"๐พ๐๐ฉ๐ฎ ๐ค๐ ๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ง๐จ, ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐จ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ช๐จ๐ฉ ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ข๐?" An independent, exclusive, and low activity Sebastian Wilder from La La Land, private and largely for friends. A spirited and romantic jazz pianist from the city of dreams, there are few words that better embody a struggling, rose-tinted musician if not the tragic, the dreaming, the heart-achingly passionate romantic. A traditionalist to his core, he glows and shines best tickling those ivory keys, and he is perhaps unintentionally looking to find those puzzle pieces that always feel so stubbornly missing. Who can say? Maybe it's just the creative process, he thinks.
๐น Seeing them in the movies... @laperlina.
Please read my rules and my about pages before interacting. Both can be accessed beneath the read more found below. Verses are pending.
My main blog is for Ryland Grace @heliosphage with side trips to Driver @meethammer.
I.ย Godmodding will not be tolerated. However, for setting up a scene, generic set-ups may be pursued i.e. catching Seb playing at an event. Go crazy.
II.ย I will write only with mutual followers.
III.ย Do not expect immediate follow backs.
IV.ย This is a selective blog. I will only follow blogs with characters I find Seb can interact with. Second, the blog must have a rules and about page. Additionally, an emphasis in writing must be present meaning there should not be frequent out of character content. I really only unfollow for inactivity. Also, I check if you write with anyone in my DNI for my safety. If you do, I am not following no matter the circumstance and am blocking you for following me despite my DNI.
V.ย I ask that you unfollow with a hardblock.ย
VI.ย Shipping is open though not the priority.ย I only ship with one variation of any canon character. I will not ship if you are already shipping with a Seb. This is for my comfort.
VII. On the topic of shipping, this blog isย open to NSFW interactions. My writing partners should be +21.
VIII. In terms of banned content, I am open to writing most content except sexual violence/sexual assault/or anything related to disrespecting sexual boundaries/autonomy.
IX. Let me know of any triggers you may have, and I will tag my posts accordingly. I read everyoneโs rules pages; however, things may slip my mind. I personally do not have any triggers.
X.ย I practice mains. I may interact with numerous portrayals of a certain character, but a main will remain my priority as well as the default of that character in my writing of Seb.
XI.ย Donโt interactย if you write with geracht/zimwy/prodigil (Danny), who consistently denies and vocally robs me of my rape experience while ignoring the accounts of other SA survivors, 4ssemble/gallantry (Axel/Briarwood, see here), and goldfanged (Ana, see here), all of whom avidly support my abuser/rapist indeath (Q) and have a history of doing so by stalking and harassing/provoking victims. I have already been harassed, and they have gone so far as to harass my brother. They have already sent vile messages such as this one linked here. This is a hard boundary. Please, do NOT put these people in my space.ย I will NOT make exceptions. This is my extensive callout. While not necessary, I'd appreciate it if you liked the linked post with the callout to show me you have read and respect this rule in particular.
Out of character, you can call me Dean. Iโm Viet and +30.
ABOUT.
Name: Sebastian Wilder
Birthday: October 11
Age: 36
Gender: Cis Male
Race: Caucasian
Martial Status: Single
Sexuality: Bisexual
Religion: Atheist
Current Residence: Los Angeles, California, USA
Languages: English
Say what you will about Seb, but he is a man of tremendous heart. My god, does he have heart. An artist, he often has his head in the stars, a dreamer to his very last cell, and it shows in his so many colors, the man carrying himself like such a bright burst of frissoning energy. Seb, however, also finds that for that same energy, passion, and zeal, a lean toward arguing and conniptions, being a character that scarcely sees much value in biting down on your tongue or folding in on yourself. He is himself to the core, confident in his presentation, his opinions, and his beliefs.
Jazz pianist. Jazz is Seb's life. Jazz is all Seb cares about doing for the rest of his natural life. A struggling artist for the longest time, Seb had started off picking up whatever gigs he could for garbage pay, playing jazz (if he's lucky) or whatever the establishment owner wanted (if he wasn't; which was most of the time). It isn't easy being a struggling artist!
Jazz club owner. For as long as he can remember, he has wanted to open a jazz club of his own -- something proper, something that played jazz, tickled those ivories, that belted those moody, moody brasses the way they should be played. A romantic and traditionalist to his core, Seb, having listened to jazz after his grandfather who often had his vinyls tweeting through the electric soundscape of his mind, can never imagine a future not steeped deep in playing those tunes till the day he dies. After meeting Mia, however, his catalyst for change and his always-love, Seb eventually achieves his dream -- though with a caveat: he names his classic, romantic, intimate little jazz club Seb's.
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She scoffs. Scoffs. Scoffs the way he thinks poodles with their recent blow outs do because the air wasn't backwash from Coco Chanel.
Wow. Meet-cutes are relics. Everyone โ everyone knows that. They hang meet-cutes up on the rack that his button down shirt had once hung from, on the rack beside the one that held his cap toes, these polished shoes what he had worn when he'd willingly sunk into Maruchan hell for his 1982 Buick Riviera. Meet-cutes are dying on the vine, withering to the pestilence of streamlined consumerism in much the same way jazz is or his dwindling patience for NYC's animal population. Seb's nose wrinkles up. Yes, the NYC animal population. He's beginning to think that cohort includes the likes of girls in miniskirts who drink sugar over coffee. Anyway, meet-cutes are an endangered species, extinction critical, and obsoletion hangs over it like the fragrances in a Macy's. It is sinking into obscurity, into absolute irrelevance, mogged by its more controversial but no less stunning cousin, the meet-ugly โ and oh my.
Is it ugly.
Seb smiles tightly. He's pretty by virtue of being a stuggling artist, the one whose tastefully slicked hair has loosened marginally from its pomade embrace because of the heat, but that smile isn't. That smile is pure LA derision. You know the sort. It's the smile that sells you a chai latte for $10 and has the gall to tell you to have a nice day when you're down a Hamilton with rent due tomorrow. And he doesn't care. In fact, the smile says I'm considering upping the rent next month to cover my rent, and I don't believe in class solidarity. We aren't even on the same planet no less the same tax bracket. His partner in jazz retreats, wise not to wrangle with two hissing cats just as Seb swivels like a jackknife to meet her.
"A jazz person? Really? And you're a โ a what? A Coachella person? Is that hankerchief of yoursโ" her skirt "โBloomingdale?" My word! He's got it, hasn't he?! "Okay. I get it. You're headed the wrong way. Airport was three stops ago. If you get off and follow your nose to where it smells like you, it'll take you there. You should know it. Smells like daddy's money." Quite right. He means to say, of course, that she smells like an over commercialized, high-vanity, downright affront to class and culture hodgepodge. The death of identity. She probably listens to Ariana Grande. Seb folds his arms defensively, nigh on barricading his chest, and looks so devastatingly put upon that the Stock Market's very foundations begin to tremble. His eyes rake over her, judgmental, and for a spell, the value of the dollar plummets. "You're not from around here, are you?" he sniffs, taking in her very naked thighs and her very naked contempt.
Forget taking the bait. Without either of them knowing, he moves to capitalize. Mr. Evil wants partner. Mr. Evil calls dibs. / @laperlina continued from here.
