#Magic YOUR Band

[wrathofrats]

I think alpha and omega are very sacred about their magic, always warning the younger ghouls to handle their powers with care and to respect their gifts

I think the first time he sees pebble using his powers to make his own weed titled “shit to put in the vents to make the big guys calm down” omega almost has a stroke

Alpha similarly when ifrit uses it to make cup noodles in his hands instead of the microwave

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

August 20th, 1986 - Queen Story!

Queen release 'Pain Is so Close to Pleasure' bw 'Don’t Lose Your Head' (from 'A Kind Of Magic' album), on Capitol Records (USA)

➡ 'Pain Is so Close to Pleasure'

Written by Freddie Mercury and John Deacon

👉 'Pain Is So Close To Pleasure' starts with Brian, then completed by John with help from Freddie and John will then want the double credit with Freddie

🔸"There's a song called 'Pain Is So Close To Pleasure' which I started off, and I think again John and Freddie worked together on it. That's really sort of a motown sounding track, very unusual for us."

- Brian May Interview 1986

➡ 'Don’t Lose Your Head'

Written by Roger Taylor

🔸Pic: 1986, Townhouse Studio, London, UK - In this photo Freddie and John working on another song taken from album 'A Kind Of Magic': 'One Year Of Love'

- In the film 'Highlander' a piano version, performed and sung by Freddie Mercury, was recorded and featured , but this version not released on official album

[dms-a-jem]

The Police - Music Videos/Promos

Part 2: 1981-1986

[sad-sad-detective]

Inspired by this photo of Phantom's guitar.

Phantom doesn't look at him, his tail tucked between his legs. His ears droop, and his face is guilt-ridden. "I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened," he mumbles. Deep cracks are running across his guitar body. Dewdrop whistles. It reminds him of Alpha and the way his guitars looked after rehearsals and rituals. Repairing the cracks and burns was the bane of Dewdrop's existence, though Dewdrop himself is no better. "Are you sure you don't have fire ghouls in your family?" Phantom shakes his head, still guilty. "So what do we do?" "We need to make a blood sacrifice to give the guitar enough vital energy to recover," Dewdrop says with a serious look on his face. "Invite a fan to the dressing room after the show." "…are you serious?" Dewdrop sways his tail meaningfully. The others look at each other and even Papa seems to pale a bit under his makeup. With their tight schedule, they don't have time for impromptu sacrifices, even it is necessary. After a moment of tense silence, Dewdrop sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. "Fuck, of course not. Bring me a roll of duct tape, a recovery potion and something to eat. Preferably a medium-rare steak with some potatoes on the side and a tomato… no, three tomatoes." He doesn't have any repair tools with him, but the duct tape and the spells Ignis has taught him should do the trick.

[flashnthunder]

luztoye end of the world au

(snippet under the cut)

The truck rattles along the empty road like an ant marching along a cracked sidewalk, meandering its way with quiet purpose down an endless path. Joe has the windows rolled down, and the midsummer heat of Georgia buffets them with heavy air. It feels better than trying to drive anywhere with the windows up and wasting even a few ounces of gas on something so trivial as the AC had long since become a thing of the past.

Music plays loud enough to let him lapse into silent thought as he drives. The double standard of the air conditioning lies with the radio. The radio and its attached cassette player neatly tucked under the half-cracked display is always on when George is riding. No amount of scolding and dirty looks ever prevented the inevitably of it getting turned on, and only George had the patience to coax the busted volume knob into working. Right now, Joe is subject to a second playthrough of a well-worn Billy Joel album and a private performance by George in the passenger seat. If he had known the world was going to end when it did, he would have made sure to have had a better selection shoved in his glove box.

Green trees flash by outside the window, and the grass that had turned into a jungle on the roadside almost falls over onto the faded asphalt. The summer peace is only interrupted by George leaning towards him across the bench seat and crooning the chorus with a surprisingly accurate imitation. He’s had more than enough time over the years to really nail it down and never was one to miss a chance to practice. Joe does his best not to smile, but the corner of his mouth must twitch because George dissolves into miming a saxophone with the determination of a man who knows how to crack his audience. Joe shakes his head and lets his fingers drum on the warm paint of the truck door from where his hand hangs out the window. They have another twenty minutes at least before they’ll be back, sparing any stops. As long as they get there before George can rummage through the glove box again, it'll be fine.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts again by a tapping sound on the window behind his head. He glances back, catching sight of Bill with his hand still up to the window to get his attention.

“Open the window for them would’ya?” he shoves at George from where he had halfway squirmed out of his side of the front seat to crowd into Joe. He had only stopped his invasion to avoid having to sit on the busted leather of the middle seat. George cuts off his performance with only mild complaint, reaching to turn the radio down first. The volume knob, predictably, takes some fussing before the sounds of the music finally quiet. He turns to tug the sliding window open, grinning at Bill when he leans forward to yell into the cab.

“Are you trying to break my back here, Joe? Jesus why do I always end up in the bed, one more pothole and you’re gonna get me laid up. How much further we got?” Bill’s scowl grows deeper when they take a curve in the road a little too fast. He grabs the edge of the window to keep from sliding around in the back of the truck.

“Aw wouldn’t want to hurt princesses’ butt back there with no padded seat. We're almost there, maybe fifteen minutes if you stop asking,” Joe eyes him in the crooked rearview mirror. Bill rolls his eyes and swats at George’s head when he laughs.

“Oh I don’t wanna hear nothing about princesses when you got your certified passenger princess up here hogging the front,” Bill says, and George manages to duck away from the second pass at cuffing his ear. He’s forced to retreat in full to his respective side of the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the door.

“I’m in charge of the radio and the map, don’t be mad I’m useful,” George half sing-songs. If Joe wasn’t so bitterly fond of the stupid face he was making, he would have joined Bill in his attempts to smack him. The road curves back into a straightaway, and he urges the truck along. For the sake of not rousting Bill anymore, he avoids the larger potholes that pocket the sides.

“Bullshit you are,” Bill says, leaning further in the back window, but still not getting close enough to George to grab him.

“No, Bullshit is in the back with you, I’m up here,” George snarks, feeling relatively safe from his current position. Malarkey’s head pops up from where he’d been slouched down in the back. He looks distinctly less disgruntled than Bill, but still sporting windswept hair from the journey. Both he and George had lingering pink on their noses and cheeks from being in the sun all day. Joe knows that means George will be looking to go take a nap as soon as they get back. Hopefully, that comes after they get the truck unloaded.

“For the love of it, just get us there in one piece, Joe. I ain’t dying three years after the last real traffic jam because we end falling into a crater on this road here,” Bill says, abandoning George so Malarkey could lean in to hear what they were saying. They’re close enough to town now that the gripping dies down and the music goes back up. He leaves the window open, slowing enough that the buffeting of wind out of the cab isn’t quite as annoying. If he has to sit through more singing, Bill can too for all his bitching.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and the green melts back into a pleasant background whizzing by. The outer fence of town comes into view first, old rusted barbed wire and an even shittier padlock and chain holding the gate closed. He throws the truck into park as they roll up to it and stop. The keyring with the padlock key lays on the dash, having only slid a little since he’d tossed it up there as they left this morning. He’s not sure why he ever expects George to jump up and get it. When he does look over, he’s met with an overly innocent expression and no hint of any intention about grabbing the keys. Joe huffs but swipes the keys off the plastic of the dash without comment and slides out of the truck.

“Not even pretending that he doesn’t got you whipped,” Bill yells from the truck. Joe flips him off without looking behind him. He can hear Malarkey laughing because apparently, all his friends are in on a collective conspiracy to make his life hell. Pulling the chain free, he jerks the gate wide enough to get the truck in before making the three-step journey back to the driver’s side.

“My knight in shining armor, I didn’t want to get my silk dress in the mud,” George says, batting his eyes in exaggerated motions once he’s back in and shifting the truck back into drive. If he had been prone to blushing, his life would be a whole lot worse. He gets by with a dismissive grunt and resolutely ignores the extra heckling from his traveling peanut gallery. He pulls through the gate and turns to jam his hand with the keys still in it out the back window, waving it between Bill and Malarkey.

“Like hell, I’m getting out before we’re back,” Bill says, and any further argument is spared by Malarkey grabbing the keys and jumping over the side of the truck bed to go lock the gate. Joe scans down the fence line and ignores the bickering.

“See Bill, chivalry is alive and well,” George lounges out a little further if at all possible, legs spread and back sliding down against the worn leather seat. In letting down his guard, Bill finally manages to poke him in the ear and George shoots Joe a withering look when he doesn’t fall over himself to defend him.

Malarkey swings back over the tailgate of the truck, his boots landing in the small space between the crates of supplies, “Alright, we’re all good to get going.” He settles back down in his spot near the window next to Bill, and they start moving again. There’s a relatively short distance between the outer fence and the inner one that encamps the buildings in town in some amount of security, and Joe takes the distance slowly. He's in no rush to come careening up to the second gate. Singing and complaining or not, he enjoys getting away from this pocket of their world sometimes. Supply runs were a necessary evil in the eyes of people too scared to poke their heads outside, but to Joe, it teased some level of freedom he missed. George making it his god-given mission to follow along didn't hurt either.

Babe must have been on the watch patrol today because as soon as he hears the truck’s engine, he comes jogging toward the inner gate. He’s got a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and as the truck rolls in he saves the argument of who is getting out again as he pulls the gate open for them. He gives a lazy mock salute, his free hand still curled around the rifle strap. Joe’s mistake is slowing to a near stop, which gives Bill time to vault over the side and land on his feet near Babe. No doubt to gossip about whatever it was they managed to talk about. George groans, head flopping back to give Joe a mournful look about having to unload supplies with three guys instead of four.

[basu-shokikita]

the duel is just visual representation of what happens when two soulmates find each other

[beatlebugblog]

beatle bears!

[dreamofbecoming]

this isn’t ready for ao3 yet bc i have more planned and i don’t want to make it chaptered, but i’m actually quite pleased with how this turned out, so please enjoy this first taste of my banshee/siren hybrid jaskier story!

part 2

minor warning for gore

wc 745

now on ao3

----

Jaskier knows the taste of death.

He tastes it more often than he’d like (which is to say, at all); every few towns or so, whenever he makes eye contact with the wrong person. An old woman putting out her washing, a young man in a tavern, puffed up and boasting while his fellows egg him on to show off, a girl with bruises on her arms and her eyes downcast, walking in the shadow of her husband. The sickly taste of rot will coat the back of his tongue and he’ll feel a Song rising in his throat.

He never Sings it.

He’s tasted the deaths of a hundred strangers, and while his heart breaks a little every time, he fights down the Song and swallows the rotten bile and turns away, knowing he has no power here. There is nothing he can do for them, now.

This time is different.

This time, the Song he can feel building in his chest isn’t for a stranger.

It’s for Geralt.

Something— breaks, inside him. The Song, which has always before felt like a living thing unto itself, separate from the man who hosts it, just waiting to be unleashed, expands to fill his lungs. For a moment, Jaskier chokes on the sudden absence of air, before his world narrows down to a single thought: No.

He feels the moment when the magic inside him changes, when the Song becomes a part of him instead of simply a parasite. For the first time since his failed training as a child, he lets it loose.

The first to fall is the bowman in the treeline, the one Jaskier saw but Geralt didn’t. Jaskier is too far away to see his face when his hands turn the crossbow on himself, but he can taste the moment when his body falls from his perch, leaving his fellows without cover.

Geralt has felled four of the remaining bandits, but three still encircle him, and Jaskier can see him slowing.

“A single thread

hangs limply down,

and I breathe,

‘Not now,

not now,’”

All three men pull back from their attack on Geralt in an instant. The witcher doesn’t stay his strike and cuts down the one immediately in front of him before whirling to stare at Jaskier in shock, but Jaskier can’t stop now. The Song isn’t finished. Geralt isn’t safe.

“And I find you all

unwoven,

trying desperately

to sew,”

The two bandits left take jerky steps towards each other, swords raised, eyes wild and terrified. The leader makes a low, despairing sound as his friend’s innards spill beneath his blade.

“And I know the kindest thing

is to leave you

alone.”

As the last man drags his own dagger across his throat, his eyes never leave Jaskier’s.

The magic cuts off abruptly, the Song finished with the death fulfilled. Not Geralt’s death, somehow, not anymore. He’s done what he swore he never would, he’s outed himself as a monster, but Geralt is still warm and breathing behind him, so it was worth it. Whatever fate he meets at his witcher’s hands, it was worth it.

Jaskier can taste nothing but decay and blood, and he doubles over, his stomach heaving painfully as he expels his breakfast.

He’s still hunched over the ground, coughing on the lingering taste of death while spots dance in his vision, when he hears Geralt come up behind him. His footsteps are more tentative than Jaskier is used to. Understandably cautious around an unknown threat, Jaskier thinks bitterly. He’d known it was coming, it’s what he expected, but it still chafes. Most of all, he just wishes he had more time. More time with Geralt, but just more time in general.

Still, he won’t die crouched in a puddle of his own vomit like some beast. Whatever his parentage, he has more dignity than that. He’ll meet Geralt’s silver sword standing tall, and it will still be a better death than he could have met if he’d stayed at home, like his sire had expected. Love doesn’t need to be spoken to be worth dying for, after all.

Except, the spots in his vision don’t fade when he stands, like he’d expected; in fact, they grow. He sways on his feet as the world tilts alarmingly. The last thing he sees before the world goes totally black is Geralt, hands empty of silver or steel, lunging to catch him, his eyes wide with concern.

“Jaskier!”

[aiiwa]

lead singer! satoru x lead guitarist! reader x bassist! suguru ahhhhh

[friendship-switchblades]

something i am absolutely certain is on the cutting room floor

FOUND THIS SKETCH FROM LAST SUMMER IN MY DRAFTS!!! anyway i'm right.

[lovebirdgames]

DnD/Fantasy AU! What would the boys' races be? (Cadence would be human)

Sorry for the wait! I’M GLAD YOU ASKED because I’ve been meaning to draw this forever since I’ve been obsessed with Baldur’s Gate 3 (it basically makes up my DnD knowledge)! I had their race/classes jotted down in my notes for months. Here’s what I came up with, hope you like it!

[ponysongbracket]

MLP Song Tournament

Please listen to both songs before voting.

Let's Have a Battle (Of the Bands)

Open Up Your Eyes

[dorothydalmati1]

My Little Pony Short 63: Driving Miss Shimmer

Written by Kate Leth

Storyboard by Selena Marchetti

Directed and animation directed by Ishi Rudell

Apart of the You Choose the Ending, it features three different endings which feature Rarity, Applejack and Fluttershy.

[kaweeella]

I have a very important question

[drawnecromancy]

Velial Telren, at age 21, is already part of the elite of Nesean wizards.

He wishes to study spatial magic. Has wished so his entire life. He is incredibly competitive and skilled and works relentlessly towards his goals.

Spatial magic, however, is not a field open to just anyone. It is highly volatile and dangerous, and, crucially, only a court wizard can do actual work on the subject outside of theory. And theory is good, certainly, but it's not what's going to bring leaps forwards, at least according to Velial.

So he works to become the court wizard.

He is told, years before he's a wizard, that it's impossible. No one in their right mind wants to become court wizard unless they have some kind of strong attachment to the royal family. He shrugs and gets back to work.

Velial Telren, at age 21, is the youngest court wizard Neseah has ever known.

He's been better than anyone else on technical, theoretical, and practical tests. He has lists and lists of ideas, of theories to protect not only the royal family but the kingdom itself, and despite barely knowing them he gains their trust incredibly fast.

And so he asks to take the oath.

King Nelvaren and queen Nakaveh are hesitant despite their trust in the young man - he is only twenty-one. Taking an oath like this is no small undertaking. It would, quite literally, weigh on him for his entire life unless it was broken by a royal or by his own skill and willpower - something incredibly hard to do even for the best wizards.

But he assures them this is what he has wanted his entire life and they relent.

Velial Telren, at age 21, is the sole expert on spatial magic in Neseah who is allowed practical experiments as well as theoretical.

And he shares his findings with the rest of academia and participates in lectures and discourse and seminars.

He's bound to the royal family of Neseah for his entire life, and he considers this duty worth it.

However, Velial Telren has a problem.

At the height of twenty-one years of age, the oldest he's ever been, the smartest he's ever been, the most knowledgeable he's ever been...

Velial has beef with a 14 year old with too much wits for his own good.

[lemongrablothbrok]

Me, a fan of classic rock and viewer of all The Beatles' movies, even the weird obscure(-ish) ones, back in the mid-2000s, upon first finding out there was a band out there called Death Cab for Cutie: