They say to never meet your heroes- but when Katniss gets to work with Peeta Mellark, one of her favorite artists, she jumps at the chance. Her world is turned upside down when their introduction goes sideways...
Will the biggest event of her life be the end of Katniss's career as a museum curator, or will they be able to solve their creative differences?
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“I like his nonsense lyrics the best. I like it when he’s sad. I like his melancholy stuff more. When he likes to get clever it gets a bit weird. He gets to be bit of a smarty-pants about it.”
Don’t you find a lot of those “smarty-pants” songs patronising?
“A little bit maybe. That’s why I like his personal stuff better… like the Blue Jeans (from Modern Life Is Rubbish) kind of things. It’s more interesting to me hearing what’s on people’s minds rather than hearing smart-arsed comments about where they live.”
Graham Coxon on Damon Albarn's songwriting for the BigO, 1998. (via Damon Albarn Unofficial)
My first Big Bang event, and I got the pleasure to write a fic for one of my favorite couples, Gelphie, in honor of the Wicked: For Good movie release!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: At Shiz University, everyone knows the green girl, but what they don’t know is that she’s an aspiring musician, but she prefers solitude, spending as much time as possible in the studio and away from her roommate, whom she despises. Meanwhile, her roommate, Galinda (a film major), is in search of an artist for her music video assignment, but when she finds out Elphaba is a musician, conflict arises, and the two must learn how to set aside their differences to work together.
Dallas recently started watching All Elite Wresting, and he’s got some shout outs! Shout out to Brody King for his Abolish ICE shirt, shout out to the crowd at AEW Dynamite for their anti-ICE chant, shout out to the announcers for not talking over it, and shout out to the ref for intentionally waiting to start the match to not interrupt it.
And on a more personal note, shout out to all the wrestling fans on tumblr who answer Dallas’ AEW questions!
The bass shook the beams above as I stepped into the building. Pulsing crowds of investors, producers, and journalists swirled around me, networking to their hearts’ desires. Conversations about new talent, red carpets, and upcoming tours harmonised with the feedback humming through the air.
Aurelian had signed me a month ago, and today was the day they paraded me to the industry.
Weeks of morning meetings, midday meltdowns, and late-night studio sessions had all led to this moment. They had converted an abandoned warehouse into a speakeasy. The walls were a rich brown, accented with dim golden lighting. Strobe lights bounced off the mythical statues that towered over us. As I made my way deeper, plush velvet sofas dotted the space behind dark red ropes.
God, I don’t belong here. These people are drowning in accolades.
I went to the bar and found an overwhelming selection of bottles. Burgundy roses were scattered across the back. Light bounced off golden trinkets, crystal glasses, and half-full champagne flutes.
I opted for the safe choice, a margarita, and made my way towards the stage.
I found a lone table near the front. My eyes darted between the crowd, the stage, and the crew setting up.
A soft tap landed on my shoulder. I glanced up to see Lucia grinning from ear to ear, twirling her dark curls, visibly buzzing with excitement.
“Bitch, this is fucking mental.” She gathered her long dress as she took a seat beside me, stealing a sip of my drink on her way down.
I rolled my eyes, smiling back at her.
“Dude, I know. This isn’t Ryebeck. There are actual people here. I swear I saw Harlem at the bar.”
Lucia gasped, scanning the room, trying to spot the rapper.
We went back and forth, our excitement climbing as A-listers and journalists passed by. I glanced towards the stage and noticed something projected onto the back wall.
“The Marauders,” I muttered.
“Who?” Lucia’s head snapped towards it, her eyes dimming slightly.
Before I could question her, four boys walked onto the stage and took their places.
A man with messy brown hair stepped up to the main mic. His array of silver rings glistened as he adjusted the stand. The drummer, slightly shorter, placed spare drumsticks into a small pot beside him and tested his cymbals.
To the left stood the bassist, the tallest of them all. He tuned his bass by ear, clearly showing off. A faint smile crossed his face when he noticed two women pointing at him.
And then there was the lead guitarist.
Jet-black hair framed his face, a toothpick hanging loosely from his mouth. He picked up a dark blue guitar and plucked at random strings, as if feeling it out. He moved to the front of the stage, crouching by his mic. Loop pedals surrounded him as he adjusted them.
His energy felt like static. It pulled me in.
He glanced up briefly, and our eyes locked.
The steady pulse of the room quickened.
Or maybe that was my heart.
His dark eyes held me. Heat crept across my face as he smiled. Strands of hair fell into his eyes, and when he pushed them back, his calloused hands revealed astrological tattoos.
I broke the moment first.
Girl, relax.
“Oi, Sirius.”
He turned towards the others gathered at the centre of the stage, then glanced back at me before joining them.
I looked over at Lucia. A dark frown had settled on her face.
“Luce, what’s up?” I followed her gaze. She was staring intently at the drummer.
“Oooh, a crush?” I teased.
She turned to me, serious.
“No. That’s—”
A single chord cut her off, echoing through the speakers. The room shifted as attention snapped to the stage.
“We are The Marauders, and this first song is Velvet Static.”
Synths and sporadic drum patterns circled my ears. Each chord vibrated through the tables. In the corner of my eye, journalists scribbled notes and recorded voice memos, preparing the articles that might decide our fate.
The melody moved through the crowd so naturally that, for a moment, networking stopped. People just listened.
There were slight inconsistencies in the loops, minor timing slips, but they used them. Twisted them into something that felt otherworldly.
Established artists tapped their feet, searching for connection. Their faces gave nothing away.
Did they like it?
Hate it?
Label representatives leaned into quiet conversations, debating who discovered whom and what they brought to the table.
On stage, the boys were at home.
The drummer, once shy, came alive behind the kit, confidence radiating from him. The lead singer carried a cocky, playful edge, shifting effortlessly from deep lows to airy falsetto. His voice commanded the room, and no one resisted.
Sirius moved with the music. His fingers danced across the strings as his head swayed with the rhythm. He and the bassist leaned into each other, as if blending their sound through movement alone.
The singer took control of the space, weaving between his bandmates before jumping into the crowd. He serenaded people as he passed, lingering by those who seemed unimpressed.
On his way back, he stopped at our table.
Energy and control. Interesting.
He winked at me, then took Lucia’s hand and pressed a light kiss to it before slipping back onto the stage.
We dissolved into laughter, still moving to the music.
As I melted into the sound, a voice cut in beside me.
“Naomi.”
I turned to see Elise from the office. Her usual ponytail had been replaced with a tight slicked-back bun. The sweater vest and jeans were gone, swapped for a floor-length gown.
“The executives want you and Lucia backstage.”
She didn’t wait for a response. As we scrambled to our feet, she was already moving. We grabbed our drinks and hurried after her, stumbling slightly in our heels.
At the door, she held it open, then swiftly took the glasses from our hands.
“You can drink after.”
She placed them on a nearby table and ushered us forward.
As Elise stormed ahead, Lucia doubled back, grabbed her glass, and downed it in one go.
“I’m not giving up a free marg,” she muttered, following quickly.
We moved deeper into the building as the song ended behind us, the crowd erupting. A sharper, more upbeat drumline bled through the walls.
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Angel Dust has some creative differences with Charlie here. XD XD XD I can't wait to watch the full scene. ^_^<3
Also:
Since Sir Pentious looks so surprised when he hears the word "Crack," does that mean he actually didn't read the script and just did this for the free lollipop and/or the chance to dress up like an innocent little boy? ;) XD XD XD
Hey, here's an idea, "Avatar (the last airbender) fans". Maybe people are making these changes to the live-action because it either...makes SENSE(gasp!) or maybe the show wasn't as perfect as you THOUGHT it was! Heck, maybe it's BOTH those reasons!
Wow...what a concept, am I right?
Seriously, judge it when it comes out, folks. Don't take everything that an interview or an article says seriously. Like, don't even take a game trailer seriously(you know who you are. Hint: SH2). The people behind this production are passionate about this, and I feel like they will deliver on creating a very good adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender. I don't know, I just feel like it will...hopefully...as I cautiously say. But I'm certain it will be great.
As for Bryke leaving, like everyone else said before me, stop acting like these dimwits are the ones that are the brains behind everything. From what I heard, if they got their way, fans would most definitely HATE IT. (got the source from theswordanthepenRFLECTIONS on YT, who's close to Netflix executives. Her replies to other Avatar fans say so.)
But yeah, maybe, just maybe, the show wasn't all that perfect? And they're trying to make it...I don't know, BETTER?