#*goes to town on ask*

[e-rated-beardo]

Hey,

So, normally I am a really shy person on the internet, but you made this beautiful song Sky Clear Blue, and I just have to ask.

Do you have the notes for that song? And would you mind sharing them?

I have a guitar and I would love to attempt playing that lovely song.

Hello shy person on the internet! omg I got an ask about The Song! :D *sounds of angel-coded delight*

I don't have anything beyond Steph's lyrics written down, unfortunately - HOWEVER, I could absolutely scribble some down for whatever parts you're curious about, if you like!

If we're only talking guitar chords, it's a really nice and simple (comfy!) progression: alternating G and Cadd9 for most of the verses, one loop of G - Am - C - D in the lead-up to the chorus, and the chorus is C - G - Dsus - D. (The very final chord is a Dsus because ✨ambience✨ and open-endedness vibes and... ok that's not what I was supposed to be talking about here oops)

Caveat to the above: wherever there's a D chord, I alternate randomly between plain D and Dsus with no particular pattern, and I may have replaced some Cs with Cadd9 or vice versa here and there. Either of the two works; it's just easier to play Cadd9 between two Gs. 🙂

Technically I played the same-ish chords in the transposed a capella version, too, but simpler and on my mini guitar/guitarlele which is tuned differently so the result is a slightly off-key D - Gadd9 (verse) and G - D - A (chorus).

Before I go off waffling delightedly for WAY too long (omg someone asked me about an Art I've made I can talk for HOURS hello you're my new best friend)... Is there any part/voice/instrument in particular that you're curious about? Because, again, I could absolutely scribble down some sheet music for this (or maybe even wrangle GarageBand to output some for me; I think that's a feature it has??). I don't normally write stuff down much when I play because I find it easier to just noodle around and memorise and I don't tend to get too complex with arrangements, but I do read musical notation and guitar tabulature and I would be a completely normal amount of very excited to talk and write more about this as you can see SO. Yeah. Just hmu if you want more detail about guitar chords or notes or some other stuff; I'd be BEYOND thrilled to share.

Actual view of me reading and answering this ask ⬇️⬇️⬇️

beardo: *goes to town on ask*

(PS. I need to point out that I'm only responsible for the particulars of the arrangement, the physical singing/playing, and the time signature - Steph based her song upon another one, a recording of which she kindly sent me; it's got slightly different lyrics and a somewhat simpler chord progression, is in 4/4 time and gives sort of... cute country ballad vibes? I riffed off of the melody a bit and the rest... really, the arrangement did what the characters in my stories tend to do, and kind of just wrote itself.

Either way, I don't want anyone to imagine I came up with the melody or the overall shape of this song myself! I just kneaded it a bit and fought GarageBand to record it. 💜)

gonna tag @klikandtuna and @suzypfonne in case you fine humans want to listen in to continued talk about this song - you're both HIGHLY RESPONSIBLE for these amazing last 24 hours of my life and the existence of this piece of music after all

[noodles-and-tea]

For the twins in time AU, I genuinely wonder what kind of people the young twins grow up into because of Stan’s/Ford’s influence. Especially if it takes years for the portal to get fixed.

(Sorry if it seems like I already sent this question, I don’t know if it got sent the first time I asked)

I haven’t fully fleshed out how Ford grows up in the past but I do have thoughts on Stan presently

[morganbritton132]

Hopper is sitting in a booth at the diner.

He watching his new recruit talk on the pay phone outside through the window, contemplating. He’s not too sure about this Callahan kid.

He’s not sure if he’s just getting older or if it’s because he has a daughter now, but Christ. Callahan still had braces last year and they just handed him a gun. The kid is nineteen.

Hopper must have been too deep in his musing because he doesn’t notice Steve slide into the booth across from him until Steve is halfway through telling him that they make him sit at the bar when the diner is busy. He doesn’t like that because people touch his hair when they go past so, “Can I sit with you, please?”

He shoves Callahan’s half-finished hash browns to the side and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be really quiet. You’ll forget that I’m here. Mama says I’m really good at that.”

Yeah. Somehow Hopper doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting much of anything. Especially after Patty Martin, the only waitress in the building today, comes over to top of Hopper’s coffee. She gives Steve the sweetest smile Hop has ever seen on her face and asks, “Pancakes again, kiddo?”

“No thanks,” Steve says, pulling some crumbled up dollars and a handful of coins from his pocket. He slides it towards her and says with a gap-toothed smile, “One big sundae with two bananas, please.”

She looks at the money, “That’s a bit more than what you got here, kid.”

“Not of it’s your birthday.”

This is a game, Hopper realizes when Patty asks, “Is it your birthday? You had a birthday last year.”

“I have a birthday every year!” Steve giggles, and Hopper is slightly amused until Patty leaves and Steve informs him, “Mama and me come here every year on my birthday and get a big sundae. We share it. It’s tradition. I’m seven.”

Hopper scans the room and finds it lacking, “Where is your mom?”

Steve pauses. He can see the gears turning in the kid’s head. He knows that Steve must’ve heard his dad say that you don’t lie to the police but you don’t got to tell them the truth because he predictably gives a non-answer, “She’s not here.”

Descriptive, Hopper thinks but he also thinks this whole scenario is so damn sad. Instead of an interrogating, he asks, “Hey, kid. How about after you finish your ice cream, I take you for a drive in the truck. You can turn the siren on.”

Steve gives him a look like he not only thinks that suggestion is stupid but that Hopper is too. He says gently, like he’s letting Hopper down easy, “No thanks.”

“I’m going to Tommy’s later,” Steve adds. “His mama is making me a cake.”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I cannot wait for this Stan to reconnect with his Ford.

I still haven't figured out HOW exactly they'll meet yet, but I do think that Ford would ATTACH himself to Stanley and talk his ears off forever when they eventually get comfortable :] and Stanley would listen because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S HIS BRO HE HASN'T SEEN FOR 40-ISH YEARS, HE MISSED HIS VOICE. Nonstop certified Yapper & Listener relationship <3

Stanley looks dead faced because of his ingrained poker face, but he's thouroughly enjoying it, even if sometimes he has no idea what the fuck Ford is saying. He never interrupts him though, since he knows people usually ignore or interrupt him mid-talk already. So sometimes Stan gets stuck in awkward situations where he has to leave or do stuff, but also doesn't have it in his heart to stop Ford and extract himself out of a (one-sided) conversation.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 12: Beware the Grapes of Wrath.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie frowns to himself slightly. He was expecting to come home to find you watching TV or maybe doing one of your hobbies. Instead, there are still laundry baskets full of unwashed clothes you were going to take to the laundromat.

"Babe?" He calls, leaning against the wall to take off one shoe at a time. He lets them fall haphazardly next to your neatly placed shoes. He takes his leather jacket off and hangs it on the peg on the wall.

Eddie heads down the trailer hall to the bedroom. The door creaks as it opens. He can see you laying under the covers. Eddie walks over, carefully sitting towards the foot of the bed. "Hey Babe," he runs a hand up and down your spine," bad day?"

You groan," yeah...I'm sorry." "For what?" Eddie's brow furrows slightly. You huff and pull the blankets back to look at him. "I was supposed to do laundry. Clean the living room up for your club to meet tomorrow. Instead my joints decided 'hey let's become stiff like steel so every movement hurts'. My nervous system decided 'oh hey let's send a wave of fatigue so strong we can barely keep our eyes open."

Eddie blinks a couple of times watching you. A stray tear falls from your eyes, but Eddie gently wipes it away before it can leave your cheek. "Those days happen. It's okay. Do you ever get mad at me when my body aches?" He cups your cheek in his hand.

"Eddie you almost died saving the world. My body just is like this-" "Who's to say the Upside Down didn't exacerbate things hm? That air wasn't exactly legal." You roll your eyes.

"It isn't your fault." Eddie murmurs, thumb running back and forth against your cheek. The cool of his rings against your face. "It feels like it," you mumble. "Hey, stop being mean to the person I love!" Eddie pokes your side gently. You can't help but smile slightly at him.

"I love you. I know you get frustrated and upset sometimes, especially when things flare up. I do understand what you're going through and it fucking sucks. But that doesn't mean I love you less. We got to take the bad with the good. It makes those good days all the more special. It's an honor to be with you. In sickness and in health, yeah?"

"Are you saying wedding vows?" You joke. "I mean... I never believed in marriage for me but you make me think about it." Eddie shrugs," Dont need a piece of paper to validate my feelings for you." You smile softly," Yeah."

A few seconds pass before Eddie clears his throat, face flushing," So, uh, do you need heat? Will that help?" You slowly nod.

Eddie stands," Then I am going to go pop the rice bags in the microwave for you, and then im gonna run to the laundromat to get the clothes in the washer because I think Wayne will actually kill us both if he comes home in the morning to no clothes."

You laugh lightly," Til death do us part eh Munson?" "Not even death could separate us my love."

[angelmush]

came home and our petsitter had left US a handmade collaged thank you card w an attached giftcard, for supporting her business and being a good tipper and trusting her w our pets it was literally so sweet and so unnecessary omg

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

"Cuhut it out- you guys!" "Nu-uh, not until you're all perked up first! You don't want those gym challengers meetin' with an ol' mopey leader, do ya?" "Whitney's right, dear friend. No need to hide that beautiful smile of yours, alright?~"

What it takes to cheer up Johto's beloved ghost boy 👻💕

[gaygatsbyy]

I got cock blocked so hard last night by my coconut allergy.

[bitchfitch]

I've started playing Potion Permit, and so far it's one of my favorite games I've messed around with, but the most big brained move the devs made was giving you a dog on day 1, and then making that dog able to track NPCs and lead you directly to them no matter where they are in the town.

[emmafallsinlove]

imagine nyc!rory and stars hollow!jess au……..

[bedtime-broadcast]

CANNIBAL TOWN CLINIC – EXAM ROOM

Alastor sits on a cracked vinyl examination table, jacket draped over the chair beside him.

Calliope sleeps in a sling against his chest, bundled and oblivious. Alastor keeps a protective hand on her as a tired, no-nonsense doctor peers into his throat with a small light.

Doctor: Throat’s inflamed. Any chills? Dizziness?

Alastor: Only this morning. Bit of nausea. Some… vomiting. I’m not one to get ill, Doctor. I just want to be certain I’m not contagious.

Doctor: You’re lucky you’re in Cannibal Town. We’re the only ones who know how to handle weird physiology without fainting. *he draws blood. Alastor looks away—tense. The blood that flows into the vial is normal red, rich and opaque. Alastor sighed in relief to himself*

Doctor: I’ll run the tests. Might be a bug. You’ll have the results in three days. Meanwhile—no stress, lots of fluids, and take these *hands Alastor a small bottle of fever reducers* Don’t worry, they’re child-safe. Won’t hurt the little one if she’s still nursing. You’re lucky—whatever this is, it hit light. Could’ve been worse.

Alastor: *faint smile, gaze dropping to Calliope* Yes… I suppose we’ve had worse. Thank you, Doctor.

He rises slowly, clutching Calliope protectively, her weight grounding him. As he leaves, the vial of his blood sits glinting on the tray—red, not gold, and yet somehow wrong. Off. Like something inside is still changing…

[cream-and-tea]

heyyy don’t mean to bother you but did you know that um. You, now - the ones listening to my idling progress from back home in Glottage - you’re telling yourselves; Val cannot possibly be growing angry over something like this. How dare she? The hypocrite. How can this thing, this monster, this battle-saint, possibly find any kind of righteous anger in her twisted and repurposed heart for the lives of the fallen foe? How does our terrible Val think she can justify any kind of anger at the sight of the flattened and buried corpses of enemy civilians and enemy children, when we’ve already been listening to her murder police officers, soldiers and townsfolk single-handedly in turn? How can she be furious when we’ve heard her butcher her way through the little old ladies of the CLS in the hopeless effort to murder her own faraway mother? (Mockingly) See? You can be sacred and yet self-aware. Yes, I am culpable. I am dreadful. I have been responsible for great atrocities and I will commit a great many more before I’m done. And still - I am growing furious, as I walk through the devastation of this town. Because the wound of Sutler’s Weald is not like any wound I would make. It’s clumsy, it’s crude. It’s thoughtless. I begin to tell myself, as I walk - I wouldn’t have murdered them like this. I would have been kinder. I would have killed them quickly or gracefully, and there would have been beauty and strangeness in the manner of it. And even that’s all deception, even if I had been cruel and slow and lingering in the massacre of these innocent people, upon my whim - I would at least have looked them in the eyes, and I would have borne the weight of my cruelty. If they’d asked me to, I could have killed this town beautifully. And I’d have borne witness to the horror, and I’d have rejoiced in it - and it would have been considerably less vile and ugly than this. The ones back home, the ones who are listening in, I don’t think they know what they’ve done here. The line of connection between the victim and the victimiser, the sacrifice and the god - it’s long, and tangled, and indistinct. A god should not be able to avert her eyes. What a terrible thing it must be, to be monstrous and not even know it. And even if all of this is lies, even if I am just as bad and just as careless as the people back home who did this to Sutler’s Weald… …well, then, let me hate them, pure and simply, for being just as bad as me, because people - -people should be kinder than the gods that eat them. The town square is largely intact. A few burning cars, a single shrine and statue to some goddess of victory, her snapped-off arm raised in imagined triumph. I sit down upon the pavement in the ruined heart of the town, and I tell the dead people of Sutler’s Weald beautiful lies. I tell them that they survived, in their hundreds - miraculously and inexplicably, dodging the bombs. Not a single victim, not one death. An act of divine mercy. When that doesn’t work, I tell them that they were buried properly, according to whatever rites or customs they happen to cherish. When that doesn’t work, I try and turn them into my mother again, in the hopes of making the dead people hateful to me. When that doesn’t work, I tell them that I’m sorry. I tell them I wish they still had ears to become all the wondrous imaginings I had in store for them. I tell them… …that all things considered, they deserved a better avenging and foreign god, a better tormentor, a better oblivion, than the one that was forced upon them. (With cold fury) I tell them- I will find a way to give them something better.

[mycological-mariner]

Cool so I get to start training in a forge and welding and steam engine maintenance and fitting on weekends

[arcane-vagabond]

.

[kirkwallguy]

aside from crpgs the other genre im autistic about is farm sims. but because nothing can ever be easy i've been obsessed with them since i was 7 and have a complex about liking them before stardew / before they were cool. anyway i played 10 hours of story of seasons last night and it's bad! i need to stop complaining about how bioware got bad because the way these games went downhill in quality makes inquisition look like a masterpiece