#(speaker) roland

[trainingdummyrabbit]

Roland... we need a Roland announcer... to join the emotional support announcers of previous game blorbos...

i hold my opinions abt character announcers; however . this would be Really Fucking Funny

[triangle-strategy-text-bot]

Roland: Master taught that whoever rules is righteous by virtue of their station alone.

[synthtv]

Jean-Michel Jarre's studio tour

[haveihitanerve]

okay the sound quality is literal shit-

but wholy fuck i adore this video.

[masonlaend]

Chesed and Netzach speak spanish because I said so

[benjamindehli]

Fender Rhodes - Amp Comparison Comparing different amplifiers for the Fender Rhodes electric piano. The direct signal from the Rhodes is recorded once and then sent through the different amplifiers with a re-amp box. Instrument: - Rhodes Mark I Stage Piano Amplifiers: - Fender Twin Reverb - Roland JC-120 - Vox AC15H1TV - Tandberg Model 2 T (TB2) - Leslie 122 Microphones: - Shure SM57 - Royer R-121 - Sennheiser e 602-II (for lower rotor on Leslie) Signal chain: - Rhodes with Avion Studios RetroFlyer Preamp - Universal Audio Apollo - Hairball Audio FET/RACK Revision D - Radial X-Amp into amplifier (except for direct out example) - Chase Bliss Audio & Meris CXM 1978 (almost inaudible, just adds some "air" and stereo width) - DIYRE G Bus VCA Compressor RetroFlyer Preamp settings: - High pass filter in middle position (60 Hz) - Mid boost/cut just below middle position - Stereo tremolo is turned off (until the very end of each example)

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Rolandskvadet voted song of the year since the 15th century

[dropoutdottv]

This week on Dropout: on Tuesday, the season 4 premiere of Dirty Laundry, with guests Rekha Shankar, Jordan Myrick, Sam Reich, and Ify Nwadiwe; on Wednesday, a new Dimension 20: Never Stop Blowing Up; on Thursday, a new Adventuring Party talkback - and a new Smartypants, with speakers Jacquis Neal, Tao Yang, Carlos Luna, and Cynthia Kao; on Friday, the "Get Your Act Together" behind-the-scenes featurette for Dropout Presents: Chris Grace: As Scarlett Johansson and a new episode of Monet's Slumber Party, with guests Isabella Roland, Persephone Valentine, Mikey Angelo, Bob the Drag Queen, Jess Ross, and and Israel Zamora!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

again re mister maccabee threatening cishet ideals and laughing about this rando audience member literally front and center who's completely engaged with the goings on at the start of the video and then dives back in afterwards, but as soon as he catches on that mister maccabee is taking up the sexy mantle is like "oh a banger. reminds me of days gone by, i'll reflect on that" so determinedly I DO NOT SEE IT even while 4 feet away right by center stage. f

a tribute to this Bravely Preoccupied Guy who entirely loses the ability to look at the performer until mr. macabee’s sexy intro is over

[blackestar]

because i have noone to talk about aftg with, can we talk about that scene in the kings men where they’re in eden’s twilight for the first time since andrew’s release and roland (in response to seeing the scabs ob neils wrists) says something about “has andrew broken his hands off rule” and all that yk?

and you see, ive read the books twice already. this was the third time reading tkm. but that still sort of caught me off guard bc like, did andrew talk to him about this? is roland just that good at reading people?

and how andrew responded to that when neil asked/confronted him.

oh and i almost forgot, the scene where wymack sends neil to “call off his psycho” or smth like that where andrew said for wymack “to stay in his pay grade” and i literally just noticed (during my third read!!) that he says it bc wymack send neil specifically bc he knew neil would get andrew to stop antagonizing (?) his teammates.

(pls dont come at me bc of how i worded things, i have shit memory when it comes to quotes so im not quoting exactly, just what/how i remember and im not a native english speaker lol)

[clayvedevs]

On the week of the monaco gp 2024, charles leclerc, a french (🤮) speaker adopted oscar piastri, an australian man. He then went on to win the race. Fast forward to roland garros, where alex de minaur, an australian man, has adopted paul, some french kid. Based on the previously mentioned case, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that alex de minaur will win the whole french open. In this essay

[gatheringbones]

[“The problem is that we have exiled sex in our minds. We have isolated it from the larger inclusive narrative and we have limited its definition to that which serves the most privileged class of protagonists.

I think that this is a symptom of that other habit of treating whole classes of human beings as though their stories do not have the stakes, narrative depth, and complexity typically assigned to dominant protagonists. It is a craft quandary indeed to write yet another sex scene in which a white male protagonist exercises his archetypal masculinity on a secondary, two-dimensional character functioning as a prop in his hero’s journey without any narrative awareness of this exhausted trope.

But to write a sex scene in which that marginalized character is treated with some reverence and depth? To write it from their perspective? Or to write a scene in which a white male character experiences, even in an inchoate way, the deep discomfort that occurs when we act out our erotic story on another body without recognizing its humanity? I’ll repeat the unrule: you can use any words you want.

Here is Eileen Myles, from Inferno, in case you thought comparing a pussy to soup, or using the word crotch, was out of bounds or unsexy:

But after kissing her mouth a little chapped which seemed familiar then feeling her breasts not so large, but nice round and beautiful, familiar breasts, ones I already knew in some way I tugged down her pants. She said Oh. Like a soft amount of light, a small gust of wind. And luckily she had some sweatpants on or something, a stretchy waist. Easy getting them down and there were her lemony legs. Not big not strong, but smooth soft hair like peaches everything that way. Pink rose warm. I just dived down. It couldn’t have been too fast. Time was being so slow and warm. And there it was. A pussy, the singular place on a girl, it’s where I’m going. Wiggly thing, like soup, like a bowl. Another mouth. Like lips between her legs and the taste of it. Piss and fruit. I pressed my face against its bone and it moved. She was letting me. All this was happening. I smelled the future right there, a present and a past. All that went through her, known through the soft sweet flesh of her lips and clit. It was like my face felt loved temporarily […] I felt plunged into a tropical movie in which light was bathing my head and her pussy, her cunt, her crotch was a warm smile and for a moment I lived in her sun.

The revelation here is not that these words can be used in a sex scene, but that a pussy, a cunt, a crotch can be transformed by a sex scene. “Language is never innocent,” Roland Barthes once wrote, and I agree. Here, in the sense that the words pussy, cunt, and crotch all carry the connotative luggage of all their previous contexts—the violence, disgust, and pornographic theater of all the scenes and mouths I’ve heard them in and from. Experience, however, is innocent. This narrator’s sexual reality is so powerful a phenomenon that it washes these words of their previous connotations. Now they mean not a wimp or a bitch or the place on a woman that belongs to a man, but something magnificent and weird, pure and exotic, deeply familiar and erotic—a warm smile, a cosmic body. Just as sweatpants become perfect attire for such a scene, smooth soft hair like peaches, and the actual smell of sex a good one. When they enter this revelatory scene, these degraded words are suddenly imbued with the same reverence as their speaker. To use them is an incontrovertible act of (re)creation.”]

melissa febos, from body work: the radical power of personal narrative, 2022

[triangle-strategy-text-bot]

Roland: I understand. However, I believe there is no man who intentionally sets out to harm another. And there is no man who is glad to serve at another's beck and call. Yet, the wounded and the conquered exist in droves. The powerless are made to serve the powerful, to be tormented at their whims. Such has it ever been. Perhaps it's the way of the world. Perhaps it will twist and distort until it is so, to thwart our efforts to the contrary.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

I am grabbing the baton from @billysblueeyes and running at top speed!! here is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race 🤍 I'm so happy to have taken part again!! my ficlet is short and sweet 🥹

head over heels 586 words | Rated G | fluff

It's that sort of sudden, all-telling fluttering in his stomach that makes Steve balk; his clumsy grip dropping the stack of VHS tapes in his hands as he goes to hand them to the blond across the counter.

Billy’s eyes hold a dull sharpness these days, like the person he’d been before Starcourt is still there somewhere deep down, but he’s resigned himself to who he is now — a man who just wants to move on. And they are as blue as ever, so striking and intense as they had been all those months ago.

Just a glance from them, even now, makes Steve’s heart stop.

And in all honesty, Steve can understand him – to a certain degree – because he’s also been trying to ignore or forget the last 3 years by pretending it’s all just a bad dream.

Except he’s never been possessed, so. He can’t really relate to that bit.

“Um, my bad,” Steve clears his throat as he stacks the tapes again, keeping his gaze on the small pile even as he feels Billy’s eyes boring a hole into his forehead.

“Nervous, Harrington?” Billy hums quietly, a little tease, and it makes the back of Steve’s neck burn.

He feels it flush his face, his cheeks turning ruddy as he shoves the tapes across the counter and forces himself to look Billy in the eye as he says, “No, just…tired.”

Billy’s got dark circles under his eyes but he still looks good, which is annoying. You’d think a guy who had died and come back to life would look like shit. 

The blond places his hand over the stack, fingers spread wide as he pulls them the rest of the way, telling Steve with a slight drawl of, “Right.”

Steve, feeling his throat close up, watches Billy turn and head towards where Max is looking over the ‘New Arrivals’ wall. He watches the blond slowly saddle up next to her, unable to hear their conversation as Robin turns up the radio that plays throughout the store.

Which is annoying. How is he going to listen in?

It’s when he bends over the counter and watches Billy gently smack the top of Max’s head with a VHS, maybe arguing over which movie she wants to rent for the extra cost, that he hears the song, Roland Orzabal crooning from the speakers:

Something happens and I'm head over heelsI never find out until I'm head over heels

Steve feels his stomach flutter again as he watches Billy’s sharp smile, a small thing on his handsome face, but this time the sensation makes him scowl in realization.

Something happens and I'm head over heelsAh, don't take my heart, don't break my heartDon't, don't, don't throw it away

He’s got a fucking crush on Billy Hargrove.

Fucking great.

Max throws her hands up in defeat and storms out of the store, leaving Billy behind, who glances at Steve and gives him a playful wink before following her outside, the tapes carefully held against his chest.

Steve ever so slowly lowers his head down against the counter and presses his forehead against it, closing his eyes with a low groan of defeat.

“Hey, dingus,” Robin hums as she appears beside him and starts typing at the computer, “You forgot to mention Hargrove’s late fees. Again.”

Shit. He totally did forget. “I’ll get him when he comes back to return them,” he mutters against the counter, wondering what the fuck he’s going to do with himself.

up next is the super talented @fizzigigsimmer!! 🥰 pls look forward to what they have prepared for our enjoyment!!

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

lame seasonal moment aboard the UNSC's biggest boat

Two for the price of one! Sorry this took a minute, but I'm trying so hard to write again.

-

Miller wakes with a start when a cacophony of noises roars from the speaker directly next to his bunk. Tinny sounds of water bubbling and chains rattling jostle him from what little unconscious peace he had found.

"I was working in the lab late one night-"

"Roland!" He groans, defeated and curling up into a smaller target with his pillow over his head. As if that would dissuade his tormentor.

"Happy Halloween, Spartan Miller!" Roland chimes from over the Monster Mash continuing to blast.

"It's 0400!"

"Not on Earth!"

"Roland!"

-

The leaves in the Atrium Park are shades of fire as the skylight projects a pale autumn sky. Fall, synthesized or not, is here and Lasky can feel it in his bones.

Not the same as being planet-side and seeing a terraformed Martian autumn paint the landscape of Mare Erythaeum, but the complex systems maintaining the flora of the park did a damn good job mimicking morning dew and crisp fall air.

He breathes deep and exhales, watching the leaves rustle and dance before turning to his running partner.

Sarah's scowl is softer than usual, in part to the tiny gourd he knows is now sitting on her desk, and partly because Luna didn't have seasons. Cmdr. Palmer would never admit it, but Tom knew Sarah enjoyed the traditions that came with the seasons, even if he'd never call her festive.

"It's colder than usual." She observes in the face of changing leaves and Tom's own jacket on top of his PT gear.

"It's fall." He says back, nodding to the trees.

"Better than Requiem's heat."

"I heard that Mjolnir has pretty good climate control, if you wear a helmet." Tom grins as he says it and starts running.

He hears her snort and then heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. It's early and the path is wet with dew and dead leaves. It's his one saving grace as he slows and dives down a side path.

He hears her swear and skid as her momentum carries her past.

Leaves crunch underfoot as he jogs past piles of leaves and startled gardeners. He smiles and nods to them as they look at him in shock as Sarah closes in. He wonders distantly if the Mess Staff has broken out the cider yet.

[actually-factually-anonymous]

Marinette is not poor.

Just posting something I wrote a little while ago:

I always have a little snicker whenever people call Marinette "poor". While the writers put her and her school in a fictional 21st arrondissement; the position of the Eiffel tower and general decor actually point to the girl living in what is very clearly (at least according to the few French speakers I've had the pleasure of talking to about this series with) the 16th arrondissement.

Aka: The Old Money district of Paris.

Her family are apparent minor celebrity bakers who cater to high class events and who get to own (that's important, the Dupain-Cheng's own the bakery, not rent it) and live in a building worth millions of euros in one of the most wealthy parts of Paris. A building and business they likely inherited from Roland at some point, and that family also contains a clearly rich Grandmother who can spend her golden years traveling and can casually buy her Granddaughter a new motorcycle for her birthday.

Her room alone would be unaffordable for any working class person, it's the size of a studio apartment. Add in the location and Balcony; and an actual Parisian commoner would probably need to divvy the space up between a dozen roommates just to make rent. Sure it looks tame compared to Adrien's gilded cage, but make a comparison to let's say... Alya's room (which we have seen and actually resembles a working-class teenager's living space) and suddenly she's looking pretty bougie.

Let's not forget that direct across the road from a school (based on the prestigious Lycee Carnot by the way) attended by the children of the rich and powerful to a degree that cannot be coincidental. But it's unsurprising that Marinette's mingling with the elite when she's already babysitting news-achors' children and has a host of personal connections with celebrities.

As for her hobbies, anyone that has ever taken up design or dressmaking, or really anything creative has to know that it's not cheap. And that stuff that Marinette makes? There's no way that she's covering that with the odd babysitting job unless Nadja is paying her with hundreds of euros per session (I don't know, maybe Manon's on a blacklist so Marinette can choose her price?).

Correct me if I'm wrong: but the closest thing to Marinette or her family having any kind of money problems in the show was the fact that they'd been saving up for Marinette to have a trip to China. Which implies that at least they can't go out to another country on a whim: but that's not exactly poor now is it?

If Marinette looks like some schlub from the Banlieues, it's only by comparison to her ultra-wealthy classmates. Her parents show no signs of financial struggle, and Marinette herself is rarely called to help out in the family business. She lives in a room bigger than some apartments. Her hobbies are ridiculously expensive, but the most she has to do to cover them is occasionally babysit for one of her celebrity connections.

Marinette's. Not. Poor.

She is upper-middle class at worst.

And as for hardship in the future? The girl has already had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity dropped in her lap via Audrey Bourgeoisie, another one through Jagged letting her design his glasses (talk about visibility for a young designer), gained recognition through Gabriel Agreste's competition and is the sole heir to her parents' and Gandmother's combined wealth. Unless she well and truly flubs every opportunity she has her fashion career is about as close to set as it can be, and even if it bombs: her familial wealth means that unless she goes on a spending spree she probably won't even have to work. She could literally just appoint a manager for her family bakery and live full time as Ladybug...

Oh, and she's also dating Adrien Agreste. Who was the sole heir to the Agreste Fortune, but now that his parents are gone: he's probably one of the richest minors in France. Worst come to worst, she has a sugar-kitty to keep her afloat.

Marinette is not poor. She was never poor. Barring multiple acts of absurd misfortune that destroy her family's wealth and home and her celebrity connections and her burgeoning professional reputation and her relationship with Adrien: she never will be poor.

Even then she'd still be Ladybug and The Guardian of the Mother Box. She could have a single euro to her name and would still have a home in the Guardian Temple- she's not exactly one missed payment away from being on the streets.

This idea that she's some working-class underdog is much like the romanticized trope of the "lonely hero struggling under her responsibilities" that Marinette often gets in fanworks: it's something that ignores her canonical privileges for the sake of drama and putting her on a pedestal for how she suffers under her duty. In reality, Marinette has a literal wealth of riches in terms of generational wealth and metaphorical riches with her massive support group formed from her family and many friends (many of whom are ultra wealthy themselves).

Marinette is not poor.