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#i did love it quite a bit
stil-lindigo · 1 year
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patchwork canary.
a comic about two girls, fate, and a powerful man who felt entitled to something that wasn’t his to own.
support me on patreon (if you’d like to see more comics like this one)
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katabay · 3 months
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original thief series basso & garrett :)
ngl, it's about quality over quantity for me. an npc can have a total of three minutes of screen time, but if they have a cool name, they can live rent free in my head and I'll spend several hours trying to decipher drawable features from a blurry screenshot of pixels
there is a vague hint of a story here, and that's because every time I try to play thi4f, I get incredibly frustrated with how Not Fun the game play is. like, is the story good? well. but it has a PLAGUE. that should've given it instant 'I'll replay this once a year' status in my heart, but the game play sucks so bad that I've never finished it. I can't believe Not Fun gameplay beat out my obsession with narrative plagues.
anyway, the idea is basically if the original era had a game with a plague centric narrative and some other stuff I liked out of thi4f thrown into a narrative blender, with a heavy dash of horror thrown in because some parts of the thief games were scarier to me than entire dedicated horror genre games.
⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app
#if i had a laptop and the skillset i would attempt a story mod because the thief modders who create whole mission stories#are GENIUS and also somewhat terrifying. love them! xoxox#anyway im actually kind of obsessed with parts of thi4f but its also like. not at that sweet spot of almost good enough to be fun#to talk about. which. for the record. has not stopped me from talking about it at length to people#the city itself actually fucking fascinates me. its almost alive and im SO mad that not a single part of that game is actually terrifying#it should be gnarlier and instead it feels a bit like it doesn't quite want to be trapped in the story it has to tell?#but between the level that has the bodies on the meathooks#and the scene with the bodies hanging from the rafters or whatever that was and garrett living in a clock tower#because the game is very much ALMOST about changing times and authoritarian violence and capitalism#(like. by virtue of how the story sort of spins out i think it misses it's mark on a lot of stuff here#in the sense that i dont feel like it actually wants to tell that story. it wants to. go in a different direction. or at least walk on top#of those themes instead of through it)#ANYWAY between all of those things. it does kind of live in my head rent free. they did create a compelling setting#SHAME THEY DIDNT WANT TO ACTUALLY EAT ANY OF IT#unrelated but i would've given thi4f a 10/10 if they kept garrett's fucking nail polish from the concept art. cowards. unforgivable#thief the dark project#i still have no idea how to tag the game series as a whole RIP#sorry for the dedicated dark project fans. if you know what the general series tag is. please let me know#garrett thief#basso thief
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hyydraworks · 27 days
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Fresh new strawberry moo friends!
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penxil · 8 months
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thinks about the ark siblings. cries a million tears
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tyttetardis · 3 months
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Macbeth Q&A 18th Jan 2024 Part 1
Was lucky enough to get a ticket for the Member's Event at the Donmar Warehouse that took place on the 18th...with the price of the patronages I sure never thought I'd have gotten the chance, but luckily, they also let in some non-members 🥹❤️
The brilliant performance of Macbeth was followed by a very quick cleaning of the stage - thought for sure it would've taken them longer to remove the blood than like 5 minutes - followed by a lovely, little Q&A session.
The Q&A was led by Craig Gilbert (Literary manager) who talked to Annie Grace and Alasdair Macrae (Musicians and part of the acting ensemble) as well as Cush Jumbo and David Tennant.
Anyway, just gonna write down some of the stuff they talked about :) sorry if it's a bit messy! Might be spoilery if haven't seen it yet but is going to!
To begin with Craig remarked that he didn't think he'd ever seen that many people staying behind for a Q&A before (While I was just wondering why some people even left!? Stressful!).
David introduced himself with "My real name is David "Thane of Paisely" Tennant - while Cush introduced herself with "I´m Cush Jumbo - there's only one of me".
First question was Craig asking them what it was that brought them to the Donmar to do Macbeth - to which David pretty much just replied that 1. It's the Donmar! 2. It's Macbeth! One of the greatest plays of all time in an amazingly intimate space - and that the theatre is famous for its quality of work. So he found it quite hard to think of a reason not to do it!
Cush said she'd worked there before and loves the theatre, how it's so intimate but also a great workspace. Followed by her saying she said yes because David asked her. She talked about how important it was for this play to do it together with the right actor playing opposite you.
David says Max Webster asked him about a year ago if he wanted to do the play - he gave him the dates - and since there weren't any obstacles in the way, David didn't have any excuse not to do it.
He then said that he had slightly avoided Macbeth - there sorta being the assumption that if you're Scottish and has done some Shakespeare plays before you have to do Macbeth. Which he joked was a bit odd since it's not like every Italian has to play Romeo. Then he mentioned that Macbeth is probably a bit more of a jock than he is - that it seemed more like a part for big, burly actors.
Max had laid out his initial ideas to David, a lot of which are in the final production, and David thought he seemed lovely, bright and clever and inventive plus it being the Donmar Warehouse! To which joked that he had last worked there 20 years ago - when he was 8 years old! "It's just one of those spaces" - friendly and epic at the same time where it's such a pleasure to be on the stage.
When Craig asked his next question concerning the sound of the play someone asked him to speak louder as she couldn't hear them - to which David joked that they've gotten so used to whispering. But also said sorry, and that they would!
Alasdair explained a bit about the process of the binaural sound - bit I find it a bit difficult to decipher it all correctly, sorry. He did say that a interesting part of it is that it allows them a controlled environment where they can put all the musicians (and even the bagpipes!) behind the soundproof box so "Poor David and Cush" doesn't have to shout over all the racket.
Craig asked David and Cush what their reaction was when they heard about the concept of the binaural soundscape - to which David replied that it didn't quite exist when they first came onboard - Cush joking they were tricked into it. Then she talked about her and David going on a workshop with Max to get a feeling of how it would all work - and get a sense of how it would sound to the audience, as this was one of the few times, they got to hear that side of it. Their experience of the play being completely different to the experience the audience has.
Cush said they can hear some of the sound - like she can hear some of the animal sounds and David can hear some of the stuff from the glass box - but most of their cues and information comes from timing with each other. She said they won't be able to ever hear what the audience hears - to which David joked "We're busy".
It felt like mixing medias - as it all went quite against their natural stagecraft instinct - but Cush found that in the long run it made things very interesting - like they don't have to worry about getting something whispered to each other - as the audience will hear it anyway.
David said the odd thing is that they don't really know what the experience truly is like. He mentioned that to the sides of the stage there's a speaker for them where they will get any cues that they need to hear. Like they can hear the witches - but they can't hear where they are "positioned" - so they have to learn how to place themselves to fit with what the audience hears. They don't hear everything, though. And the audio they hear is quite quiet, so it doesn't disturb what comes through the headphones.
He thinks it's been exciting - that it's a bit like a mix between film and theatre. It's happening live - but it's also like post-production is happening between them and the audience as it's going on. They just have to trust that the audience is hearing what they are supposed to for it all to make sense.
Cush said she thinks in 10 - 20 years, as these technologies has developed, doing theatre like this will feel a lot more normal - not that they will do it ALL the time, but that they will be doing it - whereas now it's still like an experiment. What Cush really like about the concept is that if was done in a much bigger theatre - then people in the cheapest seats would be able to have an experience much more similar to those in the most expensive seats - they'd be a lot more immersed into the action.
David then talks about how it feels extremely counterintuitive to not go on stage and speak loud enough that the people in the back row can also hear you. And usually, if they can't hear you, you aren't doing your job right! But then it felt very liberating. He loves it.
Cush then talked about how it felt odd waiting in the wings for a cue you can't hear - where you traditionally wait backstage and you can hear your cues, you can hear the rythm and know when it's your turn - so it was quite disconcerting to hear silence. So it's basically down to them now knowing the show and each other's timings - like if David is standing at a certain point, she knows how long she has before she needs to say/do something. So you have to watch each other more closely and really focus on what the others are doing.
David asked the musicians if they can hear everything inside the box, to which Annie replied that they get everything except some extra bits in the soundscape. But they can hear the actors on stage. Annie said it's actually a bit of a mystery to all of them what the audience actually experiences - how the big pictures actually look like - they just have to trust that it's there "Is it there?!".
Someone asked if they had had any adverse reactions from audiences to having to wear the headphones. Quite a bit of laughter all around :P then David said "There's the odd person" and something about if someone hadn't gotten the memo before turning up...but not sure how he ended the line. Then once again says that yes, there's the odd person who doesn't like it and that's fair enough.
The same audience member then said he could see the advantage of it in a big theatre where the distance is big, but not in a small place like the Donmar - to which David very quickly, rather passionately replied that it's not about projection, it's about being able to do things you wouldn't normally be able to do live - where they can speak so quietly that they can't even hear each other when standing next to each other. So even in such a small place, people wouldn't be able to hear that. It's about creating a different play - which isn't to everyone's taste and that's fair enough. But for a play that's been done a hundred and seven million times he thinks it's very valid to try and find a new way into the play - even if it's not for everyone.
Part 2
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unexpectedbrickattack · 11 months
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get normaled, idiot
#pizza tower#peppino#arts#mine#anyway....#i cannot for the life of me get it right#i need a ref or something#i have like SUCH a clear image of what i want him to look like and trying to imitate it just makes him look uncanny#like he needs droopier eyes and bigger eyes#and ive seen people who look EXACTLY like the ref i would love to have#ah well#i did get his mouth pretty close to what i wanted :)#other things; he has like a SMALL amount of accessories like necklaces n stuff. i think he is very Particular about his appearance#the balding doesnt bother him AT ALL so its not messed w in anyway#the most hell do is brush it down so its not in the way#and hes got hats for if he simply does not want it to get unruly in the wind#i was stuck deciding between a Normal earring and a stud but i think stud looks a bit better heehee hes got quite a bit of piercings#but hes stopped using them YEARS ago. they havent closed up so like. theoretically he Could use them again. but hes fine w leaving them be#also he is like obv a mess when hes in the back working the oven n stoves so hes sweaty and kinda gross if hes been in there TOO LONG#(and he is SO conscious about this; he gets a better ac unit postgame when he gets more funds)#but otherwise if hes going out somewhere he has like spicy smellin colognes. like the shit that makes ur head hurt when u smell it sdfkjdfj#meanwhile gus does not give a flying fuck#hes got 14-in-1 body wash and a prayer#you get what u get#which is admirable tbh#i just think it is funny for him to be particular about this. gus we are best buds but you are not coming out w me looking like this.#or the noise smells AWFUL bc he is covered in grease and sweat from tinkerin in his room all day#and peppino looks SO upset hes like get AWAY from me u smell like ACTUAL garbage !!!!!!!!!!!!! go get CLEAN you fucking BEAST
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giallo4ver · 2 years
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Watching people seriously ship romantically Sauron/Galadriel in the Rings of power knowing full well that he is the ORIGINAL Mansplain, Manipulate, Manslaughter and that he is manipulating the whole audience too into believing he has actual feelings and not just a thirst for power and corruption of pure souls:
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relicsongmel · 9 days
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Thinking about Iris' very open disdain for spirit channeling and how it seemingly contradicts many other elements of her character.
Let me explain—Iris prior to the end of BttT is a woman who only knows facades, covering up the truth, and only presenting herself exactly as she wants others to see her. We see this over and over again throughout the course of the story: she hides her real identity while dating Phoenix, she does damage control for Dahlia and Godot to help them avoid blame for their crimes, and she is extremely selective about which information she chooses to disclose to specific people depending on whatever role she finds herself playing in that moment (daughter, girlfriend, accomplice, etc). Her demeanor as a whole is also rather meek and unassuming, and she's shown to be exceptionally kind; she expresses favorable opinions on most everyone she meets, even those continuously treated poorly by other characters (like Larry) or those that have objectively done reprehensible things (like Dahlia).
All of this stands in stark contrast to her saying in no uncertain terms that she hates spirit channeling:
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This stands out to me because it is one of very few things that Iris is completely forthright honest about in the early portion of this case. After spending all day avoiding Phoenix and now carefully dodging his questions towards her in hopes of preventing the truth of her deception from coming out (all of this while actively avoiding her responsibilities at the Inner Temple because of Larry's "blackmail" letter which also threatened to expose her "secret"), why is this the one bit of truth she chooses to divulge here? Or rather: why is this the one thing she seemingly cannot lie about?
Obviously the answer lies in Iris' past and the permanent damage that was done to her and her family due to the politics of the Fey clan, with the Kurain Channeling Technique at the root, and the DL-6 incident as the event that brought everything to ruin. Iris bore witness to her mother Morgan losing the title of Master of Kurain due to her inferior powers and the despair that caused her, then three years later saw her aunt Misty who, despite purportedly being so much better than her mother, made a mistake while channeling that led to an innocent man's conviction, disgracing the Fey name and causing her to flee the village in shame. With this in mind, it makes sense that Iris would feel so strongly about spiritual powers doing more harm than good; after all, she has firsthand experience of the damage that can be done to the women that have it.
But what of the women that don't have it—namely, Iris herself? What happens to a spirit medium, born of the Fey bloodline, daughter of the then-master of her channeling school, when she's shown to not have any spiritual powers? I'm of the opinion that Iris' hatred is not only a product of what she's seen happen to her mother and aunt, but also very closely tied to what is, essentially, her earliest failure in life—after all, what good is a medium who can't channel? Fey women are raised to believe that their worth is linked to how well they can perform the service of their clan, which is the same reason why Maya beats herself up for failing to channel Mia in Turnabout Goodbyes and Pearl does the same with Dahlia later in this case. In a sense, Iris' hatred of spirit channeling is an externalization of her own self-hatred—unlike Dahlia, who mainly copes by lashing out and seeking revenge on those who wrong her, Iris is far too gentle and loving to lay blame on any one person. But all that repressed guilt and anger still has to go somewhere—and it manifests through this one small crack in her otherwise flawless facade. The one thing she cannot bring herself to find beauty in no matter how much she tries. The one thing that should have given her purpose but didn't—leaving her no choice but to mold herself beyond recognition over and over into roles that aren't truly her own, but at the very least give her meaning where she was denied it before.
And knowing her? She probably hates that flaw more than anything.
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wanderer-clarisse · 6 months
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"Mano po."
Pagmamano (Tagalog) - "honouring-gesture;" a sign of respect towards elders
A continuation of sorts, of this other drawing I made of the Feänorians, which was roughly inspired by Filipino culture. I originally planned on completing this for @nolofinweanweek, specifically the first prompt about how Fingolfin and Feänor's families got along, but life got in the way and I didn't finish it in time. More background/my long rambles under the cut:
Pagmamano - touching the back of an elder's hand on one's forehead - is not restricted to family, but it's usually done in the context of elder family members. I have many memories of attending family reunions and being told to follow the other kids to "mano po" a grandfather, aunt, or uncle. While Elves don't have elderly relatives, per se, I thought this image was too fun not to draw. Also, I love envisioning Feänor as that cool uncle who gives the most amazing gifts but like, the kids are intimidated by him, so they have to be told (and supervised) by their parents to line up and greet him properly. Fingolfin's just standing there making sure his kids all greet their uncle. (Maedhros, presumably having already finished his greetings, is sidetracking Fingon.)
All this to say, I think that these guys didn't have the perfect relationship. But. You can't convince me Finwë didn't get the whole family together from time to time on some sort of family reunion camping trip. And Feänor just has to begrudgingly tolerate it because he can't say no to his dad. While the kids, obviously, have a great time.
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spearxwind · 9 months
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Whole gang's here :]
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anormaladn · 1 month
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HEY- UHM----
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hi, the way this blog is formatted and the menu is written is so creative and fitting! i had a great time looking through it
may i request some fem reader w rocky? maybe him playing the violin or reciting poems in a public space to himself and reader is the only one to react (positively) so he immediately is struck in awe. please and thank you :)
Good evening, Anon!! First off, thank you very much for the compliment. Two things you should know, however...
This ended up over three thousand words long somehow. (For the record, it was gonna be a scenario.)
It's the cheesiest meet-cute I've ever written, so I advise you all to brace yourselves, folks-
That being said, enjoy!! <3
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When you heard it, everything else quieted.
The thunder of cars bolting down a busy road, metal armor bobbing upon four wheels as they broke past and left smaugful clamor clashing against the monstrum business blocks, softened to but a distant skitter of shiny black bugs ambling self-importantly about. The cacophony of pedestrians, indiscernible faces in square suits and tasteful pastels spewing bits of language into one converging mess, each voice independent yet competing for dominance until they clawed at your eardrums and suffocated your thoughts now felt no graver than the meek rustle of forest foliage when coddled by the summer breeze; a humming chorus to a beautiful solist’s serenade, and when a bycicle trilled inches past normally skittish, city-dweller you it didn’t even occur to step aside as you were far too absorbed in the one delightful sound that made the greys of asphalt’s reign seem greyer and dulled even the most striking women’s daywear to sun-worn cleaning rags in comparison.
It was a melody the color of blue, matching his eyes.
You hadn’t a chance to admire them for long when you spotted him in the crowd. They drifted closed for long stretches of time as their owner’s features suggested a deep, gentle focus on the music, his whole being smoothing into the instrument. There was something bewitching about the violin, you found; seemed even its players could seldom resist its particular pull, fingers dancing across the strings as if possessed by magic. The rosined bow dipped to and fro in a hypnotic sequence that pulsed like the rise and ebb of the tides; sometimes the pace changed, slowed to but a meandering, peaceful ponderance before it flew from the threads of catgut like nimble sparks of lightning, with the ease and comfort of at least a thousand hours of practice.
Must’ve been a classical piece, if not improv; but for that far too complex. Vivaldi? Mozart? You hadn’t heard it before, so you couldn’t confirm, however it proved the enchanting stranger to be both talented and educated. He looked up from his divine craft to initiate eye contact with passersby and, yes, he had the bluest eyes indeed, seated under emphatic brows, and he gave a hopeful smile of such integrity to those undeserving strangers who walked past in indifference as if he’d been an smaug-borne ghost, a trick of the light invisible to all but yourself and when he turned in resignation and his gaze caught upon you, playing still, your breath hitched in your throat.
How long had you been gawking there, frozen on the sidewalk like a dimwit? Oh, no. He must have thought you such a creeper; a notion which you had to rectify, and rectify it quick. Puff your chest out, march up, tell him you liked his playing and leave a dime; you took off at once with this very plan in mind.
In doing so, you forgot you had stood on opposing sides of the road.
Heels clicked across hot concrete in a headlong hurry. You realized that the cars were still coming midway through when his eyes widened in horror and a spontaneous screech of tires replaced that joyous melody. You stumbled back, blinded by car polish and a pair of glaring headlights you profusely apologized to before skittering away from a second car in the right lane when it came to an angry halt likewise. Loud honks scolded you along your path whilst you yelled back sheepish sorries.
Well, talk about making an entrance.
As you reached the paved edge, a hand manifested to help you up on it.
“Are you alright, miss?”
And blue eyes. You felt yourself sink further into the road with the transient wish those cars had hit you after all, nonetheless took the offer and tottered along with the stranger’s help. He held bow and violin in his other hand, by the neck, and you narrowly avoided stepping on their rickety case with a meager amount of coins and a crumpled up bill inside.
Ah, right. He’d been busking, after all.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” he reiterated, scanning you, and you realized you’d missed the previous question. “It’s hardly safe to cross this thoroughfare without looking both ways first, you know. You ought to try that next time.”
“I know, I know– I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
You weren’t. Not when this handsome vagabond with the most radiant blue oculars you’d ever seen and enough of a musical gift to put you in a trance kept observing you from such proximity whilst implicitly chiding you for being a tunnel-visioned idiot.
“Well, great news, then!” he grinned. Oh. That’s a lot of teeth, you noted with slightly raising eyebrows. “I doubt I’d have been able to sleep tonight had you met an undue fate under the stampede of these motorized beasts all for just trying to reach me.”
An odd penchant for metaphors, too. When you didn’t respond right away, he withdrew his gesturing hand in contemplation.
“You… were careening specifically my way, yes?”
“Yes!”
You snapped out of your appreciation for his endearingly boyish timbre and thereby commenced a frantic battle with your purse as you attempted to pry something from it.
“Right, I was heading this way– just give me a moment–”
He watched in intrigue as you counted something he couldn’t see under your breath, then produced the intended amount of what he identified to be cash and reached to hand it over to him, near breathless.
“I really loved your playing.”
You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye yet hardly missed his astonishment when he conceived the sum.
“Miss, that’s ten dollars.”
“Yes,” you affirmed curtly. “What of it?”
“I can’t accept that.”
Hearing which, you did finally face him with a frown.
“You’re a very kind soul,” he asserted in a hurry, smile never faltering, “and I’m thoroughly humbled by your contribution, but I cannot rob a lady of her hard earned pay in good conscience for that frivolous noise–”
“It was beautiful noise,” you interjected with knitted brows, “I really did enjoy it, and you deserve much better audience than the pedestrians of some drab street corner who’ll never bother to pay your music the attention it deserves.”
You pointed curtly toward the flow of people. Some in turn spared you a glance, but then you blended into their scenery again like another pair of shop mannequins.
“So take it from a lady,” you enunciated, all but shoving the money in his chest, “and I sincerely hope you end up in a concert hall someday.”
You exhaled and waited. He stared at your extended hand, then you, then at your hand and back again and gorgeous as you found those gleaming sapphires you couldn’t for the life of you tell what he was thinking. Your arm muscles trembled, and you contemplated whether sparing yourself from the awkwardness of further playing statue might be worth giving up anyway.
Finally, he seized your wrist with both hands. He didn’t seem to notice your startlement as he was busy beaming at you bright enough to put celestial bodies to shame.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh…”
God forsake it, that smile alone was turning your heart into a fluffy, overripe dandelion inside your chest. If he kept up, you feared he might just blow it apart.
But you managed to tell.
“Well, miss…” he began, implementing your surname, and you would’ve bolted on pure instinct had you not taken root at your spot, “your generous praise is, by far and large, the most invaluable gift I could’ve received on this brilliant morning.”
You took a deep inhale, acutely aware of his touch tingling across your skin even though he meant nothing by it… you supposed.
“You have certainly made a lowly troubadour’s day with your gracious approbation,” he patted your knuckles, at the same time gently shoving your offer away. “You see, I could tell from the moment our gazes locked across the street that I would enjoy the pleasure of meeting someone positively extraordinary… right after she ambled through the active traffic. Call it a concise connection of kindred souls, if you will. You, miss, have proved yourself a true appreciator of the arts.”
When those blue eyes were holding yours hostage so intently, you almost did believe he could see into your very soul. You tried to brave it, however.
“Thank y–”
“Which is why this won’t be needed.”
You held the rejected money against your chest, where he had guided it.
“You’ll be better off forfeiting it to charity,” he suggested, “if aiding the honest predicaments of your fellow citizens in need is a cause dear to your heart. Like orphans! Those poor, unmothered things, always caught in the throes of some quintessential lack or other; surely they could put your benevolent funds to good use… that is, in case you are looking to make a charity. If you’re not interested in, erm, providing for the orphans, that’s still quite fine. You just seem to me the sort to care for children. But that doesn’t make it your obligation, of course, to feed the orphans… no one is about to force that duty upon you… in equally sound conscience I suppose you could just as well keep the money…”
He proceeded along his mildly morally concerned tangent, but any of it beyond the lip movements you ceased to process. Some convoluted cliché about personal indulgence over supporting the waifs of the world, you reckoned. In terms of lifting your spirits it achieved a ludicrous heap of nothing, and amidst your silent marinating in this strange and unexpected failure of your strange and unexpected encounter, you continued to clutch the bills to yourself.
You didn’t figure that may have looked like dismay on his end until he trailed off, fidgeting vaguely as he probed your expression. The warmth of his hands on yours still lingered.
“My attempt at a point is,” he resumed at a slower pace, “you’re awful generous, but to tell you the truth, I’m quite comfortably off without the help. I am employed, after all.”
“You are?”
Rude as it sounded to gape the question so, you hadn’t considered that possibility. He was… well, not badly dressed, but his clothes appeared worn and a tad oversized on his comically skinny limbs, granting him a ragamuffin sort of appearance.
Though you still found it quite charming.
“Sure am!” he grinned in earnest, and you’d soon come to accept that his face simply looked that way when he did. “This is only some nifty supplemental income for a craft I spend day and night honing anyway. Really, I play out here to preserve my associates’ peace of mind more than anything. The other day they got so peeved with all the melodic caterwauling my boss had to fetch a broomstick and chase me out into the great wide open after failing to quiet me down.”
A chuckle escaped you at the joke, and it’s like his eyes gleamed brighter.
“What can I say,” he admitted with a theatrical shrug, “a musician’s ichor pulses to the ever-flowing rhythm of higher realms beckoning. That can hardly be helped. When my eager heart doesn’t sing Apollo’s odes from the strings, it reaches for the lyre, however… but they don’t deal in stanzas and limericks on the job market in contemporary times.” He glanced off into the distance wistfully, as if envisioning an ideal future where they did. “Miss M, our aforementioned lady-in-charge, says it’s only since our customers can’t exactly do the Lindy Hop to recitativo verse form.”
“So that means you’re a poet?”
“Indeed!”
You hummed in acknowledgement. He gave his vest a proud little adjustment as part of the performance, not that it served to make him look any more presentable.
“Vivacious vicinal versificator,” he expatiated with a playful half-bow, “humble herald of numinous inspiration, eulogizing the beauties of this peculiar earthly life to the cobblestone and the stars for a passtime. Old Muddy Miss herself has proven to be my most faithful audience… and for lack of substantial competition, in her listening skills she remains unexcelled.”
“Not for long, I should hope.”
That made him pause. Your nerves struck you alert as you rushed to explain.
“That is, well, I would be curious to join said, um, audience… mayhaps… sometime. I mean– you have a fascinating vocabulary, sir, so I can only imagine…”
He listened on with perplexed blue eyes; you mentally smacked yourself for the honorific. No one so refreshingly unrefined as this overeager stray puppy of a man could even remotely qualify for a ‘sir’, and you were happy about that, because had you made so many social blunders with any other stranger in succession you would’ve craved death.
He took his sweet time providing a readable reaction, but when he did he laughed. Not with a mocking edge, as you had feared; the sound tinkled as melodically as his trusty violin.
“Oh, miss, you’re just a bundle of pleasant surprises.”
You came to chuckle along, too, a nervous smile stretching your lips. He took your hand again.
“I’d be delighted to deliver a private recital,” he dipped forward then paused, perhaps contemplating whether a kiss on the back of it would be appropriate, peering up at you in a bluest display of rapt attention that made your heart leap, “if that’s truly the case.”
You averted your eyes. The vague unease as if you’d given your name to a fae in a stroke of recklessness minutes prior melted into the bustle of sluggish, smoke-ridden traffic.
“So where is it that you work?” you switched the topic.
Attuned, he let go of your hand as if it had burned him, adjusting his hat like an excuse.
“Little Daisy Café,” he responded quickly, perpetual cheer intact. “It’s just an ambitious spit from here, actually, a few blocks down that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where you’d been headed. “Awful cute little gem of an establishment. Perhaps you’ve been to?”
“No, not that I recall.”
“Well, I can only recommend that you drop by. The pancakes are to die for.”
“And there’s live music?”
You both glanced at the violin, then back at each other. He gave you another grin that you couldn’t help but detect as somewhat complicit.
“Makes your early beverage taste all the sweeter.”
You let your eyes linger on one of the boutique windows in the background; a closed one under construction. The ample light struck it at an angle which obscured the debris-filled darkness and activity inside, flawless glass surface glimmering at front in gorgeous deceit. Its reflective sheen conjured an alluring vision; deep azure sky dotted with fringed, fluffy lamb-clouds.
Suppose you offered it.
“Well, if you won’t let yourself be tipped,” you sighed, putting your money away, “may I treat you to breakfast, at least? A plate of those fabled pancakes, even?”
Childlike delight flashed across his face before the metaphorical reins were pulled back with a frantic grip.
“Why, miss, you’re spoiling me,” he lamented, “but I really shouldn’t–”
“I was heading for the bakery myself,” you continued with a pacifying gesture, “but now with your recommendation in mind, I might as well try a treat from that ‘little gem’ of a café, no? You could show me the way there, and… I suppose I could listen to those stanzas of yours, if you’d be willing to share…”
The words intended to compose the rest of your reasoning kept tumbling from your grasp before you could string them together, and someone in the crowd of pedestrians laughed. A snooty, feminine laugh. He kept watching you and you only, however, engulfing you in that mysterious blue once again.
“…granted that is okay with you, of course.”
He began to smile like the sun itself and dove with startling momentum for the violin case.
“Why, it’d be most uncouth to refuse the benevolent offer of such lovely ladyship,” he concluded while packing away his instrument then slapped the lid over the case once finished, money withstanding, “and I don’t reckon I’ll make two more pennies to rub together this morning, so I’d be more than happy to escort you along.”
He grabbed the handle and sprung up, beaming at you with the energy of a couple additional suns before he got an idea and moved to offer his free arm toward you like the smoothest of gallants. Clearing his throat, to boot.
“Mademoiselle?”
You put a hand to your chest, accentuating the action with a playful once-over.
“Chivalrous,” you chuckled before locking his arm with your own. The two of you would set off this way not unlike lovers, which he stiffened at the realization of.
“Too much?” he questioned.
“No, it’s quite alright.”
The cracks in the sidewalk became very interesting all of a sudden, however. You could feel his skinniness and lack of musculature thus far only guessed through the rolled-sleeved shirt; not that you minded.
Must have not gotten treated to meals often.
“About that poetry,” he piped up a bit quieter than before, “granted you won’t tire of my voice ahead of time…”
“Don’t be silly.”
You gave him a look, then caught yourself.
“Well, alright,” he resigned with an evaluating pout when you turned away, “but, uh… unfortunately, most of my limbs are occupied. And the fervent gesticulation makes up half the performence.”
By that point, you found yourself believing him. You all but burst into laughter at the mental image.
“Maybe you can gesticulate it to me after the fact,” you quipped.
“…Fair enough.”
You reached a street corner together and turned it. From the corner of your eye, a young couple were teasing each other by a flower shop on the opposite side of the road with a posy gift of piquant red tulips, blushing and giggling. You matched the bouncing steps of the stranger you were intertwined with in newfound giddiness.
“Let’s see,” he pondered, scanning the rows of buildings in an absent-minded manner before his eyes lit up. “Right! As fortune would have it, there does happen to be one I’ve been itching to inflict on a willing pair of ears for the past week…”
He made a big show of clearing his throat before he began; you were eager to let the mesmerized flow that had brought you to him in the first place take you along, absorbing the dramatic inflection and animated spirit oozing from his entire complexion as he made the widest gestures he was capable of in his inhibited position nonetheless.
A stranger indeed…
“Wait!”
Before he could proceed with any experimental odes to clay and calicos, you cut him off. He turned to you right away, magic put on hold.
“I never caught your name.”
He glanced around in recollection before those notorious brows sprung up.
“I never passed it,” he exclaimed, bewildered, and wriggled from your hold haphazardly as he scrambled for his hat. “Oh, foolish I! Forgive me this horrendous discourtesy, milady, if you might find it in your heart.”
You simply observed him in amusement.
A zephyr swept along the length of the street, bringing where you stood a nectarine fragrance which, though delicate, transcended the heavy smoke and for a delightful moment let you smell nothing but itself. With his hat now off and held politely to his chest, the breeze ruffled his tousled hair as it did yours. His blue eyes shone in the urban grey like diamonds.
“The name is Rocky Rickaby.”
And when he said it, you already knew you wouldn’t tire of that voice anytime soon.
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duahauuoplanh · 10 months
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This was actually Yoona & Junho and the camera just happened to be filming
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skunkes · 5 months
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i have soooo much more i cld say abt him, and have explored more thru other doodles, but quick summary of talon's whole deal, which is subject to change still as he's only almost 2 yrs old as an oc
#oc text#obvs sparse description of the events bc i dont mean for it to be gratuitous#even if i decided to explore it further in some medium the focus wouldnt be gratuitous ykwim#not that there werent awful stuff within that but my focus with talon is also more exploration of like#even stuff that isnt a big deal (which it wasnt at first) can effect someone greatly#and then once it does get a bit worse the focus is still more on the effects of how he views himself and the aftermath#AS WELL AS LIKE. well. did i do this to myself? i went back. do i deserve this?#he's a lot like me and the reason i like the self insert dynamic is bc he thinks of cheye as Me If It Didnt All Go Horribly#bc ive not gone thru the Extreme but i have had interactions with ppl who very enthusiastically thought i was ummmm underage!!!#while they were already being creepy toward me and making me nervous abt my safety !#so this isnt ''he's umm 400 but looks 12 bc i want to do weird shit with him 😏'' dude drawing him Fed makes me so sad sometimes...#we're also weird eating buddies <3#and grief buddies <3 he actually further spawned out of my need to deal with a lot of family members passing away in such a short time#severe death phobia buddies...#i still dont know how he really feels about his Old Wrinkly Form btw all i know is he feels safe in it#as much as id love to sway toward ''he thinks he's hot like that. because he is.'' i also dont want to convey the wrong message wrt this#form being due to....disordered eating caused by Issues. ykwim#though! he can shapeshift quite well when he's fed and maybe he'd choose that form willingly if he ever got. Past everything#he does hate that he never gets to actually age...! he wishes he cld age normally like a mortal...(still scared of dying though)#but we cant knoww for certain yet ykwim. maybe he'll let me know soon.#my issue with talon other than i suck at plots is well he has too many of my issues. and. idk how to solve them.#he's growing with me.#oh and have we noticed he's mean to me when *im* being mean to me...MANY such metaphors#ok goodnite
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cerise-on-top · 3 months
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Hank with an Eldritch Horror Reader
Here's another thing I wrote two years back! It was an interesting concept which I really liked, so I actually really enjoyed writing this request!
Hank J Wimbleton was a grunt of many things, but not one to be scared unless he had a good reason to be. There were many things in this world he did not understand, you were one of them. Upon meeting you, his first instinct would have been to either fight or run away - who could blame him, it was all he knew. No matter how many times you reassured him that the very last thing you wanted to do was to harm him, he’d draw his weapon, uncertain of whether or not he should believe your words.
Once you show no resistance towards him whatsoever and simply restrain him using your powers or other methods, that’s when, thrashing around as much as he could, he would start listening. You may or may not have seen a grunt up close, but this was your chance to finally examine one. As you scrutinise him from every possible angle Hank realises that you were simply curious about his being and finally lowers weapon.
Your voice would likely hurt his head and freeze the blood in his veins, so you might have to resort to telepathy or speak through a marionette, if you can find one. Though, once Hank’s interest in you has been piqued, he’d be more than happy to find you one. A lot of people in Nevada seem to be redundant in the first place. Regarding telepathy: You will be able to have a two-way conversation with Hank like that, but, for the most part, he doesn’t think in words. Still, he can do so, if needed.
If you’re on the rather small side, he will make an effort to pick you up, or hold you, and bring you back to base. Depending on whether you can float or not, this might be rather difficult, but he’ll try. If you’re large, however, then he will simply “tell” you to follow him. As an eldritch being you could likely either change your form or scare away anyone in your path in the first place, so he doesn’t particularly worry about anyone being stupid enough to attack you.
Spend time with him, he’ll get used to you more and more and, eventually, grow a bond with you. Proud, he’ll show you to Doc so he can figure out what you are, but do not be fooled. Hank wants to know what you are to some degree too. Once comfortable with you and certain you won’t harm him, he’ll start observing you, touching you to some degree. See how you react, how you feel, how you are.
Despite your conversations being, for the most part, one-sided, Hank will ask you directly what you are and if you’re some form of eldritch deity. Since you’re an amicable creature he can’t exactly wrap his head around, it’s worth a try.
Although he would like to do so to some degree, he won’t take you with him on missions. It’s his way of saying “I care a great deal about you, I don’t want you to die or worse even if you are capable of defending yourself.” If you really insist on aiding him, he will let you, begrudgingly. But beware that he will have your back. In fact, having you around will give him a greater reason to fight and improve his overall performance. Though, it will also be a major stress factor to him if something were to happen to you, so choose wisely.
#madness combat#madness combat x reader#hank j wimbleton#hank j wimbleton x reader#I've been into eldritch horrors and stuff ever since I was a teenager#although I don't condone his beliefs in the slightest I really like Lovecraft's writing style#at one point it influenced how I wrote as well since he was rather descriptive in a pleasant to read way#I have an anthology at home that I might wanna reread again at some point#celephais was always my favorite story and I think it may be one of my favorite stories of all time#I know it interests no one but my favorite book is No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai#and yes I did get into classic literature because of a certain anime I don't wanna tag in this post#but another book I really enjoyed reading was Clockwork Orange I read it with someone I used to be close to and it was a really good read#it gave me nightmares but I really enjoyed it! gave me something to talk about with my father as well#Hier kommt Alex by Die Toten Hosen is also a really good song! as is 1000 Gründe by the same band!#those songs are based on Clockwork Orange actually!#I never watched the movie and I don't think I ever will because eye gore disturbs me but the book was good! I read it bc of tboi!#I have quite a few classic at home! but I think I wanna finish reading Paradise Lost! That's also a really interesting story so far!#reading and writing are some of my favorite hobbies!#I'd also love to finishe the price of salt at some point as well! Because I have to all things considered!#I just wish I could juggle all of my hobbies a bit better! I wish I had a bit more time for everything! but oh well it be like that!
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sysig · 6 months
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Ah, if there are slots open still for requestober, and if you'd like to draw this one-- human RGB, and Hero's reaction to meeting him, please? Apologies if I misunderstood any of the rules and this isn't in line with them...
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Day 22 - Nuh-uh! That's not a TV!
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