#wind synthesizer

[maisonnushi]

Recently, I have been studying mixing again 😌I don't have any DAW friends close to my genre, so I am studying alone🥺

↓I'm using this music I made a long time ago😊

♪自由を求めて(2015)［Seeking Freedom(2015)］

【BOOTH】Free downlord music

[serpentface]

how do you come up with the ways cultures in your setting stylize people/animals/the world in general in their artwork, i.e. jewlery, rock carvings, statues, etc? Each culture in your world seems to have a very unique "art style" and I love it a lot - makes them seem that much more 'real'. This is something I struggle with a lot in my own worldbuilding and I'd love to pick your brain if possible 😁

I think a starting point is to have a research process based in the material realities of the culture you're designing for. Ask yourself questions like:

Where do they live? What's the climate/ecosystem(s) they are based in? What geographic features are present/absent?

What is their main subsistence method? (hunter gatherer, seasonal pastoralist, nomadic pastoralist, settled agriculturalist, a mix, etc)

What access to broader trade networks do they have and to whom? Are there foreign materials that will be easily accessible in trade and common in use, or valuable trade materials used sparingly in limited capacities?

Etc

And then do some research based on the answers, in order to get a sense of what materials they would have routine access to (ie dyes, metal, textiles, etc) and other possible variables that would shape how the art is made and what it's used for. This is just a foundational step and won't likely play much into designing a Style.

If you narrow these questions down very specifically, (ie in the context of the Korya post- grassland based mounted nomads, pastoralist and hunter-gatherer subsistence, access to wider trade networks and metals), you can direct your research to specific real world instances that fit this general idea. This is not to lift culturally specific concepts from the real world and slap them into your own setting, but to notice commonalities this lifestyle enforces - (ie in the previous example- mounted nomadic peoples are highly mobile and need to easily carry their wealth (often on clothing and tack) therefore small, elaborate decorative artwork that can easily be carried from place to place is a very likely feature)

For the details of the art itself, I come up with loose 'style guides' (usually just in my head) and go from there.

Here's some example questions for forming a style (some are more baseline than others)

Are geometric patterns favored? Organic patterns? Representative patterns (flowers, animals, stars, etc)? Abstract patterns?

Is there favored material(s)? Beads, bone, clay, metals, stones, etc.

When depicting people/animals, is realism favored? Heavy stylization? The emotional impression of an animal? Are key features accentuated?

How perspective typically executed? Does art attempt to capture 3d depth? Does it favor showing the whole body in 2 dimensions (ie much of Ancient Egyptian art, with the body shown in a mix of profile and forward facing perspective so all key attributes are shown)? Will limbs overlap? Are bodies shown static? In motion?

Does artwork of people attempt to beautify them? Does it favor the culture's conception of the ideal body?

Are there common visual motifs? Important symbols? Key subject matters?

What is the art used for? Are its functions aesthetic, tutelary, spiritual, magical? (Will often exist in combination, or have different examples for each purpose)

Who is represented? Is there interest in everyday people? Does art focus on glorifying warriors, heroes, kings?

Are there conventions for representing important figures? (IE gods/kings/etc being depicted larger than culturally lesser subjects)

Is there visual shorthand to depict objects/concepts that are difficult to execute with clarity (the sun, moon, water), or are invisible (wind, the soul), or have no physical component (speech)?

Etc

Deciding on answers to any of these questions will at least give you a unique baseline, and you can fill in the rest of the gaps and specify a style further until it is distinct. Many of these questions are not mutually exclusive, both in the sense of elements being combined (patterns with both geometric and organic elements) or a culture having multiple visual styles (3d art objects having unique features, religious artwork having its own conventions, etc).

Also when you're getting in depth, you should have cultural syncretism in mind. Cultures that routinely interact (whether this interaction is exchange or exploitation) inevitably exchange ideas, which can be especially visible in art. Doing research on how this synthesizing of ideas works in practice is very helpful- what is adopted or left out from an external influence, what is retained from an internal influence, what is unique to this synthesis, AND WHY. (I find Greco-Buddhist art really interesting, that's one of many such examples)

Looking at real world examples that fit your parameters can be helpful (ie if I've decided on geometric patterns in my 'style guide', I'll look at actual geometric patterns). And I strongly encourage trying to actually LEARN about what you're seeing. All art exists in a context, and having an understanding of how the context shapes art, how art does and doesn't relate to broader aspects of a society, etc, can help you when synthesizing your own.

[ephemeralbreakpoint]

i cannot believe i have yet to talk about the time junction. except i actually can believe it, it just is a concept that makes me really feel like i have gone insane. not that any part of being kin doesn't already make me feel like that but oh man. it's really fucking cool though so i want to believe.

anyway. *A* time junction is simply a time line that happens to contain multiple other time lines inside it. it's our proposed explanation for why ultimates are a thing that exists in homestuck and nowhere else. when we were reflecting on why it ISN'T normal for every fictionkin to remember being every version of themself, it's kind of a term that just came out of my stupid mouth and i couldn't explain why it made perfect sense. in this case, the alpha time lines are the time junction(s), containing all their doomed variants within them like some fucked up non euclidean ouroboros.

there is another defining factor of a time junction however-- its time lines all orbit around a singular (spatial) body, towards which it pulls in any nearby time line. whether in homestuck's case it's skaia or the green sun or both or neither, i have no idea, that's where my time-y jurisdiction ends and the idea stops making any fucking sense to me. HOWEVER. i do think that homestuck as a whole is actually SEVERAL time junctions within a singular time junction, and that's how multiple alpha time lines can exist, so there probably are also several things the time junctions gravitate around.

under this frame work, i think that when someone ults, they become the central point of a time junction themselves, and pull in every conceivable time line in which they exist. how does this happen? why? i have no fucking idea. it just does.

except... it does get a little more complicated than that. that's how the HOMESTUCK time lines work. there is another time junction out there, with slightly different mechanics, which i don't have the wherewithal to understand despite technically being responsible for it existing. what i do know is, though, the harmonia time line is a sort of bridge between the two, where it for some reason is part of both. i don't... i don't know what the words i'm saying mean anymore.

[dailyenglishvoca]

Today's song is Name the Wind by Vegetation featuring the Synthesizer V voicebank Mai

[peapod20001]

You put your ear against a reapers chest, and you don’t hear a heartbeat. Instead you hear their soul buzzing

[advancedcorpsematerials]

New music

https://advancedcorpsematerials.bandcamp.com/album/beset

[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

There are two notable moments that signify the beginning of Jason finally ‘warming up’ to you.

The first is when he talks to you — vigilante you. It’s somehow easier. When he can’t see your face, he can’t imagine it stained by the blood on his hands or the dirt on his clothes.

In all honesty, it was an accident. You were tailing a guy — some kind of robber, a mugger, maybe? it was a pretty quiet night (by Gotham standards) — and got just a bit too close to Crime Alley. Luckily, you managed to take the guy down just in time to avoid entering the area. Coincidentally, Jason, or rather, Red Hood, had been nearby with his own mission.

He had just wrapped up his task when he noticed you taking knocking the guy out and taking some kind of bag from him. He stood there, admittedly awkwardly, and watched you send a message to the Bat. There was a weird tightness in his chest, familiar but not as strong as it usually was. Possibly because it’s easy to separate you, his sister, from you, his (coworker?) fellow vigilante.

He wanted to say something to you. What, he wasn’t sure. A simple greeting if anything, but the words on his tongue felt like cotton. It wasn’t until you were wrangling the guy up, probably to take him to the GCPD, when he finally throws caution to the wind.

“…” His mouth opens and closes like a fish maybe three times before he can finally speak, “Good job!” ‘Good job, are you kidding?’ His face gets warm and he can feel his shoulders tense when your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

Your face is covered by a helmet (a motorcycle one? where’d you even get that?) but Jason can just feel the bewildered stare. He can’t blame you for the reaction. You’ve been living with the family for multiple years now and he’s pretty sure he’s only said small pleasantries to you, if that.

You look down to the guy and then back at Jason across the street. As if you didn’t know what he was complimenting you on.

It’s a moment of silence before you call out to him in response. “Thank you!” That helmet has some kind of built-in voice synthesizer (if you were any closer he’d tease you for ‘jacking his style,’ but you aren’t. so he doesn’t). It’s nothing crazy, just enough to distort your voice to be vaguely unrecognizable to others. Jason is pretty sure Tim had installed it as some kind of surprise, but he’s not sure. Still, even with the slight filtering, he thinks your voice is quite sweet.

Jason nods, a silent ‘you’re welcome’ —because what else can he say? You grab the guy and set to leave, turn him in. Jason can’t force himself to think over the interaction, he has a job to do damn it!

Later, when he’s alone and crawling into bed, he curses himself for the interaction. ‘Good job,’ he scoffs to himself, ‘never said more than 3 words to her and I said ‘good job.’

Then, there’s the second moment of Jason’s warming up to you.

It had been when you — Bruce Wayne’s daughter — had accompanied your father to one of those excessive ‘galas,’ or whatever they’re called. Jason can’t remember if he had ever gone to one even back when he was Robin. Nevertheless, they were way too uppity for him. Really, what’s so fun about rubbing elbows with a shit ton of socialites?

Maybe you shared his viewpoint, because at this particular gala, you were nowhere to be seen. At least, nowhere near Bruce. No, you were outside on a balcony. You looked nice, really nice. If Jason didn’t know you (though, how well did he even know you really?), he’d assume you were just another rich brat sulking cause Daddy didn’t buy you the car you wanted. But, even though he didn’t know you well, he still did know you. So, when he saw you on that balcony, leaning against the balustrade, he decided to speak with you. Check in on you, like a brother would do!

It wasn’t too difficult to approach you. Jason was Red Hood, again, so it was almost comforting that you wouldn’t see his face, even though he could see yours. He’ll work up the courage to talk to you as ‘Jason,’ he assures himself, but right now it’s much easier if you don’t have to face his scarred visage.

It’s when he drops down in the space behind you that he realizes this might be a bad idea. He doesn’t know you well enough to just understand what’s wrong by a glance, and who’s to say you’ll even tell him? He stands behind you awkwardly, almost ready to just abandon the idea and disappear before you recognize that he’s behind you.

He doesn’t get the chance, though.

“Need something?” Your voice rings out into the night. It’s almost embarrassing the way his chest stings ever so slightly at your sullen mood. You’re normally so… chipper. It’s a total 180 from usual.

“Just checking in.” Jason replies, his hands nervously clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You okay?” He asks, not wanting to assume in case he upsets you further.

You let out a sigh, letting your head fall to look at the city below you. “I hate these things.” The words come out as almost a grumble, your arms cross on the surface in front of you. “The people in there are… weird. Treat me like I‘m still a babe.”

“Why do you come then? I doubt B would force you.” He feels like he’s overstepped already. Maybe he should’ve just said a few words of comfort. Better yet, he should’ve just stayed away, damn it Jason, you idiot—

“I don’t know,” You shrug, and Jason internally breathes a sigh of relief that you don’t seem to be mad at him. “I just feel like I should, like I have to prove myself in some way. Damian and I are Father’s biological kids. The rest of you have been around longer, but to these people,” You give a slight roll of your eyes, “it means something. Especially since I’m the older one.”

“What, they think you’re gonna take over the business?” Jason finally wills himself to move. He copies your stance, crossing his arms on the railing and leaning forward on them. It’s likely the closest he’s ever gotten to you, he’s suddenly aware of what you look like up close.

You let out a huff of air and bend down, resting your chin on your arms. “Maybe, maybe not. I think it’s just to brag about knowing ‘Bruce Wayne’s daughter.’ They’re all… dickheads.”

That gets a chuckle out of Jason. “Careful. Don’t want them to hear that Bruce Wayne’s golden child has a potty mouth.” He lightly nudges your arm with his elbow. For once, he doesn’t find himself over thinking the gesture and cringing at it.

“Please, don’t give them another name to call me by.” You actually smile at him. First time he’s seen you do anything besides pout tonight. And it’s because of him. He tries to ignore the swelling of pride in his chest.

“Sorry, princess.” He teases (you’re not close enough for teasing) with a smile of his own. Of course, it’s one that you can’t see, given he’s still got his ‘Red Hood’ helmet on. But, he hopes you can at least tell he’s smiling.

You groan, somewhat exaggeratedly, and press your face into your folded arms. “Don’t even.” You practically whine, voice a bit muffled by your skin. “Conner calls me that enough.”

Jason lets out a huff of laughter. “Sorry, sorry. Won’t happen again.” He straightens up enough to lift his hands in surrender. It’s when he does that does he realize how cold it is. It’s not so bad for him, given he’s covered head to toe, literally. But for you, you must be freezing.

“You should go back inside.” He tells you, like a proper big brother should, with a hint of concern in his voice. “It’s cold out here, you’ll get sick.”

You sigh again and lift your head from your arms before straightening up. “I know, I will.” You sound like you’re resigning yourself to your doom. Though, given your past (and present) he finds himself kind of glad that this is what you consider bad. Then, you smile again and look up at Jason this time. “Thank you. For talking to me, I mean.”

He nods, and suddenly that awkwardness is back. Now that he’s facing you head-on, his chest gets a bit tighter all of a sudden. “You’re welcome, kid.”

It’d be a ‘big brother’ thing to do, to reach out. Place a hand on your shoulder, ruffle your hair, even pull you in for a hug. Jason doesn’t do any of those.

Instead, he pats your bicep twice and gives it a reassuring(?) squeeze. You nod at him, a hint of affection in your gaze as you punch his shoulder playfully. “See ya.” You smile again before heading back inside to mingle with the aristocrats once more.

Despite the interaction being a bit awkward — once you’re closer, you’ll relax around each other, Jason tells himself — it leaves him with a light feeling in his chest.

Once again, when Jason is settling in for the night, he thinks of you. This time, however, he doesn’t beat himself up for being so damn awkward. Instead, he thinks that maybe he’ll swing by the Estate one day. Maybe attend one of those ‘family dinners’ Dick is always trying to rope him into coming to.

Yeah, he reckons, that’d be nice.

okay first of all this was my first ever request 😛😛 so to the anon that sent it in i really hope i did this justice 🙏🙏

second of all we hit 100 followers???? are you serious??? guys thank you all so much for reading these little stories and liking them enough to follow 😭😭 i started writing simply for my own enjoyment and the fact that so many of you like this as much as i do is actually nuts to me ❤️

i lowkey based reader and jason’s dynamic off me and my oldest sister’s tbh 😔🙏 cause im an awkward person in general and she’s way older so we’re super different. but i hope you guys like the way they interact.

anyways! if you want to send in more requests please do 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ but also i randomly get super creative for a few days and then i don’t write anything for 2 weeks so! if you send something in and i don’t answer/write it, don’t worry, i will 🥲

but thanks so much for reading, i really appreciate the support. you guys are literally so sweet and it’s incredibly fulfilling that people enjoy my amateur writing 😅

bye byeee ❤️❤️

[draconic-desire]

💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi!, ive encountered a problem i hope you would aid in? ive been trying to write this domestic breakfast scene where one character is still half-asleep trying to uphold a conversation but i can't. Its the "calm before the storm" kind of scene and i want to give my readers time to breathe and relate to the characters.

Writing Notes: Mundane Scenes

How Mundane Scenes can be Important (by editor Richelle Braswell):

Pacing: Mundane scenes can provide a breather from the action-packed scenes and add variation so that readers don’t get bored or worn down.

World-building: Mundane moments such as how characters get dressed in the morning or prepare their food can add realism and details to your world. It gives a sense of depth to characters lives and shows instead of tells how life operates.

Give weight to events: Mundane activities such as resting or tending to injuries can give weight to previous plot points such as a battle or reveal. We sit with the consequences, and thus the events feel like they have greater importance and space in the narrative.

Synthesize information: Characters can review things like whodunit clues or what they know so far over a meal or while traveling. Meanwhile, the reader can process events up until that point. These scenes are best used during the midpoint of a book or right before the climax.

Build tension: These much slower moments like chatting and weeding the garden can add tension to stories by sitting with the unknown. Readers will sense when things are too quiet and feel a building anticipation.

Develop character arcs: Slow moments such as shopping or washing-up can be important touchpoints to depict gradual character growth. If there is nonstop action, then there isn’t a chance for characters to stop and reflect and give the readers some insight into any changed thought processes and dilemmas.

Develop romance: Mundane moments are some of the best places to give characters space to make the bed together and fold laundry. Their romance and dynamic can be developed here but note that it is most effective when used sparingly and when the reader does not lose a sense of narrative drive.

Decisions as a challenge: Choices have gravity in a narrative when there is space for the main characters to struggle with doing the right thing. It can add further drama if they aren’t making tough decisions while dodging flying arrows or being chased, but while sweeping their floors or organizing their bookshelf. The reader experiences the weight of the choice since it can be carefully considered before it leads to a hero’s triumph or tragedy.

Whatever you do with a mundane scene, the idea to keep in mind is how it contributes to the whole.

some related literary tropes

"Slice of Life" Trope

Life, observed and examined.

A cast of characters go about their daily lives, making observations and being themselves.

There is an emphasis on the very moment, with the intent of focusing the audience on that moment rather than using that moment as part of a narrative.

"Calm before the Storm" Trope

Characterized by a sense of anticipation, perhaps tension, even dread of what is to come.

It allows the characters a moment of respite prior to everything going to hell.

Maybe they make final preparations.

Maybe they go bid farewell.

Maybe they go tie up loose ends or bury hatchets.

They might decide now's the time to finally spend the night with that special someone.

Or maybe they just meditate to still their minds and/or calm their nerves.

Or they may decide to throw a party while they still can.

This scene allows us a quiet moment to just be with the characters, especially if it winds up being the end of the line for some of them.

Great clouds lit from within by lightning gather on the horizon, an army can be seen assembling, or the Final Battle is just around the corner. Everyone knows it is inevitable.

Tomorrow the silence will be broken. Tomorrow there will be chaos. But for now, all is quiet.

"Action Film, Quiet Drama Scene" Trope

An action film trope that you can also incorporate in your writing.

In this kind of scene, there are no expensive visuals or frenetic action, just usually two characters talking about what they believe in, what they care about, their deepest pains, or anything that relates to the stakes of the situation.

This is not the same as the purely exposition scene in that there is something deeper displayed here.

In these scenes, you can understand the plot, grasp its theme, or develop a rapport with the characters to make the big scenes matter to your readers.

When it really works, it can make the action sequences all the more compelling, because the quiet scenes have allowed you to emotionally invest in the characters and care about their fate.

Examples

In The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2, after a long time fleeing through the giant death trap of the Capitol and suffering several losses, Cressida leads the squad to a friend's house. Their time in the basement covers a lot of ground, from mourning their losses to Katniss' guilt to the Love Triangle.

Inception: In the climax, we finally see whether or not Fischer reconciles with the memory of his father.

The Lord of the Rings: The scene between Aragorn and Arwen on the bridge in The Fellowship of the Ring. It introduces depth to Aragorn's character and reveals his backstory; the scenes of the Shire at peace in The Fellowship of the Ring (especially in the Directors Cut), filled with laughter, friendship and happy children (what a warrior lays down his life to protect) is what makes us actually care whether or not Frodo and the Fellowship defeat Sauron or not.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some information and related tropes to keep in mind as you write your scene. Use the tropes as inspiration, and alter as needed/desired to better fit your story. Reading how other authors have done this as well, especially in your favourite stories, is one way to know how you would execute it in your own story. You can find more details and examples in the links above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[ogrepoppenangleaksofficial]

(waves hand) hi hello i . have no clue what this account is about, it's entertainingly incomprehensible as I scroll through it. could i have a quick rundown?

OK OK HERES AL ONG ANSWER ABOUT WHAT THIS BLOG IS

This account is a behind-the-scenes leaks account for the animation company Ogre Poppenang. Ogre Poppenang came out of the Bruva Alfabusa YouTube channel (see below)

The YouTube channel started off making comedic animations based in the Warhammer 40,000 (a.k.a Warhammer, Warhammer 40k) universe under the series name of "If the Emperor had a Text to Speech Device" where the titular Emperor of Man Kind spoke through a Text to Speech voice synthesizer. The Emperor was/is a key figure to the overall meta plot of the Warhammer 40k universe, and as such was the perfect vessel for alot of jokes and off brand humor as seen from the posts on this blog.

This is all SEVERAL years in the past (as of writing this explanation) and Ogre Poppenang no longer works on the If the Emperor had a Text to Speech Device project due to several long winded and exhausting reasons. The primary one being that the parent company that owns Warhammer 40,000, Games Workshop, has had a not so solid Fan Content policy in place for the last several years that acts as a great deterrent to anyone that wants to make long form and elaborate cool fan content.

In the CURRENT year, Ogre Poppenang has moved onto a few different series.

The first, and primary, of which being Hunter: the Parenting (HTP). Its an animated series that follows a cell of Vampire Hunters within the World of Darkness universe from Paradox Interactive and White Wolf. HTP follows the D clan which consists of Big-D the experienced hunter Patriarch, his son Door, an elder veteran and military man, and Door's son Boy, Marckus another son of Big-D and a self assured red-headed inventor and his spouse whom everyone likes much more then Marckus. The family is directly inspired by Ogre Poppenang's previous work with If the Emperor Had a Text to Speech Device as it was believed that many of the characters could thrive outside of the limitations set on them by the Warhammer 40k universe.

The second is Half-Life: Zero Viscosity. As the title suggests it takes place in Valve's Half-Life universe. Instead of grand adventures of The One Free Man, the series focus' in on Gus, a survivor and ex-forklift technician from the Black Mesa Research Facility as he tries to survive the extra dimensional Combine occupation of earth alongside Shock Trooper, an anxiety filled four armed and mono-eyed alien, Pit Drone, a dog, and Doctor Bags, another survivor from Black Mesa who has joined a Resistance movement against the Combine.

LASTLY Ogre Poppenang also produces Norfolk Wizard Game, a Mage: the Ascensions TTRPG live play chronicle set within the same World of Darkness universe as Hunter: the Parenting.

Norfolk Wizard Game follows four humans that have experienced their "Awakenings" where they find themselves now capable of altering the reality around them and plunging feet first into the deep end of inter-dimensional battles between demons, aliens, the Government, and other creatures of the night.

There is also a monkey, some juggalos, and Clippy featured prominently in the series.

[oxeyesaint]

ok im realizing i have a bunch of issues with characterizations in superhero slash fics in general now cuz i got done reading all star: superman this weekend. and clark is so stubborn? and serious?? and he's so smart????

in the book he discovers the sequence of his own genome and even synthesizes it so lois can have his powers for a day, he figures out how to make human and kryptonian DNA compatible so they can have kids, he's been trying for years to come up with some sciencey way to unshrink kandor, he makes lois her own suit, he studies kryptonian culture, he's knowledgeable in astrophysics, he's singlehandedly making a knew heart for the fucking sun.

and he basically does this all on his own?? yeah he has the robots that help him out but he still needs to know a fuck ton of super complicated biology and math and physics. kryptonian technology??? he's trying to fix a fucking alien time machine all on his own.

this is only the 2nd superman comic i've read in full after only really being exposed to him thru superbat fanfics and i feel so robbed!! writers like to write him really kind and bubbly and but he is so much more than that!

anyway this is a long winded way to say i want batman and supes to nerd out about science in fics more often.

[serpentface]

Three dolls made to shelter beneficial crop spirits after the harvest, a barley man and khait (left and right) and maize khait (center).

The practice of making crop spirit dolls is found in every contemporary group with a history of settled agriculture native to Imperial Wardi claimed land (and variations occur beyond), and is the result of centuries of synthesis between the proto-Finnic and proto-Wardi groups whose descendants make up most of the contemporary population.

Historical and contemporary folk traditions virtually ubiquitous in societies west of the Blackmane Mountains ascribe spirits to/associated with plant life, and groups that practice settled agriculture place heavy priority on the spirits of domesticated crops (particularly those of maize and barley, which are the staple grains here).

A crop spirit in this region is variously conceptualized as a discrete entity that lives in each field, or as the greater soul of the plant itself. In either case, there is a sense of reciprocal exchange with this being- it provides for people and must be cared for and treated with respect in return. Doing so ensures that the crop remains healthy and protected, and can continue to provide a steady food supply.

The act of harvesting requires special care, as it deprives the spirit of its home (if a discrete entity) or part of its greater being (if it is the crop itself). As such, the crop spirit needs to be given a home after the harvest, lest it abandons its dependents entirely and dooms the next growing season to failure. The crop doll represents a solution to this problem.

The spirit first must be preserved by leaving one stalk in every field unharvested. It then must be appeased before removing the grain, usually with offerings of sprinkled milk and spoken oaths swearing to its protection. Then, the last grains are taken into the home, and the crop's non-edible parts (the straw or husk) are used to make a doll. The grain itself is usually placed on or wrapped within the doll. This figure is always anthro/zoomorphic, and most commonly either a bull khait or a human man (sometimes a mixture of both). Maize on average tends to get the khait association, while barley tends to be given human form.

Whether or not this effigy is meant to represent a physical form of the spirit varies by tradition. The notion of the crop spirit potentially having a separate body is distinctly proto-Finnic influence, as these early migrants carried beliefs of (usually hostile, or at least dangerous) fae folk and beasts who lived among crops and could blight them on a whim. Proto-Wardi groups broadly saw each kind of plant as having a spirit (not discrete from the plant itself) that had to be communed with to ensure good harvests. Initial mingling between these groups and the centuries of cultural interchange that followed led to these different figures being synthesized to varying extents- some contemporary traditions see the crop spirit as able to manifest in a body outside the crop (where the doll is an effigy of this form), while others maintain that the crop spirit's body is Exclusively the crop (where the doll is the preservation of its body).

Where these discrete physical figures are accepted, they have their own associated mythologies. The maize-khait is often described as a big golden bull, who you can hear at gallop when a strong wind rattles through the fields and causes the stalks to sway when he performs a courtship trot for passing mares. The barley-man figure is described as a fat naked old man with a long beard (which is sometimes itself made of barley) who largely keeps to himself, but can occasionally be spotted peering out over the stalks at passerby. Both spirits are often used to frighten children from straying at night, particularly the barley-man (whose description ranges from mischievous to outright dangerous- in many traditions he carries a bundle of sticks to spank trespassers, and he's occasionally described to kill particularly naughty children and use their blood to water his plants).

Crop spirits here are predominantly reckoned as male, as part of a broader trend of conceptualizing a plant's growth as a procreative interplay between a masculine seed and feminine earth.

The symbolic sexual act taking place during planting is more explicit in some traditions than others. In most of the Hill Tribes, North Wardi, and among many Ephenni Riverlanders, the return of the crop spirit is performed in a form of abstracted mock intercourse. The specifics of this ritual vary, but the core outline is shared across these groups.

The whole family/community responsible for any given field will participate, but it is typically the duty of a single man to return the crop spirit to the ground (this is typically the eldest man, though some traditions reserve the honor for young men who have recently come of age). A hole is dug into the unplanted field and hailed as a womb (depending on the specific cultural context, this womb might be that of the agricultural goddess Od, or another personification of fertile earth). The man carries the crop spirit doll to the 'womb' and kneels over it, removing the seeds from the doll and placing them into the hole one by one, before refilling it with dirt. (This act is usually accompanied by a song). The hole is too deep for the seeds to actually grow, rather the act is treated as the crop spirit's insemination of the earth itself. The rest of the field is then sewn normally, and then given offerings to assist in its 'pregnancy', usually sprinklings of milk and rendered animal fat.

The sexual description of this rite is often mistranslated (or sometimes intentionally twisted), leading to a prevailing misconception among Imperial Wardi groups (particularly in the geographically distant south-southeast) that heathen northerners perform a rite where men literally fuck a hole in the ground.

Ironically, EXTREMELY similar rites are also performed throughout the South Wardi subcultural sphere. These variants also require a male community authority (usually a village's chieftain) to take the responsibility of returning the crop spirit. He carries the doll to its field and plants its seeds in a shallow furrow (in such a way it can be expected to actually grow). The crop spirit doll is then burnt, completing its yearly cycle of death to initiate its rebirth within the field. The gestating spirit is given offerings of milk where its seeds were planted, to show the community's gratitude and to ensure the spirit's health and continued benevolence.

This variant is usually performed to kick off the Imperial Wardi maize planting holiday. The crop spirit's return is immediately followed with the man singing a coullagri (summoning prayer) to effigies of the agricultural Faces of God placed directly in the field. The rest of the field is then sewn, offerings are made to each Face, and the festivities commence upon the completion of this labor.

The hosting and planting of crop spirits is a folk practice that long predates and exists independently of (though often interwoven with) the Faith of the Seven Faced God, which has lost much of the explicitly animistic elements of most of its native influences (with key spirits having been absorbed into the concept of the Face god-aspects, though retaining a sense of an conscious living world wherein everything has (God's) spirit). The doctrinal faith does not directly acknowledge nature spirits as distinct entities, rather than aspects of God's totality. The most staunchly orthodox take is that the growth and wellbeing of crops is entirely dependent on the proper flow of God's living spirit throughout and between Its Faces (which are physically the earth and everything in it, and symbolically can be reckoned as blood flowing through key parts of a body to sustain the whole).

The Faith's interaction with more directly animistic elements surviving in folk practice/among religious minorities is highly varied (ranging from condemnation as barbarity, to 'silly heathen/peasant superstition', to ambivalence, to full acceptance). The use of crop spirit dolls is generally accepted, in large part due to their sheer ubiquity, and the ease of reframing these rites to fit doctrinal views. Wardi folk variants of this rite are widely acknowledged among priestly authorities as a lesser but potentially valid means of carrying the flow of God's living spirit (rather than a more discrete crop spirit) through the off-season, even functioning as an effigy of God that can be added to a shrine and offered to in the interim. The broad consensus is that these rites acceptable if they aren't not used as a replacement for established orthopraxic crop rites or veneration of God Itself. That being said, the majority of people who utilize crop dolls at all fully experience the presence of spirits in the maize and barley, and see these as deserving of their own veneration.

[apod]

2025 March 26

Star Formation in the Pacman Nebula Image Credit & Copyright: Juan Montilla (AAE)

Explanation: You'd think the Pacman Nebula would be eating stars, but actually it is forming them. Within the nebula, a cluster's young, massive stars are powering the pervasive nebular glow. The eye-catching shapes looming in the featured portrait of NGC 281 are sculpted dusty columns and dense Bok globules seen in silhouette, eroded by intense, energetic winds and radiation from the hot cluster stars. If they survive long enough, the dusty structures could also be sites of future star formation. Playfully called the Pacman Nebula because of its overall shape, NGC 281 is about 10,000 light-years away in the constellation Cassiopeia. This sharp composite image was made through narrow-band filters in Spain in mid 2024. It combines emissions from the nebula's hydrogen and oxygen atoms to synthesize red, green, and blue colors. The scene spans well over 80 light-years at the estimated distance of NGC 281.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap250326.html

[rederiswrites]

I'd love to have the time and energy to synthesize all my Master Gardeners' class materials into good posts, but I don't, so here's a couple things from my entomology presentation, which I'm watching the recording of (honestly guys their online class system is slick as hell).

One: the lady beetles (lady bugs, colloquially) that you can order online are the Asian variety. They're not the native variety. They're still good generalist predators, and they're pretty thoroughly naturalized in North America now. (Naturalized: successfully established and reproducing in their non-native environment.) That said, the Extension Services still doesn't recommend buying them, because the conditions in which they were raised might introduce diseases, which might then be passed on to the native populations in your environment.

More generally, expert advice on encouraging animals ranging from insects up through quail and pheasants is increasingly to create and maintain habitat so that the critters show up on their own, rather than to introduce captive-raised animals. I know that introducing the animal feels like doing more, but the evidence is against it being effective. I know, it annoys me too. I know for quail and pheasants, there were big programs aimed at raising and releasing the birds, because they're popular game birds, and those programs are now winding down and shifting focus, because captive raised birds just don't survive to raise the next generation. So at best what you're actually encouraging is your target animal's predators.

Anyway. We were talking about insects.

Two: Yes, several species of non-native mantis insects are naturalized in North America now. It's fine to leave them alone and be happy about them. They're good generalist predators, and there's no evidence so far that they negatively impact the native mantises. As above, they don't suggest buying mantises to introduce, but the ones that are already in your environment are fine.

I guess both tie into a broader point, which is that invasive species have two criteria. They must be non-native, but they must also be detrimental to the native species in an area. A non-native that doesn't negatively impact the environment, such as dandelions, say, is not invasive. It may not have many ties in the food web of the area, like for example only being of use to generalist pollinators, but that doesn't mean it's harmful. A plant that is native but can outcompete other plants in an area is aggressive, not invasive.

Whether non-native plants and animals can have a positive role in environments is a topic that even the experts are still hotly debating, but certainly non-native does not automatically mean invasive.

Oh. In case it needs to be said, generalist: able to make use of a variety of resources. I.E. Apis mellifera, the European honey bee, that can get nectar and pollen from many different plants. MOST native insects are specialists, meaning they can only survive using one variety of plant. For example, the Monarch butterfly, whose caterpillars are specialized to feed on milkweed.

And THAT, my friends, is why native plants matter. Not for a nice idea, not for looks, not for some impossible ideal of a single state of environmental being. But because they are the base of the food web, and native plants are what has a relationship with native insects.

This post could be reordered a lot for clarity but I ent gonna do that, so good luck and you know where my inbox is I guess.

[witherby]

I would like to request angst with Bruce and Hal 😇

-💀

You got it!

$3 Commission

Feat. Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan, and some light angst.

This is set in the earlier days of the Justice League and pre-relationship. They've got several members, but the smooth synergy isn't all there yet.

In hindsight, if he'd just taken a minute to stop and think about what he was going to do before doing it, they would not be in this position. A fact that pisses him off just as much as it eats him with guilt.

"If you can give me time to map the pattern," Bruce had said, yelling so he could be heard over the racuous gunfire from Lex Luthor's latest machine designed to destroy Superman, "I can find the weak points for you to take it down."

And Hal...well. He never did like waiting for something to happen when he could seize control of the situation and handle it in his own way. He especially didn't like being told to rely on someone else telling him where and how to use his ring that the Lantern Corps bestowed upon him. That's how operating on a team works, though, which he's been trying his best to adhere to.

Mostly trying.

Kinda trying.

He's helped here and there, but mostly minds his business. He's a goddamned Green Lantern. This planet and a big-ass chunk of this galaxy are all part of his jurisdiction, and he guards it just fine by himself. Batman has no business giving him orders, what with that stupid pointy cowl, and that big flappy cape, and the bat-themed tiny boomerangs, and his huge feet, and those rippling thighs, and a jaw that could cut diamonds, and the fleeting sight of that ass when the cape is billowing in the wind —

Anyway, he can't be bothered to listen to some guy in glorified spandex boss him around when he can just take out the big, hulking machine himself. It's human in design, with some synthesized Kryptonite integrated into its weaponry. A simple construct is more than enough to take it out and make it back home before the newest episode of Project Runway comes on. He's been rooting for Jaques and his insane pleating techniques all season.

"I've got a magic space ring, Spooks. The whole thing is a weak point in comparison," Hal smirks. He takes to the air with a wink and a wave. He's about to fly straight at the weapon and smash it with a giant green hammer, but he's suddenly blasted by a beam of vivid, yellow light right out of the robot's mouth. His suit flickers and his stomach jumps into his throat, which is his only indicator that he's rapidly plummeting to the ground. The world spins faster than he can re-solidify the suit and orient himself, and the only thing he can think is god fucking dammit, I hate it when he's right.

He hits the dirt with a thud, blood roaring in his ears. His back is on fire and Bruce is rushing towards him, yelling something Hal can't make out. He's absolutely not in the mood to get scolded right this second. Give a guy some space to breathe, man.

" — up!! Get your feet under you, NOW!"

Hal jolts. The Bat's got an arm supporting his back and he's practically dragging the Lantern's body off the middle of the field. Hal's legs make an aborted attempt to get under him and support himself, but it's a useless endeavor when a huge, yellow cage springs up around the two of them moments later and knocks them both out of play.

Satisfied they won't be going anywhere, Lex's stupid machine turns away from the two of them and refocuses his attention on their teammates. Superman can't fly in close or the kryptonite the robot is armed with will take him down, too, which has suddenly turned this situation from a relatively low-stakes fight to a potential clusterfuck.

They're three men down — one rendered useless at close-range, one trapped by a stupid color, and one trapped for trying to rescue the guy that didn't listen to him.

Hal can't see Bruce's eyes under the cowl, but he shrinks away from his lethal glare all the same.

"...what was it you'd said," he mutters, "about watching for a weak point?"

"Shut the hell up."

"I — yeah okay. This one's on me."

[darkersolstice]

So I'm catching up on the Wind Breaker anime, and I'll admit to watching the dub for Season 2, episode 11. In this form, the conversation between Sakura and Kanji about how Sakura hates how Roppo Ichiza fights caught my attention more than in the manga.

Sakura: I hate knowing my friends will get hurt in a fight, and I hate knowing that there's no fight where people won't get hurt. Kanji: Yeah, you probably should hate that. I've had to learn how to ignore when my friends are hurting. I've sacrificed some of my tenderness. But you? Perhaps you can find a way to fight without your friends getting hurt. Sakura: *shocked pikachu face*

Now, here's where I'm synthesizing this with more recent manga chapters: Sakura has learned he doesn't need to be the sort of leader Umemiya is for Bofurin. Sakura has also demonstrated a mindset of reaching out to other gangs--and thus to other parts of the area surrounding Makochi. While Umemiya was the one needed to solidify Bofurin as a presence in the area, to establish the martial prowess of those who protect Makochi, what next steps can Sakura be taking as a potential future leader of Bofurin, to ensure his friends don't get hurt in fights?

Bonus question: what role do you think the third years will fill in the narrative once they graduate?