#but its ok it was so immersive

[figpng]

minecraft screenshot painting :))

[lorebird]

In which Ford struggles so badly to relate to other people that he wonders if he’s really human at all. The more isolated he becomes, the harder it is to reconcile with his own humanity.

[mxnster-soul]

Heya guys/gals/and fellow nonbiney pals!

[vacantgodling]

HE WHO SMITES THE SUN : Dori-Tsokhizhemasonen

CHAPTER 1: SANO'NYON KI MANYENYA (The Rain Dance)

The light of the bonfire was so bright, that even standing atop of the outside wall of their ancestral city, far removed from the center of their encampment where it blazed, Tsokhizhe could still see it. The flecks of stray warmth and light traced its paws against his dark skin, still drawing him into its orbit. The flames rose higher than they would ever dare at a normal pyre, but tonight was a special night, and so special exceptions were made. Every clan and tribe south of the Gingi’nga Nanmoso would be celebrating tonight; there would be no need to worry about an attack, safe within their wall with guards like Tsokhizhe to keep it. There was a mysticism in the air tonight—one that made the flame’s reds closer to oranges, and oranges closer to white; and the colors danced, interlocked and interwoven against the backdrop of the pitch black sky. Music and laughter fueled the mirthful, heady flame, up to the very heavens above where the Affinities, named and unnamed, lie; surely enjoying the spectacle. It was a celebration worth the ages, and then some, better yet than any they had before.

Yet, unsurprisingly, Tsokhizhe was purposefully left out of the festivities. While other guards may have traded posts with one another to each take their turn at the pyre, the dances, or the feast; he was not permitted; despite being the Khoda’s own eldest child. However, he was used to this. His mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadeno, approached him with quiet steps at his lone hut—sequestered away from the rest of the clan’s residential huts, or the nobles grand estates; hidden in the overcast of their city’s walls—just before dawn had risen that morning. Her face was hardened, yet there was no other expression he was used to from his mother. When she spoke, her words burned, with quiet disgust barely hidden on her tongue:

“You are to be stationed at the Eastern Gate tonight.”

Tsokhizhe quickly got out of bed, still in his sleep-dress, and knelt at her feet, his head bowed respectfully to the earth. “Yes, Khoda’nga.” He said, devoid of all inflection. It was hard to be hurt by something he already knew was coming. When he was a child and first took watch-duty during this festivity, he hadn’t understood why he was not allowed to join. But now, he knew, even if no one said. He knew it in the way that his parents avoided him, the way other Kori and Dori avoided him, how even those of the diminutive gender would not meet his eye when he walked past. Every meal he took alone, hunted by his own hand. Every mission he braved alone, only speaking to his father for duty and his mother for instruction; never an affectionate word or hand given to him. These sins he bore, and wore, not with pride but obligation. 

“Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen, do not disobey me.” His mother scolded. Even his name: She Who Smites The Sun, spoke of this great transgression of his: his very birth, under the most evil of all nights, and that omen of misfortune would forever follow him, to the rest of his days.

“You are to be alone and you are to stay away from the festivities. Do you understand this?” 

“Yes, Khoda’nga.” If Tsokhizhe could bow his head lower, he would. He could feel his mother’s steely gaze lie upon his back for a moment too long, then she finally turned on her bare heel, whisking herself away towards the main grounds. Still, out of a long borne habit, Tsokhizhe stayed that way, waiting until he no longer heard the pad of her feet against the ground before he allowed himself rise. 

The Eastern Gate was the furthest away from the festivities of the night. It is why, whenever they were short on guards, he was stationed here. Even the guards did not meet his eyes, and instead kept their gazes turned away towards their mounts, or their sword hands that always rested just so on their scabbards when he passed. They were ready to strike him down at a moment’s notice, he knew. But he did not bow his head in defeat, nor shame. He only bowed to his Khoda, and father, Dori-Darada’ngomakhadzonki—Chief, He Who is Master of Mounts; his mother, Khoda’nga Kori-Yadenomanyozhango—Chieftess, She Who Guards The Store; to his younger sister if their parents bore witness to an interaction; Kori-Chazomakenan’nyopinyi—She Who Breaks the Dying Season’s Song; and most of all to the power of the Affinities named, and unnamed, who lorded above all. He may be cursed, and he was not proud, but Tsokhizhe knew better than to show weakness. If his mother taught him anything, it was to bear your sins for they define you and it is folly to expect another to bear that burden in your stead.

Still, watch duty was Tsokhizhe’s least favorite occupation. He would rather be hunting—out in the far off fields away from the reminders of his misdeed and the ire of his betters. But kenan’nyo had fully set in now—the nights were long, and the frost had begun to pepper the ground with its kisses of chill. The store was full and there was no need to go out—only perhaps, for water runs. But even that had been circumvented by the canal that as of last year had been finally completed. Now, freshwater flowed through their ancestral streets, confining Tsokhizhe more and more to these walls of clay and mortar.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadowy figure coming to approach him until a friendly hand tapped his shoulder. Tsokhizhe was long practiced in never startling—and he was thankful he hadn’t—the moment he recognized Yanyado, the shorter man was immediately throwing his arms around Tsokhizhe in a hug, a joyous cry of  “Sonenko!” leaving his lips. The momentary discomfort at the ko at the end of the fond name, did not stop Tsokhizhe from putting his arms around Yanyado in turn.

Yanyado—or, Yanyanagape’nyodo, Moon Crier— was his closest friend—only friend. And despite their friendship spanning for nearly two decades, Tsokhizhe still had never become accustomed to the affection that his friend handed out in doles. Yanyado was the only one who never besmirched him. Why Tsokhizhe never knew. But even if they were from totally different worlds—with Tsokhizhe being a Kori, and Yanyado being of a lower gender, nevermind the omen that hung about Tsokhizhe like a frightful, impenetrable cloak; he never seemed to mind this. Like the sun, Sonen, and the moon, Yanya, the two of them were inseparable and complementary, and despite his mother’s warning from this dawn, Tsokhizhe still found some part of himself happy to see him.

“How did you find me here?” Tsokhizhe asked when they pulled apart. 

“Your mother always stations you here when she does not wish for anyone to find you.” Yanyado’s voice was coy. “She is not as subtle as she thinks.” He said so conspiratorially, as though it were a lighthearted and playful secret between friends but instead a lump of basalt lodged itself in Tsokhizhe’s throat; he nodded along. “I see.” 

“Don’t look so sullen!” Yanyado lightly punched his shoulder. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Tsokhizhe nodded, but he could tell that his expression must still be far away since a frown pulled over his friend’s features. “I know what will cheer you.” From the folds of his brightly colored parka, he pulled out a wrapped cloth. “Take it, take it!” He urged, holding it out to him. Eventually, when Yanyado did not pull his hand back, Tsokhizhe took the proffered parcel. It was warm to the touch, and the sweet smell of freshly cut herbs and flowers, rolled in sweet dough hit his nose. He had not eaten anything since sunrise, after his mother visited him and informed him of his disinvite, he charred one of the rabbits he felled the day before, gnawing on its grisel, then armed himself for the day’s activities—namely, to make himself scarce. His stomach growled, but still he could not bring himself to unwrap the parcel.

Yanyado noticed his hesitation. “I will be upset if you do not eat it. After all the work I put in to make it, I would hope you appreciate it, Sonenko.”

Something that could have been a smile tugged onto Tsokhizhe’s face, and he slowly unwrapped the cloth. “You made this?” Yanyado puffed his chest out, beaming. This made the traces of a smile that tried to bloom fully blossom on Tsokhizhe’s face. “My Yanyado does not know how to cook. Are you sure you aren’t a sopiro?”

Sopiros—fables told by parents to scare their children into behaving. People who denounced the order of things, such as the genders assigned to yokhe’nyo and kenan’nyo, who believed themselves mighty enough to hold even a speck of power that the Affinities wielded. Outsiders, hated by everyone, and shunned from all the Southern Tribes; forced to wander the wilderness unto the end of their days. Even if they warred amongst each other for resources, hunting routes, ancestral cities and land—they all agreed that sopiros were not to be trusted. 

Tsokhizhe himself, perhaps in another life, could’ve been a sopiro. He wondered it when he was small; and he heard snatches of stories around the campfire of those treated just as he. But try as he might, no otherworldly confidence came to him. No sparks of affinity flew from his fingertips or burned strong in his chest. And after the first time he was discovered and was beaten for it—he tried no more. It was then that Tsokhizhe learned that sopiros could not be feared; it was those who feared them who posed the real threat.

“Do you really think a sopiro could be so handsome as I?” Yanyado asked indignantly; but the jest was heard in his light tone. “But furthermore, I have the burns on my hands to prove my labor for you.” Yanyado held his hands out in the far off light of the bonfire, and even further light of yanya and the stars that attended it—there, on his forefinger and his thumb, Tsokhizhe saw the telltale angry welts from a few burns from a hot iron pan.

“Yanyado.” He tsked, but it was fond. “You ought to be more careful. For my sake.” He added when he noticed Yanyado’s mouth open to protest. He tucked the parcel of food underneath his arm to take Yanyado’s hand into his own. There wasn’t much he could do to heal the burns, but he did still rub them between his hands, the cooling of his skin hopefully a balm to heal it. Yanyado smiled—he was always smiling around Tsokhizhe. Tsokhizhe still hadn’t learned what fondness to his friend he held, but it did warm something broken in him. 

“For my sake, my burns will be for nothing if you don’t eat.” Yanyado reminded him. Tsokhizhe gently let go of his friend’s wrist, and finally took a bite from the doughy treat. It melted in his mouth and the taste of lemongrass and chamomile danced along his tongue. He hummed appreciatively, but before Yanyado could say more off in the distance, the songs began to grow louder, as though every voice in their clan were joining as one to cry out to the heavens their thunderous, joyous celebration. They both turned their heads. After a moment of listening, Yanyado’s eyes lit up, recognizing the melody.

“They must be doing the Sano’nyon Ki Manyenya.” Yanyado held out his hand invitingly, the beads of the colorful bracelet around his wrist jangling just as joyfully as the sound. Tsokhizhe… hesitated.

“I… do not know the steps.” He slowly admitted. 

“I know you do!” Yanyado replied. He didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed Tsokhizhe’s hand anyway. The wall was too narrow to do the dance properly, and Tsokhizhe really did mean it when he said he didn’t know it—at least, he didn’t know the ko part; the follow. They bounced together awkwardly trying to find the faint rhythm’s steps, and it was everything Tsokhizhe could do to try and keep with his do’s lead. Their hands were tangled awkwardly together; just as their feet marched arrhythmically in place. Tsokhizhe’s scimitar bounced at his hip and the jangle of the ties and beads of its scabbard just added to the confusion. At last Yanyado gave up and released him with a breathless laugh. 

“You have two left feet, Sonenko! I have not danced the steps that badly since my mother showed me how nearly a decade ago!” 

If his dark skin would allow him to blush, perhaps Tsokhizhe would’ve; but not of embarrassment but shame. The only part of the Rain Dance that he knew was the lead—the do. That is what he taught himself, observing from a closer wall station as a child; when he was yet too young to be fully left alone but still wholly excluded from the festival’s activities. He’d returned to his little far off hut at the end of the night and while all the tribe slept, whisper sang the words that had entranced him all evening until his voice went hoarse:

Ki yin nana ma’sen

I do not talk much

Ranmi renin ke petono’ni sikhona’nyo

But the rhythm knows my desires

Manyenya naro ke, ki’ngi da zhazhana

Watch me dance and I will show you

Nimon da soson da ki’ngi chon

If you leave I will follow

Nimon da kasachi pon ke, ki’ngi zhino dechi soson da

If you tell me to stay, I will never leave you alone

Nimon da sano’nyo ki’ngi yangipan

If you are water then I will drink it

Sano’nyon-ki’chi. Ki’ngi yangipan. Ki’ngi yangipan.

It’s raining. I will drink. I will drink.

“I’m sorry.” Tsokhizhe could hardly find it in himself to make his voice louder than a whisper. Even in his mirth, Yanyado was still attendant to his friend; a frown pulled down over his round, heart-shaped face, and he stepped into Tsokhizhe’s space, pushing his friend’s twisting blue locs away from his eyes.

“Old friend, you have nothing to apologize for!”

“You believed in me, and I failed.” It was childish, how much the thought of failing Yanyado hurt to admit—but Tsokhizhe admitted it anyway because he was not proud. He was honest. But Yanyado wouldn’t have it. He quickly reached for Tsokhizhe’s cheeks, squishing them together until Tsokhizhe tore his golden hazel eyes from the space between their shoes. 

“To not know is to partake in the joy of learning.” Yanyado was always wiser than his youthful face would suggest. He squished Tsokhizhe’s cheeks harder. “And anyway. If you wanted to dance the do part, why did you not tell me?” 

Tsokhizhe felt as naked as the day he was born. “Wh… Why would you assume that?”

“You didn’t deny it, no?” Yanyado smiled cheekily. “And anyway, we kept messing up because you stepped the same ways that I was. I hop right, and you hop right with me. You must know enough of the dance to know do hops right, unless you knew not at all, where perhaps you would only stare at me.” 

“I would not stare.” Tsokhizhe sputtered.

“You stare during every other festival that I have seen!” 

“And when have you seen me during other festivals?” Tsokhizhe countered—a fair question. Now it was Yanyado’s turn to look bashful, but it too seemed borne out of shame rather than embarrassment. 

“I have sought you out, on occasion.”

“Perhaps?” Tsokhizhe asked, and Yanyado nodded, confirming it. “Why have you not approached me until now?”

“Our Khoda—”

“I understand.” Tsokhizhe didn’t want to hear anymore. Tomorrow would still come, and he would face it as he had faced any other day.

“Would you like to try leading me?”

“I would not want you to disgrace yourself.” Tsokhizhe grunted. The music from the pyre had finally died down, and with it, the flames, as their stokers departed, perhaps to the awaiting feast. The warm glow that touched and glimmered on every far off rock and blade of grass outside of their ancestral walls, was now bathed in the serene light of yanya. It was too dark for Tsokhizhe to see Yanyado’s expression.

“You are above me, Kori-Tsokhizhemasonen.” Tsokhizhe winced when Yanyado used his full name—even if it were true. “That I should lead you at all is not fair to you. Ki’ngi chon da.” I follow you.

Tsokhizhe pulled away from his friend, turning his back to both him, and their city. He looked out into the night; willed it to swallow him. “The feast has begun, and I would not wish you to miss your meal.” 

“Just one verse.” Yanyado held out his hands again, palms flat and inviting. But Tsokhizhe did not turn back to his friend; he was not weak. He crossed his arms over his chest until Yanyado finally sighed and began his descent down the wall—back to the rest of the clan, where he belonged. Tsokhizhe belonged here. Guarding him. Them. From those like him, who would expect others to bear their burden.

[sneakydoor]

Ok silly Malevolent thinking time -- something that's been floating around my head as someone who's studied a lot of 20th century music history and theory is that there's nooo way Arthur would have become a professional composer in the 1920s. If Faroe's Song is comparable to the rest of Arthur's compositions, his tonal language was just too darn simple for the trends of music at the time. On one hand, swing bands, ragtime, and blues were all the rage in the 20's/30's (George Gershwin, Duke Ellington, Tommy Dorsey, etc.). That's what sold at the time, and it influenced a lot of classical music at the time too -- you could even hear jazz and ragtime inspiration in European music written at the time (e.g. Debussy's Gollywog's Cakewalk from his Children's Corner Suite!). Arthur's music is definitely Not That, though.

On the other hand, you had the rise of the modernist and expressionist movements post WWI, which brought about some crazy composers who did wacky things with harmony and tonality just because they could (think Charles Ives, Amy Beach, Arnold Schoenberg, Maurice Ravel, etc.) and Arthur's music is also definitely Not That either.

Arthur's style reminds me more of contemporary classical music (think Arvo Part/Hans Zimmer esque) that we saw cropping up in the 1970s and later. It's very reminiscent of late 20th century/early 21st century modern film composition still very much in existence nowadays -- they're meant to be simple as to not take attention away from the main piece of media you're watching. Which, from a production perspective, makes a lot of sense for Malevolent, because the music is often used as scoring for whatever's happening in the show! So maybe this is all intentional and this whole post is for nothing! But I just thought it was something worth sharing because it has been on my MIND anytime Arthur or another character brings up his compositions

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[fraternum-momentum]

I CANT I CANTTTTTTT I WILL LITERALLY EXPLODE RJIKNHGKRSBKFUCKNHJHFBNJEA JFHBAEJHBFJHBHBHBHBHBBAZHJDBAJHDBAJKHBDJKNA????A//////!?!!!!!!!!??!!???!?!?!??!! I CANNOT I LITERALLY NOT THE CAN I CANTTTTTT RAUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[petras-drizzt-corner]

oops I've been gone a sec

spoilers?? maybe?? idk you'll see

sorry yall, that was an accident. nothing bad is going on, I just got a new game- Bauldur's Gate 3!! I play DND with my family, but we've been so busy and I had some extra cash, so I finally bought it to get my Faerun fix when we can't play and Drizzt's tales aren't fully doing it for me. I just got Karlach, and we're about to travel through the underdark to get to Moonrise towers!! For my first run, I'm playing a drow (who could've EVER guessed) rogue named Petra (who could have also guessed), and I'm romancing Shadowheart! She's just so sweet and I really love her!!

Anyways, that's what I've been up to, but don't worry, I'll try to get back to my regular Drizzt posts. See you guys! -Petra!!

[waywardsalt]

ok i need to get this off my chest abt totk's dungeon soundtracks this isnt necessarily a criticism but just a... idk man its confusing hang on

ok. totk's dungeon themes. theyre good im not going to lie they arent my favorite of the series but totk did deliver some good dungeon themes. what i'm confused about is the choice to use the champion's and divine beast's leitmotifs in the dungeons, like using daruks theme and bits of rudania's theme for the fire temple. that's the first that comes to mind cuz thats the one i like best but i think it was especially noticeable to me for the wind temple, the water temple's theme has some similar instrumentation and some very similar sounding phrases and when i see comments or people talking abt the dungeon themes it is very common to see people talk about the champion and divine beast leitmotifs being used.

and like. fine it sounds nice there is an emotional connection there if you have played botw but like. why are their fucking leitmotifs in totk's dungeon themes???

if you give a character or something a leitmotif, then that little string of notes represents that character or location or concept. usage of that leitmotif is therefore intrinsically tied to that character or whatever. this worked out with zelda's theme throughout the series, esp in totk when it's given the instrumentation of the dragon's themes, so that musical phrase at that moment basically says 'zelda, but a dragon' and like. yknow. leitmotif that literally represents something.

i believe the wind temple's theme incorporates some of rito villages theme, and in turn rito village having the same melody as dragon roost island makes sense, that's effectively a motif meant to represent the rito, like the reoccurring zora's domain and goron city motifs throughout the series, or hyrule castle. when characters have themes in past zelda games that play at different times, it means something about the character being referenced. midna's lament using midna's theme to show that this scene is about midna, she is in danger. fi's different themes playing when she is the center of attention or her leitmotif referenced in botw/totk when she literally makes subtle cameos. linebeck's theme only every plays in scenes where he has some sort of big moment or in the final boss theme because it's only fair that the final boss theme include the motif that represents him because he is the final boss. groose's theme shows up various times in his little scenes (and i believe there might be hints of it in later imprisoned themes?? i'd have to check but it would make sense since he's helping)

so... if you reuse a leitmotif that is tied to something, then reasonably that means that the context in which it's being reused is somehow related to or concerning what that leitmotif represents.

but... daruk's theme and some bits reminiscent of rudania's theme play in the fire temple's theme. reasonably, i would hear this and be like, ah, so this has something to do with daruk, or the divine beast? the usage of his character leitmotif suggests that he is related to this somehow. thats... usually the point of using a character leitmotif like was done in the fire temple's theme!

and yet the champions and divine beasts are not so much as referenced in totk's stories, and you can't even try to the point of their themes being used due to the new sages being relatives, because tulin is not related to revali- he doesn't even get the great eagle bow until after the dungeon, and still no reference to revali is made when he gets it.

so then... why are we referencing botw's champions if they do not matter? why not use the sage's leitmotifs in the dungeon themes instead? the dungeons are much more related to the new sages, and it would allow players to become more familiar to that leitmotif, and would further tie the experience to that dungeon with its related sage, instead of tying it to dead characters that mean jack shit to the story of totk.

it's just really weird that they use motifs from the champions and divine beasts, since that won't click for people who didn't play botw, and it just calls back to stuff not important to totk anyways. the divine beasts have literally no relation to the dungeons, the champions are barely even relevant to the world in totk. i get that the leitmotifs were used as like... maybe some sort of extra pre-existing racial connection motifs, but... use the sage's themes? don't use leitmotifs that have absolutely nothing to do with this game or it's story? sure it sounds nice but the meaning behind those leitmotifs make no actual sense in this new context, unless you're trying to suggest that they actually have a different meaning than being the motifs of the characters and locations that were originally what they were used for.

[cloudbends]

I got so absorbed in the game that I forgot to post about it. oops

[syn4k]

IF ANYONE ASKS ABOUT THIS WHEN THE CHAPTER DROPS. THIS WAS PART OF THE PLAN ALL ALONG. THIS WAS INTENTIONAL. THIS WAS ABSOLUTELY MEANT TO HAPPEN FROM DAY ONE. MHM. YEP.

[famousblueraincoatmp3]

fallout 3 is great because if you pass a speech check you can just tell the antagonists to kill themselves and they'll do it without hesitating

[leyyvi]

ok all the songs from my pwasoi playlist obviously make me think of pwasoi but istg FOOLS by troye sivan is probably the #1 song that brings me back to a very specific part of the story EVERY single time i listen to it

[bumblydumbly]

ok i CANT be the only person in the world who doesnt find ‘almost/getting caught’ to be the hottest thing ever

[strawberryseeded]

just finished watched late night with the devil (2023).... ngl kinda mid?

[mikuyuuss]

Ok I literally just finished all the Resident Evil remakes minus Re1 remake. Right now, Re4R (and Seperate Ways) are my all time favs, but when it comes to atmosphere, Re2r is my absolute favorite. I could just be biased because I love Leon, Ada and Claire (Sherry is bby too) but something about Raccoon City and Re2r was just so special to me. I don't think I will get over the experience I had when I was exploring RPD for the first time.

Re3r is alright, but not rlly a fav of mine. It’s fine that its more action oriented, but it just felt too linear and the locations weren't as memorable. It was a little disappointing bc I was excited to explore outdoors of Raccoon City so I thought it was gonna be more open.