#pyrotechnic performer

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Pyrotechnic Performer

"Let's get this party started."

Artist: Peter Polach TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[almostlookedhuman]

[weareravershq]

Rema performing in Australia

[wouldvegonealongwiththerighteous]

Rip Speak Now (2010), you would've loved The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived Eras Tour performance (2024)

[lonelystarbuckslover13]

Ok not to be a hater but if she had to cut songs for the TTPD set surely the bad blood chorus sung 3 times with no verses would’ve been an easier loss than literally any of the songs she actually cut?

[cat-soda]

i fucking hate paradox live

[5mind]

honestly i think it would be fun for fivemind to get into filming lol

[ang-m-wong]

Kenton spin fire with a meteorchuk (March 2023).

[phantom-voices]

My clip of Myrath at the Wacken Festival Festival 2019.

[ghostlemon36]

Just got home from the P!nk concert and I’m having feelings

[bookofhappyescapes]

Alright science boy, calm down

[candylandphotos]

Fire Dancing Breathing Circus

"Embracing Flames: The Spellbinding Rhythm of Fire Dancing in a Breathing Circus."

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[prof-peach]

Hi! So I'm in a band and we we have a smoke machine we bring out on stage, and our drummer's Gastly keeps getting inside it and making black smoke. We all think it looks cool, but is it safe? We don't want to get our fans, you know, sick or killed or anything.

A'ight so, the gas of a ghastly CAN induce feinting, nausea, and suffocation, BUT and this is the key point here, this is only the case when the pokemon feels threatened. It is otherwise harmless to inhale if the ghastly is well cared for, looked after and feeling secure and happy.

I'd suggest testing it without a crowd, and checking the toxicity levels in air by hiring or sending off canistered air collected during a test set, and sending it to a Environmental Protection Agency local to you. They may take a few weeks to get you results, and often can offer this service for a reasonable price.

If the results come back clean enough, then i'd see no issue with it. its not like its new to use pokemon for performances, pyrotechnics and visual effects are so much easier to apply with trained team members.

You can buy air quality meters too, which may be worth investing in, to make sure those levels stay low through performances.

If the Ghastly has a good disposition, and doesnt panic or stress during sets, it shoudlnt cause a problem, this is especially evident if the pokemon is not overly powerful or highly trained. even if things go a bit wrong, a low level mon like this will only cause some nausea, not anything more severe.

I'd also run this by your venues owner if you rent out of perform in various loactions, as their insurances may not cover this kind of effect during acts.

Run it by your drummer and his pokemon, and test to make sure this pokemon is calm and sturdy during practice for a few sessions.

Its worth noting if any of you are looking for a counter measure for the toxicity levels, should on the off chance they spike, some koffing have been trained to purify air even before their Galarian evolution. Dotaku Labs have been a cornerstone for training these pokemon for rehoming and work forces, utilising their latent ability to clean air, if trained right. We have a few up for adoption most of the time, and they have wonderful personliaties. We however do understand that not everyone can take up a new pokemon, so its not a necessity, just an option should one of you feel like youre capable of taking on a koffing.

Long story short, if the pokemon is calm and happy to do this, and handles the performances without fear, there shouldnt be any issues at all, as their toxicity only increases when stressed or defneding themselves.

[misspygmypie]

Witnessing A Dream Come True

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Requested: Yes by the lovely @remmysthings Summary: It's Y/N's first concert of her first big tour and Lando is just so proud! Words: 667

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando stood backstage, surrounded by the pre-show buzz, feeling excitement creeping into his veins. The smell of fresh paint, stage lights, and a hint of backstage nerves filled the air. He glanced around at the crew making final adjustments to microphones, lighting, taping the setlists down and ensuring the pyrotechnics were ready to go. His eyes, however, soon were fixated on the doorway leading to the stage, where he knew Y/N would soon make her entrance.

Tonight marked a significant milestone: His girlfriend's first official tour. As a race car driver, Lando was no stranger to high-speed thrills and adrenaline, but this was different. Watching Y/N take the stage was like witnessing a new kind of race, one where the finish line was applause rather than the flag at the end of a circuit.

Y/N had always been a dreamer. Her voice was a force of nature, capturing every emotion she poured into her music perfectly. In the 4 years they had been together Lando had seen her journey from small local gigs to this grand stage, and he was honored to be a part of it.

Their best friends, Max and Pietra, stood beside him, both their expressions mirroring his own.

“Can you believe this is happening?” Max asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

“Not in the slightest,” Lando replied, his gaze never wavering from the door. “She’s worked so hard for this, I’m just so proud of her.”

P nudged him playfully. “You’re not the only one. We’ve seen her perform before, but this is something else entirely, isn’t it?”

Lando nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, it’s amazing. I remember when we first met, she was always talking about her dreams and how one day she wanted to be on a big stage like this. And now, here she is. I just…” He trailed off, finding it hard to express his feelings with words.

Max placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, man, she’s lucky to have you here. It means a lot to her, you know.”

Lando looked at his friends, grateful for their support. “Thanks. I hope she knows how much this means to me too. Seeing her up there, living her dream, it’s incredible and all I ever wished for her.”

The lights dimmed, and a ripple of anticipation swept through the backstage area. The crowd grew louder, and Lando’s heart pounded in his chest. Y/N was about to take the stage, and he could hardly wait to see her shine.

The door to the stage opened, and Y/N stepped through. Her stage outfit shimmered under the lights, and she was radiating with confidence. She glanced back towards the backstage area, her eyes meeting Lando’s. In that short moment he saw the excitement in her eyes, the determination, and the joy of finally reaching this point.

As Y/N took her place under the spotlight, the audience erupted into applause. Lando’s chest swelled with pride, and he turned to his friends, his eyes full of emotion. “She’s amazing,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

Max and Pietra nodded in agreement, their own faces reflecting the same pride and admiration for their mutual friend.

From the side, Lando watched Y/N perform, never losing the proud smile on his face. Each note she sang, each movement she made showed her talent and hard work. As the concert went on Lando felt nothing but happiness, knowing he was witnessing his girlfriend’s dream come true.

After Y/N took her final bow she looked towards the backstage area and her gaze locked with Lando’s. He quickly opened his arms while she was rushing towards him and she fell into them, a radiant smile on her face. “You were incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so proud of you babe!”

Y/N eyes filled with tears of joy. “Thank you for being here, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

[pop-punk-and-vodka]

reblogging with tags bc this is fucking gold

I forgot about this but after our show my sister told me that Pete's bass caught on fire and his reaction was very calm

Just like "yep, mhm, ok, this is fine" while handing it to someone off stage