#austin farwell

[chaoticwomanlove]

The Kiss

Gustav Klimt

[drmarioman]

Okay, I'm gonna do something funny.

Giving bands I've listened to a number rating

Here's my music playlist for reference:

I'll only be ranking bands or musicians that I have listened to 3 different songs from. So MF Doom will not be on the list, sorry

Queen

Rating: 9/10

Favorite song: Don't Stop Me Now

Notes: I'm pretty sure it's impossible to not have listened to at least 1 Queen song. They're one of the most popular bands out there for a reason.

Daft Punk

Rating: 10/10

Favorite song: Instant Crush or Make Love

Notes: Actually my favorite musical duo of all time. They haven't fumbled the bag with their albums once, and they went out on a perfect high note with Random Access Memories.

Scatman John

Rating: 7.5/10

Favorite song: Scatman's World or Scatman (Game Over Jazz)

Notes: Probably one of the most inspirational guys in media. He took his verbal problems and turned it into his career. I hope he rests in peace.

Pink Floyd

Rating: 7/10

Favorite song: Wish You Were Here or Comfortably Numb

Notes: Weird band, since they can range from high highs to aggressively middling. The good outweighs the bad, though, and The Wall movie slaps hard.

Tenacious D

Rating: 9/10

Favorite song: Wonderboy

Notes: Petition to let Jack Black make a song for any upcoming movie.

David Bowie

Rating: 9.5/10

Favorite song: Blackstar or Starman

Notes: The fact that you can see David's bulge in Labyrinth either convinces me I should watch it or keeps me away from it. Depends on the day.

John Williams

Rating: 8.5/10

Favorite song: Superman theme

Notes: I'm surprised he's still alive at this point.

Ween

Rating: 8/10

Favorite song: Ocean Man

Notes: They made a song called "Waving My Dick in the Wind." Haven't listened to it yet

Toby Fox

Rating: 10/10

Favorite song: Undertale

Notes: If I remember correctly, didn't Toby make some tracks for YIIK? What's he doing in there?

Lemon Demon

Rating: 9/10

Favorite song: Touch-Tone Telephone, Cabinet Man, or Two Trucks

Notes: My mom hates Lemon Demon because of Two Trucks.

C418

Rating: 10/10

Favorite song: Aviva

Notes: N/A

Neil Ciciereaga

Rating: 7/10

Favorite song: Mouth Pressure or Bustin

Notes: The Mouth Albums go extraordinary hard for what are essentially glorified All-Star memes.

Bill Wurtz

Rating: 9/10

Favorite song: the ending or here comes the sun

Notes: hi, you're on a rock, floating in space. pretty cool, huh?

Duster

Rating: 10/10

Favorite song: Inside Out or Me and the Birds

Notes: Just discovered them. Those stupid Sisyphus memes were good for something.

Austin Farwell

Rating: 8.5/10

Favorite song: New Home (Slowed)

Notes: Prepare to rethink everything you've done.

Will Wood

Rating: 9.5/10

Favorite song: "Mr. Capgras," "Love, Me Normally," or "Against the Kitchen Floor"

Notes: The difference between his first three albums and "in case I make it" is the funniest thing I've seen. Bro pulled a 180 (or a 90). Good for him.

Conclusion

Music is cool. Bye

[sensualeroticblogplus]

Once Upon a Time (Slowed)

[underrated-bops]

(Austin Farwell- Evening Sky)

[cosmiccheesesticks]

I turned myself into AI Art and made it into a mood 💜

[sleebyconfy]

Where Do I Go? - Austin Farwell

[silkjade]

by the time his eyes drift from the realm of ink and paper, the late afternoon sun has long seeped through kaleidoscope glass, dancing in threads of gold, as it weaves a crown of light and shadow atop her head. the air shimmers with hazy opalescence, and the beguiling tricks of his heart, echo the words penned by his late-grandmother, ‘may my child alhaitham lead a peaceful life.’ ….and he thinks this might be it. for love lies within the transience of time: in the fleeting daylight and the quiet solace, in the comfort found of a life unadorned. and so he makes a decision he dares not say aloud just yet, but a smile curves the corner of his lips, as he endeavors to imagine the tranquility of a life with her — forever.

illustrated by @/_hui.an on instagram; this was my second time working with them, and it was just as lovely as the last ! reblogs are okay, but please do not save or use — thank you ♡

[kiwiplaetzchen]

[ask-felix-aberg]

On the Nature of Daylight - Max Richter - Camerata Nordica - Borgholm Castle

by owl music

[chaoticwomanlove]

Two girls on the beach.- Hermann Seeger

[recordshop-archive]

@gamegenders

Suncraftic

(pt: Suncraftic /end pt)

Suncraftic; a gender connected to the feeling of having just finished building one’s home in peaceful mode in Minecraft, watching the sunset in-game, & the song "New Home" by Austin Farwell! this gender may feel oddly bittersweet, but doesn’t have to be!

etymology; sun, craft, “ic” meaning of or pertaining to!

for 💤 anon!

tagging; @radiomogai!

[sensualeroticblogplus]

Together-Austin Farwell

[braveman1970]

Not Forgotten Mix Austin Farwell

[comatosebunny09]

kismet [ teaser ] | sylus

— summary: “are you going to keep picking at my bed sheets until you’ve reduced them to mere threads?” sylus’ voice startles you, bringing you careening back to the present. the sheet slips from your fingers as you cower like a scolded child, bathed in the imposing aura he emits.  “you could say something. or we could just sit here listening to each other breathe for the rest of the night. take your pick.”

— cw: blood, injury, violence, minor character deaths, language, self-loathing, unrequited (requited) feelings, mdni

— now playing: i got u - austin farwell

Consciousness comes toddling in like newborn kittens. 

You anticipate the sound of birds chirping outside. Anticipate sunbeams kissing your eyelids and the crisp scent of your comforter. Instead, you’re ushered into wakefulness by insistent ticking. By a dull throbbing in your side and by something silken sliding down your bare stomach to pool around your hips. 

Uh-oh.

You jolt up. What a shitty idea that proves to be. White hot pain explodes in your side, anchoring you back down to the bed. Bed? Bed…when did you—

Your vision blurs and bends, adjusting in the low light. You make out discernible shapes and colors from your spot propped against a pillow. The aroma that greets you isn’t one associated with your home. But it’s familiar all the same. Inherently masculine with undernotes of bergamot, amber, and—

Ah, fuck.

Reality barrels in. You wince as you take in the sheets pooled around you. Their texture, their color. You’re surrounded by furniture that isn’t yours but is recognizable. And the ticking is familiar, too, coming from a clock nestled in the corner. 

This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your room. This is…this is…

The clearing of a throat interrupts your internal panicking. You shrink away from the source of the sound, but you soon learn to regret that. The ache from before returns, though not as severe. Still, it’s enough for you to grit your teeth with a hiss leaking through. 

“Sweetie,” warns a murky voice from your bedside—his bedside. You stiffen, the color draining from your face. “If you keep jostling about like that, you’ll reopen your wound.”

A peek in your periphery reveals what you fear—a wash of scarlet and white. 

You rigidly slide back down against his mattress, wishing it could swallow you whole. Wishing you could recede into your skin like a turtle. He’s barely said more than a sentence to you, yet you can sense his vexation as if he’s given you a whole PowerPoint presentation. 

You toy with some stitching in his sheets. Your heart thrums fiercely in your ears. The throbbing in your side can’t compare to that gnarling feeling in your gut. You don’t dare look at him. Don’t have to, irritation rolling off him in waves. He’s pissed if the set of his jaw in your periphery is any gauge. You would be, too, if you found yourself like that. 

You fucked up. And you don’t think any amount of groveling will fix this. 

—

It was a routine negotiation. 

Well, you had hoped it would be. 

You weren’t at all surprised when it went south; Niko was known for being a greedy bastard. Not only did he want the military-grade weapons you were selling in Sylus’s stead. But he also wanted to keep his pockets full. Figured he’d bump you off while absconding with the goods and money.

Naturally, Niko sicked his men on you. One by one, you took down hulking thugs, your instincts and Evol guiding you through the fray. It had been a minute since you got your hands dirty. You wanted to savor the moment, the purpling of your knuckles, and the thrill of a good fight. 

Caught up in the action, you hadn’t noticed one of Niko’s men charging you with a machete until it was too late. He sliced you good, breaking through skin before you could spin out of reach. You grit your teeth against the initial shock, but the adrenaline that spilled through you muted the pain. 

When the henchman drew back for another swing, you used his weight to your advantage, throwing him off-kilter. Maneuvering behind him to pull him into a chokehold, you used that same machete to tear through his carotid. He fell to the ground, his life spilling from him on the concrete. 

You took down the remainder of Niko’s men in a similar fashion, oblivious to how fucked you truly were. When the last of his henchmen hit the ground, you confronted the kingpin himself. Of course, he took off running in the wake of your ire. 

They always fucking ran. 

The bastard was surprisingly quick for an old man, leading you on a chase through the moonlit docks. All the action exacerbated your wound, its severity gradually announcing itself and slowing you down. You finally cornered Niko, dealing the killing blow. Left him propped against a safety bollard, split open and leaking red as a warning for anyone who dared to cross Sylus.

Reality set in as you hobbled back to your bike, the case of weapons and cash cumbersome in your hands. 

You were hurt. Bad. So much that you stumbled into a brick wall in an alleyway. It bit unforgivingly into your shoulder but was a cold, welcome reprieve against your feverish, sweat-slicked skin.

You clutched your side as a visceral pain tore through you. A glance down revealed your blood seeping through the gaps of your fingers, glistening condescendingly in the moonlight.

It was a jagged slice. Tore through skin and tissue, rubbed raw from your clothing. Untreated, it would fester and grow gangrenous, not to mention the blood loss. You didn’t trust yourself to make it to the hospital on your bike. Not when you were near tears, struggling to stay conscious. 

You turned a bitter laugh to the sky, though it was converted into a wheeze. This was what you deserved. What you got for being so complacent, driven to recklessness by your petty feelings. By your need to stay on top and prove your worthiness. 

Your breaths were shallow. Inhaling was laborious, amplifying the pain. You sank to your knees, fumbling your phone from your pocket. The screen was smeared with blood as you struggled to cue up a contact. Thankfully, the receiver clicked to life, a feminine voice lighting up the other end.

“Hey,” you breathed, your cell shakily held to your ear. “Need your help. Dropping a pin.”

You ignored the alarm in her voice at your cryptic words. Didn’t have time for questions, hanging up before marking your location and sharing it. 

Your phone clattered to the ground, the sound of it jarring amid distant cars moving about on the streets and dogs barking somewhere far off. You propped yourself up on the alleyway wall, sucking down as much air as you could. Tried to calm yourself, watching the clouds glaze over the moon overhead—anything to distract you. To nullify the pain.

The ache subsided the slightest bit. With some effort, you divested yourself of your blazer to pack it into your side. The texture gliding against your wound aggravated it. But you needed something temporary to staunch the bleeding until help arrived.

Exhaustion was pulling you under, darkened tendrils furling in your chest like smoke and clouding your eyes. You were about to give in to its inky embrace before headlights flooded your vision, chasing away the dreamlike smog. 

You looked up at the frantic clicking of shoes along the pavement. Chuckled something breathy at the fear sinking onto her face. You didn’t deserve her concern, but having someone fret over you felt nice.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” said Nadia, helping you stand with your arm slung over her shoulder.

Nadia was one of Lux’s bartenders. Could whip up a mean martini and was a faithful confidant. You sometimes called her when you were in a bind. As much of a fuck up you’d been lately, you trusted her never to go running her mouth to Sylus. 

She guided you to her car. You blinked away the bleariness, swallowing past the sand in your throat. 

“Not yet. Gotta…see the bossman first.”

The car door slammed behind you once Nadia eased you into the passenger seat. For a moment, you sat silently, forehead propped against the crisp window as you dripped blood on her tan seat. Shit. You’d clean it up. You promised. 

You watched Nadia round the car with your cases in tow before she slipped into the driver's side. The leather of the steering wheel squelched in her white-knuckled grip. She gave you a tight-lipped look. Wanted to argue, but there was no sense in trying to change your mind. You were stubborn to a fault.

Nodding, Nadia backed the car out of the alleyway and eased onto the street. She kept tabs on you throughout the drive, occasionally peering over to ensure you were still among the conscious. 

You promised you’d see the doc after you reported to Sylus. You just hoped to hold yourself together long enough to see him.

—

Lux’s iron-wrought gates panned into view.

As much as she burned to, Nadia vowed not to snitch, so long as you sought out a medic when you were done. You were thankful for that. She’d kept your injuries under wraps for so long. You didn’t think you could handle inconveniencing your boss with your stupid little wounds. He already had enough on his plate—enough people to occupy his mind. 

Your side still throbbed as Nadia snuck you in through the club’s back doors. She shepherded you into a dressing room, helping you disinfectant and wrap your injury before assisting you with your dress. It was a tight little number. Something to hold your bindings in place, dark enough to disguise any blood that managed to seep through. 

Reluctantly, Nadia left you to your own devices. You’d swept your hair into some semblance of neat in the mirror. Blotted sweat and grime from your face, patting your cheeks to bring back some color. 

You could do this. You’d suffered worse. Mustering up your last vestiges of strength, you stood, ignoring the sticky pull of the gauze against your laceration. You dragged yourself through Lux’s stilled halls, ending your journey at the heavy double doors leading to Sylus’ office. 

It was laborious, pushing them open. You’d sapped the last of energy doing so. Your vision doubled, a thatch of white dancing through the chaos. You barely made out the terror lining Sylus’ features. Barely heard the hurried click of his shoes over marbled floors and the fear hijacking his voice when you collapsed in the doorframe.  

You felt so very cold. But his hands were warm, squeezing your arms like that. He shook you lightly, the scarlet of his eyes glinting through your bleariness. His voice was muddled. He was saying something. Asking something. You couldn’t decipher what. You were tired. Just wanted to sleep. 

You felt pressure on your side. His hand. Heard him suck in a breath, your blood sticky on his palm. Dammit. You thought you’d done a decent job packing your wound. Whatever. You'd do better next time. 

The world fell away as he called your name. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. Tried to answer, but you were already gone, sinking below the depths as if weighed down by cinder blocks.