#i rhyme it with folk myself

[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

#tumblr polls #pronunciation #help me out here #pretty sure both are common #i rhyme it with folk myself

[kittenpower05]

I was very afraid of creating a bard character for dnd (since I have very little lyrical knowledge), and I was struggling to find resources on how to improvise songs on the spot

But you'll never guess who remembered her Mechanisms phase she had after she finished The Magnus Archives >:)

#for context since most of you probably dont know: the mechanisms is a band featuring a lot of the voice actors from tma #they took traditional fairy tales and traditional old folk songs #and merged them to create whole musicals in a space/scifi setting :D #i think im gonna study the lyrics and rhymes they use in their songs i think itll help me become a better poet myself #alloe speaks

[sky-kiss]

YAS! Free time is best time! Hmm for prompts, I love the idea of low intelligence Tav and Raphael? Like Tav convinced Raphael is a Fae? Man offered her food, won’t call her by her name, rhymes, and wants to make deals. He’s totally a fae, and he gets so pissy she won’t be convinced otherwise.

Or for spicy prompt. I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but innocent Tav being deflowered by Raphael as part of a deal? Or cockwarming, that’s my favorite as well.

A/N: Had to fight, had to actively restrain myself for going for one of these prompts. Will do the scenario though. And I weep. But when Idiot!Tav calls, I answer.

______

R/T: Local Devil Tries to Flirt; Local Idiot Too Far Gone for Banter

______

There are mortal eccentricities he finds charming. Ambition, for one! Their pluck! The gods create meager little creatures, soft, small, and weak, yet they forge ahead! Unconcerned by their relative lack of status in the universe! He'd go so far as to say he admires the trait. And there is something endearing in their youthful naivete, comparative ignorance of the outer planes. Raphael is not so proud as to admit he has not actively exploited this lack of knowledge in the past. It's always served his best interests! 

But it can be, and currently is, a double-edged sword. The cambion strokes his chin, lips pressed to a thin line, as he surveys his champion. His little mouse regards him with narrowed eyes and a vacant stare. "Come, my dear! Eat and make merry for tomorrow," he prolongs the sentence, letting it hang between them with a practiced theatricality. "You may die." 

"Is that a threat?" 

Raphael chuckles, shifting his weight to the back foot, his right hand pressed to his sternum. "From me? Have I been ought but a friend? A champion, an advocate, in this your hour of need?" 

She huffs, "I can't see that you've done a thing for us. You dangle a deal and won't let me take it!"

"The thrill of anticipation, sweetling. Best in all things." He winks. 

She does not reciprocate. Her brows pulled together; she frowned, arms crossing her chest- not the body language Raphael wanted. In truth, he's been finding the whole arrangement a touch challenging. There's no back-and-forth or witty banter- not like he planned it. Tav shakes her head. "And that's another thing. I'm not your sweetling. Or your dear. I'm Tav. Can you manage Tav?" 

"We're certainly feeling combative, aren't we?" The devil narrows his eyes. 

"You can do it, can't you?" 

And he's momentarily struck by the notion that she isn't challenging him; she's genuinely curious if he can do it. Raphael hums, "Nuanced as it is, I am perfectly capable of naming you, Tav. Is that satisfactory?" 

She shakes her head. "I don't trust you." 

"Clever girl. Only you don't have to trust me. There is something deliciously illicit in such partnerships—a hint of intrigue. A flash of- "He leans nearer, flourishing with his right hand. Sparks dance from the tips of his fingers. "Danger." 

"No good ever came from the fae-folk." 

"My dear, I assure you, I…" Raphael cuts off, brain catching up to his tongue. "Beg pardon? Fae?"

"Fae," she repeats. Tav eyes him with renewed caution, hand slipping to the hilt of her (comically ineffectual) cold-iron knife. "I'm many things, Raphael, but I'm no fool."

"Truly." He licks his lips. It's rare for him to be purely baffled, but here it is. Nothing about her suggests she's joking. A quick peak in the little idiot's head suggests she believes her statement with absolute certainty. He crosses his arms over his chest, indicating himself with a hand sweep. "My dear, what do you make of all this?" The horns, red skin, the tail…clearly infernal. 

She shakes her head. "A devil would deal more honestly. I'd be more inclined to trust them. This is…a glamor. Convincing, but false."

He blanches. "What." 

"You bring me here. You make me pretty promises and ply me with wine and sweet words. You speak in riddles and songs!" He wants to argue that those are all devilish traits, but gods, why bother? Raphael pinches the bridge of his nose. "Devils may be evil, Raphael, but at least they're honest."

"To their detriment, apparently." He sighs. "Pet…" 

"Tav." 

"Tav," he corrects, feeling his temperature rise in response to his temper. "I have offered a contract, its terms clearly stated."

"No. You've offered me a deal. No contract, no terms. And the matter with the Orthon! A purely verbal arrangement. No devil worth their salt would go along with that." 

"How dare you! Impertinent, thoughtless…" Raphael catches himself. He makes a mental ten count and assures himself the deal will be done shortly. It all comes back to the crown. He needs them. He…gods, he has to play along. It tastes like bile on his tongue. "Fae, yes. You've found me out, pet. A…creature of chaos. Such am I." 

Tav nods. "Thank you for your honesty." 

He honestly considers strangling the little idiot. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 #asks #my writing #Shes too dumb to live your honor #hes gonna have to put her down #its for her own good

[myloveismineallmine]

part 2!

honestly I have a lot ground to cover in terms of songs used for Carmy and Claire. Some are kind of sad. Some are really fucking funny. This one is kinda both.

We'll start with the first song we hear playing with Carmy and Claire: Strange Currencies by R.E.M.

The actual lyrics have little to do with what's going on in the scene, Claire and Carmen are conversing over most of the lyrics. It's not until the third verse that the volume increases and the lyrics become audible. But I'm still gonna talk about the first half of the song, because why not?

"I don't know why you're mean to me When I call on the telephone And I don't know what you mean to me But I want to turn you on, turn you up, figure you out I wanna take you on ..."

Okay, so this first verse is very Claire coded right off the bat. But I do think this song is actually more about Carmy's feelings, and really I can just about guarantee you it is because this song plays twice in the show. R.E.M. songs also have a tendency to play in scenes with Carmen specifically.

"These words, "You will be mine" These words, "You will be mine", all the time

The fool might be my middle name But I'd be foolish not to say I'm going to make whatever it takes Bring you up, call you down, sign your name, secret love Make it rhyme, take you in, and make you mine

These words, "You will be mine" These words, "You will be mine," all the time, oh

I tripped and fell, did I fall What I want to feel, I want to feel it now"

Do not lose hope, fellow sydcarmys. These lyrics are deceptively romantic. But yes, this is what is playing during the conversation w/ Carm and Claire. What is of more interest is the verse that we do finally hear:

"And now with love come strange currencies And here is my appeal I need a chance, a second chance, a third chance, a fourth chance A word, a signal, a nod, a little breath Just to fool myself, to catch myself, to make it real, real"

So the show actually cuts to credits after "And here is my appeal." The rest of the song does play to the end, though.

Interesting that the one verse we hear is the one that just completely invalidates the romantic message of the song.

Like. I could end the post right here, folks.

But I will expand further-- this song, to me, is about Carmy trying to convince himself that he loves Claire.

"These words, "You will be mine" These words, they haunt me, hunt me down, catch in my throat, make me pray Say, love's confined, oh"

This is the final verse of the song. The words "catch in my throat." Probably because... he doesn't actually mean them. This is also foreshadowing that he feels confined in love with Claire.

R.E.M. has plenty of love songs. So the fact they used one where the message of the song is repeating the words "I love you" in an attempt to convince yourself/others you're in love is.....curious.

This song is also used a second time in the show, but in a very different context, so I wanted to touch on that too:

A distorted version of Strange Currencies plays as Carmen has a panic attack in the alley.

The first flashback we see is actually his intimate moment with Claire.

The next flashback cuts are all footage of Claire; drawings of her, old photos, and beauty shots. There is finally a flashback of Mikey talking about Claire mixed in, followed by more shots of Claire. After that, more shots of his family with Claire mixed in at random intervals. Throughout all of this, Strange Currencies plays with the audio distorted and words reversed. Until...

Strange Currencies begins to play as normal when the flashback of Sydney plays. Specifically the lyrics "These words, You will be mine, These words, You will be mine, All the time."

In the middle of this verse, after a shot of Carmy calming down, we immediately cut to Syd.

Then, on her: "The fool may be my middle name, But I'd be foolish, not to say."

After this lyric, the song fades out and we cut to a scene with Carm and Sugar.

I think there's a difference in the one audible verse during the Carm+Claire scene being one invalidating the romantic tone of the song, and the one that pays with Carm+Syd cutting off before the cracks in the romantic message of the song become apparent.

But I'm still not entirely convinced this song is really meant to be read as a true romantic one. Which is actually fine, since so far in my research I've already found a good amount of actual romantic songs used for Syd and Carmy anyway? This whole song just has very strong red herring vibes to me.

I'll be continuing these song analysis posts, and hopefully more frequently after I'm done with finals. Let me know your thoughts on this one.

#the bear #the bear meta #sydcarmy #the bear music

[spanishskulduggery]

As a native English speaker myself, who wants to learn Spanish as a secondary language, do you have any recommendations regarding Spanish- singing music artists or Spanish songs? I’ll take anything from folk rhymes to an entire pop album! Also: thank you so much for all the knowledge you provide! I hope you’re doing excellent! 💗✨

I'm not particularly up on music these days so I'll have to ask for followers

The artists I know of are Shakira, Juanes, Alaska, Lucero, La Oreja de Van Gogh, Man��, and Los Prisioneros

...And a whole lot of Disney youtube songs with the lyrics in Spanish for me personally

I need to look through my playlists because I have more songs collected than actual artists but I don't know them all off the top of my head

Followers?

#asks #musica #recommendations

[highladyluck]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Get to know folks! ☺️☺️

1) Finally getting back into my weekly Sunday morning farmer’s market routine! I have been doing other delightful things elsewhere for several weeks, but I love spending Sunday morning wandering around looking at food by myself, maintaining my parasocial relationships with vendors, and stocking up on ingredients.

2) Being asked for advice, recommendations, or feedback, especially if you give me a lot of context or tell me your priorities. I have so many opinions & ideas but only some of them are appropriate for any given situation. I like being given tasks or prompts with enough constraints/structure (x kind of thing for y taste) to narrow the scope enough to be useful.

3) Writing to spec- kind of the same as above, I love to work within a structure. Cover letters, filk, very structured rhyme schemes, tropes/genre conventions, ‘house style’… I have my own distinctive voice but I like to have a trellis to support it.

4) Dancing! I cannot be stopped. I like everything except specific choreography, which I am unable to do because of my inability to tell my right from my left or remember moves in sequence. But anything with an improvisational element, including social dances like east coast swing/lindy hop/blues, works for me.

5) Pickles

#answered ask #I probably won’t get around to the asking 10 others part

[honyakuninakunaru]

Rather Than Wishing Upon A Star In Vain // Mithra SSR Card Story

CHAPTER 1

(City of Stella)

As I wandered around the stalls throughout the festival, I felt a familiar figure approach me.

Akira: "Hi, Mithra!"

Mithra: "Good evening, Master Sage."

Akira: "Since we're both here, shall we browse around together?"

Mithra: "Sure, why not. I haven't got much to do anyways..."

Mitile: "Heave-ho!"

(Smack)

Mitile: "Aww, missed again... This is difficult..."

Hearing a certain someone's voice, we turned our heads towards one of the stands. There, we saw Mitile trying his utmost to score at one of the festival's games.

Akira: "Hey, Mitile, what's up?"

Mitile: "Oh! Hello, Master Sage! And Mister Mithra... I've been trying to throw this ball for so long, but I can't seem to do it right."

Mitile: "Apparently, if you manage to hit any of the prizes hung on the platform, you get to take it home with you. But..."

Akira: "Alright then, let me give it a try! Which one do you want?"

Mitile: "That bag on the right! It's got lots and lots of star-shaped konpeito in it!"

Mithra: "I can just get it for you, you know."

Mitile: "Y-You can...?"

Mithra: "All I have to do is throw the ball at it, right?"

Mitile: "P-Pretty much, yeah. Here, you aim it like thisー"

Mithra: "<Arthim>"

Akira: "Whoa, the ball's floating!"

Mitile: "M-Mister Mithra, you can't do that! It's against the rules..."

Stall Owner: "Oh, Lord! A-A wizard! Y-Yer a... wizard...!"

Upon witnessing Mithra use magic, the stall's owner abruptly yelled out in distress. 

Mithra: "Well, yes, I am. I am Mithra of the North."

Stall Owner: "Mithra o' the North... I reckon I've heard that name before... They say yer a heinous tyrant, the devil incarnate himself...!"

Mithra: "Heh, you know me quite well it seems."

Akira: "(I should step in, shouldn't I...) H-He's also a Sage's Wizard, among other... things."

Akira: "Mithra's not one to resort to violence without rhyme or reason. As the Sage, I can personally vouch for that."

Stall Owner: "Aha... So yer the Sage? Well, not that I'd know even if ye were lyin' to me, but yer quite the character, millin' about with them wizards."

Stall Owner: "Ah, whatever. I suppose wizards from other countries don' really have a reason to be conning us folk. Go on, play all ya like."

Stall Owner: "That goes for ya too, lil' mister."

Mitile: "T-Thank you, sir!"

Though still slighty wary, the owner took the ball from the cage and offered it to us.

Mithra: "Good. Now, let's see..."

Mithra: "<Arthiー>"

Mitile: "Umー! Just a moment... please."

CHAPTER 2

Mithra: "What is it this time? Don't you want that sack anymore?"

Mithra: "I'm going to get it for you in a bit, so just stay put, will you?"

Mitile: "I... Appreciate that, but this still feels like cheating, and I don't like that..."

Mitile: "So, I'm going to get it myself! Without magic!"

Mithra: "Goodness gracious... Nevermind."

Mithra undid the spell he had cast upon the ball. It fell and rolled on the ground, a stone's throw away from the target.

Mithra: "This is what I get for trying to be nice. How utterly vexing."

Mithra: "Oh well, not like I cared about this in the first place."

Mitile: "...Thank you, Mister Mithra. Now, watch closely. I'm going to hit it on the first tryー!"

(Some time later…)

Mitile: "Heave-ho!!"

Akira: "Mitile! You got it!"

Mitile: "Hooray!"

After many strenuous attempts, the ball finally hit the target. Having successfully acquired his prize, a satisfied smile graced Mitile's face.

Mitile: "Look, Master Sage! I got it! I really got it!"

Akira: "That's amazing, Mitile!"

Mitile: "Eheheh! I should also thank you, Mister Mithra! See, I was able to get it with my own two hands!"

Mithra: "I still don't get it. It would've been so much quicker if you had simply used magic."

Mitile: "That's true, but putting effort into making your wishes come true feels much more rewarding..."

Akira: "You wished for something, Mitile?"

Mitile: "Mhm. I heard that if you get a bunch of star-shaped things at this festival, your will get your wishes granted."

Mitile: "That's why I really wanted this bag full of konpeito. ...Here you are."

Akira: "Aw, Mitile... Are you sure you want me to have this?"

Mithra: "I'm beginning to think you didn't really want this if you're willing to share it."

Mitile: "You two stayed by my side and encouraged me to continue, so... It's only right that I give you some as thanks."

Mitile: "I'm going to look for more stars, then! See you!"

(Distancing footsteps)

And with that, Mitile skittered away merrily, the bag of konpeito tightly clutched to his chest.

Akira: "Sounds kind of romantic, doesn’t it? Collecting star-shaped things to get your wishes granted, I mean."

Mithra: "Do you actually believe that? Surely there are other, more practical ways to get what you want."

Mithra: "You have Mithra of the North standing right before you. Anything you want, I can make it come true."

Akira: "...You will do that? For me?"

Mithra: "Of course. There's nothing I can't do. Come on, ask for something. Say, anyone you want me to do away with?"

Akira: "No, I don't have anyone like that... Um, I'm a little thirsty, so if you could get me something to drink..."

Mithra: "<Arthim>"

Mithra: "Interesting. It appears Nero's making some concoction out of pressed fruits. I'll go and get it for you."

Akira: "J-Just like that?! A-Ask him first, perhaps...?"

Mithra: "He won't mind. Anything else?"

Akira: "Well... I've been walking around for a while, and I'm a little tired, so it'd be nice if I could sit down for a minute."

Mithra: "As you wish. <Arthim>"

CHAPTER 3

Akira: "Is this... A chair from the manor's dining hall?"

Mithra: "It is. Since you're used to sitting on it, I thought it'd be the best choice."

Akira: ("That's true, but... I wonder if anyone's been sitting on it until now...")

Mithra: "Come on, take a seat. What would you like next?"

Akira: "That will be all. Thank you, Mithra."

Mithra: "Really? You're satisfied with this little?"

Rather malcontent, Mithra's dark-green eyes wander off to the stall we were at earlier.

Mithra: "Since you said you wanted to collect those start things, I assume there's still something you want?"

Akira: "Well, yea, it sounded interesting, so it made me want to try it for myself."

Akira: "But, rather than collecting them to have my wish granted, I'd like to collect them for the fun of it..."

Akira: "Mitile looked so happy when he got that bag of konpeito. I mean, how can he not. They're so sparkly and pretty, just like little stars."

Mithra: "...I see. You should've said so sooner."

Mithra: "&lt;Arthim>"

(Woosh)

(Somewhere up in the sky)

Before I knew it, Mithra had seated us atop his broom. Glancing upwards, we saw the night sky, adorned with millions of stars, in all its stellar glory.

Akira: "...Wow...!"

Mithra: "You wanted the stars, right? Is this good enough?"

Prompted by Mithra's words, I reached out my hand towards the sky. Beyond my fingertips, the stars shone like polished jewels.

Amidst a sky so dreadfully dark you could get lost in it, never to return, the stars bestowed a gentle, soothing glow from afar.

Akira: "...It's so, so beautiful... I feel like if I just keep reaching out like this, I could actually grab one..."

Akira: "If I had this many stars, my wishes would all come true in the matter of seconds... Thank you for bringing me here, Mithra."

Mithra: "No need to. This is the least I can do."

A perfunctory answer typical for Mithra. And yet, his voice was laced with the faintest bit of mirth.

Mithra: "Now you know that should you ever want anything, you can come and find me."

Mithra: "I will grant you whatever it is you may want, and much better than some petty star."

Akira: "...Mm, I will. Next time I think of something, I'll definitely ask you first."

Mithra: "...If you insist."

Mithra turned around. In his eyes, I could see the reflection of the stars.

Captivated by those little luminaries said to grant one's wishes, I didn't dare blink, for I wanted to remember this view forever.

Mithra's Wish // Card Training Episode

(Manor Lounge)

Akira: "Thank you for going along with my caprices last time, Mithra."

Mithra: "You didn't ask for who-knows-what, so there's nothing to thank me for."

Akira: "Still, it made me very happy. And now, it's my turn to do something for you."

Mithra: "You mean to tell me you can grant a wish of mine?"

Mithra: "What if I asked you to make me the strongest in the world? Or to bring me the greatest legendary beast there is, so I can eat it and fill my stomach for centuries to come?"

Akira: "U-Um, perhaps something a human like me can do... For example, I could cook you your favourite meal!"

Mithra: "Hm. Let's go to my room then."

Akira: "You want me to... cook in your room? I mean, why not, I need to fetch a few ingredients firstー..."

Mithra: "We can do that later. The things you can do for me can be counted on one hand."

Mithra: "If you want to do something for me that badly, put me to sleep, please."

Homescreen Voiceline

Mithra: "No matter how long or hard you wish upon a star, there's no proof that what you want will come true. Stop wasting your time and come here. I trust you haven't forgotten you have a duty at night. If you like the stars so much, I'll simply give you some of my sugar."

ーーーーー

Biiig thanks to circ (@amoresviesse) for providing raws for this story!

#translation #mithra #mahoutsukai no yakusoku #mahoyaku

[solardrake]

There was a post on here a while back which described navigating social spaces while Autistic like trying to walk through a minefield. One wrong move and, well, you blow up. blowing up hurts, so you create systems, rules, you try and find a rhyme or reason as to how the explosives are laid out so that you might make it through unscathed. I've come to know this as "Masking".

There's a moment where every autistic realizes that they are different, because they step on a mine that, to an allistic, isn't even there. It's a crushing weight to know that there is a seemingly invisible force that will hurt them again and again unless they hide who they are (begin to mask) and try to forge a path. For me it was middle school when I learned this; when I realized I didn't truly have any friends because public school is cruel and othering. So, I changed how I spoke, learned how to tell jokes, developed hobbies that would make me more likable (which is how I started art) until, finally, 8 years later It seemed like I was on the other of the field: I had finally made it.

That all shattered in an instant, in 2021, a decisive step ended with a fireball so large fragments of me are still being found in the field. So, hurt and stricken with the loss of acceptance that I so briefly had, I did the other option that post talked about: I stayed still. Just..didn't move, because if I did I risked being hurt again. New year's 2022 I had moved up north, but still I remained where I was. 2023 came and began to pass, and instead of keeping pace I watched as it sped by.

To put it bluntly, I was burnt out both socially and in my art, full of resentment for what hurt me and shame for not being able to mask as effectively; that version of me had died in the explosion. All these terrible feelings reached a boil when my shame and resentment towards myself was inadvertently aimed towards someone I loved. In that moment I saw that I was rotting...

And I saw how empty I was.

So much of myself previously was dedicated solely to masking in an attempt to fit in, that when fitting in became no longer an option that huge part of myself became void of purpose, and so that part of me itself became a void.

I don't really remember the months after that, but in October I had gotten my hands on a book: "Unmasking Autism" by Devon Price. The introduction to that book was like an electric shock to my heart, revitalizing me and reversing the decay- his and other autistic folk's experiences described in the book was so alike mine that I suddenly understood my emptiness and was aware of the fractured mask hanging from my face. Armed with knowledge of my ailment the author then gave me a path out of the minefield...back from whence I came. Retrace my steps. Understand previous blunders, forgive myself for them, and exit the field to forge my own way to live and navigate life freely without fear of being reduced to bits.

I will struggle to post this, I know I will. Part of me masking, one of my guiding rules through the mines was to *never* make sincere personal posts because "sincerity from someone you follow who's not known for it is uncomfortable" (getting into the why of this is a whole other can of worms). But I will do it anyways, because the time for me being avoidant of my feelings are over.

In 2024, I will be fully embracing my autism. I don't know what i'll look like without the mask- I probably still haven't gotten rid of it fully- But I will be more genuine...probably uncomfortably so, My blog will be more self-serving (and probably my art too once I detangle my worth as an artist from how "good" it looks), I'll reblog cringy fandom stuff and say weird things and blog at length about how much I love airplanes and large industrial systems and freak furry things. I will be deadpan and monotone and just be so unapologetically autistic, because then i'll truly be me. ok bye bye

#im trying not to let the fear of judgement get to me ohh. at least after this all my cool blog points will drain so i'll be free #then i can just do whatever the hell i want! #btw. if i've ever randomly ghosted you it's probably because i didn't know how to navigate the situation. I know it's a bad habit I have #so if things are or were weird between us shoot me an ask or dm or something! or don't!!!! but the option is there #terminal talks

[thana-topsy]

But actually where do you get your motivation to keep up with everything you do? You have so many projects going, and updating a respectable amount of them with decent regularity. All tips and tricks in the world can't keep me focused on more than one thing, and even that takes years off my life to remember the plot details even with notes. Is there a secret potion you're taking? Did the gods bless your birth and mark you as the chosen creative? Is there a hidden magical spring you bathe in once a week to purify your mind and soul? Did you make a dark sacrifice to an evil bog witch in exchange for the gift of productivity? Are you a mythical creature? Are WE disorganized folk the mythical creatures, and you're how the human is supposed to operate? What is the deal? How do you do it?

Man, anon, you ask fantastic questions, especially the part about the evil bog witch.

But this did make me sit here and think for a while, trying to dig through my mind as to what it is that keeps me motivated. And honestly? I think what it comes down to is this:

I don't see anything I create as "work".

Nothing has a deadline or a posting schedule. I don't push myself to make "content". If I lose interest in something, then I just stop working on it. (RIP that Hadvar/Ralof fic stuck on 4/5 chapters).

But! Sometimes I return to those projects I "abandoned" when I'm suddenly inspired again. I'm literally at the whims of my own elusive wants and desires, and there's no rhyme or reason to any of it.

As for the long projects that I've been working on for years... I'm glad there's the illusion of organization. Yes, I keep outlines and plot notes, yes I do research, yes I write every day. But I do all these things because I WANT to. Because I think it's FUN. (Also, my outlines and notes change CONSTANTLY while I'm working on stories... This is just part of my process).

So, step one: make whatever you think is fun. If that means drawing Teldryn Sero's face at the same angle 10 times a day every day for a year. Fuck yeah. Do that. If that means you come up with 100 stories that never make it past the outline... do that! Just make stuff because it's fun!! And then sometimes other people like the stuff you make, and it's extra awesome.

The creative process shouldn't have to be organized or productive to still be valid and enjoyable. This is why I call myself a "hobby artist".

#topsy's asks

[arcadekitten]

Hey Arcade so we are translatin' Crowscare rn with my friends!! And

(Crowscare spoilers below)

We are at the part where Venna cursed Ingram to a crow and the rhyme ya made is AMAZING AND SO CREATIVE!! We literally love it so much and the rhyme actually reminds us of a folk tale show what we used to watch when we were younger!! And thats another point why we love it so much!!!

Again we are really honoured to be able to translate your games because they are amazing!!

First off, you are much too nice to me thank you I cannot stop smiling now ♡

Secondly, thank you so much!! I was always very proud of the little rhyme, I came up with it all by myself!! I really really wanted Crowscare to feel like a game representing a sort of folktale/fairytale (akin to Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel) so I'm happy if that carries across even in little ways!! Thank you!! ♡

#crowscare #reply

[nasturtiumsforbreakfast]

I should have a tag for this writing I'm proposing, really, beyond "regency kink" (because it's regency era, hush yourself, we'll have no talk of knights and princes here)

Hmm. I'm terrible at coming up with tags. I like puns tho, and rhymes.

Suggestions very very welcome, and for now I'll keep to "regency kink" and "writing", til I've got something better

So far, what I've got is -

General premise -

Some local lord of wherever and his valet have various trysts with people from the village down the lane from the big house - possibly with other servants, too - in fantasy-progressive 1830s England somewhere where there's an abundance of queer and/or trans folk that don't have to hide it as they often did in the real 1830s

And from there, I have (not all things I would like myself, but things I'm willing to write about - suggestions very welcome here, too) -

This general thing, his lordship with the valet (x)

His lordship with the blacksmith (written)

The valet with the baker - and the innkeeper (needs writing properly)

That the innkeeper and his wife have threesomes, and team up to overwhelm someone between them (not written yet) (yes it is here)

Local gloveress with a leather kink? They do say you should do what you love, after all

Given that ^ it would be silly to not give the cobbler my own silly thoughts on bootcare, hm? Push it further than my usual (here)

Should you ride the stablegroom, or should he ride you? What a dilemma to have (I still think haylofts are terribly itchy, but maybe the groom is worth it) (x) (x)

Making the local priest beg someone (possibly several someones from his congregation) and G-d for their cum in him, bring him low when he's so used to being high and mighty - I spose I could go the other way, and have him be worshipped, but I don't think he deserves it, do you? - possibly something involving mutual masturbation in the confessional? Oh I have more priest thoughts than I thought I did huh? Whoops!

Ooh!! Waxplay with the candlemaker! She'd know exactly what she's doing!

Voyerist watchmaker - "watch"ing what you do to yourself, find out what makes you tick (oh aren't I hilarious)

And this somewhat disconnected scene, below, that may be the valet or his lordship with idk who - another go at the baker? The butcher? Who else?

??? says something terribly bold

V/HL: to the effect of "How rude!"

???: "Have you forgotten you're in my house? I don't care tuppence ha'penny what you think of me, lad, only that you sit down with me, yes?"

V/HL: "Yes sir" - sits on their cock/strap in one go, only pausing to get used to it once he's - what do people now call it? Bottomed out? Is that right? I clearly don't pay enough attention to modern phrases. Fully seated, anyway, and struggling some with it

There follows cockwarming - I'm sure of that word! - pleasant distracting conversation while V/HL gets increasingly um uh needy, and ??? eventually is like "oh what?" rolls eyes, absolutely rails him "is that better for you, boy?"

#writing #nsft writing #regency kink

[extraordinaryhistories]

#5 – 'Demetrius' (A Sun Came, 1998)

In this project, I have generally attempted to keep my expression of personal, subjective opinions on Sufjan’s music well within reason. A quick glance at any relevant online message-board would show that there is a wide diversity of opinion around his discography; some people love certain songs I dislike and dislike certain songs I love. I never wanted my writing to be totally prescriptive. The point was to explore the story of Sufjan – what do his music, his lyrics, the trajectory of his albums tell us about themselves, and about his trajectory as an artist? Every song is to be appreciated on its own terms. The wretched ‘I’ would only be a secondary consideration, included to add some colour here, some light there. Certainly I would be pleased to express my particular admiration for a song – and this is Sufjan, so I really do admire most of them.

With ‘Demetrius’, I fear I cannot help myself. This song is my least favourite Sufjan Stevens song. It is horrible. Utterly horrible.

The most credit I can give to ‘Demetrius’ is that it is certainly aware of its own horribleness, and actively leans into it. The implicit sardonicism of so much of A Sun Came is at an absolute nadir here. This song wants to be ugly and it achieves its aim. But unlike a song like ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, ‘Rice Pudding’ or even the much-later ‘Saturn’, it is not particularly noisy or dense, and so there is very little catharsis to be found in its leaden, dissonant guitar riff, its tremolo-laden backing vocals, its intentionally jarring solo. It even features an attempt at a conventional vocal melody that might have been served decently with a different accompaniment. ‘Demetrius’ is so blatantly unmusical, and yet it just sort of... washes over you. A song like this should punch, but instead it just shrugs – it is a sloppy, humid wet blanket of a thing that without fail makes my skin crawl. You don’t feel battered by it; you just feel violated.

Of note is that ‘Demetrius’ is really two songs combined into a single unit. There’s the slacker rock first half, and then there’s the second half, probably the single most offensive thing to ever make it on a Sufjan album, an inauthentic pastiche of Arabic folk music written and performed – terribly – by a Caucasian man from upstate Michigan. Now, listen. I do not want to feign outrage. I am aware that the female singer in this part, Ghadeer Yasser, has Arabic heritage; it clearly had her blessing and her input. The intent is in the right place. This does not change the fact that it is a terribly arranged piece of music (to my ears), a section that gives an abysmal impression of Arabic music to the inexperienced listener. Arabic folk music is some of the most spiritual, grand, soul-affirming music you will ever hear (listen to Fairuz, or Umm Kulthum, and bask in its splendour.) ‘Demetrius’ is not that. The woodwind line, repeating incessantly across the Arabic section, might be the most annoying melody that Sufjan has ever committed to tape, and the half-hearted rock interjections – a burst of feedback here, a clumsy drum fill there – only worsen things. When the song finally crashes into a wall of organ and cymbal noise, there is no sentiment left to feel but relief. Tetelestai!

Lyrically, ‘Demetrius’ is more surreal, indistinct Greco-Romanry on an album full of it. There are references to an archer and to Bactrian kings, but it never forms into coherent narrative, and the second verse is more concerned with forcing improbable rhymes than anything compelling. The point being that there is very little in ‘Demetrius’ to properly latch on to. You will not find anything in the music, and you certainly will not find anything in the lyrics. I hear a song like ‘Demetrius’ and all I think is ‘...why?’ Why was this necessary? What does it bring into the world? I suppose the natural rejoinder is ‘why not?’ But I have never heard a Sufjan song that fails to justify its own existence quite like this one. If you enjoy liquorice, waterboarding, waiting rooms, Mrs. Brown’s Boys or getting stabbed repeatedly in the face, this is the song for you.

#music #sufjan stevens #folk music #sufjan #arabic folk music #arabic music #fuck #pain #why do i even do this

[telesilla]

The following is an extended metaphor included in a ridiculously long letter I’m sending to my health care provider. I’m posting here because…idk, it’s writing and sharing it with y’all is probably more effective for my mental health than sending it will actually be.

You see, it’s been too long since I’ve seen anyone for my mental health so I need to go through a screening, presumably to discover if my disability (which has been diagnosed since 2000) is still real or something. Now mind you, this isn’t the government trying to cut my benefits, this is my healthcare provider (a company whose name rhymes with Miser) making me do this to get the healthcare I pay for. Thing is, there is only one way to access this screening, through phone. I can get a mammogram appointment through a phone call, the website, their surprisingly decent app or just fucking walking in on a slow day. Mental health care? Gotta be a phone call to get a screener appointment that will then pass me along the system.

Meanwhile my primary care doctor’s office keeps fucking nagging me about other health issues (which really fucking stresses me out since I know I should care but I can’t because I’m fucking crazy) and I’m like, I have one fucking major diagnosis with you people and yet, no one has ever once reached out to me about it. And since that diagnosis gets in the way of other health stuff, idk maybe we should nag me about that instead? So I wrote a letter to the patient advocacy folks asking them to tell my doctor’s office to lay off, but it’s really 1600+ words telling them that they suck. Nothing will change, but I guess I feel better?

Like a good number of people with mental illnesses, I have certain things that are hard for me to do. Simple things that ordinary people do without thinking, like making phone calls, can be impossible if your brain does not cooperate

As an example, please imagine you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, a really high drop, ten or more stories. There is a person next to you and they say, just step forward. You can’t do that because if you step forward, you’ll die. The person insists that the drop is the same as a regular stair, just a few inches, and that you just need to take the step and you’ll be fine. You ask if there’s a handrail, or maybe an alternate path, because you really do want to move forward, only there’s this cliff and your brain won’t let you take that step. The person insists that because it’s a simple step you don’t need handrails or an alternate route and kind of implies that you’re a little foolish for even asking. It’s just a step.

Now, stay with me on the edge of that cliff and imagine that instead of some random person who doesn’t know me, it’s someone who is supposed to care about me. It is, in fact, someone who I pay a fifth of my limited income to care about me. Someone who knows for certain that I have a condition that makes it hard for me to judge distances. But all they do is keep telling me it’s just a step, and it’s one I’ve stepped down before. And all I can remember is that the only reason I was able to step off it before was such severe mental pain that I was considering running from my home or possibly even killing myself. So when the only alternative to blowing up my whole life or even ending it was to leap off a cliff, yes, I was able to leap. However being able to jump off a cliff only because there’s a bear about to eat you is not a way to deal with everyday mental health issues.

#i know why they do it #because when you gatekeep #it’s easier to weed out people you don’t think need help #i also know that this letter will do nothing #but if my actual goddamn doctor’s office will leave me alone #it’ll help a little #and if the bear shows up again #i’ll make the call #but imagine what it would be like to deal with your mental health #when it’s not a fucking emergency #be cheaper for kaiser too but….

[columbiastapshoes]

so if a modern version of frank-n-furter, janet, columbia, and magenta from the rocky horror picture show formed a riot grrrl/rock/sometimes other genres girl(ish) band would that be crazy or what?

AU TIME YIPPEEEEE!! made this one with irl friend @hatsunerandal a while back and i’ve been meaning to post about it i just keep forgetting LMAO so yeah!! band au!!

this band is called the transsexual pussycats because. yeah.

we have everyone on vocals, janet on drums and guitar, frank also on drums and guitar (they switch which one does which (that was a lot of rhyming)), columbia on bass, and magenta also on guitar and keyboards :D

“don’t be cringe about it” NEVER. COLUMBIA IS SCENE NOW RAAAAHH 🦅🦅🦅🦅

janet’s style is just. lana del ray vinyl. and magentas goth and franks punk yaaay!!!

irl friend and i have put together a total of. 4 albums i think? and i am almost done with the fifth one! our process is just. find already existing songs, plop them in a playlist, and then write paragraphs about who sings what and who wrote what and what they wrote the songs about etc etc! quite a fun process if i do say so myself :3

albums 1, 3, and 4 were done by me, album 2 was done by irl friend!! their names are “mcpussy meal” (we almost named the band mcpussy but after i said “old mcpussy had a farm eieio” we changed our minds), “lord of the lesbian jellyfish”, “one girl, 69420 women”, “honestly,” and the fifth one which im not quite done with is “rose blood”!! we’re slaying with the names as u can see! the songs mostly stick to a rock/riot grrrl sound, but they can also do some more pop/hyperpop or electronic songs, and i felt REALLY silly and added a folk song to rose blood :3

now. u might be asking. where is the rest of the cast? what part do they play in this au? well!! for one thing columbia and eddie broke up (she’s with magenta now i love lesbians) and she has written at least one song about him per album 🫶 but other than that he’s out of the picture, along with pretty much everyone else…

EXCEPT FOR BRADLEY MAJORS.

i told my friend about brad in this au and they just said “brad def has groupie energy that 1000% works” and i think about that a lot LMAO he’s not actually a groupie he’s just their biggest fan ever even though he doesn’t even listen to their style of music. he attends every concert, has all the merch, is basically just so embarrassing about it i love him dearly. he’s also in a qpr with janet and dating frank yahoo!! i fucking LOVE the brad/janet dynamic in this au because all of her concert outfits are so slutty and so pink and after the shows and after hugging her aggressively he’s like “you’re wearing so little are you cold :( wear my jacket i don’t want you getting sick” and in one of the songs she is quite literally screaming her lungs out and im just imagining him watching that at a rehearsal and being like “Yay!! :-D” he’s the silliest ever actually

it’s also a canon event that the band got interviewed by that one guy with the hat who goes WHO ARE YOU i hope u know who im talking about if u don’t im so sorry that was so vague

ok those are the basics!! if ppl see this and enjoy it feel free to ask me questions about it i love talking about my silly guys so very much and thank u so much for reading this far 😭😭

#rocky horror picture show #rocky horror #rhps #rocky horror au #brad majors #columbia rhps #frank n furter #magenta rhps

[decolonize-the-left]

I wanted to add to your post about whiteness, that i don’t understand why other white people get so angry about ‘white people don’t have culture’, because if you know your ancestry you can reconnect to your culture. White people not having a culture doesn’t mean that a singular white person can’t have a culture, they just have to put in the effort to work on stepping away from whiteness and connecting to the culture of their ancestors. I do the work of learning about my ancestors and what they practiced, and that actively helps me separate myself from ‘whiteness’ even in small ways.

White people don't have culture.

Germans do and the french do and so do Russians.

White people do not. There is no such thing as White Culture.

Your ancestry is not white culture. And your ancestry, when you're 2+ times removed from it doesn't really feel like your own. It doesn't hold the same importance or carry the same weight. Any mixed person or anyone who's been disconnected will tell you that reconnecting, no matter how much you Feel you belong there, has a way of making you feel like an outsider. You don't know what everyone else understood when they were babies, you missed ceremonies, the food and conversation shared on holidays about your culture, the culturally unique nursery rhymes and jokes.

So yeah you can try to turn to what your ancestors were and whatever beliefs they had, but it still doesnt really give you that Sense Of True Belonging which is what a lot of white folk are looking for.

Besides that,

You can never separate yourself from whiteness. As long PoC are forced to be seen as PoC, you will be seen as white. Even white people here with culture are still white and still benefits from their whiteness. They can't further themselves from it either. It's like trying to outrun your shadow, you can't, it's part of you. Likewise, you can't further yourselves from the responsibility of having to deconstruct it either. You can't further yourself from everything else "whiteness" comes with either.

There is no group of people on earth who are white and Also don't have any internalized racism, ableism, homophobia, misogyny, etc. And every single one is responsible for dismantling their bigotry, having culture doesn't absolve anyone of that.

If you don't like how whiteness feels then you must do better than just run from it.

#asked #answered #whiteness #white privilege #white supremacy

[missionimpossibleburger]

When Art Becomes Industry - The Menu Review

For my elementary school yearbook, I was given a slip of paper that had me answer the following prompt: "What do you think you'll be when you grow up?" These would later be printed just below my name and portrait that would proudly beam on the glossy pages of the 5th grade section of the yearbook, among the other classmates off to do wonderful and ambitious things as preteens in middle school. In short, this was like a high school yearbook quote, but a little more hopeful and earnest.

I answered Probably a comic book writer or a piano player. While the use of "Probably" helped me ease into the idea of letting go of my short-lived comic book writing ambitions, it still amazes me today that, at 10 years old, I knew in my heart that the piano would be a part of my life.

My earliest memories come from the time when I was a toddler who could barely walk, stumbling down the soft carpeted hallway of my childhood home in South San Francisco as I approached the mysterious and booming mid-range tones from the piano in the living room. I'd see my dad's legs, rhythmically pressing on the ornate pedals with the balls of his feet at irregular intervals, like he was operating a weave as he conjured up a net of harmonies beneath his palms. While I might not have fully comprehended it at the time, there was a understanding in our family that the piano is a gene in our household, and I inherited it from my dad, whether I liked it or not.

Fortunately, I did like it. My dad took me to my first piano lesson when I was five years old, in the back of a Chinese-owned musical instrument shop on Clement Street. I never saw that teacher again (maybe the first lesson was complimentary, and my dad just didn't like her enough), but I got to keep the book. At home, with the help of 12 colorful cartoon characters printed in my book, I taught myself all 12 notes in the scale (more if you want to count the treble and bass clefs), simply because I was hungry to learn more notes and more songs. I took great pride when my dad clapped for me finishing Mary Had A Little Lamb, and shame when he reprimanded me for improvising wrong notes. I loved learning new songs, and held myself over with nursery rhymes and folk songs until it was time to take formal classical lessons from a teacher who met my dad's approval. At nine years old, I finally was reaching the next step.

My piano teacher introduced me to the world of music education and the rigors of music training. She was compassionate and warm, but demanded dedication. Through her, I internalized the technicalities of finger placements, metronome speeds, hand compartmentalization. I expanded my repertoire to included Russian contemporary composers whose surnames sounded like Harry Potter spells, but whom sometimes wrote the easiest pieces for my nimble fingers. I reckoned with the performance anxiety that dreaded my psyche before every monthly recital, which eventually bled over to my Certificate of Merit performance auditions. While I changed schools and subjects during the day, music became the constant test that loomed over me.

By the time I became an adolescent, I had nothing to show for it. In high school, it dawned on me that, not only was the piano barely used in any high school ensemble, but everyone knew how to play it better than I did. Everyone knew an ensemble-friendly instrument, whether it was a string instrument for the orchestra, a woodwind for the symphonic band, or a brass for both. All I had was piano, an instrument that's barely heard unless there's a solo, a concerto, or a jazz rhythm section involved. If I wanted to be heard, I had to be perfect. All 4 years of high school, I didn't pass a single audition for piano - not for the school jazz ensemble, not for any of the school musical pit orchestras. I dreaded each audition anyway, and probably flubbed them out of nervousness. I only got into orchestra after I begged the music director and offered to be a TA and a percussionist for the orchestra class, and the one time I did play in the musical pit orchestra was for percussion.

The stress and pressure I felt in the rigors of the music world left me jaded; they were a sobering reminder that I would never be cut for a career in music, or at least as a piano player, as my 10-year-old self prophetically proclaimed. My worth was at the whim of directors listening for every perfect note. The world was telling me that I wasted my time with the piano, a constant reminder of my own inadequacy. I became angry. I lost sight of why I was even spending time and money on these piano lessons, when I had schoolwork and college applications to worry about.

It's this jaded feeling that I think The Menu fully understands. Ralph Fiennes' Julian Slowik is a world-renowned chef who uses his reputation and art to seek retribution for the ills of the arts-turned-service industries. His dishes are the visceral expressions of his stoic hatred and rage for the pretentious, capitalist, and opportunistic subculture that has plagued his beloved art. Having been deeply engrossed in the higher world of fine dining, he manipulates and upends the culture to his own vengeful benefit, usurping expectation and surprising his guests (and by extension, us) by forcing them to confront their dismissive participation and moral crimes against art and humanity. In public reference does he create his own personal chaos, a heaven out of a living hell for those he finds undeserving.

There's a point in the film in which we see Slowik's origins. In one photo shown, he's younger, relaxed, and smiling, holding up a greasy burger patty on a flat and wide spatula, like the kind you'd see in cartoons. It's in stark contrast to the Slowik we got used to seeing, a stoic and terse statue of a man with thunderous claps and a commanding presence, arms crossed. And it's this point in the film where we see it's emotional core, an outlet for our own passionate angst and frustrations. We see a man who was once happy, doing what he loved, now grown into a bitter, spiteful shell.

With nothing else to audition for (save for the slightly less rigorous annual piano tests I habitually studied and trained for), my time with the piano became much for personal. Around my early adolescence, my love and ear for music bloomed with The Beatles, and the piano became the perfect outlet for that rediscovered joy and love of music. Like how I was when I was five, I began dedicating myself to learning more and more songs I loved, Beatles and beyond. I sought new territory and creativity in jazz piano and improvisation, a new language that was previously shunned from me.

When I see Ralph Fienne's Slowik as he is, I am reminded of all of those failed auditions, those nights slumped on the piano bench, those feelings of worthlessness, and if I sat through more of those and eventually found the success I was looking for, I'd come out a shell like him. But, when I see Slowik cooking a burger, I am thrust with nostalgia for the days when I learned Beatles songs on the piano, noodled jazz piano solos over wavy chords, and weaving harmonies out of thin air.

So yeah, I got pretty emotional watching this.

#personal #review #movies #the menu