#mythical rythms

[rogertaylorsprettyvoice]

nda: I have no idea what I'm supposed to say, there's no title, no description, no end to this kinky piece, enjoy (maybe).

TW: drug use, very explicit.

He was blessed with the voice of an angel, he sounded like a mythical creature, the favourite of the Gods. I was mezmerised by the rasp of his low voice and the clear sound of his falsettos. He was hitting the notes just right. He was hitting me just about right. Everytime he opened his mouth and came close to the microphone, I felt on the edge of a cliff, and I had only one thought in mind : falling. Please, I was begging, I want to fall. In your voice, in your arms, in your soul. Bring me down with you, I can’t bare the edging. Everytime a sound would leave his throat, I could feel, for just a singular moment, not one more, him inside of me, overwhelming me with his grandiosity. The feeling was burning me, eating me alive. The warmth between my legs would not stop intensifying because I refused to look anywhere else than his wet mouth. When he stuck his tongue out, I grasped for air. I could only imagine what he was capable of doing with his lizzard-like tongue. And his hands. Oh my god. I did not notice his hands. Nor the way he was holding the long sticks so firmly. I felt the muscular tension in his entire body, hitting his drums, moving his head on rythm with the song, performing with his whole body and all of it, this building tension, came out as the most perfect high pitch sound. I felt like I could die, right now, looking at him, feeling him all over me, his sweat, his soul-cracking voice, both of his veiny hands holding me in the air as I’m waiting for the sky to fall upon me.

I was wondering how this man could have ended on Earth. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to feel what I was feeling, but I just couldn’t stop myself, nor did I want to restrain myself. His wild blonde wavy hair covering his face as he played brought some of the tension up to my chest, a strange tinggling feeling covering my breast. I was not wearing a bra, and I could feel my nipples harden through my tee-shirt. I just knew by looking at him that it would turn him on. He would not be able to look away from my white slightly see-through crop top. Maybe it would turn him on so much that he would want me to keep it, but he seemed like the kind of guy to like looking at boobs while he fucked you. I was drooling. Fuck. Fuck me right now. Please. Use that pretty voice of yours to tell me obsenities. But I just can’t look away now. The only sound resonating was the beat of the drums, he was hitting them so smoothly and yet with so much strenght. And when the music stops, he talks, and I feel like he’s looking at me with his big blue doll eyes saying “The next one is really loud”, like he knows how horny I am right now, telling me “Hold on tight, love. Soon I’ll make you go loud.”

And that’s what he did. He did not seem surprised at all when I found my way to his dressing room. I saw Roger’s name and knocked. He had been waiting for me all this time. He was still in his attire, a red open shirt sitting nicely on his shoulders, revealing his flesh. On the opposite side of the room, I was standing still, closed door behind me, with my hard nipples pointing right at him through my shirt. I was right, he couldn’t look away. He kept staring at me, stripping me with his gaze. Without a single word, he invites me to sit on his on one of his laps, his legs were so open, directing his crotch at me. So I sit down, quitley, I nod, he reaches for a glass plate covered in fairy dust. I could still see my reflection through the white lines he drew just a second ago, like a true artist. He sniffs one line, hands the mirror plate to me. I sniff too. One big line. I feel some pressure in my cavities but it doesn’t take me a long time to fucking feel everything. I am so horny right now just by the way he's staring at my lips, I feel how he wants to shove it deep inside my throat, feel the wetness and warmth of it. He brings his hand to my pretty face and uses his thumb to clean my poudered nose. He then puts it in my mouth. He puts it deep, deep, deeper, and I suck it because oh my god I am loving this I don’t ever want it to stop. “Hearing my voice made you this horny, love?”

I let out a sigh while he’s still in my mouth. He must have noticed because he raises an eyebrow and smiles very slightly while taking it out. He puts his two veiny hands, oh my god his hands, on my broad hips and grabs me so I can climb on top of him. I feel my pulse pounding in my pussy as soon as I sense how hard his crotch is. Yet all I can seem to think about are his beautiful soft lips. They look so silky and pink, and they must taste so good. “Roger, I would give anything for just one kiss.” I whine and he looks satisfied knowing how much power he has on me. He humidifies them. It’s like he’s doing it to my lips, my lower lips, but no, he’s only licking his own and stares, once again, at my chest. Just like I imagined, he is tourmented : hard nipples pointing through a see-through tee-shirt, or bouncy naked breast while fucking. I can feel how worked up he is by now. His pants are looking dangerously tigh, like he’s about to explode right now. And as I was staring at his crotch, he holds my breast with both of his hands and brings his wet mouth to me. I feel his tongue on my hard nipples, I fucking feel him making me wet. He lets his saliva all over my shirt and gives me a taste of what torture means to him. I look down on him and meet his vicious eyes, I am whining, I want him to suck on my tits. He must feel this unbearable tension because he lifts my white shirt up and I let out the most beautiful moan when his tongue encounters my pinkish nipple. I moan, and I touch his hair, his beautiful blonde hair, I can't believe I'm touching his gorgeous hair, and it's so soft, like foam. My boobs feel so big right now in his mouth. He is licking all over them with his very long tongue. I moan again and let out a whine when I feel him bite my nipple. It's so much, too much, and yet it doesn't feel like I’ve had enough. I haven't fallen yet. I want more from him, I want his filthy hands all over me.

“You look so good” he says with his raspy voice. I didn't know my cheeks could feel any hotter but my face was burning. I glance at him while I can't help to let out louder moans but I want more. I need more. I need to feel him. He seems surprised when I hold his face while I get up to face him. My boobs feel so tight and my nipples so hard and wet, but looking at him makes me forget about everything. I get down on my knees and observe him while I open his pants, his very tight pants. But I can't look away. He is staring at me with his pretty eyes and he looks so fuckable with his blonde messy hair. Before I even realize it, he gets up and rips off his pants to show me his cock. It really feels like he wanted to show me how big it was and how good looking and how gorgeous and so him. His cock looked so slutty and needy. I found that little drop of precum so so hot. It's like it was whining for me. He takes his penis in his hand and points it at my mouth, already open and wet and warm for him. He stared deep into my eyes before asking “Do you want me to fuck your pretty mouth pretty hard?” and it made me drool. “Yes Roger” was all I could say and it was enough for him to shove it in my throat.

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 6 - Decisions. Part I.

          An arabic quote I read months ago that stick with me so far said: " Some say its painful to forget someone, other say it's painful to wait for someone. But I say, the worst pain comes when you don't know wheather to wait or forget. "

          It made my body tremble with an unsettling feeling of chaos. My life was an untamed, catastrophic tornado since my parents threw me out of their house and suddenly, the situation went from bad to deadly when I got thrown here. It felt like I had a personal vendetta with life and the universal powers that controled us.

          I've been here, with Niven's family, for almost two weeks now, working and trying to be useful. Half of what i promised myself to wait before I find the courage to kill myself. Not much changed, I just grew used to the wound I had in my sould. I had no new horizon, no signs from the deity that brought me here, no shooting star to make a wish upon. Nothing. Only my pathetic body to count on.

          My old lifestyle was just a reminder of what I never cherished when I had the time.

          So I took what I had at this moment, considered the time I had left as well, and made the best of it so far.

          Every morning I woke up around 5 a.m., disturbed by my dreams. The potion Nimue gave me helped me grab with force some shattered pieces of my previous mind. I can remember faces better, my old university and one single name: Nadia. The girl I talked lastly on the phone before I got pushed here.

          Altough the medicine had some good parts, it had repercusions as well. While I gained more knowledge about my past, I forgot other dear to my heart details: my father's eyes, my mother's voice, the smell of my cat's hair.

          There were moments of clearence, when I watched the crystal empire of the skies and a fugitive image of my dad's irises runned through my head. Other times, I listened to Cynthia's soft voice while she hummed a sad rythm, and tears stung my eyes as I recalled my mom. When Misty was around and climbed on my dress to find her spot next to my chest, underneath my clothes so she could get warm, I used to sniff her furr and close my eyes so I can picture Icarus's joyful personality. I grabbed with my nails whatever small detail mended my bloodied heart. 

          But those where passing moments, fast as time itself and they were rare and prone to be forgotten easily.

          Sometimes I even had this feeling that maybe I can't go back because my life there was finished. I had no purpose anymore, nothing to give and nothing to receive. Other times, I hopped I was more useful here, working for money, feeding the animals, helping the people from Thaibar as best as I could.

          But feeding the pigs and cleaning Nimue's desk wasn't something I felt blessed about, either. I wanted more. It was hard to believe that everything was a damn coincidence. I fell into a book, for god's sake, one full of magic, of adventure, of wars and a little romance. I had to do something for this universe.

          I bought some other clothes as well, at Nimue's request to stop looking like a homeless cowgirl, and learned to style my hair in braided buns, so I could hide its colour better from curious eyes. Everyone warned me about my looks several times, and I grew a little conscious about my complexion. Not to mention the three rosy digits, forever imprinted on my cheek. A parting gift from the sly deity that sent me here. Even with several hours of working under the sun, my pale skin refused to get darker and I received only red spots of sunburn. Nimue offered me a potion to darken my wine tinted hair, so I could go unnoticed by the palace servants and mythical creatures who roamed the forests.

          To no avail. The red dye was hardly getting replaced by the jet black one. The change would last until the next time I washed, when my hair would reject the color, bringing back its shiny burgundy. It was like he had a mind of himself. Not to mention the fact that it seemed to grow with the same color, not my natural chocolate brown. So we all grew use to it and I learned to put a handkerchief around it.

          I started to help Cynthia around the farm every morning. Sometimes I cleaned the kitchen, other times we washed clothes by the river and chatted, like mother and daughter. I started to deeply care for her. I felt like she filled a part of my mother's empty space with her peacefull presence. She wasn't her, but it helped me ease my pain, little by little. She taught me some of their traditional dishes: fried venison, lamb soup, pork sauce with mushrooms, bread.

          I even got the courage once and described her the person I was in love with. Of course, masculinizing her, and she laughed at me and advised me on how I shouldn't jump at every flower he brings me. That I should have my nose high and let myself be chased, to test his patience.

          " A man who desires you should leave everything behind and follow you like the light of his eyes. He should kneel only to you, pray to you like you were his saint, his goddess. Never settle for less, or you will have a miserable life ahead. "

          I would listen carefully to her words. I was still a newborn in this world, basically, and I craved every piece of instruction so I can learn to manage. I wasn't going to tell her that I knew everything she told me. I learned enough from my mother's miserable marriage.

          We got along good, but from time to time, a dark cloud covered her eyes and she would watch me and ugly cry, without saying another word. Her face would distort in a silent plea and she would shiver violently, like the cold claws of death sank under her skin, dragging her to the Underworld.

          We were alone when that happened, and I didn't know how to react so I hugged her through her episode and whispered that I will be by her side, no matter what. Cynthia would sob heavily, making my body tremble as well, and she would clutch my arms like she was about to drown in her sorrow. It worked, rarely, but when her mind was too absorbed by her thoughts she whimpered like a baby:

          " I won't be here anymore... You'll have to carry yourself without me. I am so sorry... I beg you... Please give me your forgiveness... "

          " I trust him... That man tied to you by the tongue of Death... Trust him... I promise you... Don't run from him anymore... He is your fire, that man surrounded by darkness... "

          Then her vision would clear and ask me what happened, with no memory of what she said. I never told her either. She seemed quite unstable and I was afraid I'll make her sadder than she already was. So, I always resumed in only cleaning her face from tears with my blouse, smiling as sweetly as I could. I lied to her multiple times, but she disturbed me with her words and I always tried to forget so I could move on with my task: searching for a way home.

          Only I knew what lied in my heart every time I heard that. It made me wonder if my crashing here was actually meant to be. If I had a role. Nobody told me anything, but I never had the courage to ask, either.

          The worst part was that I started to love them, slowly, surely. They all were dear to me and I tried my best to thank their kindness by sharing my hardly earned golden coins, buying dresses and shoes, flowers for Cynthia and even cheap jewelery, like an iron sun I gifted Niven a few days ago.

          Even Shum and I got along. Some days better than others. We wouldn't talk much, but every small conversation was polite and innofensive. He let me take care of the mare, and it was more than enough to burry the hatcher of war. But even with his nice behaviour, I felt him off.

          I was always super sensitive to people's energy, I could feel their emotions, I could read them fast. Back home I used this gift to learn and read tarot cards for me and for my closest people. I felt like my intuition was helping me guide the reading session. It seemed to work.

          Instead, here, my higher self was always alert every time Shum made a move. He seemed to focus all of his attention on me, as if he tried to combust me with his gaze. I often felt his presence close behind me when I went to work. I didn't know what he planned, but I knew it wasn't pretty.

          The horse felt better and better. She could stand on her own and ate more than any other from the stall. Her black hair was always shinny and her growing muscles were visible under her dark skin. I treated her eczema and her external and internal parasites with several creams and herbal remedies. I washed her properly from time to time to keep any mosquitos away from her other healing wounds on her hooves.

          The stallion became sweeter, playful even and when Shum gave me his permission, I went with her on walks around the fields, holding tightly her ropes. She loved to be kissed by the sun, she loved to feel the grass and smell the sprouting linden trees. As time passed, I started to love her like she was my adoptive child. I could always hear her gretting when she saw me opening the door every morning, with a bucket of food for her. The mare would let her massive head down, waiting for me to kiss her nose and brush her long hair. Misty would follow us like a faithful guardian, jumping on the horse's back when mud stained her silver furr on our walks or watching me as I cleaned the mare.

          I usually kept long conversations with them, and when we were alone, several miles away from the farm, I told them all the stories I remembered from my past life. Sometimes I would cry, as I felt the stallion's merciful brown eyes on me, like she could understand me and pitied me for my suffering. The cat would climb onto my lap and catch my tears from my face, silently acknowledging my fears.

          Niven became my sister quite fast. She would gossip about everyone in town, about whatever her family did that annoyed her, about her past boyfriends and how they had no idea to please her. I would cringe and laugh, telling her about the memories I had, adapting them to this world. She was gracious, pure-hearted and such a good soul. Sometimes, her desire to help every lost spirit made me worry for her safety. I became attached to her more than anyone else, loving her like she was my family. I was around her equally as much as I was in Nimue's shop, preparing medicine.

          Once, when I hugged her, I remembered she resembled one of my dearest cousins from my old world. I knew her name on an instant, Claudia. They had the same dark looks and pale skin. I clutched her to my heart even tighter, fealing a piece of relief in my chest.

          I wondered why I still didn't have the courage to ask her about a library, to tell her my story, how I got here. I wanted to know more about the world beyond the ocean, about Prythian, about the seasonal courts and their High Lords. Maybe that way I could figure out the time inside the plot I fell into. But it was never the right moment and I was always so afraid of being rejected.

          Aoife was like the younger sister of Niven and I. We would always meet in Thaibar when I got myself a pause from Nimue and visited her store. We would talk about her family, about how her mother's situation was getting worse. I asked her to bring me to her once, so I can consult her, see if I can give her any medicine without making Aoife pay for anything.

          I knew she lived in a less than modest inn and that she was the only provider. Their living space was tidy and smelled like fresh dandelions, but it could trigger claustrophobia for the ones faint of heart. Even so, there was enough space for a chamber with two beds, the main room was also the kitchen and the place where they would bath. I laid my bag on the rusty table next to the simple clay vase filled with fresh flowers. There were three chairs, covered with a brown sheet so it could cover the cracks. Her windows where half painted with something that looked like glue, a pair of worn out red curtains covering them.

          Her mother's illness, Lydia, was quite advanced. She would be delusional most of the time, talking nonsens and walking naked around the house. When she first saw me, she bowed deeply, her forehead touching the ground and chanted a prayer like an obedient nun.

          It took me by surprise, even if Aoife warned me about what I was about to encounter. I blinked a couple of time, shaking the surprised figure off of my face and I smiled swiftly.

          " Like mother, like daughter. " I complimented, searching her blonde locks and deep blue eyes.

          The girl was a devoted image of her mother. Both small, with a slender figure and elegant features.

          Aoife approved with a tiny gesture, her heart-shaped face holding a sad mine as she watched her mother's sanity drifting between her fingers. After I asked a couple of questions and examined the woman myself, I had a strong feeling she dealt with what I used to call in my old world: schizophrenia.

          I would have said that maybe dementia or alzheimer could be involved as well, but it was not only a short term memory loss. Her odd way of acting, how she saw things, how she spoke to someone who was not in the room, all of these were more common for this type of mentall illness rather than anything else.

          Her mother was not with us anymore. She was lost in her own world and only a miracole could help her.

          " I'm afraid her mentallity is trapped inside it's own. " I explain, taking an elegant shaped bottle from my brown bag, " Pulling her outside of the dimension she made to protect herself might be dangerous for more than one reason. "

          " Can you be more specific? " Aoife pleased, placing her small and slim fingers on the table. " I know she's crazy, if your words are just a sophisticated way of saying it. I need to know if there's something I can do to either ease her pain or heal her. "

          She had been working at her flower shop and cleaned in a hurry when I came. Her wrists and nails were stained with mud and bits of grass and she radiated earthly tones of perfume, mixed with chrysanthemum.

          " I'm afraid she has no sense of pain anymore. " Speaking, I sting her mother's bare foot in several places, watching as her lost expresion never falters. " Her illness might be a protective mechanism against a traumatic event. Did she experince something like that? Do you remember? "

          The woman smiled at us, wide, crystal blue eyes piercing us both, like she saw something floating around. " There is so much gold! I want that in my pockets! Oh and those tongues of Death!... " Lydia rocked her thin body from side to side, laughing like a naughty teenager. Her clothes were disheveled and a few sizes too big for her sudden lost of weight.

          " I have no idea... " Aoife frowned, examining her mother causciously. " She was like this before my father left us. The only people that know are probably Niven's father or Nimue, as she was the one to tend to her. "

          Ah, great, so no one I could ask.

          " Alright, I'll see what I can find out and depending on that... Maybe we can find a way to help her. "

          The blonde laughed soflty, brushing a tear that escaped from her peacefull eyes and embraced me. " That will be wonderfull. Even if you don't find a solution, only the fact that you were willing to help means so much to me. "

          I smiled, holding her shoulders in my hands. A sudden thought passed my mind: I used to hold my lover like this before.

          I broke the hug, like her skin burned my hands and rushed to give her the bottle. " When she starts having her episodes, pour a few drops in a glass, enough to fill the bottom, then water. It will calm her and she'll sleep soundly. "

          " Thank you, again! "

          Something caught our attention outside and we stilled in the position. The noise made by a large crowd seemed to grow bigger and louder as they aproached the door to Aoife's place. It seemed like a revolution started on the streets and they wanted to burn all the houses.

          A few expresions passed our faces as we tried to decide what to do.

          In my humble opinion, I had no idea what a noisy crowd could mean here. In my dimension, this was either a protest or a wedding. Here, maybe someone sold his daughter and was throwing golden coins or someone was getting hanged publicly. Two different ideas I gathered from two different shows: Game of Thrones and Outlander. And francly, both of them had too much sexual assault for me to stomach.

          With a growing fear inside my bones, I tried to decide if I should be the one to check or let Aoife be the bait. I studied her for a few seconds, taking in her tiny silhouette and angelic features, just two of the reasons someone would jump her with no remorse.

          It wouldn't be fair to her. It was her world and I had a dying wish. And between the two of us, I was the one with a scar on my face. I was the one to check.

          I put my index on my lips, gesturing to remain silent and I moved closer to the window curtains.

          Lydia started to clap and laugh. " Mother, please. " Aoife asked, grabbing her from the bed and trying to hide her in another room.

          Peeking slowly over the glue paint, I only saw the streets swallowed by men and women, pleading and cheering. Colors of brown and black blocked my view, like a plague covering Thaibar. It seemed like a funeral. The image of that old man being beaten to death by the guards appeared before my eyes, the hollow and sick looks the people gave him as he drew his last breath before me.

          " I don't think it's safe. " I announce and must the courage to open the creaking door just  enough to throw an eye outside.

          Aoife comes to my side and studies the events from the town.

          " A royal parade? " She questiones, both in awe and horror, pushing past me.

          A royal what?

          Several dark knights walked proudly through the corridor made of people, sharp swords on their backs and the royal emblema shinning on their iron shoulders. They looked terrifying in their black costumes, with their face covered, spreading a smell of death and blood in the air. Some of them had arrows as weapons and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the famous ash wood that poisoned their edge. Their horses seemed as dangerous as they were, with red pupils and dressed in heavy armours. They seemed wild and aggressive, their galop loud and synchronised.

          " I don't think it's wise to get out. " I whisper, trying to grip her arm and pull her back inside

          The same hole digged between my lungs as my fingers roamed in the air, unable to find her in time.

          " Who's that? " Aoife asked again, standing on her toes to see over the peasant's head. " I have never seen him inside the palace. "

          As I stepped next to her, I locked our hands together. Alarmed, I studied the people passing, overwhelmed by the loud shouts and the amount of information coming my way. My intuition told me to run far away from that demonstration of power, but the blondie's feet were deeply rooted inside the earth.

          The first one I saw was the new king. Or at least, the one I suspected to be, thanks to the massive, golden crown engulfing his chestnut locks. His sharp face held a machiavelic expression, filled with victory and superiority. The man's trimmed beard and moustache was perfectly alligned with his high cheeckbones and black eyebrows. I felt like his beauty was speckled by harshly cut features: small eyes, straight eyebrows, angular mouth and a square chin. 

          He didn't wear any armour, only a fine tailored brown and gold suit that matched his tanned complexion. It looked like a cheap version of the High Fae's.

          " Is that the king? " I whisper in Aoife's ear and she approves, ducking her head so she wouldn't be seen by him. Her eyes remained locked on the stranger that followed close behind the crowned man.

          I raised my head and something inside me stirres. Red alarms rang inside my brain while I try to get a grip of my balls before I faint. It was like a deja-vu, eerie and unbelievable. I knew this man or... I felt like I knew him.

          The first thing I noticed over the sea of humans was red, a natural dark red, slightly auburn when the few sun rays hit his hair. It was kept at the back of his neck, leaving the long strands to carress his round shoulders. His face was long and arrogant, slightly ducked, so he could see every dirty peasant who asked for a few coins. Moving slowly, he dug his left hand inside his horse's bag and threw a fistfull of money in the air. His thin eyebrows frowned at the disgusting image of humans searching the mud.

          He was noble as well and the colours of his tailored jacket were more than enough to guess who he was. This, and the grey morality of the character visible even now, by visiting Hybern. Green and orange, embroided with heavy, shinny buttons. He must be Eris Vanserra, the heir of the Autumn Court.

          I swallowed and checked the dark handkerchief around my head. What should I do? He might be my ticket to Prythian, to my possible salvation. But how the fuck would I get close to him with so many guards and the high chances of getting fried by his powers. I wasn't even sure that going to the other continent would help me much, who would listen to me there? What was I even going to say?

          " Hi, I fell from the sky. Please help me get home. "

          It was a possibility though, even if it meant to start over...

          Of course, if I made it alive there, if I convinced Eris, the shadiest motherfucker from the series, with dark morals and high standards. Why wouldn't he make his way with me, trick me, then leave me like trash, nailed to a random tree? He was a Fae, after all, and I've heard enough not to trust him at all.

          But he did make it clear in the series that he tried to help Morrigan by breaking their engagement.

          I pressed a thumb to my temple, and focused on him. He was not a bad man... fae, whatever. Maybe...

          Pull yourself together, you're acting like a child!

          " Lower your heads!  " Nimue materialised from thin air, dragging me and Aoife away from the show.

          " What's the matter? " I asked, almost breaking my legs on the slippery streets.

          " You adore being the center of attention, little demon? " She snickered, pushing us inside her shop. " The man from the Autumn Court eyed you for minutes on end and you didn't even had the shame to avert yours. "

          " I was... No, I didn't realise... " I started to apologise, rubbind my hands.

          " Maybe he was watching me. " Aoife said, gathering her dress and peeking out the window again.

          " No, that gruesome king was watching you. That's even worse. For fuck's sake, stay away from the window! " Nimue screamed, grabbing the girl from her shoulders and pushing her aside. " You wouldn't want their attention drawn to you, trust me, these are fae creatures. They are aggressive and possessive, and really, really powerfull. What bussines do you have with him? "

          Aoife opened her mouth, but quicly closed it, ashamed.

          " Who are they? " I asked, trying to calm my breath.

          " The king's name is Draegan. He is a bastard who crowned himself and his mother after his father died during the war from Pryhtian. "

          " Who killed the last king? "

          This, this was the piece of information I needed to be sure of the timeline.

          " There are three sisters, the youngest one is the first High Lady in history. She reigns with her husband, Rhysand, over the Night Court. The first and second born sisters beheaded the King of Hybern. " Nimue confirmed my suspicions, giving me a solid point of where I was.

          So I fell in the fourth book, or somewhere right after the third.

          " And the redhead? " Aoife pursed her lips, swirling a blonde strand on her finger.

          " He is the oldest son of Beron, the High Lord of the Autumn Court. He is heir to the throne and is very, very unpredictable. " She wiped the concerned look from her face and shushed us.

          There was no doubt of what I had to do next. Risky or not, I had to talk to Niven.

          When the voices of the crowd slowly died, Nimue pulled two black cloacks from her drawers. " Both of you go back to your houses. Don't come outside untill tomorrow. Draegan is mad enough to put spies to follow Aoife if he caught his attention. "

          We circled the working table, filled as always with books and potions, and went to the back door.

          " This will help you leave unnoticed. Take Aoife to the farm. " Nimue commanded, her lilac dress swriling aroung her feet as she hurried us down the dusty path. " We'll meet after the weekend passes... Hopefully. "

          I stared back at the woman, noticing the concerned air surrounding her. A bad taste filled my mouth as grey clouds covered Thaibar, drowning the houses in a darker haze. A growing fear held my breath hostage between my rib cage as I studied the Countess's beautiful features. Deep down, I felt like it was the last time I would see her sour face.

           " Go! " She hissed again, throwing her hands in our direction.

          I bit back my anxiety and made a few steps behind. Our eyes met and in that weird moment, a cryptic thought passed between her mind to mine.

          The iminent sense of danger. 

          I took Aoife by the shoulders and put her head down, just as a shadow moved above the houses. Nimue's lips moved quickly, whispering, then blew the air upon us. I felt my skin tingly, like a thousand bugs crawled and nipped at it underneath my dress.

          " I feel so damn itchy. " Aoife started, scratching her face and neck, " The Countess has lices?! "

          I shake my head and push a finger between my lips, telling her to be quiet. As I moved my hand in front of my vision, I catch a glimpse of my aged, pale skin, covered with patches of darker spots.

          " She glamoured us... " I murmur towards the blonde, feeling the gravity of the world pulling me inside the magma center.

          " She really is a witch. "

          And the magic does exist.

          The child inside me danced with joy at the simple realization. Peeking again over my hood, I saw my master talking to two tall men. The third one was coming after us.

          " Aoife, someone is coming after us. Follow my lead. " I whisper, falsely tripping over the uneven road. " Oh... Haha, silly me, Gertrude... "

          The girl watched me skeptical and I nugged her with my elbow, " Your knees might be better, sister, but I took my father's vigorous genes. "

          Her laugh scratched my ears, sounding like a veritable crow.

          " Ladies. " A rough voice caught us from behind and we slowly turned, putting a hand over my hunched back.

          " Oh, look Gertrude, maybe you won't die an old lady after all. "

          Understanding shines in Aoife's blue eyes, and the satisfaction of the game crosses her now old face. " Shut up, you old hag, you know I've always liked blondes. "

          I could feel the knight's smoldering gaze even through the iron mask he wore over his face. The man was at least two heads taller than Aoife and I, and his oppressive energy was like a knife in the back of my neck. 

          " Ladies... " His voice was tinged with a hint of cunning and brute force, as if he had also trained his vocal cords to resemble his massive body.

          " Miss! " Aoife corrected him, brushing her now white locks with her bony fingers.

          The man looked back, as if he could barely contain his irritation, then turned to us, " Have you seen two young women walking around the village: a blonde, works at the palace and another wearing a blue headscarf? A few peasants said they came to these fields. "

         I can feel the muscles in her face tighten, squeezing my forearm tighter. Her eyebrow twitches, but she manages to keep her innocent appearance.

          " Sir, I can't see with my right eye and, obviously, the left one is crooked and suffers from glaucoma. I'm practically blind, I haven't seen anyone. " I laugh loudly, then suddenly stop, faking a backpain.

          " I can see... I won't keep you from your work, then. " The knight's dumb joke didn't pas unnoticed. As he left, he did not bid us farewell, nor did he look at us a second time and hurried to the witch's hut.

          From the distance, I catch Nimue's lilac eyes staring at me, and a slight warm breeze ruffles her brunette hair.

          We're fine. I try to tell her through telepathy, as if my magic  would just pop out of nowhere.

          " Actually, sir, I think I saw something. " Aoife finds herself speaking and I can barely keep myself from throwing her off the hill, " The blonde is preparing to bury her mother, it seems she died last night. She was going to the forest to collect flowers, but I have never seen the one with the headscarf, can you describe her better? "

          " Unfortunately, all we know is that she always covers her head and wanders around the village. The king thanks you for the information. "

          We both turn to our way and walk slowly to the forest where the parties were organized. When we are surrounded by pairs of tall trees, I pull down my hood and stop Aoife. I didn't even realized that spell had dissipated, so now I could look at the young version of the girl.

          " What was that? " I question, pulling my hand from her wrist, " What was with all those explanations? What if we got caught? "

          Aoife doesn't answer right away, instead she takes a deep breath and tugs a few strands of blonde hair from her head as she combs it with her fingers. She spins around a patch of grass, aggressively trampling over a handful of healthy marigolds, good enough for making tea.

          " Aoife, please stop... " I speak again, much calmer now, and put my hands on her shoulders, turning her face to mine. " I can help you. "

          The girl's physiognomy had completely changed: from hope to sadness, from ecstasy to agony. Tears stood on her lower eyelids, clinging to her blonde eyelashes.

          " I'm pregnant. " Her testimony hangs between the leaves, long enough for me to process the information.

          " With who? " I manage to keep my face solemn, trying hard not to make her go back into her shell.

          She doesn't answer me, but puts her hot hands over my palms and sobs jerkily. I remember our first conversation, in which she acknowledged that working at the palace was not all about cleaning and servitude. 

          " I asked about you because I wanted to know that being seen with me won't put you in any danger. If you change your handkerchief you will be fine, but I... I must either erase my own existence from the earth or someone else will erase it for me. " She puts her hands on her pelvis and falls slightly to her knees. "I'm so sorry, but I can't hold you, you're made with a monster..."

          I wipe a few drops of newly formed sweat and suddenly feel sick. Her child was made with Draegan, hence those languid looks, her searching, her desire to get into someone else's bed to hide whose child it really was.

         " If you're sure that's what you want, I can help you. " I admit as I sit on the ground next to her small body, then cup her face between my dusty fingers. " As long as the pregnancy is not far enough, I can help you get rid of it. "

          My mouth felt bitter talking about an unborn child like that. I didn't know which one was a more appropriate term for abortion: 'to kill him' or 'to get rid of him'. In either case, it sounded as if we were talking about a parasite, not a being in the process of becoming.

          But all these aspects were held by the age of the pregnancy: if it was less than a month or two, we couldn't talk about a life. It was very much an embryo, no heart, no lungs, no first breath, it would have been like any failed pregnancy. But if the child was much older, four, even five months, we were about to kill our first human.

          " A few weeks, three, maybe even four... "

          " Can I take a look? " I ask her cautiously and examine her abdomen as much as possible through the thin dress she was wearing, then feel her belly carefully.

          Everything was imperceptible. I couldn't tell just from a physical exam how advanced the pregnancy was. For a proper determination I had to separate her legs and look with a candle in her vagina in the middle of the forest. It wasn't medically ethical. But, again, nothing in this word was ethical.

        " I'm going to speak to Nimue as soon as possible to give you an abortion medicine. You must remain under her care for a day or two to make sure that the embryo is safely removed and that we can stop any bleeding that may follow. "

          " I can't pay you. All my money went to my mother's treatment. "

          " You don't have to, I have some money. I know Nimue. I'll solve it for you... "

          I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking about the bag of golden coins I'd painstakingly gathered during the weeks I'd worked for Nimue, waiting for me inside the nightstand that was now intended for the few clothes Nivy's mother made for me.

          I always had a little selfishness in me, I hated sharing my material goods and food with my younger cousins. Being the first niece in the family, I had to offer to others, without my will, much more often than I would have liked to. I was often left without the things that I enjoyed or with too little of them to satisfy me. That's how I ended up underappreciating myself and eating much less at our dinners, so that I could leave more to my parents. I thought about how they always worked to maintain our family and how they needed much more strength than me. The same thing occured with my younger cousins. If there were more of us at the table, I would take the wings, to leave the rest of the chicken to them.

          It was a small sacrifice for the things they gave me over the years.

          My father also taught me to save money and to avoid buying too many clothes, books or other things that in his eyes were useless. He gave me a small business from which I made enough money to be able to support myself and not rely on him anymore. It was not always prosperous, it mostly depended on the season, summer and autumn, when wine was made and people needed to preserve it over a longer period of time.

          Of course, other people appeared to whom I would have given my flesh in exchange, but they could only be counted on one hand: my mother, my girlfriend and my cousins from my mother's side. So no, I couldn't say that I would give my skin for my father, even though I knew deep down that he had done so much for me. The emotions that connected us had either rusted with age or dried up and petrified due to the many painful misunderstandings between us.

          " I'll find a way to pay you back. " Aoife sighed, wiping her eyes with the lining of her cloak, " You may think it's horrible that I have to give up the child, but I have no financial situation, nor a good mental state. I can't raise a poor, innocent soul to be happy. "

          " Don't think of me as an executioner. I am not putting a stigma on you and I don't see you differently. As an apprentice in medicine, I appreciate your rational side and I will try to help you as best as I can." I try to calm her down, while brushing her blonde strands that had stuck to her wet cheeks, " If it makes you feel any better, I would've made the same decision as you. You don't want to see your child barefoot like the ones in Thaibar. Let's just hope that he too will understand this when you both reach the skies. "

          From an early age I was taught, or whatever, I taught myself not to show my feelings: not to cry, because I would be weak and annoying, not to be happy, because in the next two seconds my father was going to crush my happiness, not to ask for bicycles, phones, laptops, because I would be constantly yelled at about the sacrifices he made for those money. All I had to do was wear the sickly smile, stuck with force in the middle of my face and a sterile dessert in my soul.

          However, my heart silently ached whenever I was hurt by those around me. Now, hearing such words even about an embryo that was going to be cut off from any chance of becoming a child, it shattered in my chest, throwing its sharp glass into my stomach.

          I place a hand on my own uterus, thinking about my words. I never wished for children. I wanted to live the life I didn't get until I was 23 years old, happy and without worries. I liked saving animals and taking care of them. I loved giving my hard earned money to adoption centers and volunteering there. I loved nature and theater, old music and opera. I could appreciate absolutely any kind of beautiful art and I could be cerebral at the same time. I always fought for what I loved, a living proof was my relationship from my old world.

          Would I be able to fight for a living for my child? Did I knew enough to teach him as well? Where would I get the money to dress him, to buy him something to eat? Could I offer him a roof to protect him from the cold and the rain?

         No. And I think that's what Aoife was thinking now.

          " Come on, get up, clean your face, we have to get to Niven and stay at the farm. " My words pass by her while I try to lift her from her mohammedan position.

          Sobs came uncontrollably from her already dry lips and her hands were shaking. She raises her eyes, now blue as the depths of the sea, and opens her mouth several times, trying to convey something to me.

          " Shh, shh, we'll be fine. I promise. "

          The girl places a hand on her sternum, burying her black fingernails in the white shirt she was wearing. I wrap my arms around her and rock her back and forth, like my mother used to do to calm me down.

          " After I kill my child, I'm going to sneak onto my uncle's ship and go to the continent. " Aoife explained, her voice barely rising through the broken sobs. I remain frozen, with my ears glued to her head. 

          I don't know what shocked me more: the words she chose, the frankness of it or the fact that she had a chance to leave.

          " Where do you want to go? "

          " Far from Prythian, on the northernmost continent, right near the shore where many immigrant ships anchor. There is a place where only women and a few children are allowed to stay. " She watched me with a spark of hope. " Not many people know about this place. It's a refuge for all species of creatures, protected by several layers of spells. Rosehall. "

          Rosehall. Rose-Hall. Another name I had heard of but being such an insignificant detail, I had forgotten about it.

          " You should run away with me. I can feel you don't belong here. "

          A second passes as I stare at her, with my mouth half opened, waiting for her to admit that she knows who I am and how I got here. I slowly roll my eyes around, waiting to see the farmers coming out with pitchforks and hammers from the trees. Not only was I an outsider, but I also had red hair. A flame for moths. And I also admitted that it was okay to want an abortion. Some people would torture you alive just for the last mentioned aspect.

          " What do you mean? " I ask cautiously, raising myself slightly in a more advantageous position for running away.

          " To be honest, I don't know what I wanted to say either. It's just that... " She looks at me carefully, with warmth, as if she knew me for a lifetime, as if she had seen in my soul something that no one has read before. " Don't mention this to anyone, but either I have a vision problem or I inherited it from my mother... I can see colors around people, my mother used to call it an 'aura' and yours is something I've never seen before : a dazzling gold, as if you were the daughter of the Sun incarnated in a mortal form. You are the first and only one so far. "

           I blinked a few times. A lot of compliments in one sentence. They were compliments, right? Golden aura, daughter of the Sun, the only one with such a color. Should I feel special? Because if the answer is yes, then I was definitely totally in the wrong direction. I wanted to make myself small and unimportant, as I was two seconds ago, before she told me what a strange color I have around me. 

          Thinking about it, Lydia did mention something today: enough gold to put in her pockets, tongues of Death. Was this all connected?

          I believed Aoife. I've always had an unbreakable faith in supernatural things, chakras, wicca stuff, crystals, tarot, aura, palm or coffee readings. How many times have I been with my mother to a weird old woman to make us reads in coffee beans. And above all of this: I fell through layers and layers of worlds, piled on top of each other. I could believe anything at this point.

          I was also very sensitive to the energy of the people around me. I could feel them from a kilometer away with what intentions they came towards me, who is bad or good, who is hidden or just introverted. I didn't take it as some superhuman quality, but only as a repercussion of the traumas at home when I learned to recognize the person by the steps and developed my peripheral view.

          " You'll say I'm crazy. " She stated, aware of every expression written on my face. Of course, my eyebrows had risen to the middle of my forehead, but I couldn't control myself. "My mother could see the Shadow People roaming around Thaibar late at night. You've probably heard that you shouldn't go near the forest unless you're in a very large group. It's good that Nimue and Niven's family warned you to cover your hair: these creatures have a weakness for stunning, red-haired women."

          " No, I'm sorry, I take your word for it. I've also seen enough in my life. Thank you for trusting me. " I smile at her and try to pick her up. " Before we leave, can you tell me if you see anything else? You know, in my aura? "

          Aoife seems caught on the wrong foot, but she quickly balances herself and frowns, as if she is trying to move an object with the power of her mind.

          " No. I've tried before, but I keep bumping into something when I want to dig deeper. It feels like you have a shield around you, sometimes they appear like sharp, shadow tongues. They intertwine in a thin thread  with your aura and they go somewhere, but the trail is cut, like it was severed. "

          I nod, half satisfied, half confused. I take her forearm in mine and gently lead her down the treaded path that led to Niven's family farm. The road through the woods was a very devious way to get to their house. It came through the back of the village and led to a large door, hollowed out in the surrounding walls.

          I glance at Aoife out of the corner of my eye, weighing on my tongue the question I've been dying to ask her ever since I heard that her uncle has a ship. This meant two things: if Aoife managed to filter herself in, either she could help me too or women were allowed on board as well. It was my ticket out of Thaibar.

          Of course, I had to think about several things if I wanted to run away with blondie. Well, if she ever let me come with her. Where I was going to go, money, how to reach the characters I knew from the book and how to persuade them into helping me. And all of this only if someone doesn't suddenly decide to kill me in all the other stages. I could get my hands on a map of Prythian. What I couldn't do was get to Velaris, where many of the Inner Circle spent their lives.

          Let's not talk about the fact that sexual assault here was something that occured often inside every court I had to cross to reach the night one. And not only that: it was the killing factor, as I said, thieves, creatures and faes and I had close to zero military training to deal with them. I didn't know how to handle a knife beyond chopping and cutting herbs and meat, I didn't know how to fight with someone. I only knew how to struggle and hope that I manage to do some damage. They had no guns here, just bows or swords or daggers. And on top of that: I had no powers to use.

          It was phenomenal how I had fallen into this universe, survived the crash and received no special power, no unique ability. Nothing. I was just a simple healer.

          The only thing I could use to my advantage, if I was going to travel, was to search through Nimue's manuals and get myself some poisons, sulfuric acid, something that could have resembled firecrackers or bombs, and all this had to be carried in a purse and in sufficiently resistant containers.

          Dear good. How complicated it was to get back to my own shitty life. If I must say one thing: I don't even know why I'm fighting so much to get back. No one was waiting for me except Icarus, and my life was as precarious as here. At least in this world I had something to eat.

          I raise a hand to massage my temples and sigh.

          I didn't know where to start the plan and where to end. My mind was broken. What I needed now was a second opinion: Niven. I was determined, today I have to talk to her, to convince her that I'm not crazy and that neither is she and that  I'm not from this world.

          " Something is bothering you. " Aoife observed, who now seemed a bit more relaxed, " Is it about our discussion earlier? "

          " Not at all. I promised that I would help you and I will do so. It's just..." I grimace, refusing to look at her, focusing my gaze on Niven's house from a few steps away. " If you were to leave, as you said, can I come with you? "

          Aoife measures me from head to toe. Someone calls us from afar.

          " I thought you were happy here. Why would you want to leave? "

          " You were right when you said I'm not from here. I have to find my way back home. " I confess as I stop on my tracks, my black cloak sweeping the ground around me. " I can't stay here forever, I need help and I think I can find it on the continent. "

          " You mean Prythian or the northern continent, right? " Aoife says cautiously, her blonde hair shining brightly in the light.

          I lightly nod my head and see her understanding passing in her eyes. "Something happened here... "

          " Girls, you're on time. Some of the workers from dad's church brought some bags with books they found there. " Niven speaks excitedly, moving her gaze from me to Aoife, who were staring at each other. " Um, since mom has work and Shum is away, I was thinking you could help me organize them and take them back when I'm ready. Did something happen? "

          " I think Cyan has something very important to tell us. "

          I finally look at the most important person in my life for the last few weeks. My savior, who was either going to think I was crazy or kick me out. Sweat was running down her temples and upper lip and the sleeves of her gray shirt were up to her elbows.

          " Niven, it's time to tell you the truth." 

          " You finally found the courage... I have been waiting for you to talk to me. "

P.S.: The chapter is not fully edited. Tomorrow part 2 is up. ❤️

[deeptrashwitch]

For Doc: 🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often? 💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any? 🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature?

🎶 Musical Notes: Jackson loves rock and country (he tried to sing once with an accent and failed miserably), so he has a whole playlist filled of them. And every time he has a free moment, he's with his earphones moving slightly his head along with the rythm.

💛 Yellow heart: He speaks arabic and chinese, maybe not as if he was a native, but is really good. Also he's thinking to learn italian and german, just not now.

🐉 Dragon: His favorite mythical creatures are werewolves! He's a bit of a geek for anything related to it, and knows a lot about history, myths and fiction.

[magnusth]

Being fully precise, "Sumarian" is a bit of a misnomer here - the specific myth is outlined in the Enuma Elis, and is babylonian, combining features from both sumerian and assyrian mythology - it presents the Babylonian god Marduk as superior compared to sumerian and assyrian gods, and combines mythic themes and structures from both, because the Babylonians both wanted to draw on both for legitimacy and appease subjects in both assyr and Sumer. It presents both a world arising from water and the importance of different kinds of waters and their interplay - a sumerian theme - with a strong dualism between earth and sky, which is very assyrian. This is relevant for two reasons: A, the hebrew text also bears some of these syncretic features and B, it's written after the Babylonian captivity. So it's not simply that they both arise from the same mythological soups, one text has features that we know to have come about originally for another text. That said, it's not as simple as erasing marduk and putting in YHWH - the hebrew text is clearly its own text. We can't know if it was a preexisting myth adapted to the rythm of the Enumah Elish, if the preexisting myth was replaced by a newer, fancier, more babylonian myth, or what's up. We can say that the text is clearly influenced by, and possibly based on, the Enuma Elis, but it's difficult to know what other influences might have been, how much it differs from whatever myth was prevalent before it was written down and codified, etc.

I saw someone calling the Bible "bad plagiarism" because the stories in the early parts of Genesis have things in common with other mythological stories.

That... that's not plagiarism, that's literally just how myths work?? These stories are passed on and get changed based on what feels true to people.

You don't have to like the politics of the writer or writers of Genesis, but that doesn't make the stories in it "plagiarism." That's not how this works.

[cleonique]

Ocean in a Shell✨🐚 for the show Mythical Rythms at WOWXWOW Gallery!

⭐️AVAILABLE⭐️

[voidarkana]

Listen, I know I said last time I wouldn't take long for my next post and I didn't deliver, so this time I'm posting 2 paradoxes in the same post to make it up to you, and hopefully I won't forget to post for another month next time

Anyways, I present to you Primordial Gene and Iron Idol, both paradoxes for some mythical pokemon because that's what I wanted the last 2 of the first batch to be. First of them is Primordial Gene, a true paradox since Deoxys isn't supposed to be a thing until more recent times.

Primordial Gene is inspired by various things, the main being the RNA World hypothesis, which states that RNA came before DNA and that was one of the things that eventually led up to the origin of life.

Another inspiration for it is the Xenomorph, yall already probably know what a Xenomorph is so I'm not gonna go into detail, but also it's based on the Ancient Astronaut conspiracy theories, saying that aliens came to Earth in ye good ol' times when humanity was young or something. Anyways, moving on with Iron Idol, the Future Paradox of Meloetta

As you can probably tell, Iron Idol is pretty much based on our queen and savior Hatsune Miku, but it's also based on other concepts such as VTubers, modern idols and electronic stuff that aid them, like microphones and speakers.

Iron Idol is also kinda based on rythm games, as the dots on its "hair" move in a similar way to games like Guitar Hero or the one with the piano tiles on mobile. And as always, here are the cries for both of them

Anyways, that's it from me for now, hopefully I don't take like an entire month to post again, stay safe everyone ✌

[lrrecords-blog]

Terrorzone - Originators of the " Beatdown style" of New York Hardcore music, along with brother band Bulldoze, emerged as two of the most brutal hardcore bands to come out of the second wave of N.Y. Hardcore, along with the likes of "Agnostic Front", Biohazard, Murphy's Law, Madball, Merauder , Sheer Terror, and many more, exploded onto the club and Ballroom underground circuit, creating legendary status with a Street Gang approach mixed with fast hardcore punk beats and slow grinding ominous breakdowns, forged a tough guy image for the bands fans to identify with as part of its genre. Mosh pits and Pile-on's ensuing at every show, that even the biggest followers cautiously deciding to be part of the carnage of "The Pit", Aggression and Physical confrontation being the attraction for those that dare dance. Kev-one, the lead singer of both Terrorzone and Bulldoze, was on a spiritual quest during the recording and the live performances during this time, always searching for a resolution to his spiritual inquisition. The band had only a short period of time to record this 5 cut E.P. before Kev-One had to a bid of time for an altercation that ended in Kev-One serving 2 and a half years in a N.Y. state prison, only to be released to continue his song writing, performing and recording career, this project infusing Krishna beliefs and imagery into the jaw breaking sonic Metal/ Hardcore sound that set the standard for this sub-genre. Playing on this groundbreaking album, original band member, legendary Metal/ Hardcore/ Punk Rock drummer, Paul Zlotucha, laying down the thunder who's heavy pounding drum technique solidified Terrorzone's iconic violent sounding, " Take it out in the Pit" aggressive approach to the music to entice even the youngest fan, willing to participate in getting out their aggressions through the bone crushing sounds that the band forged. Inner band turmoil, eventually disbanding the group only added to the groups mythical, mysterious demise. Original member, guitarist Jerry G. Oxford, bassist John Dornbush and Fat Pat on rythm guitar, completed the bands line up. Kev-one leaving his legacy through his music will always be remembered as a front runner to this unique style of Hardcore. Terrorzone, now resides in New York Hardcore infamy..... R.I.P. Kev-One, and may legions of Fans of both bands continue to represent their love of the " Beatdown" style King and his music. A one-of-a-kind pioneer, Kev-One Cea, shall be missed, we shall meet again in Hardcore Heaven. ........ Hardcore Still Lives. creditsreleases October 31, 2022 Terror Zone: BHAKTA JON - BASS JERRY - GUITAR PAUL Z. - DRUMS PHAT PAT - GUITAR KEVONE BULLDOZE - VOCALS Recorded & Engineered By: GINO PORFIDO AT SMILIN PIG PRODUCTIONS Produced By: K. CEA Cover Art By: M. CALIMBUS

[ratsoh-writes]

Masterlist 7

General

crush declares their undying love in a pikachu costume (ut us sf fsg fsr)

pen pals (ut us uf ht)

DDR (all)

bite me like a vampire

they drank from the paint cup

crush has pneumonia (ut uf us hs)

SO is popular (dt ot us ht)

SO has cold hands (undyne coffee jupiter pop basil oak)

SO burnt dinner

Illustrating SOs stories (coffee mal noir)

love languages (ms hf hs)

touch shy SO (ms hf hs)

skele meets SOs twin 

ice skating SO (sans rythm sugar cash)

SO gets dolled up

random 1

kid dresses up as skeledad

arcade date (coffee G pop cash)

attracting mythical creatures (mutt oak + virgin 5)

dealbreakers

stranger tries to kidnap their kid

playdate!

Popping bones (all?)

Theme songs

WAP (undyne ul ft)

Stranger is flirting with SO (fsr fsg gt hs)

Stranger is flirting again (hf ft ms)

Plane crash (ut us ul ht mt)

They’re fighting and skele say to get on thier knees (sans lord mal boss) 

picky eater SO (horrors)

random 2

SO was in the Olympics and is on TV

potty training toddler power moves (rust honey sugar peaches wine cash papyrus edge green)

making a quilt (willow sugar pop rust)

want some arthritis? 

what they want in a SO+ deal breakers (ot ul mf mt fsr hf hs)

soft random (fells)

the worst fight the brothers ever had

Papyri’s SO saves sans and looses memories 

DnD hcs (ut us uf ht)

a spider bursts into hundreds of little spiders (all)

SO puts mustard on their chips

best and worst qualities (dt ot ft)

SO with photographic memory (pop pluto honey butch)

daily lives info (uf ht fsr)

SO steals thier lollipop

half cat SO (ut us sf ht dt)

child is crying while wearing clown makeup

crush has no sense of taste (cooking bros)

brother is helping SO rehearse a play

long time crush confesses

SO picks up strays (mutt willow honey boss)

first meetings

teen weaponizes poision ivy (ut us uf ft oak G)

friend is feeling bad and wants to come over (all)

love languages (ul fsr fsg dt ot)

fake dating but they accidentally fell in love

crush says something super cute then falls asleep

kid stands up to bullies

kid tried to steal a dog

favorite chocolate (all)

relationships: who likes/dislikes who (all)

SO texts their dad they love them

SO has bad uterus pains and needs the hospital (ut us uf G rust)

SO’s older brother doesn't like skelly but respects them

cursed ask 2, SO can morph into skelly

friend feels like they aren't good enough for school (all)

SO loves sports (all)

SO used to be bullied

SO is worried about outliving husband (honey sugar rust peaches)

SO sucks at sleeping (uf ul fsg)

SO and shallow breathing

rapid kisses attack!

SO just really loves reading (pluto noir lord mutt green snipe)

dark humor (all)

kid adopts the worst dog ever 

a bit of backstory (uf sf fsr fsg)

Yandere

yandere SO is way too into this (all)

super tough SO (yandere all)

honey with lazy SO

Yandere SO threatens skele

honey’s SO tries to leave him

brother finds yandere brother’s victim

Interactions

Old lady squad (lord mal wine)

Farmtale 

what they look for in a SO

the animals got out

The Mafia

they go bitty (all)

roles and backstory (all)

Boss and snipe have a sleep conversation

SOs little sister loves him (all)

SO gets hair cut by rival gang (boss)

SO does fusion cosplay (all)

SO makes realistic masks (all)

SO calls the brother bog bro (all)

SO has a police officer sibling (all)

virtues and vices (all)

Swapfell

mal’s friends

Horrortale

telling a friend about their past

aliza and frisk

Underfell

edge with a brave SO

red and soulmate become friends with benifits

Fellswap Gold

dog monster SO

Undertale

undyne and edgy but soft SO

[loveinstreams]

Can you share with us incultes some of that trad/folk Québec music knowledge

this is the best anon i have ever recieved!!! i could write a whole essay (in fact many) but ill try to make it short laksdlksdfh 

So basically my father is a trad french-canadian step-dancer from Montreal and i’ve grown up in the trad/folk music community. I am myself a singer in that style and my brother is a fiddler. The traditionnal music here takes its roots in both british-celtic and french trad cultures and is influenced by (and as influenced) american, canadian and metis cultures. Oral traditions are basically just a big ol’ melting pot where each individual culture puts its own spin on it. For an untrained ear an irish jig can sound the same as a québec one, but for us there is a clear difference: its not the same color, the same way of playing, the sames steps, even if the ressemblance is evident. Same thing goes for songs: the lyrics/stories might be the same than in France but the melody/slang varies. My father dances a type of steps called “british clogging” because a guy made him clogs once and it turns out this dance as almost dissapeared from England. One time an Italian guy played a tune from his country that is really well known here but under another name, another rythm. Each region of a same country has its own way of doing it: people dont jig the same in Cape-Breton than in Manitoba, for exemple.

The beauty of oral trad/folk cultures is that everything is linked. Stories and melodies played here can be found in Germany or even Sweden. It travelled trough space and time, from mouth to mouth, ear to ear. It traces not only the history of your people but History itself. The never ending exchanges between humans, since the dawn of time. It tells you both the mythical adventures and the everyday struggles and ugliness of life. It shows you that there is no such thing as a “pure untouched culture” and every neo-fascist scumbags who try to say otherwise dont know a single thing about these cultures. At the root of our “traditional arts” is the simple and yet incredibly rich poetry of the people. Under its magic, a lady turns into a dove to escape her molester, the devil is beaten up by a local farmer, flowers can grow on the grave of the innocent and the drunk man makes a ballad out of his misery, an ode to life.

[gametriprant]

hi: cherry, blackberry, tangelo and cranberry

Moltes gracies!

cherry: can you play any musical instruments or can you sing?

Nope to both....I know I have rythm (or so people tell me), and I’ve spontaneously (re: utterly drunk ) drummed very simple beats a couple of times in a bar and people actually believed I knew what I was doing, but I never learned to use an instrument properly.....and singing I’m terrible (which makes Rock Band parties a lot of fun :D ) . 

blackberry: is your life an action film, a comedy, a romantic comedy, or drama?

Lately it seems like a bizarre and complicated soap opera in which I’m a supporting character^^’

 tangelo: if you could be any mythical creature, which would you be?

In my current mood, I’d be happy to be a White Court Vampire from The Dresden Files. 

cranberry: favorite time of the day; morning, afternoon, dusk, or night?

Night, definitely night.

[gaad]

"When contemplating the Notre-Dame cathedral, one had better consider how it compares with other cathedrals and sacral buildings rather than begin by visualizing it as an accretion of mineral solids."[1] One also rarely judges the construction and constitution of it but rather contemplate it, astonished, without grasping the motive, as one could freeze in front of a monster. This accretion of mineral solids who stands in front of us, and those disseminated in Paris, are our rivals today. And we shall overpass them by our greatest attention. By listening to you, you will listen to us. It is time for a new humanism. Time to set a place, a forum able to stage the powers of today. Time to call up the ancient, dispose them, squeez them, twist them to reassess today's world. We have lost the meaning of natural proportions, let us look at godly excess. Monotheic religion castrated our apprehension of the world, seeing things either good or bad. Even the Opera Garnier which claims to be an ecclectic, never-ending spectacle appears flat in its complicated oppulence. Sophisticated complexity is what we are longing to. The polytheic family encompasses the world and beyond, spinning around our prosaic flatland. A figure founded on intricated concepts is a powerfull constellation naviguating above polysemic ambiguities. As the grand daughter of the Philantropist eponym Elisabeth Murdoch, our Elisabeth Murdoch feels the will to engage her vision in the public debat. Since her childhood she was confronted to a rigourous, competitive and mostly manly world. Inspired by her grandmother she cultivated a spiritual friendship with greek feminin characters. Grew up with them. Now she wants to stage them. But how do they want to talk ? "Where should one search, in the city, for that lost unity of glance and speech? In what space can one again listen to himself? Can the theater, which unites spectacle and discourse, not take up where the unanimous assembly left off? "[2] As we stand here, in a place of great affluence and exposure, with the reminiscence of a residential block behind us, Notre Dame before and the Seine and green spots inbetween, I cannot help myself but to think of "the Paintings (in the ancient theatres that) represented three sorts of Buildings, which made three sorts of Scenes, The Tragick by Magnificent Pallaces, the Comick by Private Houses, the Satyrical by Fields and Groves."[3] This is the place. "(...)(A)dvertising, news, publicity, periodical literature." This is Elisabeth's inherited background. "(...) They work to a single end: to give the stamp of authenticity and value to the style of life that emanates from the metropolis(...) , (to) create a picture of a unified, homogeneous, completely standardized population (...)." Take Paris for example: "(...) the Champs Elysées, bec(a)me the goals of vulgar ambition (and a)dvertisement bec(a)me the “spiritual power” of this new regime."[4] Elisabeth has grown bored of this univocal apprehension and wants us now to refute that. "This is the moment when the masterpieces of ancient sculpture are about to appear in all their glory in front of the eyes of France (...)  (they) have chosen to live amongst the French, and are to be adored in their living images. Ah! Who would be able to step into the temple of these divinities without saying to himself: these masterpieces, these gods had ceased to be gods for us; the cult of Antiquity had been forgotten; who would believe it?(...); it is Vien, it is David, who then made themselves into their apostles and ministers; it is through them that this great revolution, which has at least given us the hope of creating gods ourselves, has taken place in the arts."[5] It appears also appropriate for us, architects, to call up and refer to past apostles of our art. Vitruve and Alberti. The one who in Momus places "the extended climax (...) in an urban theater where the gods act as their own effigies(, the one who) repeatedly uses the word persona (“mask” or “personality'') to underline the false, theatrical behavior of his characters."[6] Alberti will embody our urban theatre, Elisabeth's friends, our Personas. The story will therefore intentionally follow the unfaithfull path. And those masks will "assure(...) the erection, the construction of the (new) face (of Elisabeth), the fascialization of the head and the body: the mask(s) (are) now the face itself, the abstraction or operation of the face. The inhumanity of the face."[7] So be it. Let them be the masked actresses of a twisted tragedy, trapped in their performance, speculating above our heads, fertilizing our ground. A spectacle of a new kind. Let them play, individually, together, contradict each other, themselves. Let them work as technologies embedded in concepts and rituals. As a constellation, they are powerfull. As a system, they can deal with the plenty, transform it. As an unfaithfull story, it accesses the realm of discussion. Finally as statuses, they need a sophisticated territory from which to operate, a palace. Three Faces where "(i)t is not the individuality of (each) face that counts but the efficacy of the ciphering it makes possible (...)."[8]

The face is a surface, (...) the face is a map." [9]

We have announced a number of figures and our intention to spatialize them. "For each genre, now, the problem will be to decide whether its audience is such as to demand utility or delight or both, and what brand of either of these will be acceptable to it."[10] Time to summon Alberti and Vitruve. But keep in mind : "The mathematics that is needed here is of a new brand."[11] According to the treatises of our masters, the theatre is a kind of mythical module present in most classical entertainement building. Take the theatre, elongate the arms along parallel lines and you will have a circus, or duplicate it, set them in a circle and you will end with an amphitheatre. As such, they have most of their elements in common. Or as Alberti likes to say "if (he is) not mistaken, (they) are totally composed of either stairways or, more especially, windows and doors."[12] Elizabeth's palace will merge the three typologies and be simultaneously a theater, a circus and a amphitheater, composed of stairways, windows and doors, as the temple of our time, able to adapt to change, suitable to glorify the unknown. A place which could embody the spectacle. The Palace of Spectacle. Three personas. Pandora, Circe, Metis. Not the ones we usually know. Their Alter Ego. The ones who stand up, do not apologize. These are Elisabeth's Friends. These are the masters of the area, the rulers of the "compartition (which) divides up the whole building into the parts by which it is articulated."[13] "The idea of a constitution, therefore, involves not only the idea of hierarchy of authority or power but also that of a hierarchy of rules or laws, where those possessing a higher degree of generality and proceeding from a superior authority control the contents of the more specific laws that are passed by a delegated authority."[14]   Approching the building you would have already noticed on the façade the different motivations at stake in the building. Flavoured rythms, proportions and nodes are just the superficial expression of the inner game. Otherwise the colonnade and "the spaces between the columns (which) should certainly be considered among the most important of openings"[15] bind, over three tiers, "as far as possible, (the whole in an) integral and unified structure"[16] reflecting the building's main function as a theatre. By its semicircular form, it is accessible from three sides through "royal doors"[17]. Each persona takes its origin behind the colonnade, in a chamber equal to one third of the lineament, expands from there through the whole building, converging at the center of the stage and intersecting themselves beneath it. There, at the very heart of the theater should lie Elisabeth's private hotel. But we will eventually get there, let us first retrace our steps a bit and proceed to the description of the private quarters of our personas. Pandora has herited a box, a jar which contains unspeakable truth, she knows now how to sort things, pick up elements, unleash others. She actually lives outside, among the men. As such her chamber is characterized by openness. There are two types of skin, the inner and the outer."[18] If the latter is kind of strict or well defined, her inside space is far more curvy and mellow, embracing the visitor. Everything there reminds of the sensual, material, confortable and overwhelming nature of its resident. Highly decorated, floor, wall and ceiling are a canvas where she do not mind showing off all her pomp and circumstance. It is a showcase she presents you. Treasures, gifts, jewels, secrets, objects of all kinds. honest and luxuous. Circe masters metamorphosis by exploring with drugs and potions, she learned to articulate her recipes and to play with the right parameters. She erected her own palace inside the building, living there isolated, luring you to her. In "(t)he zone stretching between (the structure) referred to appropriately as "paneling" (and consisting of) (...) the skin and the infill."[19], she created an ambiguous space which folds and unfolds in every part. Simultaneously inside and outside, most of all inbetween. She embodies bipolarity, dualism. Before you even notice, you are at her mercy, enchanted, trapped, swinging between fear and desire. and Metis, renowned for her cunning and wiseness, makes problems no longer valid. She is from another world, inhabits the space, fills it. She is the omniscient negative space. Floor, wall, ceiling are defined and modelled on the volume they content. Her. If she is the flesh, "anything else (...) come under the description of bones. Also included in the bones are the coverings to the openings, that is, the beams, whether straight or arched: for (we) call an arch nothing but a curved beam, and what is a beam but a column laid crossways?"[20] Columns pointing in all directions. As such, the room is acetic and performative, tricky and threatening. Overwhelming in its kind. Material and immaterial.

Pandora, Circe and Metis "(...) (a)re living geometry, lines and curves of color, entwined into a coalescing whole yet maintaining distinct identities."[21] "(V)aulted passageways, all similar and modest in size, (..:) some leading into the central area and some ascending to the uppermost steps"[22] act as neutral territory to connect every parts of the building including Elisabeth's Appartment, the fourth chamber. In this room, the three personas intersect to form the most sophisticated and suitable dwelling for our host. Above unfolds the actual theater where our personas play yet another kind of game, much more specific. The stage belongs to Pandora, the ceiling and backwall all glassed to Circe and the portico to Metis which "work prevents sound from escaping, and compresses and fortifies it (...).[23] Inbetween, the steps, the common ground, the binding element, as the motive of the theatre, "the place from which shows are seen", as an accretion of mineral solids. Finally if you dare yourself till the top of the steps and through the portico, you will reach the terrasse slightly above the surrounding parisian roofs and from there, be able to listen to the city.

[1] D. Corfield, Towards a Philosophy of Real Mathematics [2] Derrida, Of Grammatology [3] Perrault, An Abridgment of the Architecture of Vitruvius [4] Mumford, The Culture of Cities [5] Harrison Wood Gaiger, Art in Theory 1648 1815 [6] Alberti, Momus (Preface) [7]-[9] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [10] Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance 1 [11] Ayache, The Blank Swan [12]-[13] Alberti, On the Art of Building in ten Books [14] Hayek, The Constitution of Liberty [15]-[20] Alberti, On the Art of Building in ten Books [21] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [22]-[23] Alberti, On the Art of Building in ten Books

[youngandhungryent]

T.I. Shares His “Mt. Rushmore” Of Atlanta Hip-Hop Stars

Source: Radio One / Radio One Digital

T.I. certainly knows a thing or two about the art of rapping and no doubt has studied closely the artists of his hometown of Atlanta. In a new Radio One Originals piece posted exclusively onto HotSpotATL, Tip shares who his Mt. Rushmore of Atlanta Hip-Hop is, his upcoming Netflix series Rythm + Flow, and more.

Tip opened up the chat to discuss what to expect with Rhythm + Flow, stating that he, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper kept their ears to the street in order to assemble the best talent possible for the competition.

When pressed on who the best rappers out of Atlanta that would be atop this mythical monument, Tip named himself, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Jeezy, Future, 2 Chainz, Gucci Mane, and Young Thug. Tip was clear to open up his comments to say that his list is personal to his tastes and experiences and shouldn’t be taken as law.

Check out the interview below.

—

Photo: Radio One Digital

source https://hiphopwired.com/824023/t-i-mt-rushmore-atlanta-hip-hop-stars/

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/33iRIZ2 via Young And Hungry Ent.

source https://youngandhungryent.blogspot.com/2019/10/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta.html

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/33jKrbv via Young And Hungry Ent.

source https://youngandhungryent.blogspot.com/2019/10/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta_10.html

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/31Z3pUy via Young And Hungry Ent. source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/yahblogger/~3/xls4WJ5GIpE/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta_55.html

[gaad]

"When contemplating the Notre-Dame cathedral, one had better consider how its compares with other cathedrals and sacral buildings rather than begin by visualizing it as an accretion of mineral solids."(1) One also rarely judges the construction and constitution of it but rather contemplate it, astonished, without grasping the motive, as one could freeze in front of a monster. This accretion of mineral solids who stands in front of us, and those disseminated in Paris, are our rivals today. And we shall overpass them by our overwhelming greatest attention. By listening to you, you will listen to us. It is time for a new humanism. Time to set a place, a forum able to stage the powers of today. Time to call up the ancient, dispose them, squeez them, twist them to reassess todays world. We have lost the meaning of natural proportions, let us look at godly excess. Monotheic religion castrated our apprehension of the world, seeing things either good or bad. Even the Opera Garnier which claims to be an ecclectic, never-ending spectacle appears flat in its complicated oppulence. Sophisticated complexity is what we are longing to. The polytheic family encompasses the world and beyond, spinning around our prosaic flatland. A figure founded on intricated concepts is a powerfull constellation naviguating above polysemic ambiguities.  As the grand daughter of the Philantropist eponym Elisabeth Murdoch, Elisabeth Murdoch feels the will to engage her vision in the public debat. Since her childhood she was confronted to a rigourous, competitive, mostly manly world. Inspired by her grandmother she cultivated a spiritual friendship with greek feminin characters. Grew up with them. Now her interest does not lie in presenting her various personal relations with them but to stage them. (...)(A)dvertising, news, publicity, periodical literature. This is Elisabeth's inherited background. (...) They work to a single end: to give the stamp of authenticity and value to the style of life that emanates from the metropolis.(...) (T)hey create a picture of a unified, homogeneous, completely standardized population that bears, in fact, no relation to the actual regional sub stratum—although in the course of time it partly succeeds in producing the thing it has imagined. Take Paris for example: (...) the Champs Elysées, become the goals of vulgar ambition (and a)dvertisement becomes the “spiritual power” of this new regime.(2) Now we shall refute that. "This is the moment when the masterpieces of ancient sculpture are about to appear in all their glory in front of the eyes of France (...)  (they) have chosen to live amongst the French, and are to be adored in their living images. Ah! Who would be able to step into the temple of these divinities without saying to himself: these masterpieces, these gods had ceased to be gods for us; the cult of Antiquity had been forgotten; who would believe it?(...); it is Vien, it is David, who then made themselves into their apostles and ministers; it is through them that this great revolution, which has at least given us the hope of creating gods ourselves, has taken place in the arts."(3) So it appears appropriate also for us, architects, to call up and refer to past apostles of our art. Vitruve, Alberti, the one who in Momus places "the extended climax (...) in an urban theater where the gods act as their own effigies(, the one who) repeatedly uses the word persona (“mask” or “personality'') to underline the false, theatrical behavior of his characters."(4) Alberti will embody our urban theatre, Elisabeth's friends, our Personas. The story will therefore intentionally follow the unfaithfull path. And those masks will "assure(...) the erection, the construction of the (new) face (of Elisabeth), the fascialization of the head and the body: the mask(s) (are) now the face itself, the abstraction or operation of the face. The inhumanity of the face."(5) So be it. Let them be the masked actors of a twisted tragedy, trapped in their performance, speculating above our heads, fertilizing our ground. A spectacle of a new kind. Let them play, individually, together, contradict each other, themselves. Let them work as technologies, systems, embedded in concepts and rituals.

Three personas. Pandora, Circe, Metis. Not the ones we usually know. Their Alter Ego. The ones who stand up,do not apologize. This are Elisabeth's Friends. Pandora has herited a box, a jarre which contains unspeakable truth (she knows now how to sort things, pick up elements, unleash others). Circe masters metamorphosis by exploring with drugs and potions (she learned to articulate her recipes and to play with the right parameters) and Metis is renowned for his wiseness and cunning, making problems no longer valid. As a constellation, they are powerfull. As a unity, they can deal with the plenty, transform it. As an unfaithfull story, it accesses the realm of discussion. As statuses, they need a sophisticated territory from which to operate, a palace. Three Faces where "(i)t is not the individuality of (each) face that counts but the efficacy of the ciphering it makes possible, and in what cases it makes it possible.(...) The face is a surface, (...) the face is a map." (5)

"For each genre, now, the problem will be to decide whether its audience is such as to demand utility or delight or both, and what brand of either of these will be acceptable to it."(6)  Time to summon Alberti and Vitruve. But keep in mind : "The mathematics that is needed here is of a new brand."(7)  Their concept and ideas of proportions being a fertile ground from which we should elevate. If we follow them, we can see in the theatre typology a kind of mythical module. Take the theatre, elongate the arms along parallel lines and you have a circus, or duplicate it, set them in a circle and you have the amphitheatre. As such, they have most of their elements in common. Or as Alberti likes to say: "if I am not mistaken, (they) are totally composed of either stairways or, more especially, windows and doors."(8) Of course not. But we got the idea. Therefore Elizabeth's palace will be a theater, a circus and a amphitheater, simultaneously, as the temple of our time, able to adapt to change, suitable to glorify the unknown, a place which could embody the spectacle. The Palace of Spectacle. Our focus will lay on the didactic articulation of the elements in Alberti's treatise through the prisma of the theatre and how it can possibly be translated into contemporary logic. Keeping in mind that if "the whole matter of building is composed of lineaments and structure."(8) Alberti would be the first and our Personas the latter. So after we have chosen the locality and the area ,we should proceed to the "compartition (which) divides up the whole building into the parts by which it is articulated."(8) In our case: our three figures, one third for each, with their own structured language, tied together in a balancing whole "(j)ust as in music, where deep voices answer high ones, and intermediate ones are pitched between them, so they ring out in harmony." "We need to consider, therefore, which are the primary parts of the structure, their order, and the lines of which they are composed."(8) For this we should follow the generic category of Alberti which are walls, openings and roofs. The first will mostly be composed of "a row of columns (which) is nothing other than a wall that has been pierced in several places (...). For the second "The spaces between the columns should certainly be considered among the most important of openings"(8) encompassing doors and windows, maybe also inbetween categories. The third one, the roof, is in the case of the theatre a temporary element, which should provide the open area shelter from sun and rain. We can already foreshadow how a glass ceiling today could provide openness and protection. As we go further in Alberti's treatise, the categories receive subcategories and links between them are beginning to appear. "anything else that acts as a column and supports the trusses and roof arches (...) come under the description of bones. Also included in the bones are the coverings to the openings, that is, the beams, whether straight or arched: for I call an arch nothing but a curved beam, and what is a beam but a column laid crossways?"(8) Here we note the importance of the column (also in horizontal dimension). "The zone stretching between these primary parts is referred to appropriately as "paneling" (consisting) of two components, which (..) are common to the whole wall: the skin and the infill. There are two types of skin, the inner and the outer."(8)  Everything becomes clear. With this hierachy we almost feel the hardness of some elements, the softness of others and the possibilty to rreinterpret the layering and opacity of them. Now the connecting elements: the cornice which "binds the wall tightly together(, ...) binds the work (...) and in addition acts as a roof to the wall below,"(8) the roof which has almost the same categories and hierachies as the wall: "(...) the bones, muscles, infill paneling, skin, and crust" and "the (...) portico (which) facade and colonnade (...) do not receive light from outside (...) but face (...) toward the central area of the theater (preventing) sound from escaping."(8) Last but not least, the steps as the motive of the building. They shall throne on the structure for what they are, accretions of mineral solids. Otherwise, the material used will be mostly steel as we find it most suitable to depict the constituion of the building. Pandora, Circe and Metis "(...) (a)re living geometry, lines and curves of color, entwined into a coalescing whole yet maintaining distinct identities."(9) They shall express themselves following the articulation in each elements with different rythms, forms, proportions and nods.

1) D. Corfield, Towards a Philosophy of Real Mathematics 2) Mumford, The Culture of Cities 3) Harrison Wood Gaiger, Art in Theory 1648 1815 4) Alberti, Momus (Preface) 5) Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus 6) Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance 1 7) Ayache, The Blank Swan 8) Alberti, On the Art of Building in ten Books 9) Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

[youngandhungryent]

T.I. Shares His “Mt. Rushmore” Of Atlanta Hip-Hop Stars

Source: Radio One / Radio One Digital

T.I. certainly knows a thing or two about the art of rapping and no doubt has studied closely the artists of his hometown of Atlanta. In a new Radio One Originals piece posted exclusively onto HotSpotATL, Tip shares who his Mt. Rushmore of Atlanta Hip-Hop is, his upcoming Netflix series Rythm + Flow, and more.

Tip opened up the chat to discuss what to expect with Rhythm + Flow, stating that he, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper kept their ears to the street in order to assemble the best talent possible for the competition.

When pressed on who the best rappers out of Atlanta that would be atop this mythical monument, Tip named himself, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Jeezy, Future, 2 Chainz, Gucci Mane, and Young Thug. Tip was clear to open up his comments to say that his list is personal to his tastes and experiences and shouldn’t be taken as law.

Check out the interview below.

—

Photo: Radio One Digital

source https://hiphopwired.com/824023/t-i-mt-rushmore-atlanta-hip-hop-stars/

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/33iRIZ2 via Young And Hungry Ent.

source https://youngandhungryent.blogspot.com/2019/10/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta.html

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/33jKrbv via Young And Hungry Ent. source https://youngandhungryent.blogspot.com/2019/10/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta_10.html

[youngandhungryent]

T.I. Shares His “Mt. Rushmore” Of Atlanta Hip-Hop Stars

Source: Radio One / Radio One Digital

T.I. certainly knows a thing or two about the art of rapping and no doubt has studied closely the artists of his hometown of Atlanta. In a new Radio One Originals piece posted exclusively onto HotSpotATL, Tip shares who his Mt. Rushmore of Atlanta Hip-Hop is, his upcoming Netflix series Rythm + Flow, and more.

Tip opened up the chat to discuss what to expect with Rhythm + Flow, stating that he, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper kept their ears to the street in order to assemble the best talent possible for the competition.

When pressed on who the best rappers out of Atlanta that would be atop this mythical monument, Tip named himself, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Jeezy, Future, 2 Chainz, Gucci Mane, and Young Thug. Tip was clear to open up his comments to say that his list is personal to his tastes and experiences and shouldn’t be taken as law.

Check out the interview below.

—

Photo: Radio One Digital

source https://hiphopwired.com/824023/t-i-mt-rushmore-atlanta-hip-hop-stars/

from Young And Hungry Entertainment https://ift.tt/33iRIZ2 via Young And Hungry Ent. source https://youngandhungryent.blogspot.com/2019/10/ti-shares-his-mt-rushmore-of-atlanta.html

[youngandhungryent]

T.I. Shares His “Mt. Rushmore” Of Atlanta Hip-Hop Stars

Source: Radio One / Radio One Digital

T.I. certainly knows a thing or two about the art of rapping and no doubt has studied closely the artists of his hometown of Atlanta. In a new Radio One Originals piece posted exclusively onto HotSpotATL, Tip shares who his Mt. Rushmore of Atlanta Hip-Hop is, his upcoming Netflix series Rythm + Flow, and more.

Tip opened up the chat to discuss what to expect with Rhythm + Flow, stating that he, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper kept their ears to the street in order to assemble the best talent possible for the competition.

When pressed on who the best rappers out of Atlanta that would be atop this mythical monument, Tip named himself, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Jeezy, Future, 2 Chainz, Gucci Mane, and Young Thug. Tip was clear to open up his comments to say that his list is personal to his tastes and experiences and shouldn’t be taken as law.

Check out the interview below.

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Photo: Radio One Digital

source https://hiphopwired.com/824023/t-i-mt-rushmore-atlanta-hip-hop-stars/