#the thoughts while composing

[viaphni]

the little doodles on my music notes go crazy

[baeshijima]

hmmm.... thoughts about composer!reader, whose pieces are always created for and featured in mr reca's films/projects.

people aren't sure when it first started, but in the release of one of his prior films was an ost. of course, it's not unusual to have music in such projects, but that one had felt... different, somehow — in the way its composition struck the chords of many, with billions across the cosmos instantly scouring for who made that piece.

it, of course, didn't take all that long when your name was featured in the credits. however there was barely any information aside from your name and credentials. (seriously, how could there not even be a single photo?!) no one knew what you looked like for quite a long time, only ever recognising your name and your music; even despite the numerous interviews, mr reca had never disclosed anything about you other than your talents. it came to a point where everyone believed they would never see your appearance.

well, until all hell broke loose during the annual intergalactic film awards, that is.

everyone already knew the drill — if mr reca had directed a film that year, it would undoubtedly win the adapted/original screenplay, cinematography, directing, production design, sound, music (original score and song), and film of the year awards, which also led to you winning both the music awards. usually, the composers would be the ones to collect said awards. however, the masses have become used to mr reca being the one to collect them on your behalf with thank you's also on your behalf.

that's how it's been ever since you made your mark in the universe, and so it really is understandable the uproar created by those in and out of attendance when the one who went collect the two awards wasn't the esteemed director, but a completely unfamiliar person; you.

you are definitely younger than they originally thought, having believed it must have been someone of a senior status of sorts to have consistently created such masterpieces. all eyes are trained on you as you step on stage and into the limelight for the first time, the light enhancing your features and formal attire when approaching the mic with a small flashcard in hand. your mouth opens, and the audience leans in with baited breaths as they await your first words.

...only for nothing to come out.

everyone watches a little dumbfounded as you try to talk once more but, aside from gaping like a fish, your efforts remain futile. it doesn't take long for you to clamp your mouth and eyes shut, even raising the awards in front of you in an attempt to shield your face from the crowd.

you... you were just really shy. or maybe a little...socially awkward, perhaps...? if this was the reason you never showed yourself, then they're beginning to understand why...

it passes in a blur — quite literally in that of brown. one moment you are alone on the stage, the next you have the presence of the renown director standing slightly in front of you, as though acting as a shield from the many prying eyes.

"apologies," he begins, his usual smile on display, "but my dearest composer has been suffering with a sore throat these past few days. on their behalf, we thank you all kindly for your support in our work."

and then he swiftly leaves with you tucked under and shielded by his coat, murmuring unreadable words to you as you both disappear backstage and leave everyone in a state of frenzy; to both those inside the ceremonial hall, and to those watching live elsewhere.

(it was only discovered after the awards ceremony concluded what the director had said to you, with the uploader being dubbed as a holy saint for their contributions to society. while the visual aspects of the video itself were not the clearest, barely anyone had it within themselves to complain when the audio was clear as crystal:

"and here i thought you were going to be brave and face your stage fright after all that pep-talk you gave yourself on the way here."

"i'm sorry... i really thought i could do it this time..."

"now, now, i'm merely teasing. you made a big step just making an appearance here today. i know how much courage this took for you, and i'm proud of you for facing it."

"really...?"

"but of course. i'm always proud of you, [name]. there is not a moment where i haven't been.")

(it also was not long until the cosmos was taken by storm when various pictures snapped during the awards ceremony spread. the millions of candids featuring you were one of the most liked and shared, with the top spot joined by the sequence of pictures taken of mr reca's soft expression when watching you onstage, into his realisation of your predicament, into him running onstage and shielding you from the cameras when making your way backstage.)

(...the drastic influx of fan accounts dedicated to both you alone and to you and reca should really be a studied phenomenon.)

[musturd-artposts]

*you look through the glass.

[dyketennant]

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:

tumblr user dyketennant has seen (the cinema release of) dt macbeth

[cultoficarus]

bro you made me ship adoleo so hard </33 /silly

(theyre so cute tho like what?? i fr need to read the story,,) (ajsndjsh)

hhhhhhh

[cloudinal]

A slice of Shibuya-- happy birthday Haz !!

[karamazovposting]

And when I'll make a recording of myself reciting Dmitri's in a thousand of agonies I exist monologue into a techno track. Then what.

[yaeggravate]

just wanted to quickly share my thoughts on ronova's possible parallels to the character kundry, from wagner's opera parsifal

when the lord of the night talks about ronova she has this to say about her:

Yohualtecuhtin, Lord of the Night: The one you wish to know about... I call her "The Ruler of Death." She helped Natlan establish the rules. It was also under her guidance that I created the Night Kingdom... Yohualtecuhtin, Lord of the Night: It was an expression of love, as well as an act of reparation. She was seen as having significantly overstepped her authorities as a Shade, which quite displeased the almighty... Mm, Heavenly Principles. Yohualtecuhtin, Lord of the Night: She succumbed to self-pity as a result, and no longer cared if others discussed her identity. Even so, her existence remains unknown to all but a select few.

in the memory of xbalanque, we find out ronova has little freedom to do as she pleases. (though it's unclear what this means exactly)

Ronova: Very well. I shall agree to help you. But I am merely a Shade, and I do not have as much freedom to do as I please as you might think.

because i have anfortano on the brain, all of these bolded tidbits immediately reminded me of the sorceress kundry. in wagner's version, kundry was an (unwilling) accomplice in getting amfortas (spelled with an "m" here) cursed. kundry was wrecked with guilt over what she had done and tried to help amfortas and the grail knights despite her being under her master's control.

PARSIFAL Gurnemanz: Methinks a curse may still be on her life,—She is so wild and strange, so sad her very eyes. But now, whate'er the past, she is with us, And serves us to atone for earlier guilt. Perchance her work may shrive her of her sins. Surely she does full well to serve us well, And in the serving-help herself and us.

kundry was cursed herself to reincarnate over and over again for eternity. (because she laughed at jesus while he was being crucified lol.) she went under several names, one of which stood out to me; gundryggia. this name seems to be an invention by wagner himself that he gave his own meaning to:

In Act 2 of Wagner's music-drama, one of the names by which Klingsor addresses Kundry. Cosima's diary relates, "... at lunch he tells me: "She will be called Gundrygia (sic), the weaver of war", but then he decides to keep to Kundry" [14 March 1877]. Although it has been speculated that the name was that of a Valkyrie, the author has not been able to find the name Gundrygia or Gundryggia in any of the Old Norse sources, which contain many Valkyrie names. There is, however, a resemblance to the name Gunnr (meaning strife or battle), one of Odin's principal Valkyries, and this might have been the inspiration for Wagner to transform Kundry into Gundryggia.

at the end of the story, kundry dies and is freed from her suffering after parsifal saves amfortas.

back to capitano, it's said that ronova sent him on a long journey and that cap has a final foe to face. it's not explained yet what this means and can be interpreted several ways but when you consider possible kundry parallels perhaps ronova is helping cap break the curse which could potentially defeat her too or release her from her own torment/guilt over the Crimes™

anyway just something to think about, even if ronova isn't kundry, it would still be interesting to see her character implemented in the story in some way.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

someone I just met told me I was cool today and I swear I wandered around shaking with my eyes huge for almost an hour afterwards

[gilbertandanne]

KATIE!!!!!!!!!! I’M GOING TO TRY NOT TO BE SPOILERY ABOUT MY FEELINGS. ALL I CAN SAY IS I AM FREAKING OUT AND NEED TO TALK TO YOU AS SOON AS YOU HAVE FINISHED WATCHING. PLEASE!

I JUST FINISHED IT AND IDK WHERE TO START?!

Like seriously…how do we begin to unpack everything that happened because <most> of it was perfect?

[retrograde-raven]

Must I contribute to society is it not enough to have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge?

[theoxvest]

I had another silly oxventure thought for you, friend (:

I know it's very not possible considering they are clones for taking over the world but imagine if all the clones (like every iteration from the more animalistic ones, the caveman ones, the pretentious artsy ones, and the most recent ones) had chaotic sibling relationships.

For example, a caveman clonebert loses his club (I think that's what they had) and immediately blames it on one of the pretentious artsy ones and then it becomes a big argument and a animalistic clone smiles to themself bc they stole it for sibling crimes.

Also, all of them begrudgingly care about each other bc even tho they each find each other annoying, they still care about each other.

I agree that the Egbert clones deserve a little more fleshing out and I definetly enjoy the 'pigs from Angry Birds' dynamic you've described for them lol. I could definetly get behind some more fleshing out also of how the Egbert clone society has evolved over time like are they the same types still since Tower Rangers or have their social structures evolved. But I could definetly see them performing a slap stick routine with each other only to immediately bash in the skull of some other NPC who laughed at it.

Also I just think its be cool at some point if we got an Egbert clone or small group of Egbert clones that rebelled against Liliana. I think they should be allowed more characterization in general.

Alas such is the curse of TTRPG NPCs where its hard to ever show character growth not involving the PCs because it just doesn't come up.

[rambling-red-wizard]

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

[carolinanadeau]

the US military is not currently involved in any wars, except against its own citizens

[arolesbianism]

I love it when I have ideas for things and they coincidentally work well with eachother. I'm so fucking smart (did not plan any of this)

[mw00nie]

you always knew you had a thing for older men.

It wasn’t just the salt-and-pepper stubble or the slow, practiced way they carried themselves. it was the stillness. the grounded energy. the calm. like nothing could touch them. like they’d been through hell and came back clean, sharper for it.

nanami kento was the embodiment of that.

you weren’t supposed to end up in his bed. it started with drinks after a shared mission, a conversation that lingered longer than expected. you were tipsy. he wasn’t. and yet he watched you like you were a puzzle worth solving. carefully, patiently, without a single wasted glance.

you’d had sex before. enough to know what you liked. enough to know that most guys your age didn’t really care about what that was. they rushed. they fumbled. Some were sweet, but rarely satisfying. even the slightly older ones, 25, 26, still had the attention span of a squirrel and the emotional intelligence of a wet sock.

but nanami?

nanami touched you like he’d studied you. like he had time. like he didn’t need to prove anything because he already knew he could ruin you. and would. he took off your clothes like unwrapping a gift he’d waited patiently to open. every touch was intentional. every kiss a quiet promise.

you thought you were prepared.

you weren’t.

his mouth on your neck, your chest, between your legs. devastating. the kind of slow burn that made you forget your name, arching into him with a gasp so raw you almost felt embarrassed. until you looked up and saw the way he was watching you. focused. like he needed to see what he did to you..

you expected him to be good. he was older, refined, deliberate in everything he did. from the way he sipped his whiskey to the way he looked at you, like he could read every need you hadn’t voiced. But this?

this was beyond anything your imagination had dared to stretch toward.

you're on your back, legs spread and trembling over Nanami’s shoulders, body pinned to the mattress like you were meant to be there. like he built this exact moment out of patience and control and years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

his cock stretches you open with a slow, thick thrust that makes your spine arch off the bed. he’s not fast. not frantic. he moves like a man who knows he doesn’t have to rush, because you’re already falling apart under him.

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, as if he’s rewarding you for every helpless sound you make. “you can take it. i’ve got you.”

and you do. you take him. inch by devastating inch. because you can’t not. he fills you in a way no one else ever has. deep. heavy. the kind of depth that forces a raw, gasping whine from your throat with every stroke.

your nails claw weakly at his forearms, the only parts of him you can reach in this position. he’s got you folded open, helpless, a mess of sweat and slick and trembling limbs beneath him. his hips grind slow, controlled, like he’s studying how each angle wrecks you.

“too much?” he asks, and it’s maddening how composed he sounds while you’re unraveling like silk in his hands.

you try to answer, but nothing comes out but a high-pitched, wrecked little moan. your head tilts back. eyes flutter shut. brain static.

he leans in closer, the weight of him pressing into you deliciously, lips grazing your jaw. “words, sweetheart.”

you manage a shaky, whined: “don’t stop. please. don’t stop.”

his lips curve into the faintest smirk against your cheek, and suddenly his thrusts get deeper. not harder. not faster. just…more intentional. perfectly timed to make you feel every ridge, every drag of him against that sensitive spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

your vision goes blurry. your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. And then it happens: Your brain short-circuits.

everything goes white-hot, your body locking around him with a desperate cry you barely hear. your climax rips through you with a sharp, clenching heat that leaves you breathless and boneless, twitching beneath him as he fucks you through it with devastating care.

“beautiful,” he breathes, watching you crumble.

you’re too far gone to even feel embarrassed at how wrecked you sound. you’re crying a little overstimulated, completely taken, the term “fucked dumb” no longer a meme, but a diagnosis.

he slows down. pulls out just enough to let you breathe, but not leave. his hands slide down your thighs, soothing, grounding.

and then, without warning, he’s back inside you. slower this time. softer. but it still hurts, in the way pleasure hurts when you’ve already come once and your nerves are still singing. you whimper, and he kisses your shoulder.

“i know, i know,” he whispers. “just one more. you can do one more.”

you don't know if you're nodding or crying, but it doesn’t matter. he keeps praising you, guiding you back to that high again with practiced care and relentless control. and when you finally collapse beneath him, thighs shaking, tears wet on your cheeks, he kisses you like you’re something fragile he’s honored to break.

he doesn’t leave right after.

he wraps you in a warm, damp towel and carries you to the bath. cleans you gently. makes you tea. sits beside you as your body catches up with your soul.

and when he says, “you’re safe,” you believe him.

and you realized then: you’d never be able to go back.

how could you? to twenty-something-year-old men who needed validation, who didn’t know what to do with a woman who needed to be held, not just touched? who didn’t understand the ache that came from deeper wounds. wounds that wanted comfort, not conquest?

nanami wasn’t just good in bed.

he understood. he moved with restraint, with precision. the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to leave a mark.

you looked up at him. his calm, unreadable expression softened only by the way his thumb brushed over your hip. and it hit you:

you weren’t just ruined for boys.

you were recalibrated.

no one else would ever compare.