#every word of that verse is imprinted in my brain

[alexanderwesker]

it has been 639 days near exactly since I first read A Twin of Light, and it's permanently shifted the way I interpret characters, relationships, and fic (as well as normal writing) as a whole. I re-read it every four months or so and it's never any less incredible.

ATOL jump-started my own fic-writing experiences, and haunts my brain; it's the quality baseline for anything I read, the source of my standards for things I write. I've drafted fic-of-fic for it more times than I can count, I've scribbled General and Soot designs on the walls of my room; when I'm bored driving or much anything really, I tend to invent new stories for them, new scenarios taking place in that wonderful world you've made.

ATOL is my favorite fanfiction. Full stop. I can count on one hand the number of fanfics that have changed my life, and make no mistake ATOL is on that list. (The House Always Wins is similarly incredible; your dedication to what you do, what you write, keeping it up no matter how long it takes to complete, is insane.)

In about three months will be the two-year anniversary of my reading ATOL, and if I had even a fraction of the wherewithal I wish I did, I'd be making some huge animation or art piece in celebration, but I don't know how I'd ever manage to capture all that ATOL means to me in something like that, let alone how I'd ever manage the motivation- but if I could, I would in a heartbeat.

The relationship between General and Soot-- I've only read a relationship in fic even somewhat like it *twice* in the near two years since first discovering ATOL, and still nothing comes close to the way their bond was woven into every fucking aspect of that book in a way I've never seen since.

Your meticulous world-building, too; the way you craft gods and goddesses and magic and turn Minecraft into something *real*, the unique systems and ideas and consequences and costs of everything the characters do- it's so fucking good. It's so so well thought out , I can't imagine how long it must have taken to flesh out.

ATOL has gotten me through some really hard times in my life; knowing I had a fantastically made escape, knowing I could slip into the universe you've so carefully wrought, has let me get up and keep going on days I felt I'd never get back up. And it's all because of you and your passion!

You do this for fun, and because you want to, and I think that's the most stunning thing of it all! Human passion, human joy, used to make something like ATOL, something that impacts perhaps thousands of others, imprints on them for the rest of their lives-- I can't imagine anything more beautiful.

Thank you.

Thank you so, so, so fucking much.

Whatever you do, whatever you write, you will always have my Internet - stranger self's undying support.

----

I've also got some questions pertaining to your realistic!verse & the ATOL characters, if you don't mind! :)

1. What exactly happened with Quackity and the Sky Gods? What game, what demands, etc?

2. How do others perceive Jack with his Nether-type power; did Wil ever treat him differently for it (while he was, y'know, without his General, before everything went down?)

3. Are the Sky Gods two entities, one, or more?

4. Are there stories told about Soot and General post-ATOL? How is their relationship seen in those tales?

5. What does Phil do about Wil's disappearance once in the real world once , more? (You do not need to answer this if it makes you uncomfy, as always :)

6. How did Soot and General feel during the Tommy -blessing misunderstanding discovery? How would the story have changed if their relationship had been more romantic?

7. Is fic-of-fic accepted for your universe? Any ground rules, yes/no's of what one could write?

----

Thanks for your time in answering, and thanks for everything you've written & given us all. ♥️

I don't know what to say, Anon. It really means a lot to me to hear that my story means so much to someone else other than me. And know that your words made me really happy to read, I've been going through a rough patch recently and your message means the world to me. To know that Soot and the General and their relationship helped you, that the world I made could be of help. Really from the bottom of my heart, Thank you for your words and I hope you have a wonderful day ^-^ --- To answer your questions(and don't worry I'm always up to answer questions ^D^) 1. Quackity challenged the Sky Gods, specifically Scott, though he is called Dawn in the Realistic!Verse, at a game of Poker. The game was played with as prize, if Quackity won to get the power to reach his goals(the Gods gave him his magic seeing eye because of that), and if the Sky Gods won for Quackity to be their plaything forever. There is to say though that even if Quackity won the Sky Gods did not fully keep to their promise. 2. The people in L'Manberg are the most normal about Jack's Situation, and those that don't know the whole story think that he is just some kind of Nether Hybrid) about Soot he didn't treat him that much different from how he did before, but he did keep him arms distance away because he wasn't sure if he could really trust him(like all others) 4. The Sky Gods are multiple, their names are based on the phases of the Sun in the Sky and the oldest of them is the Sun itself. And of course, the youngest of them, being Night. 5. That is a good question, I think Phil would try to help people come to terms with the fact that their streamer would not be appearing anymore, but if he can he would still try to reassure them that he is okay, but other than that sadly there wouldn't be much he can do. Since he would be hiding, as best as he can, the particular traits that that world left onto him. 6. They were kind of embarrassed about the whole situation once they discovered what Tommy had been thinking was going on between them but I can't see that changing anything on how they act towards one another. As for the second question, I don't believe the story, or the way it was told, would have changed that much had the Burs had something romantic going on, if only because their relationship is already so profound and close (even being platonic) that I cannot see it change in any particular way had their love been romantic, though they would have probably had even more gestures(not to say that they don't have many already in my canon) to show each other their love and care. 7. I am completely fine with people writing fanfics of my stories, and I'm always happy to see what you guys come up with and what ideas to explore. I just ask to have the original story linked(even better to get a related story link so I can directly connect them to my work :D) I don't have any hard 'No's when it comes to fics of my fics ^^ As for ground rules the only one I have is for the characterization of the characters to be based on my own than the DSMP one because then it wouldn't really be a fic about my stories :P Other than that feel free to write whatever scenario you imagine be it following my canon or being an AU, a "missing scene" kind of thing or a slice of life. I welcome all fanworks ^D^

Thank you again for your ask ^D^feel free to ask more questions if you have any more.

[married-2-the-music]

K-pop Discography Deep Dives: (G)I-DLE (Part TWO)

After a year-long hiatus following Soojin leaving the group, we have Tomboy. Let’s level with ourselves here: Tomboy is not a good song. Is it catchy? Yes. Is it entertaining? Yes. Is it imprinted on my brain so much that I know every word and sing along whenever I hear it? Absolutely. But it’s not a good song, guys, I’m sorry. (If I’m dead tomorrow, we know who to blame). Though I appreciate the point it was trying to make in regards to breaking the stereotype of “the perfect girlfriend” and I totally understand why it became a song that many people connected to, as it stands, it’s a bit hard to not laugh. I do admit that it’s a catchy song, especially the pop punk influences and the guitar riffs, and when I approach it like I do War Of Hormone by BTS (not taking it too seriously and enjoying it at face value), I do enjoy it.

My Bag, which was also promoted as a single with the album, unlike with Tomboy, has never been a song I’ve enjoyed. There are parts of it that I like (like Yuqi’s rap around the 1 minute mark or Miyeon’s quieter, more melodic moment to shine around the 2 minute part), but I just can’t get past the incredibly grating effect that that chorus has on me. This is more of a personal issue than anything else though.

From the first full album, I Never Die, I enjoyed the full-on grungier rock of Never Stop Me, the great guitar riffs in Liar, the sweet reminiscence in quasi-ballad Polaroid, and especially the nostalgic synths and let’s-run-away-together lyrics of Escape, which was my hidden gem. I still have no idea why, out of all of these great tracks, My Bag was the one chosen as a special track.

Nxde follows Tomboy’s example of making a grand statement, this time delving more into misogyny and the sexualization of both young girls and idols. It uses the aesthetics of 20’s burlesque to 50’s glamor, and uses a sample from the famous opera Carmen alongside very high strings, swingy jazz instruments, and synths, intentionally using sarcastic lyrics about the ideas people hold on the word “nude” in the “why do you think that about ‘nude’? ‘Cause your view’s so rude. Think outside the box! Speak out!” Though I appreciate this song more than I like it, and don’t find myself replaying it often, I do really respect what they set out to do here, and I think that on the whole, they’ve succeeded.

From the EP, I Love, my favorite was actually a song almost all in English, Change, which is unusual for me. It reflects on fame and how it doesn’t stop loneliness, but instead increases the feeling that no one could possibly understand. In truth, it’s a very sad song, especially because it’s self-penned. I both hope that it doesn’t reflect their own feelings and hope it does.

Pre-release single Allergy is a perfect example of (G)I-DLE’s message done very well. It’s catchy, with a 2000’s teen pop style, it makes a great point, and it doesn’t take itself too seriously, managing both to critique the high standards placed on women’s bodies and discuss self-hatred, and have a good laugh at the pettiness of teenagers and social media. All in all, it’s something that I hope (G)I-DLE does again.

Queencard picks up where Allergy left off, but doesn’t quite stick the landing. Though it has a pretty great first minute, second verse, and especially outro, its chorus is…not it. Though it’s absolutely a satire, the chorus is just too silly and harsh when compared with the rest of the song. The same issues I had with Tomboy repeat in Queencard, where the underlying ideas and themes are really good, and I genuinely do respect what they were trying to do, but I think that the song needed to go through just a bit more workshopping for it to work here. Again though, I really do like that outro, and I wish it was used consistently as a post-chorus.

From the EP, though I enjoyed the sweet lyrics of Paradise and the distortion in Lucid, my hidden gem was definitely Peter Pan. For a group with a name that translates to child (“aideul”), they have a lot to say about growing up, and that’s really reflected here, as the girls reflect on lost childhood, the promises made to their parents, and how they’re not quite grown up just yet. Though we aren’t the same age, I could still find a piece of myself in this one, and it became a favorite of mine.

I think that, as (G)I-DLE gained more creative control and began writing every song themselves, the b-sides got much stronger in meaning and the EPs began to feel more cohesive in sound and message. As the titles have gotten flashier, their b-sides have been able to become pared down and vulnerable in a really lovely way.

I Do is (G)I-DLE’s English debut, and the MV tells the story of a shapeshifting alien (played by all five members) and the human boy she falls in love with. It’s a synthy, spacey, city pop sound that’s new for the group, and while it plays it a little safe and lacks the social messages that are (G)I-DLE’s signature, I enjoy the spotlight it gives to their voices and how much fun they seemed to have shooting it. It’s a solid song, don’t get me wrong, it just doesn’t feel like them.

Though (G)I-DLE did have their English language release in the meantime, pre-release Wife comes around eight months after I Feel. This is definitely one of those songs that toes the line between making commentary and being slightly insane, and if Tomboy was strange, this one is off the rails. With all five members dressed in matching oversized white track suits with bright blue bobs while they sing-talk and awkwardly dance their way through lines like “won’t be your wife, but she is.” Full disclosure, I hated this on first listen but it’s shockingly grown on me. The lyrics are surprisingly explicit for K-pop, and i think that the combination of that and the ridiculous clothes makes for quite an amusing social commentary on the expectations for “wives” vs “girlfriends” in Korea. I can’t say it’s my favorite (G)I-DLE song by any stretch, but I can appreciate it for what it is.

Super Lady just came out this morning, and right from the start, it screams “(G)I-DLE” in a way that really feels like a follow up to Lion. It’s absolutely an anthem, with a driving drum beat, the barely repressed anger, , and of course the “Onward ladies, follow ladies” refrain, and reminds me of a 4th Gen version of 2NE1’s classic “I Am The Best” (naega jeil jal naga, motherf*cker) . This has such a great build up in the pre-chorus, and though I don’t think its anti-drop quite follows as well as a pay off should, I’m surprisingly not mad at it. That outro is probably my favorite part and had me nodding my head, and overall I’m confident in saying that Super Lady is my favorite title of theirs since HWAA.

From 2, the 2nd Full Album, I enjoyed the slow, sensual build and pay-off in Revenge, the dreaminess in Vision (which is the first song Miyeon’s written!), the light beat of all-English 7Days, and the great lyrics of Fate (which was absolutely my hidden gem), describing everyday life when something—or someone—happens to change it forever.

Overall, I’m very glad I did this! This discography deep dive has really made me enjoy (G)I-DLE’s work, and I’ve begun to appreciate a lot of b-sides I never gave the time of day before. And, in this redo, I fell in love with their music all over again. As I’ve gone through this, I’ve also noticed that their voices form a really nice harmony. Soyeon’s is harsh and sharp. Miyeon’s is high and polished. Minnie’s leans into ethereal sometimes. Yuqi’s deep soulfulness is reminiscent of Adele (who she’s actually covered!). And Shuhua’s sometimes soft, sometimes powerful mezzo floats in the middle, rounding them out.

My Top 5 would be Lion, HWAA, Peter Pan, HANN: Alone In Winter, and Put It Straight, with Escape and Allergy as honorable mentions. (G)I-DLE gets an 8.75 out of 10: pretty solid, with a couple dips, and definitely some highlights. Though I do have some issues with their discography, I can see how much work and time goes into it from them, and I don’t feel like those problems are caused by laziness or a company shilling out half-baked songs, but rather just personal opinion.

So, I’ll see you next time, for a boy group’s discography! Tschüss!

[kusari-clowning-around]

just a small dump of poetry

Free verse

What is love? A question I ponder most often, As I gaze unto the stars up above, an answer emerges from the galaxies As if a candle were burning into my skull The words imprint themselves into my mind, forever etched into my brain Love is an embellished dagger, beautiful, yet brings a deep pain Oh, love, it has us in its grasp, like a drug An addiction of which all conscious minds seek to find, just to escape pain for a brief moment Naïve, are they, for little do they know, love is not as simple as it seems Not as simple as a warm fuzzy feeling, not a warm summer day But rather, a complicated process That shall lead to their slow deterioration, as a plagued forest is close to death Oh, how I wish love weren't so complicated, like a puzzle with missing pieces Then perhaps I wouldn't be so melancholic Perhaps I wouldn't overanalyze the small details Like the slightest mistake in a painting If only I had had someone to care about me as I care for them, far back in time Someone for me to love as they love me I might've trusted love a little more And wouldn’t be in my labyrinth of perplexity.

The scent of a hazy dusk in mid-summer. The beautiful sight of the mountains, dusted with snow. The taste of the sea, salt lingering on our tongue. We live in this beautiful world, yet we are stuck. No free time, nothing but packed calendars. My only solace is the night. A time of which we can do as we please. We shall listen to the colors of sound. We shall create webs of masterpieces. We shall dance together in this tangle of shadows and stars. As we depart from this realm, into the land of our dreams, I shall remember that I have all the time in the world to be with you. For you are not a physical entity, but rather a voice, echoing through my mind. Your voice is like rich honey and velvet, yet still remains whimsical and cheery. It is comforting and loving, yet always so filled with laughter and joy. You are a part of me. To lose your joyous voice is like taking out half my brain. You are always there, guiding me, laughing with me, and always being there for me. You need not a name, for no name could ever match your joyous whimsy. As the night comes to an end, you fade. Not gone, just silent. But you always come back when dusk falls. I vow to never forget you. I vow to always return to you. I vow to always return to my life, that which you don’t see. You are there for me, but so are many others. I hope you meet them, one day. Then perhaps, as the night returns, we shall laugh, dance, draw, read- Together. Forever and always, For eternity, We will be together.

A breather is all I need to succeed Yet they shove work on me, saying “In order to triumph, you must work like no other You cannot have a break like the others For if you do, you will not achieve The future that you so desperately need” But it is not the future that I need, nor want It is their future that they force unto me For they know not how to achieve their dream After being put down by so many others So, instead of blindly following your lead, I shall follow my dream And simply tell you to find your own path Then perhaps we, together, can withstand the world’s wrath Oh, the world will laugh, But only because it dares to act, For the world is not as terrifying as it seems It just needs some hope to shine through the looming trees

The love I feel for you not like my love for others It comes with a feeling of joy, yet at the same time, despair You make me long for your touch- nay, your very being I dream of you almost every night Hopefully, I won’t wake up this time

Again, again. They’ve arisen. They have returned. The darkest thoughts that lurk in muddy waters, The doubts that creep through the shadows, They’ve come back. They have come back for me. They glare and gnash their sharp, sharp, teeth. They cackle and approach me, I begin to tremble. My breath quickens, my heart races. I want it to stop. “Stop.” I don’t realize I begin speaking until words have already pooled out of my mouth. “You torture not only me, but thousands of others. Why? Why do you do this? For your joy? To suppress your emotions?” I ramble more and more, but I don’t know what words I’m saying. Everything is null, vague. Someone has been calling my name. I think. What is my name? They have been calling a word over and over, “Help.” I doubt that is a name. I feel a rope around my neck, my body hanging. Then it all fades out.

Sensory

In a graveyard I see tombstones and flowers, those who wish to regain those who are lost I smell the autumn zephyr mixed with the scent of morning glories I hear gentle sobs and leaves rustling, light footsteps treading a worn path I taste the sorrows of souls who left too soon I touch the graves of those who I’ve lost, paying my respects I feel melancholic empathy for those who are gone I wish immortality weren’t so difficult.

In a garden I see withering roses climb the walls, trees looming above ominously I smell rotting plants and fresh bird carcasses I hear the rushing of a river, the cawing of crows overhead I taste coppery blood enveloping my mouth I touch your wounded face, your blood staining my hands I feel empty, numb I can’t comprehend my thoughts, there’s too many

In my mind I see static I smell blood I hear flesh ripping, screaming, then silence I taste fear dripping off my tongue I touch the air, thick with rot I feel nothing I can’t

In the mountains She sees black pines, waterfalls, and elk She smells the sweet fragrance of silvery lupines, the earthy scent after rain She hears the merry chatter of sparrows and bluebirds She tastes the air, laced with petrichor She touches the stones and trees She feels at peace She is at her true home

[rumored-stars]

poetry dump!

Free verse

What is love? A question I ponder most often, As I gaze unto the stars up above, an answer emerges from the galaxies As if a candle were burning into my skull The words imprint themselves into my mind, forever etched into my brain Love is an embellished dagger, beautiful, yet brings a deep pain Oh, love, it has us in its grasp, like a drug An addiction of which all conscious minds seek to find, just to escape pain for a brief moment Naïve, are they, for little do they know, love is not as simple as it seems Not as simple as a warm fuzzy feeling, not a warm summer day But rather, a complicated process That shall lead to their slow deterioration, as a plagued forest is close to death Oh, how I wish love weren't so complicated, like a puzzle with missing pieces Then perhaps I wouldn't be so melancholic Perhaps I wouldn't overanalyze the small details Like the slightest mistake in a painting If only I had had someone to care about me as I care for them, far back in time Someone for me to love as they love me I might've trusted love a little more And wouldn’t be in my labyrinth of perplexity.

The scent of a hazy dusk in mid-summer. The beautiful sight of the mountains, dusted with snow. The taste of the sea, salt lingering on our tongue. We live in this beautiful world, yet we are stuck. No free time, nothing but packed calendars. My only solace is the night. A time of which we can do as we please. We shall listen to the colors of sound. We shall create webs of masterpieces. We shall dance together in this tangle of shadows and stars. As we depart from this realm, into the land of our dreams, I shall remember that I have all the time in the world to be with you. For you are not a physical entity, but rather a voice, echoing through my mind. Your voice is like rich honey and velvet, yet still remains whimsical and cheery. It is comforting and loving, yet always so filled with laughter and joy. You are a part of me. To lose your joyous voice is like taking out half my brain. You are always there, guiding me, laughing with me, and always being there for me. You need not a name, for no name could ever match your joyous whimsy. As the night comes to an end, you fade. Not gone, just silent. But you always come back when dusk falls. I vow to never forget you. I vow to always return to you. I vow to always return to my life, that which you don’t see. You are there for me, but so are many others. I hope you meet them, one day. Then perhaps, as the night returns, we shall laugh, dance, draw, read- Together. Forever and always, For eternity, We will be together.

A breather is all I need to succeed Yet they shove work on me, saying “In order to triumph, you must work until you drop You cannot have a break like the others For if you do, you will not achieve The future that you so desperately need” But it is not the future that I need, nor want It is their future that they force unto me For they know not how to achieve their dream After being put down by so many others So, instead of blindly following your lead, I shall follow my dream. Oh, the world will laugh, But only because it dares to act.

The love I feel for you not like my love for others It comes with a feeling of joy, yet at the same time, despair You make me long for your touch- nay, your very being I dream of you almost every night Hopefully, I won’t wake up this time

Again, again. They’ve arisen. They have returned. The darkest thoughts that lurk in muddy waters, The doubts that creep through the shadows, They’ve come back. They have come back for me. They glare and gnash their sharp, sharp, teeth. They cackle and approach me, I begin to tremble. My breath quickens, my heart races. I want it to stop. “Stop.” I don’t realize I begin speaking until words have already pooled out of my mouth. “You torture not only me, but thousands of others. Why? Why do you do this? For your joy? To suppress your emotions?” I ramble more and more, but I don’t know what words I’m saying. Everything is null, vague. Someone has been calling my name. I think. What is my name? They have been calling a word over and over, “Help.” I doubt that is a name. I feel flames licking at my skin, yet my body remains limp. Then it all fades out.

Sensory

In a graveyard I see tombstones and flowers, those who wish to regain those who are lost I smell the autumn zephyr mixed with the scent of morning glories I hear gentle sobs and leaves rustling, light footsteps treading a worn path I taste the sorrows of souls who left too soon I touch the graves of those who I’ve lost, paying my respects I feel melancholic empathy for those who are gone I wish immortality weren’t so difficult.

In a garden I see withering roses climb the walls, trees looming above ominously I smell rotting plants and fresh bird carcasses I hear the rushing of a river, the cawing of crows overhead I taste coppery blood enveloping my mouth I touch your wounded face, your blood staining my hands I feel empty, numb I can’t comprehend my thoughts, there’s too many

In my mind I see static I smell blood I hear flesh ripping, screaming, then silence I taste fear dripping off my tongue I touch the air, thick with rot I feel nothing I can’t

In the mountains She sees black pines, waterfalls, and elk She smells the sweet fragrance of silvery lupines, the earthy scent after rain She hears the merry chatter of sparrows and bluebirds She tastes the air, laced with petrichor She touches the stones and trees She feels at peace She is at her true home

[monsooninn]

Berakhot 3a: 14. "Exposure."

Exposure refers to what happens when one attains to Ha Shem. This leaves "ruins", the remnants of all former manmade concepts and delusions about the Knower of All, what can be known and what cannot be known, and what simply does not exist.

While we love to put on our cute little hats and outfits and eat off the Food Menu, they hint at someone who is travailing to find Ha Shem, but they do not themselves aid with identifying Ha or Shem, the place and the understanding needed for Exposure.

Preparations for Exposure in the mind for the purposes of Ha Shem can be likened to the ways one cleans a windshield or glass table top in order to provide maximum transparency- one must empty the surface of obstructions and keep them clean.

A mind that is deliberately kept obstruction free, that constantly studies the Tanakh and the Mishnah, that entertains a strong determination to attain to Ha Shem should find the experience somewhat easy to obtain.

I have found reading the Vedas will boost the process as well, but without the Torah and Tanakh etc. knowledge of what happens on Horeb will not be complete and Ha Shem will not take place.

Doves (see below) are souls that are a little too lovey dovey to achieve Ha Shem, however, and they must be sacrificed. A dove is a Jewish boy that know just about it all and floats above the rest, but just a little bit too far up.

Doves are consumed by Eagles that know what they want and are willing to watch, wait, and dive upon the target with the speed of the wind at its back:

14a. And he said to me: My son, what voice did you hear in this ruin? And I said to him: I heard a voice that growled like a dove and said: "Woe to me that I destroyed my house and burned my hall and exposed my sons to Nations of the world".

14 b. And he said to me: Your life and the life of your head, you don't say that this hour alone, but every day and every day, three times you say that.

14c. And not this alone, but, at the hour of Israel, we entered the synagogues and the synagogues and said, "Blessed be her great name," the Holy One, blessed is He who answers.

14d. He bared his head, and said: Blessed is the king who made him sit in his house like this, what love does he have for exposing his sons, and woe to the whites who were exposed from their father's table.

The Values in Gematria for the above verses are:

v. 14a: Nations are tribal alliances found in the Torah. Each Tribe creates a clan of qualities and characteristic one needs to master in order to become a real Jew. Even still these do not help one achieve Ha Shem.

The Value in Gematria is 11821, יא‎‎חבא‎, "He will hide."

v. 14b: Every day, three times a day, the head must be conditioned to wear the Crown of Mashiach. The Nations, the Kabbalah says are imprinted uponm the heart, but we know God does not reside in the heart, he resides in the Intellect. He will not come to just any old nice granny, He will only Expose one who Hors.

The Value in Gematria is 9643, ט��דג, tudg, "to live with God, understand the bursting", AKA the double gimel.

The official term for the double gimel is the Euphrates, which refers to the big gusher betweeneth the thighs as well between the eye and the Eye of Ha Shem. One must double gush, that is all there is too it.

v. 14c: the Value in Gematria is 8780, חז‎חאֶפֶס, hexhafes, "the 600 Hundred locations, spread out." The word tzitzit, fringes, has a numerical value of 600; but the real word I want to emphasize in this gematria is kraspedon, "the horns" which is also a word for a fringe:

"The noun κρανιον (kranion) means skull, or more specifically the brain box, hence the English word cranium. It stems from the unused noun καρα (kara), meaning head, top or peak, which in turn derives from the widely attested Proto-Indo-European root "ker-", which mostly yields words that have to do with horns (see below).

The noun κερασ (keras) means horn and stems from the same Proto-Indo-European root "ker-" as the above. This root is also suspiciously similar to the Hebrew noun קרן (qeren), meaning horn, which comes from the verb קרן (qaran), which either means to have horns, or to radiate — this is the verb that describes how Moses' face radiated when he came from the mountain (Exodus 34:29), which is why medieval artists depicted Moses commonly as having horns.

It's not clear whether the Hebrews saw horns as rays, or rays as horns, or whether the PIE language basin got this word from the Semites or vice versa (which would probably mean that one of the two lost its own native word for horn), but PIE does not have the ray-clause, and instead equates the horn with the top of the head; hence the word κρανιον (kranion), cranium, which literally means place of the horns, even though humans have no (visible) horns — which in turn means little: we are made in God's image, and God has wings (Psalm 91:4), and hence, so do we (and see for a solution of this conundrum our article on the noun αγγελος, aggelos, angel).

But in the PIE basin (and particularly in the Latin branch), horns became proverbial not simply for strength and courage, but rather as point of intersection of the opposing wills of contesters (in rhetoric, the horn of an argument was its most salient point).

Where the Hebrew language emphasizes the importance of cooperation and synchronicity of players (hence the link between horns and the light of reason), the PIE language basin emphasizes competition and combat, and horns became symbolic for, well, the locking of horns and the volatile mix of clashing intensions, wills and desires.

For obvious reasons, the ירך (yarek), or genitalia, of both men and women were considered the seat of the will, and so the horn also acquired a sexual connotation, and came to signify a cuckhold (that's the husband of a promiscuous wife).

The husband would be described as growing horns (becoming horny, presiding over perpetually mixed bloodlines), whilst someone else's offspring would grow within his wife, for him to provide for.

The Hebrews made trumpets from horns, and used them to incite people into collective action. The Indo-Europeans associated horns with the overstepping of boundaries.

The overlap lies in the extension of the range of one's own control into that of another, which is precisely what language is designed to do, and language is the vehicle of reason, the substance of which is light."

v. 14d: the Value in Gematria is 12234,יבבגד‎ , yibbagd, "the region of understanding located in the wine vat must be found."

Once one juices a grape, there is no way the blood of the grape is going back inside the skin. This is what it's like with God's love, once you experience it you want to pass it on.

As many crushed grapes as are needed to fill the vat must be grown, harvested, hulled and put in the vat and this has to be done repeatedly if one is to maintain one's observances of Shabbat. Shabbat is the climb all Jews and sentient beings must make in order to attain global natural human order. Once one drinks the wine, one\ leaves the former ground behind in favor of the final ascent to Ha Shem and the new ground ahead .

Within the Mishnah, this means one must crush the head and the eyes in order to remove the accumulated toxic waste before they are fit for proper digestion of the wine and full apprehension of Ha Shem.

The tempation is to confuse refinement and enlightenment with reaching Ha Shem but this is not accurate. One may be wont to forget how to be as intelligent or pious as one could possibly be, but one does not forget Ha Shem. Indeed one cannot.

Compare the experience of Moses who went up to the summit of Sinai and actually acquired Ha Shem. God spoke to him and to Aaron, the rest of Israel was only given anecdotal information, ie, in the rest of the Torah. The goal of the study of the Mishnah is personal direct unforgettable experience of Ha Shem just like the one God gave to Moses when he exposed himself to God on the Mountain. God certainly returned the favor.

[somebodylovesyougcv]

help! by the beatles makes me think of glee in 2 ways: the gcv in 5.01 and fix by rainjoyswriting where bad boy!blaine sings an acoustic version of the song for a glee club assignment

[griim]

Gemma’s trigger words / Tabula Rasa

What is Tabula Rasa? Tabula rasa is a Latin phrase which, as translated by Adelle DeWitt, means “blank slate.” It is the philosophical idea that humans are born with no knowledge of any kind and that they gain knowledge through experience. The Dollhouse has, therefore, co-opted the term to refer to the empty mental state of a wiped Active.

Note Gemma can randomly become a blank slate randomly due to the chair that her father had used on her. It was not created properly so it did damage to pathways within her mind. Hence why she can randomly lose memories and sometimes become a different imprint.

After each engagement (mission), she is wiped, made to forget anything about that personality. After being wiped, she asks, ‘If she has fallen asleep?’ Which someone replies (usually the one doing the imprinting) ‘only for a little while.’ Each doll is programmed to have a call and response, which helps keep them in line. (In a way). Once wiped, she is Persephone, yes like the goddess, in the house that ‘she’ was created in (The Washington D.C. house), they use gods/goddesses names for their Actives (Dolls). While in this state, Persephone (Gemma) is no longer anyone. Personality is no longer existent and replaced with a child-like one. Knowing only basic things (how to shower, go to the bathroom, feed herself, swim, and color,) Everything else is new to her, and she would have no understanding of it.

They keep her in this state so that her mind is blank (hence, the blank slate reference) in this state makes her mind easier to manipulate and imprint. But, this comes at a cost, especially for the new chair that her father has created. Matthew claims that the chair has been recreated to near perfection, but it is far from the original. The one that Topher Brink practically perfected. Because of this, it leaves scars and damage to her brain. Over time, it will become less and less likely that the old Gemma will return. It is more likely that Persephone (Doll Gemma) will remain, being a blank slate forever. Something her father, Matthew, would not be too upset about because this means that it worked.

Every doll Including Gemma has a full script (IE calls and responses) and they are; Post Wipe (Which this is how it should go, now, with Gemma it was different. They rarely spoke to her, however the imprint/programming for this call and response still remains.)

I’d also like to add I am open to exploring the idea that because of how bad of a job her father did with her programing she might be able to be triggered by some other people. But for the sleeper stuff only her father/brother can do that. 

Programmer: Hello, (Name of Active). How are you feeling? Active: Did I fall asleep? Programmer: For a little while. Active: Shall I go now? Programmer: If you like.

Handler / Active Handler: (Gemma’s handlers were her brother and father, unless in the doll verse where it is David Cromwell)

Handler / Active Handler: Everything’s going to be alright. Active: Now that you’re here. Handler / Active Handler: Do you trust me? Active: With my life.

To be wiped/imprinted

All you have to say is something along the lines of “Would you like a treatment?” (The word treatment being the trigger word) This will have the doll respond simply with a smile and a ‘I like my treatments.’ Though the doll/active does not know what the treatment is, all the know is they want them. 

And some Dolls are sleepers (Persephone being one of them), and they have remote triggers that will activate them. For this, think of Bucky/Winter Soldier. However, unlike Bucky/Winter solder, this can only be activated by one person (her father or brother), and the script can change from active to active. It goes as follows. And mind you this is only for Gemma. 

Activation

Activator: The weather calls for heavy rain, better wear your green rain coat.  Active: [no response, but the ‘sleeper’ is activated] These sleepers are usually set to kill and nothing else. They become solely focused on the task at hand. Killing their target. 

To Deactivate

Activator: The rain has lightened up, you should wear your yellow raincoat. Active: [no response, but the 'sleeper’ is deactivated.]

[justasparkwritings]

The Word of Your Body: Holy {4}

Previous: You’re Gonna Be My Bruise

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Genre: Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Swearing, Pregnancy, Fatherhood, Questioning Religion 

Listening: Holy by Justin Bieber 

Master List

      Namjoon didn’t believe in God, or god, or Him. He didn’t believe in a higher being, a power that created and decided the fate of all peoples. There was no Buddha, Allah, Brahma or Vishnu. No shabbat or Holi or Ramadan. He didn’t believe in any of it. Army was King and Queen, Empress over his fate and his life. He didn’t feel anything around Easter or Christmas, there was no desire to bow his head and pray over a tragedy. He didn’t feel guilty for every sin committed, or anytime an “oh my god!” crossed his lips. He didn’t feel like there was anything moving his life forward except for BTS and you.

        When he had asked you to marry him, he felt an inkling of what prayer was. There was nothing he wanted more than to marry you, to create a family, to live his days intertwined with yours. He was positive you were going to say yes, but he found himself wishing and hoping for your answer amidst the ten seconds it took before you responded. He didn’t realize it was prayer, nor did he think his hope that you would say yes would be constituted as a form of worship. But on bended knee, in the few seconds before you answered, he offered it up.  

        Your resounding yes sounded like an alleluia on Easter morning, a sensation he had experienced with you a year prior. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it.

        “I don’t understand why you participate in it,” He said, drinking his coffee at your favorite local breakfast spot the day after his first Easter service. The two of you had come to your home to spend the holiday with your family, which meant showing him where you grew up and yes, bringing him to church.

        “Why?” You asked, sipping your coffee.

        “It, it doesn’t make sense, why would you believe in something that’s so, cynical?” He wondered.

        “The religion you’re speaking of and the religion I subscribe to are two different things,” You said.

        “How?”

        “Because the religion your speaking of is God as a vengeful, omniscient dictator, demanding sacrifices, demanding life, wanting fees and fines designed by man to prove your loyalty to capitalism, not to God. The God that I believe in, that I celebrate, is merciful. He fights for what is right and just, for equity, for love.”

        “Like Sailor Moon,” He smiled.

        “Without the talking cat,” You winked.

        He hadn’t understood what you meant until you’d given him a copy of your favorite book, which detailed the life of Jesus and his wife, Ana. It wove the notions of Jesus as savior with Jesus as man and expanded his understanding of what a savior could mean. It wasn’t that he suddenly believed in religion, or had faith, because he didn’t. Reading your favorite book had only made him fall more in love with you and made his understanding of religion murky at best. He did admit that he could see its place in your life and accept it for what it was.

        The second time Namjoon had prayed was when you took your last pregnancy test. Conceiving wasn’t easy, and he beat himself up every time a test came back negative. You tried to dissuade his fears, tell him that it took time, it wasn’t going to happen the first time you had unprotected sex. He knew he wanted kids; he knew he wanted kids with you. The inability to get you pregnant for two years, even with increased hormone treatments and meticulous care placed on both of your bodies, he felt like he was exhausting all options. Every choice he was making led to further disappointment when the test came back negative.

        Why couldn’t his body do the one thing it was designed to do? Was it the dancing in tight pants? Was it working out too much? Riding his bike too often? Why weren’t different positions, different times of day, number of orgasms leading to the creation of life that was half you, half him?

        He found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for any sort of solace when he came across a quote you had typed into his phone’s notes for when he felt nervous. You said it every time you had an interview or presentation, a Bible verse imprinted on you during adolescents. As he read the words, the idea of prayer came into his mind… he quickly looked up how to pray before closing his phone. Wasn’t the point that you didn’t need to have a formal way of asking God for help or guidance? Dejectedly, Namjoon bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the words flow out of him.

        Namjoon’s heart soared when you took your first positive test. It nearly erupted at your first sonogram. The thump-thump-thump of your child’s heartbeat had been like angels singing. You had created a life; you were going to have a child together. Maybe with his eyes and your nose, or your heart and his mind… Either way, he had heard a chorus echoing every time he saw your bump and felt your baby kick.

        He couldn’t reason with himself though, did he now owe God something because whomever it was had fulfilled his prayer? Would he have to baptize the baby, offer it up on an altar like Abraham or split it in two like Solomon? Was God holding a grudge against him now because he hadn’t exalted him fully?

        He had borne his soul to you shortly after your eighth month. His conscious was weighing heavy.

        “I need to tell you something,” He said, sitting next to you on the couch.

        “Okay,” You said, setting your phone face down on the coffee table. “What is it?”

        “I, I did something, and I don’t know what to do next,” He couldn’t tell if he was ashamed, nervous, or bashful. Would you laugh or be surprised or lovingly tell him it was okay?

        “What did you do?” You asked, cautiously.

        “I,” He sighed, “I prayed.” He glanced up at you through his lashes, gauging your response before proceeding.

        “Okay, and?”

        “What am I supposed to do now? Do I owe God something? Is our child a sacrifice?”

        “Well, what did you pray for?” You asked.

        “A baby.”

        “Namjoon, look at me,” You said lightly.

        “What?” He reluctantly lifted his gaze to lock with yours.

        “I did too,” You smiled.

        He felt the baptismal waters crash down on him.

        “You did? Oh, fuck. That, that makes me feel better. Do, do we have to do anything?” He reached for your hands as you laughed. Your baby kicking at the movement in your body.

        “We can say a prayer of thanksgiving, but that’s not really how God works.” You said.

        “I’ve read articles, and books, and the expectation that you offer something up to God in thanksgiving is everywhere. He grants a prayer and you give thanks. I’ve spent the past seven months trying to figure out what that thanksgiving is supposed to be.”

        “Namjoon, why is this bothering you? You don’t normally adhere to organized anything,” You said intertwining your fingers.

        He nodded his head before speaking. “I’ve never prayed about anything, but I needed solace, someone to listen. I was scared to tell you or the guys because I don’t believe in it, but I did it anyway.”

        “That’s what faith is. It’s throwing your hopes and fears up and believing someone will catch them. Be it fate, or karma… or God or Allah or Krishna… it’s hoping that something will move the chips in your favor, and knowing you’ll be okay if it doesn’t.” You answered, lightly squeezing his hand.

        “Do I owe anything?” He whispered.

        “No, that’s not how God works, at least in the evangelical sense. Just, be a great father, and an excellent husband, and your actions will show your thankfulness.” You said, moving his hand to rest on your belly, baby kicking excitedly as Namjoon’s hands held it gently.

        “That’s it?”

        “God doesn’t want for much, Namjoon.”

        He had spent the next six weeks studying books on organized religion, alternating between writing lyrics for BTS, unpacking the idea of GOD, and preparing for the baby. He read every parenting book, went to every class and watched birth video after birth video. He took to your body like the gentiles took to John the Baptist, following its every inkling, tending to it with care. He prepared baths and scheduled massages. He gingerly placed lotion on your growing belly, and proceeded to rub natural remedies on your cervix, anything to make your eventual labor smoother. He kneaded your growing breasts and never hesitated to help you tie your shoes. God had smote the Egyptians for worshipping their golden calf, and here Namjoon was, on his knees, singing exaltations to your growing form.

        The third and fourth time Namjoon prayed was when your water broke, and with it came an excessive amount of blood. You had rushed to the hospital and were diagnosed with late term placenta previa, a condition they should’ve caught earlier. Upon examination, you were rushed into a C-Section, and as he sat clutching your hand, tears streaming down your faces, Namjoon braced himself for the worst possible outcome. He prayed diligently, every second you were in surgery, every moment he wasn’t whispering to you or kissing your hair, he prayed.

God, Jesus, Allah, anyone… Please let my wife be safe. Please do not take her or our baby away from me. Please let us live our lives together. Please let them be okay, please, please, please.

      He offered up penance, a term he’d learned reading about the evolution of the Catholic church. He’d offered up his career, his bandmates, his money, his time. Anything he could trade to keep you and your baby.

      Namjoon had thought he’d heard a gospel chorus whenever he saw your bump or felt the baby kick. It wasn’t until his child took its first breath and let out a cry, that Namjoon realized the crescendo of expectation, fear, relief and hope raking through his brain was the angels, singing the Halleluiah Chorus, proclaiming the birth of the savior. He could see it, you Mary, the unassuming mother of the Christ child, him Joseph, a lowly craftsman, the doctors, the shepherds, guiding life into the world.

      As your tears turned to joy, Namjoon muttered to himself, “Unto you a child is given.”  

      It was past midnight when Namjoon finally had a minute to breathe. He held your new baby securely in his arms and glanced at your peacefully sleeping form. The past 48 hours had been a whirlwind. You were recovering from a C-Section and unable to lift or move much. On the one hand, you were relieved. You were emotionally exhausted from a traumatic labor, and physically exhausted from undergoing a major operation. Bed rest was welcomed as your body began to heal, from the nine months it had spent growing life, and as your hormones began to fall and rebalance. On the other, you wanted to spend every second staring at your child, guessing what they’d be like, wondering if their eyes were shaped like your husband’s or yours. Smelling their head for that new baby, fresh on the planet scent, and memorizing every feature.

      Namjoon was grateful, it gave him time to spend with your child, knees deep in fatherhood. He could carry your child everywhere, sing to it, love it, create a strong bond before he would eventually be pulled to tour. He was savoring every diaper, every midnight feed, every coo and cry. He couldn’t imagine life before your child was born, and he wanted to cherish every millisecond he had with you both.  

      He hummed to your baby quietly and again glanced at you, your milk had slowly started to come in and leak onto your shirt, or rather, a tour shirt of Namjoon’s that you’d kept every time he left home. He remembered the day you fought over him not having a t-shirt in your size and been pleasantly surprised when he had found this one in some drawer. Over the years it had become your comfort object. You kept it at his place indefinitely, and once you’d moved in together, had insisted he wear it before he went on tour to capture his musk. What had started as an argument over insecurities had blossomed into one of your favorite traditions.

[sasskarian]

Your Danse fic though! Can you do something for "My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand?"

oh, nonnie, have I got a ficlet for you. 

Note: I still maintain that this is all @asaara-writes​ fault. TWs for illness, wounds, and needles.

*** Hozier Prompts! *** Read on AO3! ***

Danse has been a soldier too long to be a deep sleeper. 

That’s the first thing the Brotherhood trains you out of. The indoctrination comes later, because only a good soldier can be indoctrinated, and a good soldier has to wake up at the first hint of danger. So when he hears the first whimper from across the room, his eyes snap open. The night is quiet, except for Evelyn’s breathing. But even as he watches in the dim moonlight of the gutted building they’re squatting in for the night, her arm spasms— and the dog bellies up to her, nosing at her with a low whine. 

Now that he’s awake, he can hear the uneven, ragged edge to her breath in place of the normal steady and slow he’s used to. Switching on his low-light red headlamp, he makes his way over to her bedroll. Dogmeat looks up at him, snuffling at the quick pat Danse gives him. The closer he gets to Evelyn, the more alarm fills him until he’s kneeling next to her and trying to stay calm. Sweat beads on her forehead, rolling down her damp skin in rivulets he might find aesthetic under literally any other circumstances. In the places it’s already hit her flight suit, dark patches lay like lightless pools against her chest. 

Even as he watches, she convulses once, twice, and then a third time before falling so still, Danse checks to make sure she’s still breathing. Every good field medic has scanners built into their suits but Evelyn has something better. He tilts her Pip-Boy, fumbling with the tiny controls until, in frustration, he shucks off the heavy gauntlets and gloves of his power armor. She teases him about all but living in it, and his gut clenches as he convinces the Pip to show her vitals. He taps it, wondering for a moment if it’s malfunctioning, but the high pulse rate and low oxygen levels stay exactly the same. 

Injury detected, it reads. Deploy stimpak?

Injury? His eyes sweep over her, pinning on a darker spot than the rest and rolls down the collar of her suit, hissing. Imprinted on freckled flesh is an almost perfect set of bite marks, flaming red and hot to the touch. Danse tries, desperately, to remember when she could have been bitten. Was it the fight near the old bookstore? Or down outside of Goodneighbor? In his memory, he hears the clang of armor hitting the ground, and a pained goddammit! But when he’d looked, Evelyn had been reattaching her pauldron, a smoking mutant hound at her feet. 

I’m fine, she’d reassured, reloading her gun— the one he’d given her, some absurdly pleased part of him noted— before heading out. It’s a lie he should have known, recognized, after telling it so much himself.

How long had she been out of her armor? How long did radiation last after a radstorm? Danse searches his brain for answers but none came. Lists of symptoms, survival chances, those things dance in his brain, but the best he can do is shrug out of his own armor (that she wasn’t coherent enough to tease him about it stung) and sit on the side of her bed. 

“Come on, Evelyn,” he murmurs. Shaking hands pry out a bottle of purified water and a cloth from their supply pack, trying to clean the bite of dried blood. As he puts gentle pressure on the wound, dribbles of pus and debris come away on the rag and he rips it in half, trying to prevent contamination as he cleans her, holding on to his forced calm by the tips of his fingers.  

Danse’s scores in field medicine had been average across the board, but with his team more versed in it, those skills are rusty and fuck, he wants to kick himself for it. 

“RadAway,” he tells himself, searching the field kit. Attaching the IV to the bag is easier than finding a place to hang it; he settles on taping it to the hip-brace of his armor with the medical tape Evelyn had insisted on. Finding a vein is harder. He bit his lip as he presses on her arm, thumps it with his fingers, curls her hand into a fist. Nothing seems to work until finally, the smallest hint of blue in the dawning light shows in the back of her hand. 

Evelyn jumps and moans as he swabs the area with the cleaner side of the damp cloth and slides the needle in, her eyes fluttering. The first signs of the medicine helping come around eleven that morning, her crumpled features smoothing out a little. It’s subtle, but Danse can tell; he’s spent the entire night cataloging her every exhale and movement. Dogmeat has somehow ended up half curled on his lap, half draped over his mistress, his heavy rump giving a tentative wag when Evelyn’s breathing begins to even. 

The last of the RadAway drips from the bag, traveling down the long, thin tube to her arm, and Danse slides the IV from her with relief. Next is hydration: a stimpak will have to wait, since he isn’t sure what the mixed medications might do. But as he shifts, leaning over her to drip lukewarm water into her mouth, her hand shoots out and grabs his. 

“Nate?” Her voice cracks, ragged and wet-sounding, and oh, how his heart clenches. “I’m so cold, Nate.” 

He— what does he do here? Dozens of suggestions zip through him, at least half fueled by the heat of her hand on his. “It’s okay,” he finally manages. “You’re a bit sick. Just rest.” 

“Mm.” She curls into him, her cheek nuzzling against his thigh; Danse stares, frozen, disbelieving. “Stay? I’ve been having the worst dream.”

There’s only one answer to that, and his voice is soft, almost wondering, even as the soldier the Brotherhood raised to need nothing beyond himself quails and shivers in his cage of steel. “Of course,” he whispers. Slow, so slow and tentative, he brushes through the coppery hair spread across his lap. Danse can’t remember the last time— if ever— he’s touched someone without his gloves, and the silky slide of her curls through his fingers rocks him down to his bones. 

And that's when he knows he’s in trouble. This— the soft afternoon, with wasteland birds warbling and the touch of her hand on his— is boggy ground. He is her Paladin, her commanding officer. She is his soldier, but… she’s also a friend. In this, though, the way she rests against him, warm and shivering and somehow more real than anything else he’s felt before, Danse is knee-deep in emotion and sinking fast. 

It’s past midnight before her fever breaks. Danse has long since given up on propriety, stretched out on his side next to the bedroll to help keep her warm. Dogmeat drapes over both their feet, snoring softly in the night, and the only stretch of time measured is in the small beep the Pip gives for the alarm he set. Slowly, so he doesn’t disturb Evelyn, he reaches into his pocket for the stimpak syringe and eases it into her injured shoulder. She tenses in his arms, burrowing her face deeper into his chest, but doesn’t wake. 

(It shouldn’t feel good, right? Is he a selfish old bastard, for enjoying this simple human contact?)

Still moving slow, he nudges Dogmeat into waking. “Your turn, boy,” he says, almost soundless. The dog is smarter than most humans Danse knows, though, and he trusts him to stand watch and wake him if something goes wrong. But they’ve picked their camp well, so he doesn’t expect much trouble: Ferals were cleared long ago in another patrol, and there’ve been no signs of mutants for at least a mile. So for a moment, a desperately needed moment after almost two days of trying to keep Evelyn breathing, Danse lets his eyes droop. 

Sleep has almost claimed him when she stirs, breathing her husband’s name against his neck. Guilt lazily slides through him, that her delirium has slapped a dead man’s face over his own in her mind and he hasn’t corrected her, but shock freezes him solid when her lips brush his. Once, soft and sleepy, and then again, more firm; not quite a demand, but when her hands slide to his jaw, he knows he is definitely awake and not hallucinating from exhaustion. He pries her hands from his jaw, ignoring her quiet whine, and settles them between his chest and hers, shuddering when her fingers curl into his undersuit.

“Missed you,” she mumbles against his mouth, her breath a thousand soft pleas against his skin. 

“You’re still sick,” Danse says, summoning the words from somewhere deep inside, a place where willpower reigns over guilt and loneliness. “Rest now, Evie.” 

When she finally settles against him, her ankle resting trustingly between his and her hair tickling his nose, Danse squeezes his eyes shut against the prickling that is most definitely not tears. Paladins don’t cry, and especially not over lovers they can’t have. Loving Evelyn would be a betrayal of her trust, of his military discipline, and disrespecting the memory of her husband. (Wouldn’t it?)

But a smaller, sly part of him knows that he’ll tuck this memory in the depths of his heart: the way she feels, the heavy, reassuring warmth of her body against his. How she fits in his arms, and the silken, forbidden glint of sunlight on her curls. How soft her lips are, even in this dried out desert of horrors.

He’s not in love. He’s not. 

But his final thought, before finally dropping into sleep, is a faint wish that maybe he could be, if he let himself.

[blackwaxidol]

Drone post i fished from my drafts and finished up. it has no beginning or end i am far too scatterbrained to not indulge in train-of-thought paragraphs this is incredibly long

Drone does not like Europa very much, it took her more than a week to even consider stepping foot on it, she'd been... content to let everyone pass her by in a mad dash to glimpse at the strange signals emanating from the Galilean moon. to call her response to the message "content" is entirely incorrect, although her demeanour may be forever difficult to scry the emotional value of. she has a nervous habit of bringing her interlocked hands to her sternum, it could be mistaken for a pleading gesture were her face conveying adequate expression. her eyes are widened, but most people do not look so closely.

she has enough of Europa in her dreams and hypnagogic hallucinations to last a lifetime, there is nothing she wants to relive. so, she would shuffle through her apartment, picking apart and examining the innards of the Parcel of Stardust that irreparably ceased to function and she would obsessively pore over every last spontaneously-useless gun in her armory until it finally forced anger out of her and she would sit on the floor with her Blast Furnace on her lap and her hands over her face. a sort of computerised sniffling noise emanates from her occasionally. afterwards, she would push the half-dismantled mess under the workbench, and by extension a white sheet, and leave the room with her jaw clenched.

she makes herself comfortable in her proverbial fox den (the Drifter had called it a "nasty love nest", and narrowly avoided a swift punch to the jaw) and stays still under her weighted blanket for a while, ruminating. when Valin returns he is inevitably dragged under the sheets as a sailor's boat may be overtaken by a sea monster. Drone stubbornly refuses to elaborate and may instead lay there quietly contemplating the state of things with two warm arms wrapped around her waist and the imprints of lip gloss on her neck.

a lot crosses her mind, none of it considered anything more than recreational; she likes to consider memories of places she has explored if she is undergoing the process of sleep. hazy movements during a Dread patrol, sifting through vast hallways for the strange calcific masses that plague the titanic flagship like tumours or perhaps barnacles. there is a lifetime of data neatly woven within the very atomic bonds of those crystals and she always enjoyed hearing her beloved chatter about what new (yet terribly old, for Valin knows many things and this is mere rediscovery in the form of a dinosaur fossil) aberrant verse he has unraveled from the mind of the late Navigator. the Dreadnaught was formulaic enough that her brain can easily trick itself into feeling movements wash over the muscles as another jump onto a planeshifting platform is achieved. sink too deeply, and she bolts upright thinking she has just been bisected by a Cleaver only to discover it is mere fantasy puppeteering her mind.

such arguably troubling or morbid hallucinations are her favourite, the biomechanical-gothic architecture and complex arcana of the Hive are fascinating to study. her least favourite mind-constructs are those imposed by Clovis Bray. even so far from Europa, the hungering ascaris of SIVA lives and dies in the Plaguelands and she has never wanted anything to do with the supperating pustule that is the Tyrant's commands threaded through her exoneurons. she had been born, once, and a man of obsession had found a use for the "idiotic white noise" that lingered in spite of her transfiguration into a polymeric machine woman. a clean dose of radiolaria under vivisection to comprehend the inherent problem would be a fascinating study, but an Exomind is far too expensive to pick apart like a child impulsively dismantles their toys... thus, intricate wiring is set in stone and Xiu-1 is christened GEMU DRONE, a name her esoteric father had placed upon her for he loved the arts and humanities. GEMU, a mountain Goddess with knowledge of all the world (trapped or subsumed or graciously settled into the mountain she had been left upon, pick your poison) and DRONE, a terrible construct to deliver cold judgement from on high at the command of a master. unimportant glia segmented, a whisper of ABSALOM KNIFE had been breathed into the empty space. reimagined lethality, word into law spoken at gunpoint. an itch that cannot be scratched.

when she was reborn in the Light, her first thoughts were of fratricide. she does not know what a brother of hers could look like, but the uncontrollable obsession to grind his titanium-alloy bones to dust between her mechanical jaws shaped many of her formative movements. she unearthed and ransacked seraph bunkers as freely as she chose to breathe, but she never found Site 6. her armoury was littered with esoteric weapons of war gifted by minimalist and empty-minded metal skeletons as if she had many birthdays. when the Iron Lords perished, the flames that forged her motives had been wholly and irrevocably extinguished, and the phantom of SIDDHARTHA GOLEM faded from her mind like scar tissue that melts with time.

the days before the Black Fleet's arrival could be summarised as a hazy psychosis. for every omniscient satellite tower a Guardian helped erect, her grasp on reality and self-governed movement seized and stuttered. there is no machine the warmind could not want, no asset too unreachable to bring into his arms and configure in his image. there was a nauseating buzzing along her spine and she had been driven to automutilation to make it stop. her Ghost, who had long since accepted the stubbornness of his charge and the SIVA node he was essentially entombed in, took a page out of Eos's book and let Drone be unreachable in death for a week or two. the rest was helpful, he observed, but Drone spoke of death-dreams about an ancient garden that felt like home. it felt, she told him, like she had met family she did not know she had.

amongst the flowers, her brassy and moss-woven cousins, winnowing in their billions.

[a-libertine-affair]

Seventeen Mixtape No Flex Zone - EN Lyric Translation + Comments

니들 생각 깊어 봤자 아직 물장난 수준 괜히 덤볐다가 한 점도 못 먹어 어서 고귀한 내 라임 익혀 해봐 흡수 uh 데뷔는 아직 허나 콘서트 공연은 더할 나위 없이 준비해 사시사철 지속돼 지하 속 장마 비해 너희가 쏟는 땀은 낭비? think your thoughts are deep, but you’re just playing in puddles try coming for me and you won’t get to eat a bite, so go on try memorizing and spitting my noble rhymes, immerse yourself uh haven’t debuted yet, but our concerts are already great we prepare things from nothing, continues all year round compared to the monsoon underground, the sweat on your brow is a waste 따로 우리 구역 없어 가는 곳마다 모두 turn up 조선 팔도를 야무지게 비벼 먹었���니 다시 정리해 서열 우리 잘되는 꼴 못 봐 까겠지 수학 문제 풀 듯 하는 속셈이 보여 까려면 까 그럴수록 양파처럼 더 독해져 결국 쓰디쓴 눈물 고여 we don’t have a separate area wherever we go, everyone turns up we’ve scraped up and taken all 8 regions of Joseon* rearrange the pecking order can’t bare to see us succeed so you’ll diss us can see your calculations like you’re solving math problems diss us if you want we’ll get stronger like an onion and all you’ll have are bitter tears, welling up *: 8 regions of Joseon = the 8 provinces of the Korean peninsula no flex zone 내가 누군지 다 물어봐도 답변 없지 다들 벌써 나를 맛봤지 날로 뒤에서 남 욕 앞에선 what? 허세만 날로 거창해지는 놈들 하나같이 제 발로 낙오 나는 이쁜 아이돌 아직 어려 나이도 그래도 별 5개쯤 될 걸 난이돈 that’s me 산이형 같이 난 라임을 마디 속 찰지게 각인 스윙스처럼 없지 난 자비 따위는 불도저로 끝까지 다 미는 방식 발전 가능성은 100퍼센트 연구와 개발 중인 랩 실험체 언더와 오버 중간쯤 선 딱 그려놓고 넘나들어 그건 아마 내 선택 no flex zone ask anyone who I am and no one will answer, they’ve all had a taste of me; speaking ill behind their backs but face-to-face, what? [dudes] bluffing more by the day one by one falling behind with their own two feet I’m a pretty idol, still young too but I’m still probably 5 star difficulty that’s me just like San E hyung, every line of my rhymes imprint well and I lack [pause] just like Swings** I bulldoze mercy all the way to the end possibility of improvement is 100% A rap experiment under research and development Draw a middle line right between under and over and whichever one I cross is probably my choice **: pause just like Swings: Swings is a rapper who is one of the well-known k-hiphop rappers for his groovy flow style and for having a lyric-writing style that hadn’t been seen in k-hiphop at the time. ‘lack’ is the literal translation here but ‘pause’ fits the nuance better, I think. No flex zone, No flex zone They know better, they know better No flex zone, No flex zone They know better, they know better Won a gold medal And a gold bezel I treat it so special Now your ho jealous Freak Hoes, got several They tens or better I'm a trendsetter I'm a go getter verse 3 원우 여긴 내 area 여기선 가해자 ���스판 속에 king 덤으로 자신감 가득 차 있어 내 rook에 함부로 발 댄 네게 생긴 불행 또 이걸 판으로 나눠서 반으로 합법적 구역질을 하자면 너흰 보고 놀라게 될 장악력 쓸데없이 안 하는 게 좋은 반항 uh this is my area, this is where I’m the attacker on this chessboard, the king[dom] with confidence as an extra*** My rook is full of it Your thoughtless step in is your misfortune and if I separate the board, and then halve it if I partake in legal retching / partake in legal territory fights**** you’ll see and be shocked at my control not doing something needlessly is the best resistance, uh ***The way this line is written is very clever as it is a wordplay on kingdom, and 덤 in Korean can mean “on top of,” “extra.” ****This is more of my suggested take on it more than anything; 구역질 is ‘retching/feeling nauseous,’ but I think this is a really layered line; a lot of words and emotions, especially raps, can be described as being “vomited” out. So this can be a reference to that, OR, in relation to the nuance of this verse, a somewhat made-up word that combines ‘구역’ (area) and ‘질,’ (which combined with some words make it more negative, like 도둑질/theft, 지적질/reprimanding). This is slightly too big brain though, but I still wanted to include it here. 감 잡어 더 떨어지기 전에 나무랄 데 없는 니 감나무의 상태 우리 승자들만이 하는 건배에 너는 끼일 데 없으니 필요없는 발 빼 L이 아니라 R로 발음해 LAW 따윈 따르지 않아 나는 RAW해 피해랑 가해 둘 중 고르라면 피하지 않고 못 해본 것들은 다해 get a hold of your [senses] before they fall***** your [persimmon] tree’s at a state where can’t be called a tree***** and to the cheers that only the victors participate in there’s no need for you to try and join in, take a step back I pronounce it with R, not an L I don’t follow the LAW, I’m RAW if asked to choose between taking damage or inflicting it I don’t evade it, I do everything I haven’t done before *****Another clever bit of wordplay from Wonwoo! 감 can be ‘sense’ or ‘persimmon,’ so he plays with the homonym. 담밴 안 피워도 분위기에 불 피워 비트는 타고 재는 떨어져도 사람들은 즐겨 다른 남자들은 질투심에 미친듯이 발악하겠지만 나는 남자들의 관심 안 받아 받아 암바나 박자 속의 격투기 다 밟아 난 차원이 다른 HOOK에 넌 또 KNOCK DOWN 되기 전에 눈앞에서 꺼져 bro don’t smoke but I light up the mood I ride [burn] the beat and the ashes fall, but people enjoy it****** other guys get crazy mad with jealousy I refuse other guys’ attention, take an armlock instead I step with all the martial arts in this beat and before you get hit with a HOOK that’s in a whole different class and get KNOCKED DOWN get lost out of sight, bro ******More clever wordplay. 비트를 타다 is usually ‘riding the beat,’ but 타다 is a homonym that can also mean ‘to burn.’ Since the words right after this mentions ashes, the words before it are very obvious in their double meaning here. No flex zone, No flex zone They know better, they know better No flex zone, No flex zone They know better, they know better

[whenthisstoryendsarchive]

Meta #7: Elizabeth’s Siren Song

In this meta on magic in the movie, I briefly mentioned Elizabeth’s power related to the siren song in the following quotes:

potentially a bit of siren singing {when Cam overhears her singing ‘When This Story Ends’}

In the third site, we see: Other times the songs are sung to call those within mankind to love a Mermaid, or are sung by those of the Mer-world seeking a mate from among mankind instead of one of their own. This would seem to indicate that Elizabeth’s song in her tent was a siren song, despite her not knowing Cam was there, and his initial alert being her music box. It’s her voice itself that makes him stay.

Her siren song is clear, and I think it helped to entice Cam to her more than he already was captivated by her.

And I’ll admit, it took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize Elizabeth’s song was a siren song. I don’t think it clicked until I was doing the research for that meta and found that quote from Witchvox. 

As such, today I’ll look into what a siren song is- mythologically, the powers it is said to have over humans, how it works with Elizabeth and Cam, and finally, break down the lyrics of Elizabeth’s song. 

Mythologically speaking, most of us probably relate sirens and their song to Homer and The Odyssey. Odysseus is warned of sailing near the island of the sirens by Circe, and tells his men to plug their ears with beeswax. He is then tied to the mast of the ship so he can safely listen to their song. 

Now, these sirens that Odysseus encountered are very different from what we consider a siren to be today. The Sirens of ancient Greece were closer to Harpies, as they were part bird and part human. Descriptions of them varied, with some saying that they were birds with the faces of young women, or young women with the wings, legs, and tails of birds. When we think of sirens today, we may see something closer to a mermaid; a young woman with a fish’s tail and long flowing hair. 

According to Mythology.net, this merger of mermaids and sirens may have taken place as far back as the days of Shakespeare, taking the beauty of mermaids and giving them the voices of sirens. Though the Greeks also had mermaids in their mythology as well, where mermaids were the daughters of Triton and the granddaughters of Poseidon. It is also speculated that the two were merged together because the powers attributed to mermaids were contradictory. Then, of course, as Grecian belief spread to Europe, myths of sirens increased as well; especially in the Roman Empire, Spain, France, Italy, Poland, and England. In these countries, sirens became fully water dwelling, dangerous, chaotic, and hostile. 

Mythology.net also says that this link tightened so much that the image of sirens and mermaids are nearly inseparable. This all despite the fact that mermaids and sirens are different species with the powers of hypnotic song.

The ties between sirens and mermaids are even more cemented in modern times because of languages such as Spanish, French, Italian, Polish, Romanian, and Portuguese- where the words Sirena (which applies to 3 languages), Sirene, Syrena, and Sereia are all words for mermaid. And, of course, within the animal kingdom, the link exists as well. The family Sirenia includes fully aquatic herbivores like dugongs and manatees. 

Now, of course, we imagine a siren song being used to lure sailors and their ships to a watery grave, but there is much more to the siren song than just death and destruction. For example, the beauty and voice of a siren or mermaid may be used to draw a specific individual to them, according to Witchvox. The site also describes the song as leading to visions and mystery. 

Mythology.net also gives us some descriptions of the siren song’s powers. A quote from Nonnus portrays the song as thus: “When a sailor hears the siren’s perfidious song, and bewitched by the melody, he is dragged to a self-chosen fate too soon... Falling into the net of melodious fate, he forgets to steer, quite happy”. This would, of course, indicate the more sinister nature of the song. But another interesting aside is mentioned, saying that the song the siren sings may reach so deep because it is prophetic.

The 2018 Freeform show Siren also delves into the powers of the song. According to their Wikia page, it is described as a “potent ability”, one of almost supernatural levels, that stems from the special voice box of the siren; which is a hybrid of a larynx and syrinx at the base of the trachea. The song lures anyone who hears it with its melody, and makes the hearer feel an addicting level of calm, relaxation, and loss of stress. Furthermore, the song leaves the listener wanting to hear more and more because it imprints on their brain, and it is even said to be calming and addictive to the Siren that sings. Other powers include effectiveness regardless of distance or obstacle, even working through glass, and having more strength and effects on those who hear it more than once. 

A quote on the page additionally says that “My Ancestors always said it had different meanings: Great love to some, but to others, it could be dangerous”. 

I found this quote to be interesting, especially in relation to a section of quotes on Witchvox that I felt applied greatly to Elizabeth and When This Story Ends. “Mystical Meramid represents the power of unconscious desires”, “Reminds us that unless we follow the truth of our inner selves, our lives are as momentary as sea foam with nothing left behind”, “Gives power to seek beneath the waves of our emotions and imaginings for the pearls beneath”.

These quotes, I felt, linked back perfectly to the section in the meta mentioned above that the siren song can be used to make a human fall in love with a mermaid, and my own belief that the song reflects the wishes of both the singer and the listener. 

No matter what train of thought a person believes, the siren song is an appealing temptation that without a doubt is hard to resist, potential consequences notwithstanding. 

In the film, we see Elizabeth able to draw Cam to her tent from across the fairground, though his initial draw is her music box. Even then, he backs away and comes back to listen again. It even appears at times that he has tears in his eyes as he listens to Elizabeth. 

And if we consider the characters of both Cam and Elizabeth, we can see that the song describes them both in a way. It is, of course, Elizabeth’s song, and her monologue to her inner emotions. We hear her pain during that song more than perhaps any other time in the film. But if we consider that Cam and Elle’s family are gone, and all they have are each other, we can see how it would describe his emotions as well. 

Cam has had to leave England and move to America to care for his sick niece after the death of her parents. He has already lost a sibling and potentially his own parents. And he may lose Elle as well if he doesn’t find a cure for her. Cam is just as lonely and far from home and all he knows as Elizabeth is. He may not be trapped by magic, but he is trapped by fear. 

Elizabeth sings to comfort herself and renew her belief that she will someday be free to return to the sea and her family. She sings to give herself hope that she might find the true love she thought the prince would be able to give her. 

Cam, if we consider that he felt comfort and saw a reflection of his own wishes in the song, not only wants to save Elizabeth and take her home, he not only feels drawn to her, but he also feels that he isn’t alone. He wants to have someone there for him too, just as much as he wants to be there for her. 

Now, we’ll look at the lyrics of the song, and how they reflect Elizabeth’s wishes. 

It's so enchanting I'm trapped and drowning Here for everyone to see They don't notice How far away I am From everyone and everything Silly to have gambled with my heart out on the line I guess that's just the way it goes But I'm holding on I know a day will come when I can be myself again And I hope someone will love me When this story ends Round in circles, pointless wandering And the crowd lines up again "Give a smile, girl! You make them happy " "Bring your parents, bring a friend " Silly that main attraction would long so much for love I guess that's just the way it goes But I'm holding on I know a day will come when I can be myself again And I hope someone will love me When this story ends If someone could, someone right for me Finds a way to take me home again I believe it One day I'll be home Still I'm searching Round in circles While the crowd lines up again

Breaking it down by verses, we see that in the first verse, Elizabeth is reflecting on her life in the circus, and her past mistake by trusting Locke. 

It's so enchanting I'm trapped and drowning Here for everyone to see They don't notice How far away I am From everyone and everything Silly to have gambled with my heart out on the line I guess that's just the way it goes But I'm holding on I know a day will come when I can be myself again And I hope someone will love me When this story ends

The 2nd and 3rd lines here are particularly interesting, because we see that Elizabeth feels that she’s suffocating, and everyone is watching her, and think it’s just a part of the charming show. No one sees how she feels, and no one cares. Additionally, because of how small the tank is, how it doesn’t allow for the movement of the water, or her body, she literally is drowning every time she gets into it. And everyone just stands and watches. 

She admits that she was wrong and foolish to trust Locke to help her. She was naive to believe that love would have given her the acceptance that she felt she was lacking at home. But she admits that there was nothing she could do to change it. Still, she clings to the hope that things will work out in the end. 

Round in circles, pointless wandering And the crowd lines up again "Give a smile, girl! You make them happy " "Bring your parents, bring a friend " Silly that main attraction would long so much for love I guess that's just the way it goes But I'm holding on I know a day will come when I can be myself again And I hope someone will love me When this story ends

This verse is even more about her life in the circus, and how every day runs into the next. There’s no change. There’s no stimulation or anything to sustain her. Then, of course, we have lines that were likely told to her by Locke to gaslight her. He tells her to smile for the sake of the crowd, to ignore her own pain and misery for them. Because the crowds matter more than she does. 

She then says that it’s ironic and rather ridiculous that she should be so desperate for love when everyone comes to see her. But she can’t do anything about that either. All she can do is to continue to be hopeful that someone will see and love her the way that no one else does. 

If someone could, someone right for me Finds a way to take me home again I believe it One day I'll be home Still I'm searching Round in circles While the crowd lines up again

This verse is the one that focuses on her real wish. Yes, Elizabeth wants and needs love. But more than that, she wants freedom. She wants to go home. And she has to believe that she’ll be able to go home because it’s all she has. Because in the end, the crowds will not stop coming. People won’t stop using her, and her hope is the only thing that keeps her going. 

Now in a way, Cam too is trapped because he has so much stacked against him. He’s terrified that he’ll lose Elle too, and he’s also given the task of raising a child on his own when he’s so young himself, in a country that he has no familiarity with. But he has to do what’s right for Elle. He has to put his own misgivings and worries aside for her. 

Perhaps he even realizes that he’s one of those people Elizabeth sings of; coming to use her for her ability to heal while ignoring her pain. And if this is the case, I’d like to believe that this is when Cam turns his leaf. He knows after this that something at the circus isn’t right, even if he has yet to believe in magic. 

And in the last verse, it shows that he also wants some companionship, someone to help him and for him to turn to when he’s scared or unsure. It cements his desire to save Elizabeth and set her free. 

Sources:

https://www.gonext.com/2018/11/08/sorrento-sirens-the-truth-about-mermaids/

https://www.crystalinks.com/sirens.html

http://www.realmermaids.net/mermaid-history/siren-history/

https://siren.fandom.com/wiki/Siren_Song

http://www.witchvox.com/va/dt_va.html?a=usfl&c=words&id=8519

https://mythology.net/greek/greek-creatures/siren/

https://whenthisstoryends.tumblr.com/post/181177903367/meta-4-magic-in-the-little-mermaid

[brettmakutz4549-blog]

What Music Was Like In The 20th Century

In a broad sense, pop is any music primarily based on memorable melodies, repeated sections (often, but not at all times, verses and choruses), and a decent, concise construction that retains the listener's give attention to these components. Perhaps no different style of music is as character-pushed as rap, a milieu that as a rule consists of one mouth and one mic, battling for verbal supremacy. The impulse to be - and the bold assertion that one simply is - the Greatest of All Time is a standard element for countless rappers, please click the next page from Nas to Notorious B.I.G., Tupac to Jay-Z, and this brash and boundless confidence comes simply as simply to the Entrepreneur personality kind. In particular, rap music that extols the pleasures of material success might mirror an Entrepreneur's own life-style - or aspirations, for these whose ventures have but to show as lucrative as they might like. Rock's late-Sixties psychedelic sojourn was dropped at a screeching halt with the August 1968 launch of the primary nation-rock masterpiece, an album whose reverberations can still be heard in the arduous-rocking sounds of just about every present country hit. The business success of the Eagles, America, the Doobie Brothers are all attributable to fledgling Byrd Gram Parsons's resolute perception in the cosmic energy of real country music. Parsons fan Elvis Costello brought the word back to the punks on Nearly Blue; the Blasters, Lengthy Ryders and even X added a twang to their sound; and "cowpunk" turned a factor. Likewise, Uncle Tupelo's 1990 No Depression album; band spinoffs Wilco, Son Volt and Www.Magicaudiotools.com Bottle Rockets; and countless subsequent alt-nation advocates can all be traced again to Sweetheart. Whether we take my date or Jerry's date severely, decline of an artform - even one so broad as music - is something that has to happen in the end. What goes up must eventually come down. Or more accurately, there's actually only so much logical house out there: we in the end have to reach a degree where the very best tunes, or essentially the most thrilling musical concepts, have already been hit upon, and there is not much left for musicians to do but replay them; and anybody nonetheless decided to be distinctive or authentic should content themselves with mining inferior, much less productive veins.

The fax from Burroughs's company also said that they can't verify if Steppenwolf's ‘Born to be Wild' had any inspiration from Burroughs' works; although the late rock critic Lester Bangs did cite Burroughs in his groundbreaking Creem Magazine articles during which he is generally believed to have originated the term ‘heavy metallic' as applied to a rock music type" (Love). Certainly, most all sources given for the style's namer mentioned Bangs, typically citing these three totally different origins in tandem: Steppenwolf's music, Burroughs's Naked Lunch, and rock critic Lester Bangs's piece in Creem journal. Today, Christian rock is nearer to sub-emo and ska in the extent to which it is maligned by mainstream critics, a press release Norman himself wouldвЂve likely agreed with. (He died in 2008). He was a person of faith but also an artist of integrity, who wanted to push music ahead and noticed no purpose why religious music couldnвЂt problem audiences and rock on the same time. He performed on the same bills as The Who, the Doors, and Janis Joplin, and later jammed with members of the Sex Pistols, and appeared onstage with Pixies frontman Black Francis. Bob Dylan and Paul McCartney had been followers; U2 and Gun N†Roses each cited him as an affect.

With out Moog synthesizers, the time period spacey would possibly never have been coined to outline music synonymous with science fiction. The keyboardist Rick Wakeman extols the mini-Moog as the greatest trendy musical innovation as a result of it finally allowed the keyboard to compete in volume with the electrical guitar. Mr. Wakeman and Keith Emerson are presented as primary artwork-rock pioneers to embrace the synthesizer. But what about Stevie Surprise, of whom no point out is made? Mr. Surprise has typically eschewed technical fireworks for a extra organic use of the instrument. I didn't say I didn't learn your "thesis"; I said I ponder whether I have to go through each point you make, because the query to me is sort of redundant, if "modern" goes to be a means (a qualification) to outline works as extra "essential" than these which fall in the opposite class. If a work is a great one, it has already handed the check of time. Therefore, the time period "trendy" is of little value or it is likely to be even irrelevant. Shostakovich's Symphony no.5 or Britten's Battle Requiem are of the supreme works within the 20th century, no matter their "modernity". Some individuals can dig up nice music like magic, or have friends contained in the business who maintain them up to date. Some individuals are contented with their weekly Spotify Discover playlist. However when you want more methods to find music, listed here are 50 ideas, taken from Twitter users, my colleagues at LifehackerвЂs writer Gizmodo Media Group, and a few of my very own habits. Some are obvious, some bizarre, some embarrassing, however theyвЂve all helped individuals discover their new favourite tune, and even their favorite band. The creative work of Feliksas Bajoras (b.1934) shows totally different, though equally shut connections with folk music. His compositions seem to be more traditionalist, and extra intuitive. Sometimes Bajoras' music is known as 'new folklorism' although there is no reconstruction or stylization of folks music. The composer thinks that the folk idiom and the modern techniques of composition ought to coexist in harmony. So in his works one can hear imprints of different kinds concurrently, comparable to neo-romanticism, expressionism, neo-classicism, and typically even widespread music, along with the persistent really feel for Lithuanian people music. What distinguishes his work is the natural growth of melodic elements wherein one can really feel the intonations of spoken language; the melodies closely resemble folk songs, sustaining the particular method of the folks singers, with free rhythm and many significant rests.

Pop music is inherently and undeniably unhealthy. BECAUSE: Our listening is inherently and undeniably bad. Look, we arent made perfect, simply how we are able to train our palms to do cool guide stuff we will practice our ears and brains to hear higher and extra nuanced, BUT EVEN THEN, our listening situations for essentially the most part suck. People listening to pop music rarely give it their full attention, have little clue about methods to interpret what they're listening (a track about cocaine won a childs award, thats how little attention individuals give it), and usually just want a increase while they do different stuff. So im not a lot criticizing as explaining society and the conditions that exists.

[ninetyeightwriter-blog]

Untitled

A/N: So… I love reading, since I was little, and, at some point, I started fantasizing about actually writing the stories I wanted to read somewhere. Here goes the first shot with a concept I sent to etherealmins, who was kind enough to give the approval I was looking for.

WORD COUNT: 1731

Date time, though were scarce, were treasured and longed for by the two of you.

They’re carefully planned, checking the empty slots on the calendar hanging by the kitchen door, checking again to make sure they remained empty throughout the weeks prior. It wasn’t unusual to find the two of you discussing the plans over and over again, adding details, searching new ways to do old ideas, letting the excitement for even 1, 2 hours together squeezed in between busy schedules built into expectation.

Also, they often started way before the date itself, the bubbling anticipation for the hours to come displayed on the small grins and lingering gazes full of adoration perceived through reflexion on the mirror above the bathroom sink while standing side by side. Rooftop picnic, stargazing outside town, dinner with reservations… They all stared, almost sacredly, on the meticulous preparation for the little escapade, when you’re applying an extra layer of lipstick or he’s adjusting the cufflinks you got him on your second anniversary.

That’s where you can be found now, silver bangles and bracelets jangling on the moving arm responsible to hold the mascara brush whilst mouth lays agape humming along the soothing sound echoing from the bedroom. Stuck in the peacefulness of the moment, eyes glued on the reflected task, the senses fail to acknowledge a new presence shyly invading the ambient. Only when leaning back into a proper standing position you’re able to catch by the corner of your eyes his fidgeting figure cuffing and uncuffing his dress shirt, widening the collar opening only to button a few sets again.

Basking in the buzzing feeling of his presence, it takes more than just a while to notice the uneasiness flashing as an outdoor sign across his pitch-black orbs. What doesn’t take long though, is the worry that settles within when eyes fall upon the awkward movements of his fingers against his shirt’s fabric, this one getting crumped by the second. As a small smile forms on marsala lips, you turn his direction and slowly make your way to him, carefully not to disturb even more his obviously unsettled track of thoughts. Your hands move naturally to rest on his chest once he’s in reach and his own come to a halt only to leave his shirt and wrap around your hips instead, thumbs absently moving in circles as if to calm himself.

“What is up in that big brain of yours?” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know he’s heard from how his hands tighten around you.

And then he smiles. The award-winning, heart-warming gummy smile that swooned you from day one and you almost let it distract you from how his eyes focus on everything but yours. Almost.

“Hey, talk to me… If you don’t want to g-“ He doesn’t even let you finish the sentence before he is frantically shaking his head. You let out a breath probably stuck on your throat for even thinking about calling out the date while still searching for what might be disturbing your lover boy.

“It’s kinda dumb, really…” He starts, but then his right hand rises to the back of his head and you know he’s going to need a little more coaxing to start opening up.

Silently, your eyes plead for his racing mind to stop as your hands reach for his and fall on his chest with intertwined fingers.

“C’mon,” You whisper looking into his eyes intensely to assure there’s nothing to worry about “Just use words, I’m sure there are plenty that can do the work…”

He scoffs at your words, but a fading pink starts to bloom on his pale cheeks and a smile falls on constantly chapped lips.

“Remember the photoshoot for the last album?” You nod, uncertainly as to why he is bringing it up, and he continues “You spent almost a month after the pictures were released talking about how much you loved everything about them, but mostly about how much you liked how Noonas did my hair.”

He didn’t need to explain further which shoot he was referring to. You could picture it perfectly on your mind.

Yoongi never really showed much of the projects for Bangtan before the official releasing date. You’d get to listen unfinished melodies he was still figuring out, here and there listen to a semi-polished song that was rejected from the album and sometimes read some verses when he wanted your opinion. But never a official thing. Like concept pictures.

He seemed really excited about the new album as well as the other boys, to such a extend you could feel it would be amazing. To say you were anxious about it would be an understatement. However, it didn’t matter how much you anticipated them, the photoshoots announcing the group’s new phase got you completely by surprise.

It looked like they were trying to bring a nostalgic vibe to it, all concepts were old fashioned and high class, still holding a boyish appeal to them. And Yoongi was specially stunning in every single one. Sure, you knew he looks like he stopped aging at his twenties and you certainly knew his gummy smile made him look tiny and dainty, but you can swear you’ve never seen well-produced pictures for his group in which he looked so much like a joyful rich boy.

Everything was perfect, from the outfit to the wide grin he was displaying, but what really gave Yoongi a headache from how much you talked about it was his hair. It was in natural colour after a long time, dark locks of silken hair styled in subtle waves bringing a flow to it. Maybe you were just hyped from the expectations, maybe it really was the cherry-on-top, what you knew was you loved that hair and it broke your heart to never see it in the flesh.

You’ve begged him to style like that at least once, just for your own pleasure, only for him to stare at you in amusement or laugh at what he called “cute whines”. He never gave in, so you just stopped asking. The shoot was still you homescreen, a daily reminder of how soft and precious your lover boy was.

He knew how deep run your love and adoration for the specific hairstyle and yet, up until now, acknowledgement was as far as you got.

Well…

“Well... I asked if they could teach me how to recreate it, but I’m not sure if I’m handling the curling iron right… Could you, ya know, give me a hand?”

You blink once. Then twice. And then you let out an overly excited squeal followed by giggles from his part.

“Yes! Oh God, yes! Why didn’t you say it already?! C’mon, let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” You say in a suggestive tone, earning a full laugh as the two of you make the way through the door “You know the iron must be on, right?”

***

The soft beats from his playlist fill the silence while you work on his hair, both comfortably placed in the middle of the bed. Yoongi’s instructions turn out to be only two or three tips on how the mousse should be applied and how big each strand must be for the curl to be subtle, making the task in hand much easier than you once expected (oh if only you knew…).

While focused on mastering the style, his long fingers draw absently on the exposed skin of your things laying on each side of him. Short nails scratching gently, as if to mark quietly his presence, to state he was still there.

“I think it’s done…” You say after almost half an hour, hands busy carefully turning the machinery off.

He moves to face you quietly, just as you set aside the hair mousse on his side table, waiting for your attention to fall on him.

“So…” He tries in a hushed tone “Is it any good?”

His hand fly to his neck, nail digging in the nape. He waits attentively for your opinion.

You take good a look at him, eyes scanning his figure, and it couldn’t be more different from the shoot. The hair was definitively there, but everything else didn’t match. Starting from his outfit, the plain black colour staining from the matted material of his shoelace and belt to the tailoring pants and the dress shirt give off a far darker and grave feeling to him, making you question for a second how on earth he manages his duality so well. His face is also make-up free, the signs on left cheek and on “boopable” nose visible and waiting to be smooched. The big grin is now replaced by shy side smile and expectant eyes.

You let out a dreamy sigh. That’s your lover boy, right before you.

It suddenly hits you, doesn’t matter how much you wanted – no, scratch that, how much you longed to see the manifestation of said photoshoot in the flash, your boy always delivered something way better. Because it’s himself. Because it’s reality and you could feel it in the totality of your senses, from the pine fragrance to the smooth skin.

Caught in a daze, you move forward to straddle his thighs and connect your lips to his in a hurried but pretty assertive act. The marsala colour once staining your lips comes to leave an imprint on his lips, cheeks and neck during your audacious pursuit of claiming every bit of skin presented to you. Mouth moves in a passionate stupor not to leave anything unattended.

“It’s perfect Min Yoongi,” You mumble once a space was created between you, eyes never leaving his lips now swollen and smeared in lipstick “You’re always perfect Gi… I don’t know how I managed to hit the jackpot getting someone like you to be with me…”

***

You arrived twenty minutes late to your reservations, the hostess makes sure to press it on you by the disapproval stare she casts on the two of you while leading the way to the table, but the time was well used. There was no chance you’d be getting your boy walk out the door without basking him in all the love and adoration he deserved, particularly when he was looking so perfect for your own pleasure and it alone. Your perfect lover boy.

[feverfingers-aa-blog]

ok so i rewrote/worded my about and split his  dossier and the verses apart. many things were added and among them was my ghoul verse, but since then I've come up with more tidbits. he will be  slightly based off Arab folklore and heavily my own ideas.

NOW   YOU’RE   A   DEADMAN   FOR   REAL  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯  v.ii

i stress, his tail is strong. he can john wick flip ppl on their asses and pick himself off the floor and he’s a pretty beefy thing my dude. 

imagine him swiping a weapon with finesse and passing it over to his hands? bruh

dwells in abandoned places.

ghouls can shape-shift into the last person they ate. 

omega has come to believe language is a powerful weapon bc being amongst hyenas, language is important. every hyena has its distinct ‘woop’ call. language is important. 

 therefore:

eats human flesh/brain to gain the ability to ‘inherit’ language so in turn, it can mimic ppl and use that to lure an unsuspecting person into helping the cries of the hurt. 

ghouls also attack young children 

but maybe, for whatever reason, omega never had the opportunity until he witnesses something that makes him not go through with it.

it imprints on him and now, when he finds a lost/a recently kidnapped child, he’ll rescue and attempt to return him/her to their parents. 

and i just get the cute mental image of him setting down the small child inside their home and they want to say something, but omega just presses a finger against his own lips and the little bab covers their mouth to stop a giggle. 

i have been inspired by the missing 411 cases where ppl just disappear from national parks (highly rec you look into it.) 

inexperienced ppl who summon things bc they can, summon unfortunate random creatures/entities in the middle of their daily routine or what have you and its like BLIP. gone. 

amateurs summon him, ripped him from his homelands and into a humid basement of a seedy part of Venice. whether they are aghast or disappointed, it is unknown because he rips them a new one and eats one, leaving the scene with a new inherited tool. 

[kusunogatari-a]

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Sixteen: Amnesia ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ]

The Sharingan grants its user photographic memory when the dōjutsu is enabled. It captures every detail, no matter how minute, with stunning clarity. In a young, fresh mind, these memories can be called upon without loss of quality. It is this recall that allows an Uchiha (or any lucky enough to find themselves in possession of such an eye) to mimic any jutsu without flaw...to a point. Like all things, it has its limitations.

...and its weaknesses.

“...all right?!”

“...rauma to the…”

“...ble blindness…”

When he wakes...his world is black.

Too lethargic to move, he lies in silence and stillness for a time before he’s conscious enough to wonder where he is. A hand lurches from his side atop the hospital cot (how many times has he occupied one of these now?), swaying before fumbling at his face. There’s the texture of gauze beneath his fingertips, covering the dips of his eyes. Part of him wants to try and remove them...but he knows better. She’ll scold him for that.

...where is she?

With an awakened pulse, it’s not long before someone steps into the room to check on him, affirming he is indeed conscious. “Wait just a moment - I’ll fetch your attending medic. And we’ll send a notification to your wife.”

...wife?!

It takes a few moments to sink in, the nurse gone before Sasuke sits up with the force of his panic. He...he can’t have a wife! He’s twelve! Surely they aren’t jokingly referring to Sakura, are they? If they let her in here, he’ll -!

“Oh thank the gods.”

A voice - familiar yet...somehow changed - filters through his ears. “...what...what happened?” How long has he been unconscious? His voice sounds awfully deep – is he really that tired?

“You were in a scuffle just outside the village. According to your team, a flash bang went off a few feet from your face. I’ve healed the damage to your skin, but...your Sharingan was active. You took the full flare of light, and it’s damaged your eyes. I’m working on mending them, but...it’s slow going.” The person steps closer, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. “...how do you feel?”

“I…” He hesitates. “...I don’t remember that fight. Or that mission. Where’s Kakashi-sensei?”

There’s a tick of silence, and he can sense her confusion. “...he’s...at his office. There have been a few times he’s checked in on you, but he’s been terribly busy. Kumo is coming later this week for new trade negotiations. Remember?”

Doing his best to steady his breath, Sasuke thinks that over. Kakashi...in an office? Since when do jōnin work in an office? And Kumo...aren’t they on shaky terms with them, given that situation a few years ago with that Hyūga girl? “...another medic said they were...bringing someone?”

“Yes - Hinata will be here soon. It figures you’d wake with her gone. She’s barely left your side, you know.”

...wait...Hinata? The little Hyūga? “...what about...Naruto? Sakura?”

“They’ve been in and out, but are admittedly pretty busy. Sakura has been handling the rest of your squad. The injures were pretty serious. As for Naruto...who knows what he’s up to? He’s anywhere and everywhere most days, lately.”

“Okay...w-wait.” He holds up a placating hand, heart starting to race. “I...w-what’s the date?”

Silence. “...it’s May. May seventh.”

“...I…” How does he ask this without sounding insane? “...how old am...am I?”

This time, the quiet stretches on for longer. There’s a curse under her breath. “...Sasuke, do you not remem-?”

“Sasuke?!”

Behind them, the door wrenches open in time with a voice. Startling, he recoils as a body softly impacts with his. Who -? -What -?!

“Oh thank goodness! I’ve been so worried - I told them you were going to wake soon. Your chakra was starting to shift! Of course when I leave you w-wake up...how do you feel? Are you painful at all? In your eyes? Anywhere else?”

“Hinata…”

The pressure around him slackens slightly, though his own tension remains rigid. “...what?”

“I...I need to talk to you.”

“...why? What’s wrong? Is -?”

“Please, just...step out with me for a moment. Okay?”

A strained silence follows, and then two sets of footsteps sound until the room goes quiet with a clack of the door.

...what...the hell...was that? Who was touching him? Why…? It...it did sound like that weird girl from his Academy class, but...deeper, slightly. Different.

...something is very, very wrong.

Cradling his brow in his hands, Sasuke leans forward, bowed over his lap as he struggles to think. He has to stay calm. It’s strange...it’s like the last few weeks are...blurry, getting worse as he gets closer to the present. Otherwise, it’s the same as it’s always been. Annoying D-ranks with his team, down time at home, training whenever he gets the chance. He recalls nothing of a mission involving a flash of light. And everything else that’s been said...Kakashi in an office, Sakura...taking care of people? Naruto loose on his own, and...he has...a wife.

...has he...lost part of his memories?

The notion is terrifying. How much has he lost? If he’s...married, then...surely a number of years. What...eight or so, at least? What has he forgotten?

...and...who…?

Outside the door, he can hear muffled voices. One sounds strained - on the verge of crying. The other attempts to be consoling...but is clearly just as distraught.

Then it goes quiet...and the door opens. The same two footsteps return, slightly muted in their pace.

“...Sasuke...I need you to tell me the last thing you remember.”

“...I…” He can’t pick much out of the recent blurs.

“...how old are you?”

“...twelve…?” Has his birthday gone by since things started to get foggy? “...t...thirteen?”

He hears someone take a small, but curt breath.

“...I see.” A heavy sigh. “Sasuke, I...I think the damage you suffered to your eyes must have affected your brain. You were in the middle of a fight with an enemy. Surely you had your Sharingan active...maybe…” A pause, as though hesitating. “...maybe that light, exposed to the memory-gathering aspect of your kekkei genkai...damaged the part of your brain responsible for memories. I...hadn’t considered that possibility. I haven’t checked.”

“...how...how old am I, really…?”

“...twenty-one.”

He thinks he might be sick.

A weight settles along the side of his cot, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “...I might be able to reverse this. I’ve yet to evaluate that part of your brain - I didn’t know I needed to. I know saying this won’t do much, but...try to stay calm. I’ll do all I can to make this right.”

Jaw shaking, he takes a few clipped breaths through his nose. Then, in a tiny voice, he admits, “...I’m scared.”

The figure beside him wilts. “...I need to consult Tsunade-sama. Once we have a plan, we’ll give you an examination. See what’s going on in your brain. And...go from there.” A pause. “...is it all right if Hinata stays with you while I’m gone?”

...is it? He hardly knows her, and yet...unless this is one huge, horrible practical joke...she’s his wife. “...I guess.”

“Hold on. I’ll be back soon.” Fingers give his shoulder a squeeze before retreating.

Silence.

Eventually, light footsteps sound, and he can hear a chair being moved, settling at his bedside. “...Sasuke…”

No response.

“...I’m sorry, this...must be so strange. I guess...we didn’t really know one another back then...did we?” Hinata seems to fade into thought. “...I know I...m-might be making you uncomfortable. But I’m just so w-worried about you, I…!”

He sits stock still, listening. The emotion in her voice stirs something in him - a vehement panic. Not because it unnerves him, but...it’s wrong. He doesn’t want her to feel so upset…! But why? They’re strangers!

...maybe there’s still something. A whisper of an imprint of what she meant to him.

He hears a shaky sigh. “...if...if you want, I can go. I don’t...I don’t w-want to bother you. I know this must all be so confusing, and -”

“Stay.”

She fumbles to a stop. “...are...are you sure?”

“...yeah.” His head turns slightly toward her voice. “...I don’t remember you, or...at least, what’s happened since...we were genin. But...you must have come to mean something to me. I wouldn’t marry just anyone…” It’s his turn to take a trembling breath. “...maybe...if you do mean that much to me...having you here will help.”

A pause, and then, “...all right. I’ll stay. No matter what...I’ll stay.”

     Word count: 1427      Cumulative: 20,271      Phew, managed to get caught up! It’s after midnight, but before bedtime - that counts as on-time, right? xD      This one has a bit of a special guest (which has been hinted at in others), but for now we’ll leave them nameless. After all, they aren’t the focus. I do rather like this idea: it might be something I play with as a concept later on down the road - who knows!      But for now, I’m gonna try to catch up a bit on my RP blog, and then call it a night. Hopefully I won’t need another catch-up day anytime soon!