#Alleviated Records and Music

[entheo-music]

Larry Heard - And So I Dance

[wildflowercryptid]

to the person who took the time to go through defoko's crunchy voice files and make a vcv bank for them : i am getting down on one knee and kissing your hand oh so tenderly.

[iamlisteningto]

Larry Heard's Love's Arrival

[taesanrot]

[heavy] sunghoon x f!reader | 2.1k words exes to lovers, second chance, angst syn. ever since you broke up with your long term boyfriend, park sunghoon, he's been heavy on your mind. foolishly, you try to move on, but seeing him at a party reminds you why you can't let him go. note. i've been wanting to start a series based on songs i've been listening to recently! this is the second and hopefully not last fic in this collection lol. also this was kinda supposed to be a implied college au but im now realizing the setting is kinda vague so imagine it as you like :)

now playing: heavy by the marías

"cause i don't wanna be in love with another, even in another life."

sipping your drink, you wished so dearly to drown out the memories that played in your head like a broken record.

you were fine. everything was fine. you told yourself what you told everyone.

you were done with park sunghoon. it was for the better.

but even the loud drunken screams from your friends and the even louder music at this party couldn't make the words in your head stop playing over and over. you closed your eyes and tilted your face to the ceiling.

...

"let's go our separate ways." your emotionless voice contrasted with your tear streaked cheeks.

"y/n, what? what do you mean?" sunghoon's voice shook with confusion.

"i mean, let's break up."

"break up? baby i'm not breaking up with you over this." he stepped forward to grab your hand but you just crossed them in front of your chest.

"i'm tired of fighting! we're clearly not right for each other." your voice almost broke at the end, making sunghoon want to cry.

"couples fight all the time, you know we've both been really stressed lately, let's talk about this another time. when we're both feeling better." he tried and tried to reason with you, but your mind was set, and both of you knew that.

...

you felt stupid, then and now. it had been one month since you'd last seen your ex boyfriend, and you were a wreck. foolishly, you'd blamed everything going wrong on him, thinking that getting rid of your relationship would alleviate your stress. but sunghoon left a gaping hole in you, and suddenly it was like you were frozen.

the pain was unbearable, bu you were stubborn. you kept your head up, moving through night and day. you were a shell of yourself, but you were still standing.

you began to go out, your friends dragging you out of your apartment in an effort to cheer you up.

you tried and tried to move on. but talking to other guys made you feel sick. they didn't have his fluffy hair, his cute and pointy smile, or his pretty voice.

tonight was the same, you nursed a drink in your arms as you tried to forget everything.

"what are you thinking about, pretty?" you opened your eyes, nearly dropping your drink in shock as you turned towards the voice. you were face to face with a taller boy. he had dark hair and even darker eyes.

"nothing." you weren't going to get into your ex with a random guy at a party.

"i'm jisung, by the way." you smiled slightly as he introduced himself, trying to be polite. he seemed sweet enough, but you wished you were doing anything but talking to a flirty guy right now.

"i'm y/n." you replied, struggling to maintain your sanity and composure with the alcohol flowing in your veins. you kept up conversation for a bit longer, making an excuse that your friend was sick so you could finally make your escape.

finding your best friend, yunah, you tapped her shoulder to get her attention away from the music.

"y/n? what's up?" she grabbed your hand as she spoke, swinging it back and forth drunkenly. you smiled, gesturing to the back door.

"gonna go sit outside, need some air." she nodded and waved as you walked away.

what neither of you saw was sunghoon. he'd arrived not more than 15 minutes ago, with his friends jake and heeseung.

"dude, is that who i think it is?" jake blurted the moment they walked through the door. the 3 boys watched you talk to some taller guy with dark blue hair. sunghoon wished he didn't care, but truthfully he couldn't look away.

you were beautiful, wrapped in a black dress. you always looked angelic to him, always making his stomach burst with butterflies.

looking at you right now, his stomach was burning with a different emotion. he was green with envy watching another guy flirt with you when you should've been with him. the only thing that quelled his dread was the look on your face. he could see from miles away how uncomfortable you were, arms crossed tensely and face painted with a fake smile, one that didn't reach your eyes.

sunghoon wanted to be a respectful ex-boyfriend. he didn't contact you. he gave you your space after your breakup, even though he knew how stupid your fight was. he loved you, enough to respect what you wanted.

but watching you duck away from the blue haired boy and walk out the back door, sunghoon couldn't stop himself. he downed the rest of his drink, wincing at the burning feeling his throat before pushing through the crowd to get to the back door.

the night air soothed the growing dread within you a bit, but you were still left with a nauseating feeling. the same one you always felt when you talked to guys that weren't him.

slumping against the fence, you held your head in your hands, combing your fingers through your hair roughly. dizzily, you crouched on the ground, wishing you could just disappear. or even better, teleport to your bed.

“y/n?” your reaction was delayed as you slowly searched for the source of the voice.

in all his glory, park sunghoon stood before you, looking down at your crouched figure with concern.

“god, sunghoon. what are you doing here?” you groaned, sincerely wishing you were just hallucinating all of this. wishing that the first time you were seeing your ex boyfriend since the breakup wasn’t when you were a drunken mess.

god, today was seriously the worst.

crouching next to you, he reached out a hand to move some of your hair from your face. he leaned in front of you so he could see your face, while you stubbornly trained your eyes at the ground.

you were scared that if you even made eye contact with him for too long, everything would fall apart.

“are you okay? how much did you drink?” he spoke softly, his voice melting in your ears and warming your chest.

you wanted to cry, throat tightening at the feeling of him doting on you. you didn’t say anything, just nodding.

sunghoon could tell you didn’t want to be there just as much as he didn’t. normally, on a night like this, the two of you would be watching a movie together or baking or just laying in his bed and scrolling through one of your phones.

“do you wanna leave?” he asked, hand falling onto your shoulder and rubbing small circles. you nodded again, pushing your hands on the ground to stand up. you didn’t let sunghoon help you as he stood up, stumbling slightly as you stood up fully.

as the two of your walked out the back entrance, you looked at the boy in confusion as he began walking in the same direction as you.

“i’m not leaving you alone out here, let me make sure you get home.” you looked back at the ground, mumbling back a small okay and thank you, trying to ignore the words threatening to spill from your lips.

the walk to your apartment was filled with a thick silence, the only audible noises being the hum of the streetlights. A rough gust of wind caused your skin to fill with goosebumps, the cold breeze hugging your frame.

sunghoon noticed, almost quicker than you did. wordlessly, he dropped his leather jacket over your shoulders. you knew you should protest, but to be truthful, you missed him more now than ever.

when you didn't say anything or move at all, sunghoon stepped in front of you, gently unwrapping your arms and putting them into the sleeves of his jacket for you.

you stared at the cracked sidewalk, heavy tears threatening to fall from your eyes. his jacket was warm, and so big that you were practically swimming in it. his hands were warm too. and so was his voice, as he softly asked you if you were feeling less chilly.

you still refused to utter a word, not out of stubbornness but out of fear that your voice would betray you. after everything you did, after how bad you hurt him, sunghoon was still here, walking you home and taking care of you like he always did. like nothing had changed.

"y/n." sunghoon spoke a little louder, tilting your chin up so you looked him in the eye. "i said are you cold?"

the end of his question died in the back of his throat as your teary eyes came into view. he dropped his hand, eyebrows furrowing with worry.

"hey, hey, what happened?" his voice instantly softened. you couldn't do anything but shake your head, the tears finally trailing down your cheeks. sunghoon's thumb made contact with your cold cheek, wiping away the tears as the fell.

"y/n, please, tell me what's wrong." he almost sounded defeated, voice laced with concern that made you want the earth to swallow you whole. your chest ached.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, hoon." his head tilted in confusion at your apologies. he opened his mouth to respond.

"why are you apologizing?" you sniffled, tears still wetting your pink cheeks.

"im so stupid. i pushed you away because i just hated fighting and i thought that was the only way to make things better. but i can't-" you voice broke slightly and you took a second to breathe in. your eyes were screwed shut, refusing to look at sunghoon.

"i can't see myself with anyone else. i don't want to see myself with anyone else. any guy i talk to i just compare to you and it makes me feel sick. i know i can't but i've been trying so hard to move on because i'm scared that you hate me for hurting you and being so dumb." when you slowly opened your eyes, sunghoon pulled you into his chest.

your cheek was pressed against his white shirt, tears wetting the fabric as he held you tightly. he shoved his face into your hair, breathing in and relishing the feeling of you in his arms again.

"sunghoon?" you asked, voice muffled by his chest.

"i could never hate you." he mumbled into your hair. he pulled away and you saw him smiling, eyes crinkling as he tucked a strand of your hair away and wiped the last of your tears. your nose and cheeks were red both from the cold and from crying; sunghoon thought you looked adorable.

"for the past month haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. about us. how i should’ve fought harder to make you stay.” he laughed dryly as he spoke. “the only reason i even went to that party was because i might get to see you again.”

more than anything, it warmed sunghoon’s heart to see how much you still cared for him. all this time he was scared he was the only one still hung up on your relationship.

“i love you so much, i don’t care if we fight or if we go through a few rough patches. i only want you.” his voice softened slightly and he looked at you like you were the only two people in the world.

“you’re not mad at me?” you mumbled, hand crinkling the fabric of his tshirt as you clutched his side. shaking his head, he grinned.

“why would i be? you came back to me.” you smiled for what felt like the first time that night, hand instinctively covering your face. sunghoon pulled your hand down, wanting to see your shy smile. he loved when you were like this, shy and bashful. it made his heart nearly explode in his chest.

��can i kiss you?” he asked, intertwining your hands. you nodded gently, closing your eyes as sunghoon leant closer to you.

his lips were warm and soft, just like you remembered. your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, molding to each other perfectly. sunghoon’s arms slipped under his jacket that you were still wearing, hands wrapping around your waist.

you were flush against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin and his teeth sink into your bottom lip. as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, you swore to yourself that you’d never let park sunghoon go again.

[luminoustarlight]

Your Eyes Only | Anakin Skywalker

You leave Anakin a special recording on his tablet.

rating: explicit | pairing: tcw!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 719 warnings: SMUT [masturbation, recording of sexual acts, breeding/pregnancy kink, dirty talk], swearing

this came to me last night after watching the latest ahsoka episode. no spoilers though!

There is a special place in galactic purgatory for one Anakin Skywalker. A secret marriage is one thing but this crosses a whole new threshold.

If it weren’t for the thankful prince who insisted on throwing a banquet for Anakin and Ahsoka after rescuing him, Anakin wouldn’t be in this position. 

He’d be halfway back to Coruscant. 

He wouldn’t be in a private room with his personal tablet in one hand and his stiff cock in the other. Like he said. Galactic purgatory. 

He should’ve known better when you handed him his tablet before he left and emphasized, “for your eyes only.” 

He thought maybe it’d be a few photos of you. Certainly not a video recording of you on your bed with your legs spread and fingers dancing over your clit. 

“Do you have your hand around your cock, Ani? Are you making yourself feel good?” 

“Yes,” he subconsciously replies to you, even though he’s watching a recording. You’re massaging one of your breasts while barely slipping two fingers into your hole. Anakin groans at this, the dark desire in his belly only getting stronger. He swipes his palm over his tip and drags his hand down his length, lubricating himself with his pre-cum. 

“I miss you, Ani,” you insert two fingers into your pussy, moaning and arching your back into your touch. “You’re so much better at this than me.” Your fingers move in and out, in and out. “Your hands are bigger… fingers are longer…y’just fill me up so much better.” 

It drives Anakin insane hearing how wet you are. He hates that he can’t taste you. He hates that he can’t nuzzle his face against you, holding your thighs open with so much force it hurts. His hand pales in comparison to how your cunt feels around him. So snug and warm, he’s convinced it’s the most divine feeling in the galaxy. 

“I know you wish you were in this tight little pussy, fucking me hard… or soft, whichever you’d like… but you’ll be back home soon. Then you can have me as much as you want. Cum in me as many times as you want. Filling me up until it sticks.” 

Your voice is music to Anakin’s ears. It’s astounding how such filthy words can sound like a sweet melody when coming from your lips. Maker, he wishes he was with you. You can’t tease him with the idea of putting a baby in you when he’s on another kriffing planet. He continues to twist and squeeze his hand around his dick to help alleviate the throbbing. The image of your swollen belly is too much for him to bear. His skin is burning— with lust or shame, he doesn’t know. But what he does know is that you’re about to cum. He sees it in the way your breathing changes, when you shut your eyes and purse your lips. And then you say it. 

“Gonna cum, Anakin— oh, fuck! Ani, I’m cumming!” your toes are curling and your body is twitching as you feel an electric current course through you. 

Oh, that sends him over the edge. He bucks his hips up, fucking his hand with fervor until he’s spurting hot white seed on his abdomen. “Shit- fuck—“ Anakin drops the tablet and puts his fist in his mouth to suppress the sound of his orgasm. He hasn’t cum quite so hard from his hand in a long time. 

You’re coming down from your highs together, despite being planets apart. You crawl to the edge of the bed, your face now in clear view on Anakin’s tablet. You always look so beautiful, however, you’re especially stunning after you’ve orgasmed. Must be a result of the chemical reactions that occur during intercourse. 

“I miss you. Come home safely,”  is your last remark before the video ends.

“I miss you too, angel,” Anakin answers. Once he cleans himself up he’ll see if he can send you an encrypted message. That thought, however, vanishes as soon as there is a loud knock on his door. 

“Anakin! Are you almost ready?” It’s Ahsoka. “The banquet starts in 3 minutes!” 

Anakin scrambles off of the bed and hurries to wipe off the cum on his stomach. “Be right there, Snips.”

Yup. He is definitely going to galactic purgatory.

live action clone wars anakin is SENDING ME and the fact that hayden just naturally looks older.... ugh. he's so yummy.

◂ anakin masterlist ▸ main masterlist

[mc-lukanette]

"Clear as a music note, sincere as a melody. You've been the song stuck in my head since the day we first met."

Luka meant every word of it. He hadn't known Marinette for long but he knew people. Whether one called it intuition, a sixth sense, or nothing more than a "feeling," he didn't care. Marinette was a special girl and anyone who didn't know didn't understand her. It was the way she talked, the way she laughed, and even the way she was constantly stumbling over herself because she cared so much about others.

He felt it in her designs and had seen the process himself, how she would sit in the same spot for hours until someone snapped her out of it. He wore his Kitty Section costume proudly because of it and swore that it made him play better, just by having a piece of her with him.

That was all he needed, as far as he was concerned. Whether she loved him or not was irrelevant, and he only confessed at all in the first place because he wanted to alleviate whatever doubts she'd had. He was just happy to know her and to be called her friend.

She looked so beautiful against the colorful stage lights too. Had he not needed to leave, he might've told her so. He only hoped she wouldn't run off to let them take all the credit if there were any interviews afterward. She was just as big a part of the band as he was.

He smiled and released her shoulder, turning around to face the stage where he was set to play with the others. He took one step, two steps—

and then his wrist was snagged, pulling him back. He tried to keep his balance, especially as another hand grabbed at his jacket to bring him downwards. Everything was happening too fast, his vision only able to register the blur that was Marinette's face coming towards him.

Heat flooded his system as her lips came into contact with his skin, just to the side of his mouth. She'd kissed him on the cheek before, but that had come off entirely friendly as opposed to the one she'd given him now.

"Worse" still was that he knew she'd missed her intended target in her rush, which was definitely not his cheek.

It was over too soon, but he registered the voices behind him calling him to the stage as Marinette let him go and pulled away. Despite the bold move, she looked away sheepishly and cleared her throat, her blush obvious even in the lighting.

"U-um... good luck?" she said, giving him a fluttery wave.

His shoes felt like they were filled with very selective lead, keeping him firmly in place unless he was moving towards her specifically. Alas, his bandmates were still calling and not going would've ruined all the effort Marinette had put into getting them to this point.

Thus, he turned - for real this time - and went to set up with the others.

—————

Luka somehow managed to concentrate throughout the entire performance. The nice thing about his Kitty Section mask was that he could look around freely without being noticed, particularly at the siren of a girl standing in the background watching his every move. Her fingers were steepled in front of her mouth, making it hard to gauge her exact expression, but her eyes never left his.

Each note he played felt like a pleasant shock through his body, a positive feedback loop that kept going throughout the whole song. It'd happened before when he was in a good mood, playing his feelings through the strings, but not like this.

Not after being kissed by the one he was in love with, and not on a stage where the energy surrounding him was so high. Whenever he turned to the other bandmates, they were staring at him in bewilderment, but not in any bad way. He wasn't overshadowing them or throwing off the song, he was just more of what was already there, and the stage crew was getting into it.

It was fantastic.

By the time everything was over and the recording was done, there was nothing stopping him anymore. He wordlessly passed his guitar to a confused Rose, then walked off the stage, past the crew, and past a reporter who had snuck in and was asking him questions he didn't bother listening to. He pushed his mask up and took a straight path directly towards Marinette, who was bouncing from the thrill of the moment.

"That was incredible, Luka!" she squealed. "It sounded even better than in the video! People are going to love it, I—"

He grabbed her face and kissed her. It momentarily occurred to him that he could've said something romantic like, "I only played so well because you were there," which was true, but kissing her the way she'd tried to kiss him seemed like a far more appropriate response to what she'd done.

It felt equivalent to getting to play a song she'd written just for him, which was almost a shame. Had he known she could've made noises like she was just by him kissing her, he would've suggested a different type of song for the music video.

There was a shriek in the background that was probably Rose, which he paid no mind to. He broke the kiss, but remained hunched over to Marinette's level, still holding her blushing face and cherishing the warmth against his palms.

"Did you love it?" he asked quietly, stroking her cheeks. "That's all I care about."

Her voice had raised an octave when she replied, "O-of course? I said it was incredible! I love you—it! A lot!"

She managed to fit her hands between his, covering her face with an embarrassed whine. He sighed blissfully, dropping his hands to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her shoulder.

"I can't believe you tried to kiss me," he began, then added even though he could've left it at that, "right before I had to go on stage."

"Sorry," came the muffled apology behind her hands, though he smirked when he caught the hint of not actually being sorry in her voice. She returned his embrace, squeezing and shaking a little as she whispered, "I should've done it sooner."

When Luka had thought just a few minutes ago that he would've been perfectly happy just getting to know Marinette and be her friend, he meant it, but he wasn't about to complain about being thrice as perfectly happy either.

[heartofwritiing]

Rest Easy

paring: musicianbur x fem!reader

summary: Wilbur overworks himself which results in him falling asleep in your lap in the studio. based on one of an idea I had from this

authors note: I was feeling a little bummed so I wanted to write something quick and fluffy I hope you guys like it!

warnings: fluff, one swear, unedited, and not proofread, please ignore any mistakes!

The text you got from Wilbur when you were on your way to your apartment was short but sweet.

-Gonna be home later than usual, working on a bug in the studio with a particular song. don't wait up for me if you’re hungry love you <3

It was only around 6:45pm which was a bit late for him work wise. So, since you were close by anyways, and your stomach was growling to eat something, you headed straight for the studio a few blocks away. Making a small stop at the sandwich place on the way he always raved about.

You knew his order by hear so you didn’t bother messaging him, plus you wanted to surprise him.

Arriving at the studio you entered the control room, noticing the red light was on indicating the band was recording. You quietly shut the door behind you, and John-their music producer- swiveled around in his chair to give you a small wave. Everyone else you could see through the glass window in the recording room was chilling with their respective instruments as you guessed, waiting for instructions.

You could hear a backing track of guitars and drums play through the speakers, as the warm baritone voice of your boyfriend mixed in with the instrumentals lulled you into a state of comfort.

"Fuck," he swore through the mic when he messed up a line. It echoed through the speakers reverberating off the walls. He just wanted to get this last bit right and then they would be done. You couldn’t help the giggle you let out at his minor outburst of annoyance. you swore you thought he could hear you through the padded walls because his eye line met yours through the window, a look of surprise crossed his face. Lifting your hand that held the bag of food with a wave, his eyes lit up with alleviation and gratitude, he motioned for you to come in.

You somehow maneuvered your way passed all the wires and various equipment strew all over the studio without tripping. Wilbur Pulls you into and bone crushing hug after a few hours of separation he couldn’t wait to get his arms around you.

“You didn’t have to bring me food,” he says pulling back, giving your cheek a quick peck.

You give him a frowned look. “who said it was food for you, smart guy?” Jokingly of course.

Wilbur just deadpans.

“Come on, you went to my favorite sandwich place,” Wilbur lifted your arm still holding the take away bag to prove a point. He saw the logo of the shop on the front. “walked two blocks just to bring it to where I am.”

Damn, he caught right on to your ruse. You rolled your eyes playfully and threw up your metaphorical flag in defeat.

“okay, fine you caught me, I thought id be nice and bring you something to make sure you don’t starve, especially after such a long day, sue me.” You stepped closer once again to give a kiss to his lips.

Wilbur hummed in appreciation before leaning in.

“and that is why I love you,”

“because I bring you food?”

“precisely my love,”

Joe who was scrolling through instagram on the loveseat against the wall was listening to the whole exchange with a smirk pulling at his lips until he spoke up.

“You two are disgustingly cute,”

You pulled away from Wilburs lips reluctantly and turned your head to the amused Joe, who you didn’t even know was still here.

“we try our best,” you shrug.

You trudge over to where Joe was sitting and plop down beside him while Wilbur gets back to work to finish up this last line. Not knowing he was gonna be here you didn’t think about getting Joe something but he waved you off saying he would get something afterwards.

Watching Wilbur sing into the mic was a whole thing. He seemed so lost in his words when he sang, concentration purely written across his face as his throat muscles bob with each note. You thought he constantly so good but today he just looked so damn good. His hair was fluffed in a particular direction, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose and his eye brows scrunched as he pressed his full lip’s against the pop filter.

You felt so dumb at the jealousy of an inanimate object surging through you as you watched him wet his lips with his tongue and they brushed the mesh.

He must’ve felt eyes staring at the side of his head because, he turns his head in your direction with a smirk and that glint in his eye that makes your body heat. He sends you a wink as he finishes a word, then quickly puts his attention back forward.

Happily, about a few minutes later, Wilbur came to sit next to you, munching away at his sandwich. You both chatted away about your day eventually he had to get back to finish up the recording.

About half an hour later you were both still in the studio. Joe had already left but Wilbur was adamant to get this last track perfect.

"Wil, honey?" you called out, he lifts one headphone and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"I think you should rest, just for tonight, you've done so much and you looked exhausted, and it's getting really late we should head home." concern laced your voice and made him consider stopping for a moment.

You had checked the time once again peering at your phone and saw the time read: 1:33 am. But you knew him too well.

It wasn't fair of him to keep you here all night. You had work in the morning as well. Wilbur felt the guilt gnawing at his chest, the yawn in his voice telling him to rest. rest. rest.

"I'm sorry love, just two more lines and I promise, I'll be done.

He walked over to you and placed a kiss on your forehead quickly before turning back around again.

You always loved Wilbur's determination, but he sometimes could overwork himself to the point of exhaustion. Noticing the growing bags under his eyes and the grogginess increasing in his voice every day, you knew he was over-working himself. Non-stop for the past five days. The new Lovejoy ep was causing him so much stress, he put too much pressure on himself, which worried you immensely. He would go to the studio early in the morning, get home late, fall into bed next to you, get up the next day, and do it all over again. He was tiring himself out more than usual and it wasn't good for him.

You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly in the same spot, fighting off sleep. In your peripheral vision, Wilbur stood in front of you startling your occupied brain. He moved when you noticed him and he laid his head down in your lap, his long legs dangled over the arm of the couch before you could say anything.

Wilbur buried his face in your tummy as his hand snaked around your waist so he could cuddle into you further. It was an odd position he was in, but he seemed cozy.

"you tired?" you tilted your head, running your hands through his messy brown locks. Wilbur hummed at your touch and nodded in response.

"I'm sorry, I should have listened to you," he mumbles into your shirt.

Sometimes you hated his stubbornness, but you loved him so that made up for it.

Not even a minute passed and Wilbur was already softly snoring in your lap like a tired cat. You giggled at your boyfriend and admire his calm features, running the pad of your pinky down the bridge of his adorable nose and watching as he twitched at the contact. A faint smile spread on his lips. He looked too peaceful, so for now, you'd let him sleep. You were happy he was finally getting some well-deserved rest anyways.

"Rest easy, my love."

End

-

taglist: @justanormalfangirlx2 @merakiwi

[aledethanlast]

With the way Aaron moans about it, Andrew thinks that the hardest thing about his brother's life as a doctor is the amount of times he spends convincing patients that no, he's not Andrew, yes he's really the twin brother, listen you can google it later do you want your appendix removed or not.

This is not wholly accurate. For one, last week he had a teenager loudly proclaim him to be an evil clone who wants to harvest his (failing) kidneys for spare parts. So there's highlights.

But the real hardest thing about being a surgeon is, shocker, the surgery. Because surgery is half a dozen people standing around for several hours. And most of the time, they alleviate that with music. But sometimes, usually in the summers when the new residents come in, Aaron gets stuck fielding the dumbest personal questions of all time.

"Is your brother really Andrew Minyard?" No I'm an evil clone weren't you listening to the kid before we put him under?

"What's Andrew like?" He's my brother, make an educated guess.

"In interviews he seems like a really cold guy." Are you hoping for me to peer review all of your opinions or something?

"I heard he beats up his teammates." They probably deserved it.

"Wait does that mean you know Neil Josten?" Unfortunately.

"Did he really kill his mafia parents?" You guys will really believe any dumb shit you see on the internet won't you.

"Is Josten really sleeping with Kevin Day in secret?" Never say those words to me ever again.

"I heard Josten made one of his teammates get a divorce because he didn't like the wife." Oh that was real. He stole their bank records to prove she was stealing from their joint account for her gambling addiction. Don't tell anyone though.

[fishnoodles]

Seven Year Itch – Fabrizio Moretti of The Strokes on Their Latest Album in Seven Years

Interview by Charlie Weinmann Photos by Jason McDonald

It’s been seven years since The Strokes released their record, Comedown Machine. A lot can change in seven years, and for a band to come together again after so much time to create something new is something to admire. For the band’s drummer, Fabrizio Moretti, re-establishing a vibe with the band mates he grew up with was just what he needed after making music more or less on his own since 2013. Despite the time that had passed, The Strokes were able to craft this new music, with the help of legendary producer Rick Rubin, which rings familiar to their signature sounds, yet sprinkled with new energy and life. The new record, The New Abnormal, seems to be aptly titled for the times, though it was completed before the pandemic gripped the world. I chatted with Moretti on the last day of April about his experience making the record, reconnecting with his band, as well as another project he’s been working on, which he has designed to be inclusive of artists all around the world.

Mirror of an interview on drumheadmag.com, originally posted around May 2020

CW: How’s quarantine been for you? What’s been keeping you busy? FM: Music, and I’ve been learning how to cook, and I’ve been doing some painting on the side. I’ve been reading. It’s been tough, man, I gotta tell you. I’ve been feeling for everybody.

I agree. It’s a fortunate thing to be healthy and to be able to do things, like cook. I’m glad that you’re healthy. Yeah, there’s that underlying sadness, that during this time, somewhere not too far from where you are, somebody is suffering. Many people are suffering. And many people are putting themselves on the line to alleviate that suffering. That’s pretty intense.

Absolutely. Well, I’d like to ask you about the new album. My favorite song so far has been “Eternal Summer.” Me too. Well, maybe it’s my second favorite.

What’s your first? “At The Door.”

What do you like about that track? I think it’s the furthest we’ve traveled from ourselves but still maintaining our DNA.

What was the process of writing and recording the music like for you? How long of a process was it? It was a long process. We started with the demos here in New York, and we sent those demos off to Rick Rubin to see if he would want to work on these songs. We wanted to present him with some material. He said “yes,” and then there was some time in-between that, until we got to his studio. He encouraged us to jam every morning to see what would come of us being together in this place, sequestered in this place called Shangri-La. Most of the songs came from us jamming and building an idea. It was very cool how he knew to reinvigorate the band; he needed us to be a band again, to be all in the same room just jamming, and not worrying so much about ‘writing a song,’ or ‘parts,’ but just feeling each-other’s vibes out.

That’s a cool approach. When did that happen? When were you guys doing the bulk of the writing? It was a while ago. The past is a muddy haze, man, I don’t even know how to bring it together. It was a long time, though. It took us a while to finish.

Did you have anything specific you wanted to accomplish with the drums for the new record? Did you have any ideas of what you wanted to achieve? No, because we were really kind of sailing on this wave of interaction, you know? Like feeding off of one another in the moment. With the band, we have a history of playing each-other’s instruments, and making up parts for one another, but in this case, we really just sat at our posts, and vibed out with one another. I think that having Rick there, as the captain, who we all wanted to respect…not fear, but like, you know the way one fears something grander than them? Like Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling.” We need to pay homage to him and to listen to him. And to trust him. And sure enough, he was a guiding force that made us all congeal.

What can you say about making music in that space, at Shangri-La? It’s a legendary recording studio. Had you ever worked there before? Never. I had never even met Rick, so the initial thing was walking in and feeling nervous about meeting him. You walk in, and it’s all this kind of white-washed house with these long corridors; you’re walking into this altered place. You look around, and you see all these instruments, and you’re told by the people that work there that “you’re able to play around with any instrument you like. Everything is fair play here.” Then you realize you’re holding an acoustic guitar from the ‘30s, and everything is sacred, and there’s a bus out in the back that was Dylan’s touring bus. It’s all just magic. “The Last Waltz” was filmed and recorded there. It was pretty cool.

I’m envisioning you guys “sitting at your posts,” and I assume for you, you mean the drum kit–what would you say is most unique, or most different about your drumming on this new record compared to what you’ve done in the past? Well, I had a very clear view of Rick’s feet from where I sat. He was always there from noon to seven, which is something that I wasn’t expecting; he was very hands-on. And we would jam, and play the tunes, and I would see his feet tapping to the beat. And then, I would try and get more complicated and do more fancy stuff, and I would look at his feet and they would immediately stop. I started to train myself to play beats that would keep his feat tapping; less about playing what’s fancy, and more about keeping his feet tapping. It was really about the groove and less about trying to be a ‘snappy drummer.’

It’s got to be about the song! So, it’s been seven years since the last Strokes record–one’s musical taste, and understanding of music is bound to change in that time…How would you say that your thinking on music has changed since the last Stroked record, and how has that influenced your contributions to the new music? In that time, I was really building music at home, and doing things by myself became easier and easier…you start on this path feeling you can do everything by yourself…everything is accessible, every sound, if you’re willing to pay enough, you can have it. You’re spellbound by that for a while and start writing music, but it’s kind of influenced by that…I felt particularly that I reached a point where I discovered that my solitude wasn’t beneficial anymore, and I missed the influence of my compatriots, my fellow musicians. Not that making music by yourself isn’t fun and rewarding, but there’s certainly an edge that you get to, or at least I did, where you know you can’t go any further by yourself. It was nice to come back after so long to a room…actually, probably if we had kept on going, I would have taken this for granted, but after having stopped for so long, coming back to these people who not only understand me, we understand each other in a subconscious way. We feed off of each other without even knowing how we do it. It’s a very rare and precious thing.

Yes, it is. How old were you guys when you started playing together? The first time I played with Nick, I was thirteen. And then Julian and I started playing together soon thereafter. I think our first show, I was fifteen.

That’s a lifetime of playing music with someone. Very valuable indeed.When I listen to the new record, there are sounds and beats that make me think of ‘80s music. What is your connection with music from that time period? How did that time period influence this record for you? I mean, it’s not like we’re going for that sound, but I think certain times we land there because of the nostalgia for that time. We were all children. I guess we were forming our musical opinion without even knowing it. It’s like it’s a color that we can paint with to evoke a certain nostalgia as a bed for a melody, or for a vibe. In terms of practical thinking, it’s not like I personally seek out inspiration from ‘80s drummers–although Phil Collins is a pretty awesome, all around musician. He’s someone that I aspire to be like: somebody who can write music as well as they can play the drums. And vice versa.

I also wanted to congratulate you on the new Machinegum album, Conduit. I was recently turned on to it, and what you guys did with the art exhibit earlier this year was really cool. What excites you most about that project, and how does the way in which you approach that music, artistically, compare to how you approach your role in The Strokes? You know how I was telling you about how I was making music alone in my kitchen? That was Machinegum. That’s almost a funnel for me to be able to get out my emotions, or to exercise my personality. Because even when I bring a melody to The Strokes, I have such faith in Julian’s lyrics, that I don’t bring lyrics. That’s his job. And it’s actually very fun to bring a melody and see how he responds lyrically to it. But there is that part of me that wants to express stuff lyrically, too, so Machinegum became sort of my exhaust pipe to do that. What really excites me about that in the future, is that maybe I can cultivate it in a way to become independent from me. I’m trying to build, or at least I’m trying to think of a way to build, a stage upon which the musician and the listener can have a reciprocal relationship. I want to make art with people who I don’t know. I want it all to be under Machinegum. That seems like an exciting future. We recently made a video that hasn’t come out yet, which we started before the Corona Virus, and we just asked people to mimic and act out these directions that we gave them, to show this community that pans out across the globe. I feel like now more than ever, we have so much power and technology in the communal mind, and we’re exercising new and bold ways of expressing that because of the confines of this sad, sad time. It’s a very lush moment for ideas. … Hopefully you’re a part of Machinegum, you know?

I think it’s a novel idea, and I support it one-hundred percent. I just have one more question: what’s been inspiring you recently in the art world, whether it’s music or anything else…? Yeah, I mean, it’s almost like what isn’t inspiring these days? But, I recently got to do a collaboration with Sotheby’s, where I curated this process of witnessing these paintings. It was centered around the same principles, the importance of the individual, but also of the individual in a collective, or group. I built this maze, that compromised the view of these paintings, where you could only really see the whole thing if you were standing by yourself, and you got this moment to really witness the painting, and have a quiet moment…to allow yourself a quiet moment with art…that’s been pretty inspiring.

[insane-control-room]

Grate

ink demonth - record

Grant notices an odd request on the stack.

He calls Sammy down to discuss it.

Aleph Paradox

Rated: G

Warnings: None

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58397662

Length: 1500

Note: Yiddish translations are in the Ao3 version's notes.

 This had to be a record. 

A record for the most fluctuation of funds in one business in one quarter. Every day, it was up some, then down some, and then up some more, and then down some more. It made his head spin as he tried to keep track of it. 

It felt impossible, lurching and dizzying. There was, also, an unfortunate negative correlation to Grant’s heart rate with the spasming changes in the flow charts - when profits were up, his stress alleviated just a tiny amount, and when they dropped, the worries and anxieties skyrocketed. It was starting to become a problem, really, and he was going to see if he could take off work to see that doctor on the edge of town. Worked on Manhattan Shore, or so he had been told- and the beach break would be a nice day off. Or two. Or a weekend. Shabbos on the beach… even thinking about it made himself calm down a little. 

Still, there was work to be done. That day.

Grant felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest that he promptly ignored. Striving to refocus on his work, he reached for the small radio on the edge of his desk, flicking it on. The classical channel it tuned to was another miniscule point in favor of reducing his inclining stress levels. 

At some point, however, his radio began to crackle and hiss, and he turned to it with the slightest frown- only for a high pitched whine to emit from the device, crescending into an unbearable shriek, and ceased functioning. Grant stared, blinked twice, and sighed. An unhappy grumble left his pharynx, some discomfort made itself known in the back of his seat. As he shifted, trying to regain some semblance of work wherewithal, his eyes came across a red marked paper on the top of the fund requests. He adjusted his multifocal lenses, furrowing his brow as he raised it to his gaze. 

It was from the music department - for some reason, it was a request for a crank operated panel door. Not that Grant had to question it, he had a veritable bottomless pit of cash with which to supply the madhouse that was the music department. If you could not read the dripping sarcasm that should be applied to that statement, please re-read it with the proper amount of ironic cynicism. Now that is done… back to the story. Grant had paused before putting the paper to the side, and then picked it back up to examine the request. 

Lawrence, S., requesting what was essentially a garage door. He shook his head, and then rolled his way over to the phone hooked up to the side of his doorway. A harried musician had quickly answered his call, probably to dim the wrath of the cantankerous department head. 

“Is Sammy available?” Grant inquired. He got a tentative maybe. “Well, if he is, send him down to my office, no urgency. Zay azoy gut, aun danken. Oh, and tell him to bring with himself a new radio.”

Sooner than Grant expected, the music head knocked on the side of his door. He knew it was him from the distinctive, rhythmic knock. 

“Come in, Sammy,” Grant called to the door. The Levi entered, silently setting a new radio on Grant’s desk and turning it on. Grant murmured his appreciation. “Nu, shalom aleichem. I have a question for you about a funds request.” 

“The door.” Sammy simply stated, knowing instantly what the other man was going to ask him about. Grant nodded in reply. The musician shifted slightly, brow furrowing for a moment. “I need privacy.”

“And you need a big metal door to get it?” Grant asked, incredulous. Sammy hesitated again, and Grant held up his hand. “Now, Samme’le, I understand. It’s hectic in your department, all so…” his gaze drifted to the softly playing radio. “Loud. But I do not understand the need for this ibermosik thing.”

“I was going to put it on the instrument storage room,” Sammy said after a second. “And then write it off as a safety request.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” Grant questioned, all the more stupefied. “Did you forget to do that step of lying to me?” 

“Well,” Sammy slowly spoke, chewing his words. “I knew you would call my bluff.”

“I’m calling that one, bevadai,” Grant, finding himself even more baffled, told him. Sammy’s thin mouth turned thinner with disgruntlement, the corners becoming drawn, birdlike nose dipping. “But since you told me the truth, I can consider the need a little more. What do you intend to do with this little nore?” 

“My work, in privacy,” Sammy replied firmly. Grant could tell that he was not lying. “Of course, it might be a bit disruptive to the musicians, at least for a moment while I get myself settled, but it is a small price to pay when my actual office is completely exposed with that mi’es window.”

“And why not request a window shade?” Grant prompted further. Sammy did not reply, crossing his arms and glaring at the request form as though it was the cause of his problems. “That way you would get some privacy.”

“Why can’t I get both?” Sammy grumbled in return. “One for a kleyntshiker kheylek of peace, and the other for l’punim?” 

“Sammy, Shmuel,” Grant shook his head. “This is narishevate.”

Sammy’s mouth, which had such melodious arguments and smooth songs slip from it before, fell open, utterly silent. He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, folded his arms, unfolded his arms, and then threw both his hands in the air, looking up at God. 

“Joey and his shtuyot have affected you,” Grant commented, trying not to sound too amused. Sammy, irritated, leaned close. Grant pinched the sleeve of his arm. They both examined the other’s face. “It’s him?”

“Yes! He doesn’t leave me alone!”

Finally, it clicked. 

Grant signed off on both. 

---

Grant stared at the use of funds. And he stared, and stared.

What on Earth had happened there? What did Sammy need all of those audio sensors for, why did he need an actual toilet? In an instrument closet? Grant sighed, rubbing his face. 

Part of him was tempted to bring it up with Sammy. The other part of him wanted to bring it up with Joey - and then there would be the satisfaction of seeing Sammy get chewed out for something he wanted done in secret; away from the boss’ eyes. But a toilet? It was insanity at this point. With a long suffering sigh, he called the music department again, and once more requested Sammy’s presence. 

When the other man showed up at last, Grant made his vexation known by ignoring his request to enter- let him squirm a little. When Sammy hesitated and made a move to slip away, Grant swiveled his chair to face him. Sammy looked choleric, but uneasy. 

“What will Joey say,” Grant began slowly, “When he sees that you made a request for a toilet to be installed in the music department’s storage closet?”

Sammy’s face went blank, sheepish. 

“We had left over funds from what you signed off.”

“Oh? You did?” Grant asked, pretending to be surprised. Sammy did not buy it for a moment, shoulders raising to his jaw for a moment. “And why did you not… return the spare funding, if I may ask?” 

“Well, I thought…” Sammy looked away for a moment, eating his tongue as he scrambled his mind to figure out what to say. Eventually, though, he gave up and spoke plainly. “Jack works in the sewer.”

“Like a madman, nu?” Grant waved a hand for Sammy to hurry up. “What does this one have to do with the other?”

“I didn’t have the water line to the toilet turned on,” Sammy slowly continued. Grant squinted, trying to figure out where the taller man was going with this. “So I wanted an easier way to talk to the word spinner. What better way than the pipes? People say they whisper anyways.”

“This whole place is meshuge,” Grant muttered, rubbing his face. “Alright. Alright. Do whatever you want, but if I see the music profit dropping more than the expected fluctuations, I’ll serve your head to Joey on a record as a plate.”

“Noted,” Sammy dryly replied, but he looked relieved that he was being let off the hook so easily. “Or should I say, recorded?”

He quickly left the office when Grant threw a balled up paper at him, but smiled at the soft laughter he heard following him. 

--

Grant could not tell if he was shocked, angry, or happy. 

The next quarter, the music department not only exceeded expectations, but had made a record profit and had record productivity. Joey was ecstatic when he learned the news, and asked Grant if there was something in particular that made the shift. 

Grant debated answering with: 

“A toilet.” 

[itsthestutterforme]

Hey Rebel 1/2 (Alpha!Ari Levinson x omega!reader)

Summary: Ari tags along on one of your missions, nearly jeopardizing it when he catches a whiff of your intoxicating scent.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, A/B/O dynamics, reader is Afro!Latina and a CIA agent, reader is very bratty in this series

**

“I see the target,” you said through comms. The loud bass from the music reverberated in your ribs as you push passed a few people in the club.

The club was a lot more busy than you anticipated which made your mission quite easy for you.

You preferred to work alone on missions but with this particular target was violent and the two of you had history.

He killed your partner and made you watch. He kept you alive to continue the torment of know that your mistake had your partner killed.

Though he wasn’t just your partner, he was boyfriend at the time. His scent was everywhere in your apartment, and when it slowly started to disintegrate in spaces he would hang out the most, you wanted to tear your heart out.

When his clothes stopped smelling him and started smelling like you, you had nothing left of him but memories.

He wasn’t your mate necessarily, but you he made you feel safer than any of your previous boyfriends had.

His death put you in second gear on your missions. Your accuracy increased by 23% and you spent every waking minute in the gun range or in the gym. You were a forced to be reckoned with and quickly became Ethan’s favorite agent.

And Ethan couldn’t have his favorite girl off on a potential murder mission without backup.

So he sent in a newer agent with a promising record in shooting accuracy for support. And he sent in Ari, his other favorite.

If the target made your cover, he was as good as gone. So you put your pride aside and disguised as an exotic dancer.

It was the best chance to get close to the target without immediately getting made.

You tugged at the bottom strap of your solid gold top to alleviate some pressure on your ribs. You were sure they gave you a size smaller than you told them so your breasts are practically spilling out.

The bottom was a measly and thin, it was very obvious that it was made of leotard fabric and tailored it to be a bikini bottom.

You had absolutely no breathing room in this outfit. Every inch of skin on your body that could be visible is shown.

You’re not necessarily used to your sternum tattoo and your thigh tattoos being visible to the naked eye.

Continuing through the crowd, a man slapped your ass as he walked by making you immediately tense.

You looked over your shoulder at him, watching as he drank your figure in. One disgusting man isn’t going to jeopardize your mission, so you continued moving.

The mixed scents of designations with smoke and sweat made you nose blind to anything else so you didn’t bother sniffing.

You made eye contact with the newer agent when he started speaking on coms.

“I count five guards,” he says, pressing and adjusting his Bluetooth in his ear.

A scowl made its way onto your face when you saw a larger man in an all black suit look in the new agent’s direction.

He flagged down another man and they converse for a few paces, sending occasional glances in his direction.

Shit.

“Do me a favor and stop messing with your comms. You’ve been made. Go to the rendezvous point.” You commanded.

“I wasn’t made.” “Fine then I’ll let Tweetledee and Tweetledum take you into the back alley and beat you to a pulp,” you snap.

His eyes widen when the two large men push their way through the crowd and beelined straight for him.

“On it. Sorry.” He rushes out the back door with them hot on his tail.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you rolled your neck around until it cracked. “Maybe you should go easy on the kid,” Ari points out.

“I’m not going to let anyone jeopardize my mission, Romeo.” “Your mission?” you opened your mouth to respond when a man whistled over at you, motioning you to come over once you made eye contact.

“Care to give me a dance, sweetheart?” The man asks, pulling you into his lap and squeezing your waist eagerly.

“Anything you want,” Ari’s gaze darkened when he saw your hips moving sensually to the soft beat of the music.

You threw your head back, your box braids swaying around until the landed on your chest. The man pulled you even closer, scenting the sensitive skin below your ear.

A omega woman approached Ari with a tray full of drinks.

“May I offer you a drink, sir?” She bends down slightly so he could take a drink from his seated position.

“Thanks honey,” he took out his wallet and gave her a twenty for her consideration. Her hand caressed his palm when she gingerly took the bill from his hand.

She moved her hair to the side, exposing her unmarked gland. “I’m not interested,” he takes a sip of his bourbon once the omega moves away from him.

Ari hasn’t had genuine relationship with an omega that wasn’t sexual. He initially fell for the bullshit theory that philosophers create centuries ago about the match made in Heaven.

An alpha and an omega destined to be together by the Alpha Gods.

He quickly realized when he married Rachel that not every omega can spark that special connection.

Just because omegas weren’t easy to find in common society, doesn’t mean they’re all special. Now he’s found himself caught in a marriage because an omega got pregnant

Neither of them have filed for a divorce yet because of the immense amount of paperwork and money that would go into it.

Ari came to terms with the fact that his child spends more time with the babysitter than with her parents.

With him away on missions and Rachel spending every waking minute with her sugar daddy alpha, the kid doesn’t stand a chance at a normal childhood.

And it’s not like anything is going to change any time soon.

Ari was seated in a loveseat across the room for you. He watches you over the rim of his glass, still dancing on the man’s lap.

He tilts his head as he tried to decipher your thigh tattoos from behind.

“I didn’t realize how tatted you were, Juliet.” You rolled your eyes at Ari’s remark and had glanced over the man’s shoulder at the target.

Rumlow. You thought to yourself. The man he was meeting hasn’t up yet, but you needed to prepare yourself for when he does.

Your strategizing was cut short when the man cradled your neck, smoothing a hand over your gland.

You stopped your movements, narrowing your eyes directly into his. The smile slowly fell from his face and a low growl grumbled in your chest.

His hand slowly dropped from your gland and you snapped at him.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” he holds his hands up and you slid off his lap.

“Pig,” you walked away from him and made your way to the bar. You were going to be giving drinks for the rest of the night. Screw the dances.

“Well that wasn’t very nice,” “Fuck you, Romeo.” He smiles against the glass before downing the rest of the bourbon.

Ari couldn’t help but notice the frequent head turning from groups of men when you walk by. Followed by the sniffs in your general direction.

Ari had to admit, you had an interesting scent. Actually, there is no scent initially and no way of telling what designation you were.

The way you carried yourself, you could easily be mistaken for an alpha. But Ari had a sneaky suspicion that you weren’t an alpha.

You were an omega that took the strongest scent blockers he’s even heard.

He’s smelled your original scent before. It was a faint whiff, but he smelled it and he’s been drunk for it ever since.

He made the connect that you scent spikes through the scent blockers when you’re aggravated about something.

Luckily for him, he had a knack for being aggravating. Truth was, Ethan knew you were capable of doing this mission alone.

It was Ari who insisted on tagging along.

But you will never figure that out. Or maybe you will, you’re quite the sharp tool. “We have a long night ahead of us. So let’s just play nice.” Ari suggests.

“Don’t provoke me and maybe I will,”

You continued serving drinks, getting more and more annoyed with every slap on the ass you received.

Ari kept an eye on the door to any new faces turn up and after a while, you realized how quiet your comms have been.

It’s been dead silent for at least five minutes. And Ari never knew when to shut up so you knew something was wrong.

You looked around for Ari only to find him staring at you confusingly. You needed to talk to him but you couldn’t pull him aside.

Otherwise that would break your cover. Letting out a sigh, you set the tray of drinks down at the bar and made your way over to him.

“Follow my lead,” you said to him, putting your hand on his shoulder and sliding into his lap. He keeps his hands by his side as he looked at you attentively.

You held his gaze for a moment before moving your hips against him and rolling your body. “What happened to comms?”

“No idea,” he slowly slides down the seat, his hands gripping the arm rests for dear life.

“Do you know how long they were out?” “No,” he grunts. “Do you think they’re onto us?” “There’s a chance. Are they looking?”

You glanced over his shoulder and saw Rumlow with a dancer giving him a lap dance. He downs his drink and shakes his glass at the bartender.

You felt Ari’s body tense underneath you and you raised a brow at him.

“If you want this to be believable, I need you to touch me.” “I’m trying to be respectful,”

“Please. Don’t pretend like your eyes haven’t been glued to my ass all night, Romeo.” He licks his lips and rested his hands on your thighs.

The second his hand touched your bare thigh, you inhaled sharply. Heat spread from your thighs up your waist and chest, finally resting on your face.

Your mating gland throbbed painfully and you stopped moving against him. His grip on your thighs tightened when you tried to move off of him.

Ari groans as the same burning heat took over him, his gland pulsing at the same rhythm as yours.

Your heart sank in your chest when you made the realization. Your scent was spreading passed the scent blockers.

Ari’s hands move up your back and held you close, dipping his head to inhale your sweet scent of honeysuckle and warm honey.

You let out a fearful growl when the tip of his nose brushes the base of your throat.

Your heart continued to patter in your chest when you made eye contact with the group of betas looking over at you, sniffing in your general direction.

The anxiety caused your scent to spike and you attempted to leave his lap once again but he held you down.

“Let me go,” “If I let you go now, they will swarm you. Just trust me,” he says the last few words slowly, removing his grip from your back.

He takes a few deep breaths, moving your body with each breath. You looked over at the initial group of betas who crinkled their noses and looked away from you.

His husky scent of pine and sandalwood invaded your nose in strong wafts. He was masking your scent with his, staking an unwanted claim. You had matched your breathing to his, bring you out of your anxiousness.

You hadn’t realized you were digging your nails into his dress shirt. Releasing him from your grip, you slid off his lap.

And when you looked over at the target, he was gone. “Mission’s over,” you hugged your arms to your chest and beelined for the changing room before Ari could reach for you again.

He waited for you outside in the car and you had changed back into your black slacks and white blouse.

You had pulled your box braids into a low bun. Sliding into the passenger seat, you tossed your duffel bag in the bag and sent a text to the new agent letting him know you were on your way.

Ari watched you turn your face to look out the window once you send the text. You were actively avoid any interaction with him.

At least before you entertained him with snarky remarks and insults. This was much worse. He reverses out the back alley and onto the highway.

“So are we going to talk about what happened in there?”

“Nothing happened, Levinson.” “Bullshit. You felt something and it scared you.” “No I wasn’t. I was pissed that I missed another chance to take the some of a bitch down.”

“Yeah, sure.” He says skeptically. “Why do you take such strong scent blockers?”

“Because of what happened in there. I’ve always had an intoxicating scent. And it’s gotten me into a lot of trouble as a teenager so I suppress it.”

“It is very intoxicating,” another silence fell over the two of you and Ari looked at you but your gaze remained outside the window.

“You’re really not going to talk about it?” “No. I already have a lot on my plate with work. I don’t need this right now.”

“Our primal instinct doesn’t care about our human duties,” “You sound just like those ancient men in those history books,” you dismiss.

“Look at me,” “No,” “Look at me, omega.” “You’re not my Alpha. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just want to talk to you.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” “Yes, there is. Stop dismissing everything, Y/N. This is serious.”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

You looked away from the window and said, “How serious is this, Ari? Hm? Is it life or death? Or just some stupid reason for Alphas to have complete control of another living being?”

You poked harshly at his arm and he growled at the tone you used and you emitted a growl low enough to make your chest vibrate.

“Y/N,” he warns. “I am not an omega you can just claim, Ari. If you try, I will make sure to make your life a living hell. So just drop it.”

You held his gaze for a few seconds before returning your gaze back out of the window. Ari made the conclusion like this was nothing like how they described it in the history books.

If you truly was his mate, then how the hell was he going to prove that to you? He had better luck finding a needle in a haystack.

**

Ari wasn’t sure what to do about pursuing you. Your inner omega was aggressive and untamed despite your calm human nature. You were strong for an omega and you made it clear that you had to be earned.

He spent weeks bring your flowers, contacting some of your coworkers to learn your favorite foods and wines. You didn’t trust him at all, but you decided to give him somewhat of a chance.

He took you on a date on horseback. Once he found out you grew up in el campo, he immediately researched the nearest horseback riding stable and booked a session.

He wanted to know as much about you as possible. From you of course, but you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length since you met him.

When he tried to lean in to kiss you after the date, you growled at him and retreated back into your house, leaving him completely dumbfounded on your porch.

You kept him on his toes, which encourages the chase. But Ari’s concern is that you never stop running from him.

That he won’t get the chance to catch you and he’ll lose you forever.

The last thing he had to remember between you was an argument. It was the day before he was set to leave for Ethiopia and wanted to see you before he left.

He would have been gone for weeks at a time and there was no telling when he would be back.

You were pissed because he hid the fact the was married from you. He thought you knew from Ethan but you hadn’t.

He replayed your argument almost daily in his head up until the drive back to your place after the assignment; his face would heat up at the mere thought of it.

“When were you going to tell me? Were you even going to tell me?” “Of course, I was- I thought you already knew.”

You scoffed and turned away from him to walk into your kitchen. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have given you the time of day.”

You took a glass from the cabinet and poured a bourbon on the rocks. “You barely give me the time of day now,”

“Any normal person would have gotten the hint by now and move on,” “Then I guess I’m not a normal person,” you down the drink in one shot, making a face when the burn lingers.

“Ari, I really don’t think this is going to work. You’re married. You obviously married her because you had some sort of connection with her. So focus on repairing things with her instead of starting new with me,”

“No. There was never a connection. I did it out of obligation.” “So.. does that make me an obligation then?”

“I want to be with you, Y/N. We share a connection whether you want to or not. So stop being stubborn for once and allow it to happen.” He snaps.

You met his gaze from across the counter and let out a long breath. “I think you should focus on your mission for tomorrow,” you said after a long pause.

He huffs and presses the palms of his hands against the counter. “Okay,” he said softly and left your house.

You waited for the door to close to lean your head against the wall. He wasn’t going to go away. So that means you have to.

Ari was immediately concerned when he was greeted by a for sale sign in your front yard when he pulled into your driveway.

He left the flower he bought you in the passenger seat and ran up the stairs. The front door was locked so he went around back to check if the sliding glass door was open.

He sighed in relief when the door smoothly slid open. Everything was moved out from the house and your scent has faded out, even in your bedroom.

He bowed his head when he realized that you were gone for nearly as long as he was on assignment.

Where the hell did you go?

He pulls out his phone and clicked on an unsaved number. On the third ring, someone answered.

“Well isn’t this a surprise. How’s it going, sunshine?” Lloyd greets. “Lloyd, I need you to do something to me,” “Name it,”

[sororalice]

On The Blessedness Of Suffering

Homily for the New Moon in Aries 4-8-24.

Dearly Beloved,

Happy New Moon in Aries!

On this very special New Moon, occasioned by a solar eclipse and thus reinforcing and complicating the New Moon formula lunar energy with the IAO formula solar energy of the death and rebirth of the Sun, I am moved to talk about a subject which is not popular in most circles for obvious reasons: suffering, and the role of suffering in the spiritual life.

It is part of the fate of people to suffer. No matter how rich and powerful, no matter how poor and humble, we all experience suffering. Sometimes our suffering comes from without, from our bodies and our circumstances. This sort of suffering can often be alleviated…we treat the illness, we mend the injury, we minister to those in need, and so on. Sometimes, however, our suffering comes from within, and this sort of suffering is often much harder to alleviate.

In moments where we suffer, we tend to ask simple questions, the questions of a child: “Can’t this be otherwise? Is this necessary?” But let us assume that we have already answered these questions: no, it cannot be otherwise and yes, this suffering is necessary, by which I mean that it cannot, under any possible circumstances, be avoided.

Are we, as pagans who believe in a naturalized theology, to argue with this suffering? Are we to say through our tears: “How can this happen? Why am I suffering?” Do we, as pagans, demand an account of suffering in the same manner as our siblings among the other religions? I say “yes”. Yes, we need an account of suffering, a justification for suffering, a way to give our suffering meaning.

As theists, many of us believe that the events which occur in the physical world are ordained to some degree by divine providence. We believe that the Divine, in some form or another, manifests the phenomena that we experience through our lives in a way that is intended to guide us and move us forward towards growth, health, and prospering. In short, many of us believe that the Divine is benevolent. “The gods are good”.

Yes, that includes the dark, cthonic deities and spirits that can sometimes be scary and wild. Even the qlipoth serve a divine purpose, and the vast majority of the entities labeled as demons now had divine origins and were simply demonized by those who could not accept that the dark is just as much a part of nature as the light. Your average demon, just as much as your average angel, seeks and serves the good as best they can, and like angels and deities, most demons are “load-bearing”…they do metaphysical work holding reality together. In this sense, even the demons are good. All things are the Divine and all things serve the Divine…including suffering.

How do I know this? I cite three authorities: the lore and teachings that have been handed down for millennia, the accounts of mystics of almost all extant traditions, and the lived results of actually pursuing the spiritual life attested by practitioners throughout the ages.

Our most ancient lore has the deities and spirits teaching us medicine, herbalism, music, mathematics, astrology, astronomy, writing, agriculture, and metallurgy, as well as magick and religion. Every mystery, both light and dark, every part of our world, both sweet and spicy, all are the direct work of the Divine and administered in the Divine’s distributed form as the deities we come to know and with whom we work. Every bit of it (except for the ���true demons” which we humans have created, such as “Capitalism”, “Colonialism”, and “Bigotry”) is holy. Sweet fruit for our bellies and mouths, sweet love for our bodies and hearts, and a world full of mysteries for our minds to explore…the lore of all traditions teaches that these are the blessings that the Divine is giving us.

In addition to the evidence of our shared traditions and lore, we have the innumerable mystical experiences recorded by practitioners all over the world and throughout history to attest to the basic goodness of the deities and spirits we have encountered. Again and again, people have experiences where they touch the Divine and the Divine touches them. And in these moments we see and feel the love of the Divine. We experience Their basic goodness as They urge us towards growth, towards goodness, and to the Great Work of unification with the Divine, of blessed theosis. They weep with us, They laugh with us, They cradle us in Their arms for the span of our lives, and finally They take us home at the end of the game so we can prepare for our next trip to the playground.

Finally, we have the attested and consistently reported results of people living the spiritual life: when someone pursues the Great Work (however you may know it), deliberately engages in consistent and sustained relationship with the Divine, and then pursues a life based upon that relationship, the result upon their psyche and life is beneficial and restorative. The Divine urges us on to the “Great Work”, “the Path”, the movement towards growth, development, and ongoing becoming more and more who we are. And as we pursue this Work, as we walk down the Path and grow, develop, and become, we become better people. We become happier, even when suffering. We become more loving, more wise, and more good, even in the very depths of despair.

Now, how does this connect to the problem of suffering? How does the evidence of our lore, our mystical experiences, and the beneficial changes within us as we do the Great Work answer the questions that burn within us as we suffer? To answer that question we have to move out of the very big concepts and entities that we have been talking about and get very small and very personal.

What does it do to us when we suffer? It inspires us to change and grow, to move beyond the suffering and into a new way of being. Sometimes this is true, and we relish in these moments. But often this is an easy way out, an easy excuse, the excuse of the abuser, that our suffering is really for our own good. In addition to this, there are times that, due to the horrors created by humans acting unethically, this process has been hijacked and suffering has been turned into torture. And there are times that it seems that our suffering from illness and age serves no purpose we can see. It is very hard to see how such cases as these can be turned to good, how our suffering can act as a crucible or serve some greater purpose in our spiritual development. I am the first to lament these moments, these places where the system seems to break down.

But there is hope.

In the tale of Pandora, all the evils that plague humanity escaped from the jar which Pandora opened out of curiosity, but one thing remained within: hope. One thing was passed down from her, Pandora, the Receiver and Giver of All Gifts, mother of humanity, and catspaw in Zeus’s revenge on Prometheus for His acts of creation and the theft of fire: hope. This one thing became the common inheritance of every human as they were born into this world where the sufferings, the passions, as the ancients would have called them, have been set free: hope. All the suffering that anyone can ever encounter lives in a constant relationship, a constant dialectic, with one other force, our common birthright as minds and souls and hearts, our common gift from the Divine and the partner of suffering: hope.

And it is hope that lets us change. It’s hope that lets us grow. It’s the dance between suffering and hope that makes the Great Work possible, that lets us blossom into something more than we were before. The existence of time makes change possible, but it is the existence of hope that gives change a direction, that tells it which way to go. Suffering is a doorway to spiritual growth, but hope is what lets us keep walking through that doorway.

So go forward into this New Moon, beloved. Let hope lead you into your new possibilities as the Spring progresses, even as suffering teaches you its lessons. Let these divine twins, Hope and Suffering, teach you Their lessons.

In love,

Soror Alice

Art: John William Waterhouse, “Pandora”, (1896)

[genav0s]

✶ . AVOS ◞ ‎ …    ! is a five-member boy group formed by APRICUS CULTURE on january 9, 2014. the group was assembled through the 2013 survival show, GENERATION: AVOS, through which all five members were chosen for the final lineup. the show experienced immense success among the viewing public, breaking previous survival show ratings in favor of the 35 initial trainees.

the final lineup was decided by a 50/50 split of judge input as well as votes from the general public. announced in the final episode of the show, the five members: SANGHYUK, CARTER, IAN, ROMEO, and HWASEONG, had all done considerably well throughout the show's airing with carter in particular being ranked first throughout its duration.

the group made their official debut on january 9, 2014, with the mini-album, SENTIMENTAL, lead by the title track, BLUES OF SENTIMENTS. the debut project received praise as it was made public that the members were largely involved with the creation of the record. their reputation as a self-producing group would continue to be their most powerful draw. nicknamed the 'golden group', their famous midas touch success saw them quickly rise through the ranks becoming their label's most-profitable group, overtaking their successors, NYX and LETALIS in 2016.

much of their success has come wrought with controversy, often self-inflicted by the members themselves. interestingly, their scandals have never seemed to dent their reputation as a powerhouse group, frequently attributed to the pr genius of apricus culture and their hold over the news cycle.

after their record-breaking stadium world tour in 2020, avos entered a highly publicized hiatus in order to focus on solo activities while establishing their sub-label as part of their contract renewal negotiations. this sub-label, STUDIO AVOS, would become avos' main management firm for both group and solo activities as of 2021.

❝  that loneliness, for the most part forced upon me, was partly sought. ❞  ⸻ MEMBER PROFILES.

AHN SANGHYUK, better known by his stage name SANGHYUK, is a south korean singer and dancer. born to a single mother on july 9, 1992, sanghyuk was raised in yeosu, south korea alongside his older sister. he found a love for dance in middle school eventually joining an underground dance group in high school.

after graduating from high school, sanghyuk moved to seoul in pursuit of an engineering degree, using his dance experience to make money in order to alleviate his mother's financial burdens. he would be discovered by apricus culture training manager, YOO JOOEUN, who managed to convince him to sign on as a back-up dancer for soloists NINE and JIOH from 2011 to 2013. following the departure of a trainee who was scheduled to appear on the survival show, GENERATION: AVOS, sanghyuk earned a last minute spot while receiving vocal lessons in between filming.

despite having very little vocal training, sanghyuk was the third member chosen to debut in the show's final group: AVOS in december of 2013. currently, he is the LEADER, MAIN DANCER, and LEAD VOCALIST of the south korean boy group avos, which debuted under apricus culture in 2014. sanghyuk takes an active role in the writing of the group's music with credits attached to nearly 95% of the group's discography under the penname BRIGHT.

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE BASICSㅤ˒

STAGE NAME: SANGHYUK

BIRTH NAME: ahn sanghyuk

ALIASES: bright

DATE OF BIRTH: july 9, 1992

ZODIAC SIGN: cancer

PLACE OF BIRTH: yeosu, south korea

HOMETOWN: yeosu, south korea

ETHNICITY: south korean

NATIONALITY: south korean

LANGUAGES: korean

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE CAREERㅤ˒

OCCUPATION: idol, choreographer, songwriter

TRAINING PERIOD: n/a

YEARS ACTIVE: 2011 - present

LABEL: STUDIO AVOS

GROUP: AVOS

POSITION: leader, main dancer, lead vocalist

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE APPEARANCEㅤ˒

HEIGHT: 6’4” (193 cm)

TATTOOS: none

PIERCINGS: none

FACECLAIM: son hyunwoo

CARTER KIM, better known by his stage name CARTER, is a korean-canadian dancer and vocalist. carter was born in toronto, canada on october 15, 1993, to bradley kim, a museum director, and joyce kim, a hotel manager. from an early age, his parents did their best to raise both carter and his sister, cassandra, in the way they believed would best benefit the twins. though their parents were both second-generation korean-canadians, they made sure their children stayed in touch with their korean roots, spending summers in korea and celebrating traditional holidays.

while spending a summer in korea with their cousins, the siblings were introduced to k-pop groups and began growing a love for the industry. eventually, cassandra tricked carter into auditioning for GEMINI INC. in 2010. though both siblings passed the audition, carter was hesitant to accept the offer. after an ultimatum from his parents, carter decided to move to seoul with his sister in order to support her dreams though he was still skeptical.

after a few years of training, carter gained a reputation for his aptitude for both dancing and singing and was selected to take part in GENERATION: AVOS. while he considered it to be an honor, he notably struggled with the korean language and customs throughout the show especially after the departure of his sister from the label. despite this, he managed to rank first consistently throughout the show.

carter was the first member selected to debut in the show's final group: AVOS in december of 2013. currently, carter is the MAIN DANCER, LEAD VOCALIST, and CENTER of the south korean boy group avos, which debuted under APRICUS CULTURE in 2014. carter takes an active role in the production of avos' music with credits on a majority of the group's songs under the producer name MOOD:SUN.

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE BASICSㅤ˒

STAGE NAME: CARTER

BIRTH NAME: carter kim

KOREAN NAME: kim sunyeol

ALIASES: MOOD:SUN

DATE OF BIRTH: october 15, 1993

ZODIAC SIGN: libra

PLACE OF BIRTH: toronto, canada

HOMETOWN: toronto, canada

ETHNICITY: south korean

NATIONALITY: canadian

LANGUAGES: english, korean

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE CAREERㅤ˒

OCCUPATION: idol, producer

TRAINING PERIOD: three years

YEARS ACTIVE: 2013 - present

LABEL: STUDIO AVOS

GROUP: AVOS

POSITION: main dancer, lead vocalist, center

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE APPEARANCEㅤ˒

HEIGHT: 6’2” (189 cm)

TATTOOS: several scattered

PIERCINGS: none

FACECLAIM: kim jongin

MOON WONHYUK, better known by his stage name IAN, is a korean-american singer and actor. ian was born to his parents in the midst of his mother's medical residency in incheon, south korea on january 29, 1994. shortly after his birth, ian's father took up a position as chief of pediatric surgery at a hospital in singapore to better provide for the family. the moons suddenly moved to dallas, texas, around ian's seventh birthday for unknown reasons.

the sudden move became even stranger after he was adopted by his father's younger brother and his new wife in late 2003 when ian was nine years old. despite this, ian went on to excel both academically and socially in suburban dallas. his natural athleticism awarded him a scholarship to attend duke university to play basketball for the institution. unfortunately, after sustaining a career-threatening injury halfway through his first season with the university, ian forfeited his scholarship citing mental health. with his persuasion of his aunt, ian moved back to south korea to audition for APRICUS CULTURE, to satisfy his life-long interest in music.

after a photo of ian was leaked to the public as a trainee, he was added to the survival show's lineup. despite early popularity for his looks and magnetic personality, ian dropped to the near bottom of the rankings during the second half of the competition. after being saved from near elimination by a judge vote, ian just barely edged his way into the final lineup during the last two episodes.

ian was the the last member selected to debut in the show's final group: AVOS in december of 2013. currently, ian is the MAIN VOCALIST, SUB RAPPER, and VISUAL of the south korean boy group avos, which debuted under apricus culture in 2014. ian is the third most credited songwriter of the group and has sustained notoriety as a successful solo artist, actor, and brand ambassador for prada.

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE BASICSㅤ˒

STAGE NAME: IAN

BIRTH NAME: moon wonhyuk

LEGAL NAME: ian moon

DATE OF BIRTH: january 29, 1994

ZODIAC SIGN: aquarius

PLACE OF BIRTH: incheon, south korea

HOMETOWN: dallas, texas

ETHNICITY: south korean

NATIONALITY: american

LANGUAGES: english, korean

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE CAREERㅤ˒

OCCUPATION: idol, actor, songwriter, model

TRAINING PERIOD: one year

YEARS ACTIVE: 2013 - present

LABEL: STUDIO AVOS

GROUP: AVOS

POSITION: main vocalist, sub rapper, visual

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE APPEARANCEㅤ˒

HEIGHT: 6’2” (187 cm)

TATTOOS: three

PIERCINGS: both lobes

FACECLAIM: jeong yuno

SEONG JIOH, better known by his stage name ROMEO, is a south korean rapper, songwriter, composer, and television personality. he was born the sole child of his lawyer turned politician father and businesswoman mother in seoul, south korea on may 23, 1994. much of his childhood was spent in the public eye, especially after his father began pursuing politics when romeo was only four years old. his parents were exceptionally supportive of him both in private and publicly, despite the breakdown of their relationship that later ended in a highly publicized divorce in 2007.

romeo had always shown an inclination for music having received piano, cello, and violin lessons throughout his childhood and into his teenage years. through his parents' support, romeo decided to audition for several companies in 2008, eventually being signed to train at APRICUS CULTURE that same year. after several years of training, romeo was picked to appear on the survival show GENERATION: AVOS in 2013.

though initially struggling to gather fan support, romeo steadily rose through the rankings of the survival show before securing the fourth spot in the final group. currently, romeo is the MAIN RAPPER and FACE OF THE GROUP of the south korean boy group avos, which debuted under apricus culture in 2014. romeo is the group's most credited composer having received recognition for his work both for avos and other projects.

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE BASICSㅤ˒

STAGE NAME: ROMEO

BIRTH NAME: seong jioh

DATE OF BIRTH: may 23, 1994

ZODIAC SIGN: gemini

PLACE OF BIRTH: seoul, south korea

HOMETOWN: seoul, south korea

ETHNICITY: south korean

NATIONALITY: south korean

LANGUAGES: korean, japanese, english

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE CAREERㅤ˒

OCCUPATION: idol, composer, television personality

TRAINING PERIOD: six years

YEARS ACTIVE: 2013 - present

LABEL: STUDIO AVOS

GROUP: AVOS

POSITION: main rapper, face of the group

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE APPEARANCEㅤ˒

HEIGHT: 6’0” (183 cm)

TATTOOS: several scattered

PIERCINGS: left lobe

FACECLAIM: kim hanbin

EUN HWASEONG, better known by his stage name, HWASEONG, is a south korean rapper and songwriter. hwaseong was born to park yowon, a former idol who later became an actress, and oh hajun, a celebrity chef on december 16, 1995 in anyang, south korea. due to the controversy surrounding his scandalous conception, hwaseong's mother was forced out of her former group before eventually being redeemed in the public eye after marrying renowned comedian, lee jiseong in 1999.

a young hwaseong and his younger half-sister were exposed to the entertainment industry quite early. most notably, hwaseong made his public debut in 1999 with his parents after their marriage as part of a reality tv series. encouraged to explore his creative senses from a young age, hwaseong quickly picked up multiple instruments by the time he was 10 years old, landing him a spot in an international premier children's classical orchestra at just 11 years old.

his success with the children's orchestra caught the attention of APRICUS CULTURE creative director, JUN JAEHEE, who convinced his mother to allow him to join the company's training program in 2007. hwaseong easily managed to succeed within the rigorous training system, nabbing features on his senior labelmates' songs beginning in 2010.

eventually, he was chosen to appear on the survival show, GENERATION: AVOS in 2013 and became the second confirmed member to join the final lineup. currently, hwaseong is the LEAD RAPPER and SUB VOCALIST of the south korean boy group AVOS, which debuted under apricus culture in 2014. hwaseong is the group's primary songwriter under the penname PLUTO.

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE BASICSㅤ˒

STAGE NAME: HWASEONG

BIRTH NAME: oh seonghyeon

LEGAL NAME: eun hwaseong

ALIASES: PLUTO

DATE OF BIRTH: december 16, 1995

ZODIAC SIGN: sagittarius

PLACE OF BIRTH: anyang, south korea

HOMETOWN: seoul, south korea

ETHNICITY: south korean

NATIONALITY: south korean

LANGUAGES: korean, english

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE CAREERㅤ˒

OCCUPATION: idol, songwriter

TRAINING PERIOD: seven years

YEARS ACTIVE: 2014 - present

LABEL: STUDIO AVOS

GROUP: AVOS

POSITION: lead rapper, sub vocalist

✶ . ㅤ ╱ ㅤTHE APPEARANCEㅤ˒

HEIGHT: 6’1” (186 cm)

TATTOOS: two full sleeves

PIERCINGS: six total

FACECLAIM: jeon jeongguk

[blue-pearl832]

I posted about a UU headcannon about how the invis players would have fun and I ended up writing a drabble about it. This is about my UU oc’s and happens later in the storyline. Featuring Coralsky and Pure_Clarity. Hope you enjoy :>

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

“This has been the most chaotic and stressful experience in I’ve had in literal years, and yet I’m still enjoying myself more than I have ever.” Clarity said, plopping down on a spot near the bank of the stream. “I should fucking think so. We’ve nearly died at least two times every other day.” Cors gave him an eye roll as they set down some of their gear mainly to alleviate some of the soreness that came with carrying multiple full shulkers at a time. Nightfall was always a much needed time to rest during their journey.

A burning question caught alight in their mind as they thought through more of the implications of Clarity’s previous words. “Besides, going on missions and sleeping what did you do in the mafia when you had free time?” Cors knew that the mafia was restrictive and overbearing, but to think that nobody did anything for fun? That just wasn’t possible. “If I’m being honest we didn’t do much for fun or leisure… well we did have this one thing. But it’s kind of hard to explain.” Clarity said gazing up to meet Cors as he sat next to him. “Go ahead it’s not like anyone would find us at this hour.”

“So I’m going to assume you know what a waltz is, I don’t think you’re that uncultured.” Clarity said with grin “Rude but go on.” Stifling a chuckle he continued. “ Well basically we’d all go to where ever had the most free empty space at the time. Hold out whatever our identifying item was before starting the dance. We’d all pair up and whatever poor soul who’d have to sit out would start the music and give cues.” Cors listened intently as Clarity went on, only to be hung up on one thing. " How did the higher ranks let you all do all of this?”

“They were usually asleep or they joined in so we didn’t have to worry about that, so if I can continue after you so rudely interrupted.” He said shooting a playful glare at Cors. They brushed them off and gestured them to continue.

“Thank you, the caller would play the music after everyone put away everything besides their helmet if you were lead or boots if you were following. The whole goal of everything was to try to end up with whoever you started with at the end of each song. Sometimes it would end perfectly and other times not so much.” Clarity said looking off fondly for a moment as if remembering something nostalgic. “It was pretty much the only thing I ever enjoyed in that godforsaken place.”

“Why don’t we do it now then?” Cors barely registered what they said as the words left their mouth. “I mean we don’t have to but if you’d like to we can,” That fuck boy charismatic persona Cors loved playing slip for a moment showing the vulnerability underneath. “Yeah we could, it won’t be the same obviously, but I don’t think you have a jukebox do you?” No, he didn’t and he shouldn’t waste diamonds, but the way the moonlight glinted in Clarity’s dark eyes made them forget everything else. “No but I can make one.”

After quickly crafting a jukebox and finding the singular music disc they had buried somewhere in a skulker. Cors cleared away a spot for them to dance as Clarity got the music to play. “How did you even manage to find creator? I thought all of these belong to the mafia.” The record came to life with a quiet start accounting for its age, but it works so that was all that mattered.

“Well they did but a certain client of mine happened to have one they lost.” The words not said filled in the rest. “I’ll just leave it at that.” Clarity gave Cors a bow taking their hand in his, “I do hope you know how to dance, since I don’t plan on going slow.” Cors accepted their hand with an eye roll but nonetheless. “The same goes for you, I don’t plan on having to pick you up from the dirt.”

The music began slightly slower allowing for its dancer to adjust to the tempo and begin keeping count. Cors could have never anticipated this would happen,but he certainly wasn’t apposed to it. Waltzing with Clarity under the moonlight felt more like a dream than it did reality. Cors catching his boot on the ground below and nearly falling, on the other hand certainly felt real. In one quick movement they were scoped right back into the rhythm by Clarity saving them with a dip. “I thought you said you were good at this and look at now you.” Cors could swear up and down that the red blush that dusted his face and the tips of his ears was merely from exhaustion or embarrassment. Even though they themselves knew it was a bold faced lie.

“Shut up, if you were a better lead I’d have never tripped in the first place.” Clarity roles his eyes at the salty tone Cors took on. “Maybe if you just trust me to guide you, then I’d be able to help us avoid stuff like that.” Something so sweetly sincere lie under those words. A promise to him that he could put his life in Clarity’s hands without a doubt. With all the trust of a hurt wild animal Cors let himself fully rely on Clarity for direction. “You might hate for this but you’ll hear me out.” Another turn into hopefully not a tree, and another possibly dangerous idea from Clarity.

“Alright what is it?” Cors felt like they would to regret agreeing to whatever he was about to say, but it was too late to take it back. “What if I spin you every time we would have changed partners?” The rhythm that Clarity had led them into was a comfort to them, yet it would be fun to try something different. “ Fuck it why not, sounds fun.” Cors could live a little when they wanted to. On the crescendo of the song Clarity took the hand that was on his shoulder and effortlessly spun him around despite the grass and dirt.

“Why can’t you be this graceful when we’re fighting people?” Cors said with a sardonic smile, “I could be, but where’s the fun it that.” He leaned in a bit closer to them closing some of their earlier distance. “Or maybe it’s who wants me to be all graceful and elegant,” They were so mad by how Clarity giggled at their reaction. “Bro shut up.”

Their dance continued just smoothly as before, gliding as best they could in the grass, each turn and spin done with confidence. It may have been minute, it could have been hours but the last swells rang out into the night as Clarity did one final dip right as the song ended. Cors focused on Clarity letting everything else fall into the background. The majority of his face was painted red, the moonlight caught on the blonde undyed roots of his hair. The stress of all he had been put through was shown in the bags under his eyes. And yet Cors felt like he had never seen anyone more beautiful.

However every good moment must end, and theirs was not an exception; Clarity slowly let go of them and backed away with an indescribable emotion on their face. “That was really nice, we should dance again someday.” Even with the eyltra limiting his wings mobility Cors still noticed how the flared out slightly. “Yeah it was, and to be honest you were a really good partner.” Their heart was still racing and their breath was still short even after they stopped for some unknown reason. “I’m going to get everything set up for bed. Try not to be killed in the meantime.” Clarity ran into the night only pausing to look back at Cors. “Aren’t you going to?” And as if nothing happened Cors was back with Clarity on the banks of the stream.

[mccoys-killer-queen]

Give Me the Lights (Tommy x Reader)- Part 1

Words: 2,905

Summary: You live with Tommy on his farm in Michigan in the late 70s. It's almost time to start recording the next Styx album, but trying to make music seems to be Tommy's enemy lately. He's not acting like himself, and you know something's not right...

-----

(Michigan, March 1979)

It happens every year; the month of March is cold and gloomy, yet everyone is always surprised. People normally expect it to be springtime the second March rolls around, but mother nature— purely out of spite— never lives up to this expectation. Humanity is normally fed up with the winter gloom by this point of the year, so they like to forget that the majority of the month still qualifies as winter. 

When it came to the inevitable winter gloom, one could normally head indoors in order to escape it. A nice blanket, warm lighting, and a different view were the best ways to do this. You couldn't do this, though. 

The refuge of your own house didn't help alleviate the dreary, early March gloom- because the gloom was now incarnate as a person, and this person lived in the house with you.

Those winter blues had taken the form of your darling boyfriend, and despite the bright golden hair on his head, it seemed the rest of his shine was gone.

You had never known Tommy to experience seasonal depression before, but his strange behavior seemed to fit the bill quite well to you. Often over the past few weeks, you had picked up on him acting rather... differently. He was eating less, sleeping more, and showing little interest or emotion in just about everything.

There was currently a new Styx album in the process of conception. Tommy had been eager to get back to work and get lost in his own musical embryos as much as he pleased. This was normally an infallible source of joy for your bright-eyed lover, so the fact that you rarely heard his strumming or singing these days concerned you just a little. 

You often caught him sleeping in much later than usual, or just caught him in bed too often in general. Nearly every time this happened, there tended to be a guitar on the floor across the room.  He'd tell you he was "just tired", but he seemed to be tired all the time lately.

In addition to his lack of energy and interest in his music, you noticed he had elevated crankiness on some days, too. This side of him would sometimes make an appearance as frustration with an instrument, while other times he'd express self-doubt while attempting to write a song. Even something as simple as cursing out the washing machine or the weatherman let you know how he was feeling inside. A few times, he'd even been short with you over minute things that didn't seem to matter in the past.

What really raised your concern was when you realized that his typical, toothy grins hadn't made any appearances for a while.

Since there was rarely sunshine or warmth at this time in the season, you thought it made sense that a man from the south- who was practically made of sunshine- was acting a bit dulled down. It was no secret that Tommy was a nature-loving man, so you wondered if this meant that when the surrounding nature was down in the dumps, so was he.

You also wondered if he was aware of this himself.

One evening, you softly confronted the subject of his mood problems. You told him you had picked up on how upset and tired he appeared lately, and carefully asked him if something was wrong.

Almost immediately, he became teary-eyed at your intervention. He couldn't deny what you were inquiring about; he was well aware of it himself, and had been for some time.

The ensuing conversation resulted in a lot of physical tenderness from you, and a lot of venting from him. He confessed that he'd been feeling so indescribably "down" lately— both mentally and physically— and that he couldn't seem to be musically productive no matter what.

"I feel so empty-" Tommy told you, head in hands as you held him close, "-like there's nothing left inside me. And my body feels so heavy that I don't wanna move at all. I don't feel like myself, and I can't even tell you why- because I don't even know! Everyone else seems to be doing fine, and then there's me— who just wants to sulk for no reason, can't get out of bed, or write a song to save my life right now."

In addition, he threw in a grumpy comment about the monotonous weather being equivalent to purgatory. It was here you proposed that he might be suffering from a classic case of seasonal depression, and that it was probably interfering with everything; his creativity, his mood, and his energy. You also explained that, since he was acclimated to the mild winters of Alabama, his body wasn't used to being stuck in a real winter like this.

Tommy looked both surprised and a little guilty at your inference, but admitted you were probably right. 

"I'm really sorry, Y/n," he shook his head as he dropped his vision with a sniff, "I know I've been so pathetic lately-"

His eyes sprung open in surprise as you covered his mouth with your hand.

You used your other hand to wipe the wetness from under his eyes, "You're not gonna call yourself pathetic, and you're not gonna apologize for something you can't control, okay?"

He squinted in confusion, then sighed from under your hand and nodded with closed eyes. You uncovered his mouth and kissed him slowly, assuring him that you'd both get him feeling better.

That night, like many others before, Tommy curled in close to you with the hopes that the warmth from your body was reminiscent of the sunlight he didn't know he craved. With his internal conflict identified, he felt less shame about feeling so 'empty' inside. 

Ever since then, you'd done all you could to get Tommy out of this rut. You wanted to make sure he had constant reassurance that there was no need to feel lonely. There were a lot more cozy nights spent inside together where you would both sing for the sake of singing, and nights where you'd play guitar for him so he didn't have to. There were also a lot of nights where you'd simply hold him close to you as you both slipped into slumber. 

All you could do was anything- anything in order to keep his spirits up. Hell, you even got him vitamin D supplements if it meant he might have perked up a little from them.

Something you also attempted to do from time to time was get both of you active and moving. If you yourself were active, then Tommy felt compelled to follow suit. As a simple way to do this, you began to go on walks more often when the winter weather permitted. Your usual walking route made a pass by the nearby lake where Tommy's own little row boat remained covered for the season at the shore. Every time you walked past it, you'd catch his gaze lingering on it. 

"I really miss taking that thing out at sunset," he reminisced one afternoon as you walked hand-in-hand, "I feel like one trip on the ol' boat would automatically cure both of us of any winter blues.

You squeezed his hand, "Well, it is kinda your happy place."

 "We're going out on it the very first chance we get, got it?"

"Maybe on the first day of spring, we can celebrate that way..." you suggested.

There was a quick, fleeting curl of the corner of his mouth at your idea. Getting him to smile at all was always a wonderful accomplishment.

He was appreciative of how much you cared about his well-being, but there were also a few times where he'd whine about being "babied" by you. Sometimes, you had to pull his arms or legs to get him out of bed. One time, you had to roll him. Other times, when his appetite couldn't be found, you attempted to spoon-feed him like an infant (which, at the very least, made him laugh out of embarrassment).

Some days were normal, some days were fine, and some days weren't so fine.

Once, after a rather rough songwriting attempt, Tommy came to you on the verge of tears because he was just that frustrated with himself. He wasn't sure how to exactly say what he wanted from you; what he'd done was take you in his arms and mumble that he needed you to tell him to "stop feeling like this."

Instead of honoring his request, you had him lay in your lap on the couch. As you watched the snow settle down outside the house, you aimed to reassure him that he was simply a little unwell at the moment.

"There's nothing wrong with you, sweetie. You're just a bit in the dark like the rest of the northern hemisphere right now; you just need some light, is all," you reasoned with him. Your fingertips slowly combed through the roots of his glowing locks as you went on, "And someday soon, every little thing that makes you happy— all those little lights in your life— they'll come back. They have thousands of times before when things seemed dark, and this time is no different."

"Hm. Maybe you should write a song," he mused up at you with closed eyes, "You speak like a poet."

"Maybe I should," you joked, "If it'll make you sit back and relax for once."

Tommy hadn't given up on writing songs, but he could also never seem to pull one together. Sometimes there would be random bursts of frustrated ambition, but that usually resulted in papers all over the floor, and Tommy walking away from it all before he tore up another potential idea. 

When you realized him picking up the guitars never led to any good, you suggested he try a new instrument altogether.

"But all my ideas stem from guitar, and I swear I'm close to something!" he acted like what you said was blasphemous, "If I'm finally going to have an idea for a song, it's bound to come from a guitar. I can't just give up on it now...!"

"I get you're afraid the guitar muse won't last, but 'Renegade' did come from a piano, after all," you reminded him, "And I'm not saying give up with the guitar, I'm just saying find something different to take your mind off of guitars for a bit. Cleanse your palette, learn something new, and maybe new ideas will come from it!"

He sighed and shook his head, "Alright... I'll see if anything weird enough catches my eye."

Slowly over a week or two of gently pushing him and nurturing him, you noticed Tommy coming back more into himself. His healthy ambition was returning, he began to eat and sleep normally again, and his usual cheer seemed to be waking up from hibernation. When you first started noticing this, you also noticed Tommy was being more secretive about the potential music he was working on. He wasn't trying to compose often, but when he did, he wouldn't let you peek in on him anymore.

Despite this sudden secretiveness, he told you he still didn't have any songs yet, and that he was experimenting with something new like you proposed. Whatever he was starting to do, you were just glad he found some joy in it again.

One day, you caught a glimpse of a paper he'd accidentally left lying around. In his slightly scribbled handwriting, there appeared to be a few brief stanzas of a potential song.

"Thank you for caring, but tonight the lights will take me where I long to be Just like a thousand nights before

I can't explain It gives me some pain

Give me the lights, precious lights Give me light, give me hope, give me energy

You can turn the wrong into right, precious lights Illuminate me Won't you let me play?"

It was then clear why Tommy was hiding his current work from you; he was inspired by you. Perhaps he was just too bashful to admit it yet.

The lyric melted your heart, not only because he was referencing your own words of comfort in his music, but also because he was now finding inspiration in his bout of gloom. You knew his soul desperately wanted it to be spring, and he knew he desperately wanted to be back to normal. The lights of springtime, to him, meant just that. It only made sense that he was to write a song about this.

As much as you instantly fell in love with it, you didn't tell Tommy that you found the lyrics he wrote. You let it be, and just let him carry on with his own process. You weren't meant to look at it, and didn't want to jinx the wonderful thing he may have started.

After the personal rollercoaster that was the first 19 days of March, the first day of spring arrived at long last. Unfortunately, however, there was still no spring in sight. There was a forecast for freezing rain and wind that day, with no sunshine to be found.

In the days recent, Tommy did show he had more energy for a change, as he could feel the impending season around the corner. Whenever he disappeared to practice whatever new thing he was trying out, you just let him be. That day being no different, you went ahead and slipped out to run some errands before the weather hit. However, the weather did hit while you were gone, leaving your other half on his own longer than expected.

Meanwhile, alone in his own private little work bubble, Tommy strummed his new instrument quietly to himself.

"It's done..." he whispered, "It's actually done... but it's not... right."

It was a particularly frustrating day for him in terms of music- as he was making progress based on your advice, but something just felt off about the finished product he'd made.

Yes, Tommy had finally finished a song. It came rather effortlessly, too- much to his surprise. He was almost proud of it, but he didn't know how to tell if it was truly completed.

He knew you were right about needing to cleanse his palette, so he went out on your word and bought a mandolin. His reasoning for this choice was simply the fact that he knew he was a guitar player, so how different could a mandolin be? He was sure he could play it. The second he tried to, however, he quickly realized that he couldn't. As it turned out, the tuning was otherworldly, it was tricky to try and learn chords on, and it was small. 

In the process of trying to figure out how the hell to play this new tool, Tommy decided to just make up his own chords. The second he strung a few of these 'chords' together, something immediately set off a little spark in his heart.

Finally, at long last, something took to his creative side and awoke it from hibernation. It was something he had wanted so badly, and it was something that felt so wonderful to feel again. 

When it came time to set a lyric to the fresh music, Tommy figured it was only best to write about something else he wanted so badly.

He couldn't wait to play his experimental tune for you and tell you that you were right all along, but there was this inexplicable thing that was missing from it. Naturally, as a musician, he spent several obsessive hours trying to figure out what it was, but had no luck. He just didn't know what needed to be changed- if anything.

On the verge of his motivation burning out on the matter again, sleet suddenly began to pound against the windows outside.

Immediately, poor Tommy felt the musical motivation rapidly leak away from him. His mood and energy suddenly plummeted, and he felt himself slump back into an insufferable, lazy state once more. 

It was here that he realized he was expecting March 20th to be a day of hope and light, but instead, winter was laughing in his face yet again. It was officially spring, yet there he was; still stuck in the cold with another incomplete song.

He missed feeling whole. He missed feeling completely like himself and making complete works of art.

Tommy shamefully hid his mandolin away again, deciding to once again give up for the day. His feet seemed to automatically lead him to the couch, as if they already knew what to do, and he horizontally resigned himself to its cushions.

 You were always telling him to just lay back and relax as best as he could when the thought of making music caused too much stress. You'd additionally tell him, as a joke, to close his eyes and go to his "happy place", just to make him smile. With your voice suggesting this in his head, Tommy figured that at the very least, some extra sleep might flush away the depressive cloud that was eating at him yet again. 

Besides, he had a (supposedly) completed song; he figured he deserved a nice nap as a reward.

Dejectedly letting the sound of the freezing rain scrape against his eardrums, he allowed his eyes to close as every confused thought in his mind began to form the foundation of a midday dream.

----- (Part 2)

[mythologypaintings]

A Dance to the Music of Time

Artist: Nicolas Poussin (Italian, 1594–1665)

Date: c. 1634–1636, Italy

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: The Wallace Collection, London

Description

Although trained in Paris, the French painter Nicholas Poussin spent most of his career in Rome. This painting was created for a Roman patron, Giulio Rospigliosi, later Pope Clement IX. A circle of figures who symbolise the Seasons dance to the music played by Father Time on his lyre. Autumn, usually represented by a woman, is here represented as Bacchus, the god of wine. Two putti, one blowing bubbles and the other holding an hour glass, allude to the transience of human life; the double-headed herm, depicting the youthful and mature Bacchus, points its old head towards the dance, while its young head looks out of the composition to the future. In the sky, the sun god Apollo rides across the morning sky in his chariot, preceded by Aurora (dawn) and followed by the Hours.

The exact meaning of the composition is not known. The subject originally derived from a passage in Les Dionysiaques by Claude Boitet de Frauville, which describes how, following the complaints of Jupiter and the Seasons, Jupiter gave Bacchus and his gift of wine to alleviate human suffering. However, the dancing figures came to be more generally associated with the perpetual cycle of the human condition itself: from poverty to labour to riches and then to pleasure, which, if indulged to excess, reverts to poverty. The painting remained in Rospigliosi’s Roman residence, where it was last recorded in 1713. It was later bought by Cardinal Fesch, uncle of Napoleon Bonaparte, from whose sale it was bought by the 4th Marquess of Hertford in 1845.