-tune radio. Less an adagio, more an allegro. The skittering sound they make as they somersault across the sidewalk has quickly become one of my favorites to pick out among street noise, so much so that I’ve begun walking home without headphones in, something my girl isn’t thrilled about because car horns and sirens will fuck up your hearing pretty bad. But it’s just for the fall, while the leaves are crunchy and tumbling around. Not like a kitchen is a quiet place to work, either.

She tucked my hair behind my ear.

“I’d love to know what you’re smiling about, sweetheart,” she said.

“Just. Sound of the leaves,” I said, gesturing to the few cartwheeling across the trail in front of us.

We were taking a walk in the park near my apartment on a Sunday morning, before it got too busy. She does this thing where she hugs my arm and intertwines our fingers while we’re out. At first, I thought it was to stop my nervous fidgeting, but she likes tracing her thumb back and forth over the inside of my wrist, over the scar on my palm, so I think it’s sort of her form of nervous fidgeting, you know?

“Yeah?”

I could hear her smiling.

“Does it help at the restaurant, sweetheart?”

“Finding sounds to focus on?”

“Mmhm.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know? I-I still get really wound up. I still forget to breathe. Sometimes, it feels like my stomach is turning inside out. Sometimes, it feels like I’m going to explode, but I don’t, but then I hurl after service.”

Her eyebrows crinkled together. “Oh. Oh, honey, that sounds terrible.”

I nodded, tried to say something about the leaves to keep the conversation moving, but the words got caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut. Wriggled my hand out of her grasp to press my palms to my cheekbones as the sights and sounds of the kitchen invaded. Doors. A dropped plate. Refire these steaks, 8 minutes behind, get the fuck back to work, call outs, chefs, keep the pace up, every second counts. My chest tightened, throat killed, head swam, and the leaves—they sounded too far away. And it was too warm, it was always too fucking warm. Pressure on my shoulders that I yielded to. Someone was talking to me, who the fuck was trying to talk to me?

“…can hear me, you’re in the park,” she murmured. “You’re not at work, sweetheart. It’s Sunday, you’re taking a walk in the park.”

Something about her voice didn’t seem real, okay? It was this ethereal, weightless thing, not because of its pitch or volume, but because of how effortlessly it flowed. It existed separate from the grimy, gritty, loud, bright, boiling world, from my dry and oily skin, from the callouses on my hands from the knives, from the jagged pain that threatened to burst through my spine. It was somewhere else. She was from somewhere else. My sky would fall on her. I was the other shoe.

This is where she leaves, right?

Cold hands clamped around my wrists. “Carmen? Carmen, baby, you’re not breathing. I need you to breathe.”

That prompted me to empty my lungs and heave for air. My heart pounded so hard, I was convinced she could see it, my head spun, I couldn’t seem to get enough air in, it was a million degrees, my teeth hurt. She pried my hands back, something rough and papery hit my fingers.

“Can you tell me what that feels like, Carmen?”

“Don’t call me that, Nat!” It hissed out between my teeth before I could stop it. A vice clamped on my throat, and then I couldn’t breathe. Fuck. Why couldn’t I breathe? Why was the world still dark? Where the fuck even was I?

Hands sized my jacket lapels and shook me. “Breathe!”

I gasped for air.

“Good. Good. Keep breathing, sweetheart.” Something dull and cold on my chest. Her hand? “You’re okay. You’re okay, I promise. You’re safe.” The papery thing touched my hand again. “Keep breathing. There you go.”

It hit me that I’d just had a panic attack in front of her, and my stomach flipped. She kept the thing pressed against my hand while also rubbing circles over my chest. I pinched it between my fingers. Tried to. My hands were trembling so bad that I couldn’t tell if I was holding it or if she was. Some kind of a ridge. Another. Another.

“Uh, ridges?” Fuck me, I sounded like I was about to cry.

It took her a second to respond. “Mmhm. Ridges. What else can you feel?”

I felt along the edges. Skittering sound of the wind blurred into my periphery. “It’s a maple leaf.”

“Mmhm.”

It snapped when I bent a lobe of the leaf. Disintegrated into nothing when I rubbed it between my fingers. I blinked my eyes open, squinted against daylight. Then realized the ground took up too much of my view. How long had I been crouched on the gravel?

“S-sorry. Sorry. Shit, um…” Where. The fuck. Are my words?

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m-I’m-I’m getting better, I promise.”

“I believe you.” She finger-combed my hair off my forehead. “Do you want to take your jacket off for a few minutes? You’re really warm.”

Yeah. Yeah, that was a good idea. I hauled myself up, she followed, I shrugged off my jacket, cold air slammed into me like a physical thing because I was sweaty, and, as if abruptly awoken by my alarm, the rest of the world snapped into focus. Distant traffic, arguing birds, a barking dog, conversations that I couldn’t make out, solid ground, frozen spots on the backs of my shoulders, my sides, singing of a wind chime. FM static from the leaves. I needed to hold her? Don’t know what came over me, but I needed to hold her, and it took her by surprise because she made a cute little squeak when I pulled her in for a hug. She smoothed her hands over my back, pressed a kiss to my neck. Her nose was cold.

“Do you feel like talking about it?”

“No.” I responded too fast. “No, I’m-I’m gonna freak out again.”

She kissed my shoulder. Swayed me gently. “That’s okay. Maybe we try decompressing for now, hm?”

I nodded. Turned the broken leaf over and over in my fingers as she held me.

“Um, tell me a story?”

Another kiss to my shoulder. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”

“Um. I don’t know, something that makes you happy.” It still came out sounding like a question.

She drummed her fingers along my back for a few long moments while she hunted for one. “So, my mom has this dog, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“She’s a rescue, so we don’t know what breed she is, but she’s tiny. Minuscule. She’s like 8 pounds soaking wet, right?”

“Wow. Really tiny.” I watched some leaves flip around as they blew by.

“She loves the fall because, uh, my mom will rake up the leaves in the backyard into this big pile.” She wandered a cold hand into my hair, and my eyes drifted closed. Fuck, it felt good. “And she has to go barreling full speed into the pile,”—I started laughing—“like not jumping into it, she just sprints through it, and they go flying. And she’ll just do that over and over and over again, having the time of her life. And then my mom will rake them back into a pile the next day, and off she goes. It is. So fun to watch.”

“It does sound fun.” I squeezed her tighter, almost felt like we couldn’t be close enough, almost like I needed her hands on my skin. Maybe she understood, because moved her hands to either side of my neck. Stroked my throat with her thumb.

She pulled back enough to meet my gaze. “You’ll have to visit her, yeah? See Cookie running through the leaves.”

“The dog’s name is Cookie?”

“Yes. She’s teeny and she’s got sandy colored fur with some brown spots like a chocolate chip cookie. So, we named her Cookie.” She kissed my forehead. “My mom’s cool. Promise. But feel free to mull it over.”

I nodded.

Tried not to think about what meeting her mother meant for us because if I did, then it meant something horrible would follow. It always did.

[3rdblah]

May I offer you a lil Roleslaying theory paying zero dollars of rent in my head?

Ok so bc I’m Most Definitely Not Normal I was scrutinizing chapter 3 and found something

Y’all notice something in the reference art for the ballet ninjas?

What about here, in this shitty screenshot of their corner of the poster?

That’s right

Allegro is the only one who doesn’t look like she’d tear your balls off no questions asked

The artists drew Adagio and Prima looking like they’re itching to fuck someone up, but give Allegro a different expression. TWICE. Coincidence, idk but PROBABLY NOT

What does any of this nonsense mean, you ask? What is anyone supposed to do with it? Why did I find it important enough to share?

lmk if you find an answer to any of those questions, I’m looking too

[gasparodasalo]

Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) - Concerto grosso for 2 Violins, Cello, Strings and Basso continuo in d-minor, Op. 3 No. 11, RV 565, I. Allegro - Adagio e spiccato - Allegro. Performed by Trevor Pinnock/The English Concert on period instruments.

[quiet-onset]

love and starlight

pairing: luca x black!reader

summary: you finally meet your long-distance boyfriend, luca.

wc: 496, you're welcome

a/n: my man, my man, my man!!! someone scream with me, thanks.

“Woah.”

“What?”

“The stars.”

Luca would never get enough of the wonder that shone in the irises of your brown eyes. He’d never seen beauty so brazen, so outrageous since he discovered the beauty of the kitchen. Even still, that beauty was different — people moving into and around each to create the perfect dish, the best presentation, before being whisked away to the customer. That beauty was like a symphony, growing louder and louder only to be met with an uneasy silence at the end. A long pause until the song repeated its first notes, orders in and chefs working once more.

Your beauty was another deal entirely. It was of another realm. You whose smile made his heart beat twice as fast, adagio to allegro. There was no abrupt silence, no uneasiness. No pressure in waiting to hear if the customer liked the dish. No head chef to tell him he’d been moving too slow or too fast. Just you, lighting up his world so bright even the sun seethed in envy.

He’d underestimated his feelings from behind a computer screen, the distance between you and him tricking him, luring him into false security. To be fair, Marcus tried to warn him — she’s larger than life in person, he’d said. And Luca heard, but he hadn’t really listened. If he had, his heart wouldn’t be putty in your hands when you finally met face to face two days ago.

“What about them?” Luca asked, hands pushed deep in his pockets. He waited with a smile until your head finally turned back down from the cosmos to his eyes. “The stars?”

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. Can’t be if it makes you happy.”

Another smile, bashful this time, on your lips. You kicked a rock across the pavement. “It’s just… I’ve never really seen stars. Not like this, in person.”

Luca was only slightly taken aback, his brow raised. “Really?”

“Lights are too bright in Chicago. ‘S all you can see.” You shrugged. “And I’ve never really been anywhere rural—”

“You think Copenhagen is rural?”

“I meant in the states.” You laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully.

“I know what you meant.” He added with a chuckle. “Couldn’t really see the stars in London either. I think ‘s called light pollution or something.”

“Fuck light pollution.”

“Agreed.”

You tilted your head back up to stare at the stars, wishing that you’d paid attention in your astronomy class in college. Maybe then you’d be able to point out at least one constellation. The stars didn’t care either way. They sparkled bright, maybe even brighter than usual, just for you. You brushed a stray braid behind your ear as you slowly spun around, gazing into the night sky. “‘S really pretty.” You commented, mostly to yourself.

Luca didn’t look at the stars. Only at your eyes, at the reflection of starlight on your brown skin. “Agreed.”

Then and there, the stars bore witness to true, unashamed love.