#Turkish Musical Traditions

[deliandiver]

Ибо, где двое или трое собраны во имя Моё, там Я среди них. Евангелие от Матфея 18:20

[neromier]

listening to bdo's riding themes from back in the day and like. honestly fantasy settings should have Mediterranean settings more often

[lookninjas]

IT'S TIME

(again)

Pick a song from a bad description! You do not have to recognize the song to choose it (although, tbh, at least one of these should be instantly recognizable to the new wavers). Go with what is funniest or what sparks curiosity or just makes you feel some type of a way. Go with your gut.

At the end of the week, I will take all the songs and put them into a playlist, from the song with the least votes to the song with the most votes. If you would like to listen to the playlist when I'm done, and don't feel like finding the post again, please leave a comment or put it in the tags, and I'll tag you when the playlist is up. If you really can't wait a week to find out just what that mix of cumbia and Sandstorm is all about, shoot me an ask and I'll answer.

And please reblog! I like sharing the cool music I find with other people because I am extremely enthusiastic about it! But if you guys don't reblog, it's very difficult for me to find people to share things with. So if you have buddies who live for the synth, please reblog and have them see the poll.

(Also, there will probably be an expanded version of the playlist that comes out around the same time, because it was the only way I could a) cut songs off the original list and b) stop myself continuing down the rabbit hole of finding more music to actually do the poll. So it'll be like, twice the synths at least.)

(Also also, every song is a legit banger, so you will want that playlist, I'm just saying.)

[shitsndgiggs]

Hi!!

Well I have a request for Kenan.

Can you write something about the reader and him goes for Kenans cousins wedding in Turkey so she meets with his relatives for the first time and try to learn more about the culture cause she is half german and half Turkish

EMBRACING THE CULTURE - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan taking you to his cousins wedding

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The moment our plane touched down in Istanbul, I could feel the flutter of nerves in my stomach. This wasn’t just another trip—it was the first time I’d be meeting Kenan’s extended family, and it was also my first time attending a traditional Turkish wedding.

To say I was nervous would be an understatement.

Kenan’s family was hosting the wedding for one of his cousins, and while I was excited, the idea of meeting so many relatives at once was a bit overwhelming.

Though I’m half-Turkish myself, I’d grown up mostly in Germany and hadn’t had much exposure to Turkish culture. Kenan, on the other hand, was deeper connected to his roots, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place.

Kenan had been patient with me in the weeks leading up to this trip, teaching me Turkish phrases, explaining cultural customs, and walking me through what to expect at the wedding.

Still, as we stepped off the plane into the warm Istanbul air, I couldn’t shake the butterflies in my stomach.

Kenan must have sensed my anxiety because he squeezed my hand gently as we made our way through the airport. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “My family’s going to love you.”

I nodded, offering him a small smile, even though my nerves were still bubbling beneath the surface. I knew he was right—Kenan’s family was bound to be kind and welcoming—but the thought of making a good impression weighed heavily on me.

—

As we finally approached the venue, a stunning seaside resort, I took a deep breath. The sounds of laughter, music, and celebration filled the air, and I knew there was no turning back now.

“Ready?” Kenan asked, his hand still holding mine as we stood outside the grand entrance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, trying to inject some confidence into my voice.

Kenan smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’ve got this,” he whispered.

With that, he led me inside, and I was immediately enveloped by the vibrant energy of the wedding. The room was a riot of color, with deep reds, golds, and blues adorning every surface.

Guests milled about, laughing, chatting, and dancing, and I felt a surge of excitement begin to push aside my nerves.

As we navigated through the crowd, Kenan introduced me to various family members. Each one greeted me warmly, with genuine smiles and kind words.

His aunts and uncles welcomed me with open arms, their affectionate greetings helping to put me at ease.

Kenan’s family was large and loud, in the best possible way. They were full of life, each person adding their own energy to the celebration.

One of his aunts, a petite woman with a kind smile, pulled me aside to chat. She spoke in Turkish, her words flowing quickly, and I did my best to follow along.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, her smile widening when I managed to respond in Turkish, albeit a bit clumsily. “Kenan is very lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I replied, smiling back at her, though I was still nervous about making a mistake.

Kenan hovered nearby, close enough to step in if I needed help but giving me the space to navigate these interactions on my own.

I appreciated that—he was always so in tune with my needs, knowing when to step in and when to let me take the lead.

Eventually, Kenan excused himself to catch up with some relatives he hadn’t seen in a while, leaving me to explore on my own.

I wandered around, taking in the details of the event. The traditional attire worn by some of the older guests was beautiful, and I admired the intricate designs and rich colors.

Later in the evening, I found myself sitting with a group of Kenan’s younger cousins.

They were excited to teach me some turkish words, sharing stories and what to expect throughout the night.

One of the girls, a bright-eyed teenager with a mischievous grin, offered to teach me a traditional dance.

I hesitated, feeling self-conscious, but her enthusiasm was contagious. “Come on, it’s easy!” she encouraged in a mix of Turkish and English.

With her guidance, I stood up and began mimicking her movements. The first few steps were awkward, but as I found my rhythm, I began to enjoy myself.

The laughter and cheers from those around us made the experience even more fun, and for the first time that night, I felt completely at ease.

Kenan spotted me from across the room and smiled, clearly proud of how I was embracing the culture.

When I eventually returned to his side, slightly out of breath, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth.

“I’m trying,” I replied with a laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “And I’m having a lot of fun.”

“I told you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re a natural.”

As the night wore on, Kenan and I slipped away from the festivities for a moment of quiet. We walked along the beach, the cool sand beneath our feet and the sound of the waves providing a peaceful backdrop.

Kenan stopped and turned to face me, his hands resting gently on my hips. His eyes searched mine, filled with a depth of emotion that made my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said softly.

“For what?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“For being here, for making an effort to connect with my family and my culture,” he replied. “It means more to me than you know.”

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “It’s my culture too, Kenan,” I said, placing a hand on his cheek. “I want to learn everything I can about it.”

His expression softened, and he leaned down to kiss me, his lips brushing against mine in a tender, lingering kiss.

The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in this perfect moment.

When we finally pulled away, Kenan rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I can’t wait for you to meet the rest of the family tomorrow.”

I laughed softly. “There’s more?”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a chuckle. “A LOT more.”

[mercy-misrule]

So this is a collaboration between Siberian Indigenous folk pop band Otyken and Dutch Turkish musician Ummet Ozcan.

It's traditional music and singing techniques, including throat singing over an EDM back beat.

This isn't metal at all! I know my usual folk recs come with a metal backing, but not this time.

Guys, this is so good, it's just a delight to listen to. It's fun and boppy but it's got some heft to it musically.

[quadrafonica]

The album was intended as an experiment using musical styles Brubeck discovered abroad while on a United States Department of State sponsored tour of Eurasia, such as when he observed in Turkey a group of street musicians performing a traditional Turkish folk song that was played in 9/8 time, a rare meter for Western music. Columbia president Goddard Lieberson took a chance to underwrite and release Time Out. It received negative reviews by critics upon its release, but despite this, it became one of the best-known and biggest-selling jazz albums, charting highly on the popular albums chart when 50,000 units sold for a jazz album was impressive. It consequently produced a Top 40 hit single in "Take Five", composed by Paul Desmond, and the one track not written by Dave Brubeck. The cover art is just as important as the LP itself featuring specific artwork created by S. Neil Fujita best known for his covers for CBS Records, which introduced abstract art to jazz LP packaging. First published on December 14, 1959.

[grandparomeaskblog]

Imperium Romanum Bros

Rome / Romulus

full name: Tullus Lupercius Romulus

profession: retired empire

highest military position: Optio Centuriae to Hastatus Prior

(2nd in command to the 5th Centurio, thus in charge of 150 men aged 20-25 of the elite troops of the first cohort)

highest military decoration: Civic Crown

marriage status: unmarried

alignment: lawful neutral

nationality: former Roman, now stateless

residence: no fixed abode

height: 1.64 m / 5'4

appearant age: 28

Religion: Roman Catholic officially, more traditional pagan actually

Transportation: he walks mostly

Favourite clothes: loose fitted styles mostly, shorts, armani jeans, sweatpants, sandals, loafers

favourite colours: white, lavender, reds

sports: F1, chariot racing (team white!!!)

fav food: Take out, cheap beers or expense wines, lotta fish sauce or ketchup, snickers

dreamjob: plasterer

Hobbies: watching sports, walking, hitting the gym, drawing (botanical stuff mainly)

Constantinople / Dinos (Ντίνος) / Rûm (Ῥώμη)

fullname: Kōnstantînos Hatzikaratheodoris

(Κωνσταντίνος Χατζηkαραθεοδωρή)

profession: representative of the Rûm

highest official position: senator

marriage status: widower (to Iullia)

alignment: lawful evil

nationality: Turkish (That's what his passport says. Ha Ha loser!)

residence: Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

height: 1.67 m / 5'5

appearant age: 45

Religion: Greek Orthodox

Transportation: Public transport. He sold his car to be more climate neutral, he does own an electric bike.

Food/drinks/drugs: He has a bit of a sweet tooth. He tries to stick to vegan foods. His favourite treat is a magnum almond, they do sell a vegan version, but he buys the regular as a guilty pleasure! He was an alcoholic but quit drinking after Greece died. He has experimented a lot with drugs. He smokes sigarets and tries to quit three times a year.

Favourite clothes: tailor made suits

taste in jewellery: gold and gems, chains, earrings, watches, rings

favourite colours: purple and blues

description of home: three story apartment with a view to the Bosporus. It's stuffed with books and numbered boxes because he is a hoarder. Only the ground level is tidy enough to have guests over. His furniture is old fashioned but decent, built to last and stylish.

Funfacts: hobbies include beatboxing, making counterfeit money&documents, restoration of old books/art, writing poetry. He is a conspiracy theorist.

Pet: thaleia, the straycat

Music: He plays a Cello he named 'me julie'

[thequietesthing]

I just finished The City of Brass (the first of The Daevabad Trilogy) and I need an adaptation of these books ASAP. But like, a true, accurate, not-white-washed, Adaptation with a capital A. No half-assed generic "Arab" bright coloured exotic kind of music shit that Netflix will pass as the "greatest series ever produced". I want to hear the differences between the languages (Divasti is different from Geziriyya that is different from Arabic), I want to see the different kind of clothes (appropriate to the specific culture and region they are drawn upon), and most importantly I don't want all actors with a British accent. It's not realistic, it never has been. I don't care if it's fantasy, I don't care that we are in the 18th century, they cannot all have a British accent; give me Persian, Afghani, Turkish, Arabic, East African accent. These books are so interesting because they draw from so many different cultures and folklore and traditions, let's try not to generalise them, yes? So the main point of this to Netflix in case it wasn't clear: DO A FUCKING RESEARCH, THANK YOU.

[loneberry]

some notes on sufism

The other day I went to the Harvard Divinity School Muslims iftar (the meal that breaks the fast during Ramadan), which was followed by a concert of Turkish music that is traditionally performed in Sufi lodges in Istambul. Before the music began, the professor I’ve been auditing Islamic literature classes with read some verses from Rumi’s Masnavi and offered a meditation on fasting through an interpretation of the lines: “If you have closed this mouth, another mouth is opened, which becomes an eater of the morsels of mysteries.” That is the nature of mystical knowledge—gnosis (or maʿrifa) is not understood intellectually, but tasted (dhawq). The closing of the bodily mouth is an opening of the spiritual mouth. He asked us to listen to the music with the inner heart.

I went with my friend S, who has been nudging me toward conversion. I’ve been allergic to religion most of my life because I’m not really much of a joiner. I distinctly remember being in (Catholic) Sunday School as a child and thinking to myself: This sounds fake to me. As in, made-up, irrational. The people who treated the fanciful stories like fact seemed like crackpots to me, even to my child-mind. I don’t think I ever believed in Santa either—I guess my disposition was innately skeptical; perhaps that contributed to my identification with anarchism from when I was 13 or 14. Yet at the same time, my feeling for the invisible, for the world of the dead, was always quite strong, even when it was unstitched from a belief system. As a kid I would wander the house alone at night, thinking I could hear my dead parakeet chirping from a shoebox in the garage.  

I hated Sunday School. While I was always good at school-school (at least when I was a child, before I became an incorrigible truant), I was terrible at Sunday School. Because it seemed like hocus-pocus to me, none of it stuck. My classmates had internalized all the stories I thought were outlandish. During mass I would think exclusively about donuts, the ones we would buy from the ladies who would sell them as a fundraiser. I’ve thought about returning to Catholicism, but sadly, after the post-1970s political realignment in the US, all the leftist Catholics (the Marxists who loathed the Vietnam War and exposed the FBI’s COINTELPRO) are gone. As much as I love reading Catholic mystics (St Teresa of Avila, St John of the Cross, Angela of Foligno, Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, Marguerite Porete, and others), Christian mysticism is more individualist than Islamic mysticism—asceticism and separation from the group is the way to commune with God, while Islamic mysticism is rooted in communal practices like sama (singing, dancing, reciting poetry, playing/listening to music) and dhikr (communal prayer for the remembrance of God). While Christian mysticism bears the imprint of the Neoplatonist trajectory of ascent, for Sufism, the trajectory is shaped like a paisley. After fana (annihilation of the ego/union with God/dying before you die), there is baqaa or subsistence, a return of sorts. 

I also much prefer the Islamic orientation to the created world than the Christian one, for in Islam, everything in creation can be understood as the breath or speech of God. The Hadith on which Sufi cosmology is based reads, “I was a hidden Treasure and Loved to be known, so I created the world that I might be known.” All of creation is a mirror to reflect God (this is why you must polish the rust from your heart, for the human heart can manifest all the names and qualities of God). In the Islamic mystical tradition there is an affirmation of the created world even though God and creation are not the same (as is the case in Pantheism). Everything has ontology. Nothing has ontology. The Sufi metaphysicians ask us to see with two eyes. The drop is not the ocean at the same time it cannot be separated from the ocean.

7 years ago I read Reza Aslan’s God: A Human History. After sampling the platter of world religions I joked to myself, Hmmm, if I had to pick the one I vibe with most, I guess it would be Sufism (Islamic mysticism). I didn’t know anything about Sufism other than the Rumi and Hafez poetry I read as a teenager, but the way Aslan described Ibn ‘Arabi’s concept of 'wahadat al-wujud' (or Unity of Being) reminded me of Spinozism. I guess what I’m trying to say is...I just think Sufi metaphysics is...right. Or, it speaks to how I tend to think about reality. It’s not something I can prove (that I don’t exist, while at the same time I am part of the ALL that is God), but it makes the most sense to me.

In the Sufi literature class, S jokes to me: “You’re the only non-Muslim in this class.” The same was probably true at the iftar + concert. S points to someone from the class: “The Maoist is a recent convert. This is their first time fasting for Ramadan.” “Is [our professor] fasting?” “Of course. I saw him at the iftar last night and talked to him about translation. I told him it’s ghastly to try to fit Persian verse into an English rhyme scheme. He agreed with me.” (We are clearly partisans of blank verse translations… yet so much of what’s out there has been poorly translated or not translated at all.) 

Much of the lyrics sung with the gorgeous music were verses written by the great Turkish-language Sufi poet and mystic Yunus Emre ("the Dante of Turkey," I whispered to S). S was ecstatic listening to the haunting ney (a kind of flute). We just so happened to be sitting in the same row as the professor. I tapped S and whispered that it looked like he was really enjoying the music. He was smiling with his eyes closed and swaying his head from side to side. He looked like he was having...a profound experience. This prof usually has what I guess you’d call ‘resting bitch face’ (which I always found funny because it runs counter to his sweet and gentle personality). But not at the concert. Pure bliss was painted on his face. It was then that it dawned on me that Sufism, for him, was probably something more than a scholarly interest. I thought about what it must have been like to discover something so beautiful and profound, and to know, in that moment, that your life will be changed forever—you might go off to Iran and devote your entire life to studying medieval texts. 

Of course this Ramadan I am thinking continuously about the genocide in Gaza, how an entire population is being starved to death by the sadistic leaders of Israel, how terrible it must be to be bombed and shot at during the holy month, or to break your fast with boiled grass and animal feed. I feel truly ashamed to come from a country that is complicit in this violence. I hope everyone continues to apply pressure to end this war—it feels hopeless now, but it is making a difference.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Belly Dance Week 22 or So "Soft Flesh and Ocean"

I originally wrote week 46 but just came to the realization there is no way I could be that far along. That would be mean I have been belly dancing for a year which is not case....let's say maybe at at Week 22.

Today in class my sassy teacher said once again that we are "painting with our hips," a gorgeous reference that immediately turns my hips into two paintbrushes I named “Frida” and “Abo.” When I'm in my belly dance classes, I am always happy that the music is turned up loud. I tend to moan in a low register and talk all kinds of lovely shit to myself (my actual cells)---even speaking my dreams into existence while also moving my body through any lingering fears and distrust. You can consider me as a kind of "dance doula." So much fear and distrust hide out in the folds of a female's body--the hips, belly, breasts, ass, and vocals--these parts so fragile, tender, and worthy of being loved on so I clear the space to allow for more easeful birthing. We must be willing to connect to the parts of ourselves that we hide and feel aren't worthy of being acknowledged for it is there that the portals to new narratives can be opened up. Oh, how shadows need to be noticed first though. Just go outside on a sunny day and look at how many shadows your body naturally makes when you walk through the world.

So I feel arousal energy in my belly dance classes--I imagine it is healthy and "normal" to do so but have never asked the other students if that was the case for them. I know there is shame around an aroused female body unless it is in relationship to a male body, so I don't feel compelled to ask. But what I do know is that when I feel the arousal energy rise, when I'm steeped in arousal, consumed by its warmth and nutrients, it's so innocent and pure, and makes me dance a bit slower and more fluid. The more I relax and allow the movement to come find me, the more I begin to feel like water. The medicine is that you are no wasting energy trying to control your movements but you are courageous enough to allow your body open and be moved by the Soul of the dance, this current of pure energy potential.

We had some lovely ladies in our class from North Africa who grew up in cultures where belly dance is a fertility treasure passed on by the elder women in the family, the mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, to the little girls. Ahh, intergenerational traditions.....how amazing!! Egyptian women. Turkish women. Lebanese women. And to see the water in their bodies move when they danced was a pure gift. Poetry. I'm forever changed by their soft flesh and ocean.

I feel most confident in belly dance when I am doing any hip, ass, or breasts shimmies. They feel familiar due to my West African DNA and sexual proclivities. And what's also true is that I loved mimicking the women who were in front of me and were more culturally attuned to belly dance, moving their bellies like waves in the ocean. They unconsciously breathed more from their bellies when dancing and therefore made very complicated movements radiate an effortless scent and texture.

I am opening up in my belly area after years of tightening it as conditioned by western culture’s unhealthy and weird ass, flat belly, beauty standards and self-imposed misoygny. Studying and/or mimicking in a non-obsessive healthy way is a lost art. Sometimes we mimic people, whether famous, culturally-connected, or not, and deepen into our own truth in the process. Today that was my story.

--India Ame'ye, Author

[perseephoneee]

Can I order hot coco with Freya Mikaelson for ficmas 2023? -shy anon

hot cocoa time (freya mikaelson x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 11 of ficmas!

warnings: my music taste

a/n: i made my friend a character in this story so i hope they enjoy that. also if you haven't listened to jagged little pill what is wrong with you?? go and do that.

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Growing up in New Orleans was a vivacious experience. Unluckily, in most other cities in the United States, you had first-hand exposure to the history of jazz, voodoo magic, and other French inspirations that didn’t exist elsewhere. Things went bump in the night, and the next day, most people didn’t remember it. In one of the less crowded areas of New Orleans, though, was a small cafe, slash bookstore, and slash record store. The owner, Louis, couldn’t decide what to open, so he did it all. You could go in, get a latte, and then parooze the various vinyls and books for sale before settling down with your new entertainment. Sometimes, even local bands would play, or authors would have Q&As for their new releases. You worked at Louis’ (aptly titled) for about a year. You loved listening to the music, getting to know the regulars, and getting an employee discount on the books you loved. People also enjoyed the various specials each season, most of them named and/or paired with books or vinyl. It was just more fun that way. 

One day, as you were wiping down the counters distractedly, you were startled from your stupor by a ring of the bell on the counter. Looking up, you noticed a gorgeous blond woman in front of you. Tall, with blond waves and blue eyes the color of a raging sea. She was willowy, but when she smiled at you, it felt like you were given a gift. You realized that she asked a question. 

“Sorry, long day– can you repeat that?” you asked, throwing your rag to the side. 

“What is your hot cocoa special like?” she asked, a slight rasp to her tone. You looked at the sign she was glancing at, advertising the Narnia special with a copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. 

“It’s a traditional hot chocolate topped off with caramel and hazelnut sprinkles, kind of like some iterations of Turkish Delight,” you answer. You stuttered a bit; you were never that good at talking to attractive people. 

“Like the White Witch?” she smiles. You nod, and she goes to pull out her wallet. “I’d love to get a 12oz of that then.”

“What’s a good name for the order?” you smile as you find a stray Sharpie around. Truthfully, you didn’t take names at Louis’, but you just wanted to know hers. 

“Freya.” She helped you spell it out, and you wondered the origin of the name. You got right to her order, glancing up now and then to see her looking at the shelves of books or the bargain bin in the record portion of the store. 

She came in every day for the next two weeks. Your co-workers knew you harbored a slight crush on her, and every time she was in, they would excitedly text you, even if it were your day off. You would find ways to return to the cafe, citing forgetting something or needing to pick up a paycheck. You would strike up a conversation with her when you could. You discussed your favorite music, books, everything. She told you she’d been away for a while and was still getting used to being home with her family. On one eventful day, you showed her one of your favorite records ever (“Jagged Little Pill is a tribute to female angst, and necessary for all women to listen to,” you told her, shoving the record in her hand.) She came back the next day to say to you that she listened to all of it, switching back and forth between wanting to cry and wanting to throw furniture around her room. Every time she came in, she ordered the same hot cocoa. One time, she came in with a very handsome man in a well-pressed suit and an aura of sophistication. Your heart sank, but you relaxed when she introduced him as her brother. Freya still ordered her usual hot cocoa, but you convinced her brother (Elijah, you learn his name is) to try a London Fog if he hasn’t already. Freya tells you later that he enjoyed the tea latte and subtly went to the store the next day to get Earl Grey tea to make his own. 

“Just ask her out,” Nimm, your good friend and co-worker, chastises you one day after the morning rush. You make sure to glare at them, returning to cleaning the espresso machine. “You like her.”

“She would not go out with someone like me,” you mumble. Nimm sighs, and you can tell they’re getting ready to lecture you on the merits of self-esteem.

“You are a wonderful person, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short,” Nimm grabs the cleaning rag from you so that you’ll pay attention. “The worst that can happen is she says no. Not life or death. You’ll survive.”

You don’t have the chance to argue more with Nimm as Freya walks in at that second. Nimm vacates immediately, leaving you alone with Freya. 

“The usual?” you ask, wringing your hands nervously under the counter. 

“You read my mind,” Freya chuckles, already getting out her wallet. You can feel Nimm’s stare from the back, and you turn to see them motioning for you to get on with it. You send them an unsavory gesture before Freya can notice. Freya starts to ask a question.

“How are–”

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?” you rush, your eyes widening as you register Freya’s surprised expression. It quickly morphs into a smile, though, and you wonder if it’s possible for someone as young as you to have a heart attack. 

“I was waiting for you to ask,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and you thought you might explode in happiness. You heard vague cheering from the backroom and saw both Nimm and Louis celebrating. You gestured for Freya to wait a second as you stormed into the back and tried to beat up both of them. After many crashes, some screaming, and a few expletives, a couple of minutes later, you returned to Freya, who was trying her hardest not to die of laughter. 

“Let me make your drink,” you sigh, scribbling on her cup before finishing the hot cocoa. Freya smiles as she notices that you put your number on the cup. “Meet me here tomorrow? I get off at 2 pm this time.”

“Sounds like a date,” Freya grins, walking out the door. You’re joined a second later by Nimm throwing an arm around you. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard!” Nimm exclaims. 

“When I murder you, I’ll make sure to make it look like an accident.”

Freya met you outside your work the next day, and despite not being dressed much differently than usual, she still took your breath away. She was like an ice princess, not because she was cold, but because she was effervescent. You walked arm in arm to a place that reminded you of her only after a couple of days of Freya coming to Louis’s. It was called ​​Sucre Rêve, a chocolatier from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. You had made a reservation for the upstairs, where they served some of the best gourmet hot chocolate you’d ever had. Freya’s eyes were wide as saucers as she took in all the bright colors of the store, the cotton ball clouds suspended from the ceiling, and the various glittery decorations that made the place like a dreamland. You both ordered their classic coco covered in sprinkles and spent the whole experience laughing over whipped cream staches and talking about your various lives. You learned Freya was the oldest of six siblings, but two of them sadly passed away. They all lived together in the French Quarter, even though sometimes they didn’t get along. You didn’t press her for what happened to her other siblings or the family dynamic; you just appreciated her opening up. In return, you talked about your home life and shared more music recommendations for her. She had since become a vast Alanis Morisette fan, and you couldn’t blame her. You recommended Tori Amos to continue her journey into becoming a 90s rock girl. 

You left the chocolatier feeling as light as a feather. The sky was dimming with the hints of a sunset, the winter months making everything go dark early. You just walked with Freya through the last remnants of the sun, enjoying the cotton candy clouds. 

“Thank you for going out with me,” you said, breaking the silence. 

“I would do it again,” she breathed softly. You stopped before Louis, hands in your jacket pockets as you searched for what to say. “Can I call you?”

“Always,” you answer, much quicker than what is considered excellent. Freya steps towards you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath catches in your throat as she kisses your cheek, her lips cold from the weather. “You missed,” you mutter, watching Freya’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. You lean forward, kissing her on her lips, enjoying the little gasp she lets out as you press further into her. You kiss her once on her cheek before pulling away. “Like I said, you missed.”

She grins, pulling you in for another kiss as the sun continues descending behind you, painting you both in a warm glow. And to think you finally found your perfect person over a cup of hot cocoa.

[milaswriting]

Just saw a video of a dude being all cute with his baby and I have to ask: do the ROs like babies/kids? how would they be as parents? would they even want to be parents?

Whether they would want to be parents would obviously depend on the mc too so this is general, will add Pinterest images because those are fun:

With A, I think one of the main reasons they’d want to be a parent is to right the wrongs of their own upbringing, but also, them even being in the position to have a kid — if you had asked them before moving to Lehsa whether they thought it would happen, they’d scowl lol. I think A would be a great parent: they’d be the kind of parent to love creating traditions with their kid, like regularly spending one on one time together and teaching them about their Turkish and Greek culture. They’d also encourage their kid to feel every single emotion, like crying is okay, feeling down is okay, feeing love is okay — bask in all those emotions that A found so difficult. Bonus: A would regularly call their child a Greek term of endearment.

B, a bit like A where having a child would please B because they’d give them all the love that they deserve, but also all the love that B didn’t get growing up. Originally, B never really thought about having a kid after they became a werewolf but I think they’d really love a family. Like, B’s child would literally be smothered in love: B would be the kind of parent that’s always present, they’d regularly have all of these sweet adventures with their child — that child would genuinely be B’s favourite part of themselves.

K, they’ve never really thought about being a parent. It’s not that it wouldn’t work, but y’know, fun aunt/uncle, I see that being more K’s vibe — but if they ever were a parent, it would definitely be eye-opening in the best way. It’d bring out their softness and sensitivity more, like there is no one that would hear K’s musical talent than their child. They can’t sleep? K’s taking out a guitar and singing a sweet song. Their kid’s bored? K’s playing the piano with them. As a joke, I think they’d buy their child a tiny leather jacket so they can match lol.

P and the idea of being a parent isn’t like essential, it’s a lovely thought, but it’s maybe a 50/50 scenario (which can be changed for the better by the right person). So, if they have a biological child then they’d have magic within them so I think it’d be cute to see P as a parent doing playful, pretty magic with their kid. If not biological, then P would use magic to entertain their kid. Oo, and also P teaching them French and Dutch would be a delight, and P would of course take lots and lots of pictures because that’s their thing.

[shitsndgiggs]

Hii, I love your work and that you write for Arda because there is not much about him. So i would like to request a fic about him maybe with a Slavic reader (because I am Slavic, from Slovakia), just them experiencing their different cultures, maybe her meeting his parents and them being worried because their culture is so different, thank you and have a great day🫶🏻💗

A/N: it’s kinda short. Not my best work, but I still hope that you like it.

LOVE WITHOUT BORDERS - ARDA GÜLER

In which meeting Arda’s parents was not as bad as Y/N had imagined

Arda Güler x slavic! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I had always been proud of my heritage, with its rich traditions and deep-rooted customs.

When I met Arda, I knew our relationship would be a journey of discovery.

We came from different worlds, but our love was strong, despite out different cultures.

Arda and I had been dating for almost a year, and things were getting serious. We had spent countless hours sharing stories about our childhoods, favorite foods, and family traditions.

Now, it was time to take the next step: meeting his parents in Turkey.

As our plane descended into Esenboğa airport, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. Arda held my hand, sensing my unease.

"Don’t worry, miláčik," he said, using the Slovak term he had picked up. "They will love you."

"I hope so," I replied, squeezing his hand. "I just want to make a good impression."

We arrived at his parents' home, a beautiful house filled with the warmth and aroma of Turkish cuisine.

His mother, Serap, and father, Umit, greeted us with open arms. Their hospitality was heartwarming.

"Welcome to our home," Serap said in Turkish, which Arda quickly translated for me. "We are happy to finally meet you."

"Thank you so much for having me," I replied, smiling. "I'm excited to be here."

As we sat down for dinner, the table was covered with an array of delicious turkish dishes. I recognized some from the meals Arda had cooked for me.

We started with small appetizers, and the conversation flowed smoothly at first.

"How was your flight?" Umit asked through Arda, who was acting as our translator.

"It was good, thank you," I replied, feeling more at ease with every passing moment. "I’ve always wanted to visit Turkey, and it’s even more special to do it with Arda."

Serap smiled. "We’ve heard a lot about you," she said. "Arda speaks very highly of you."

As the evening progressed, we talked about many things—Arda’s career, my job, and our shared love for travel.

At one point, Serap turned to me, her eyes warm and curious.

"Tell us about your family," she said gently. "Arda mentioned you have a close-knit family."

I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Yes, we are very close. My parents have always been supportive of me, and I have two younger siblings who I adore. My brother is in kindergarten, and my sister is finishing high school."

Umit nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Family is very important. It’s good to hear that you have such a strong bond."

Arda squeezed my hand under the table, giving me a reassuring smile. "She talks about her family all the time. They sound wonderful."

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words. "They are," I said softly. "I’m lucky to have them."

The next few days were a whirlwind of experiences. Arda took me to explore Ankara, showing me the stunning Atatürk Mausoleum, the bustling Kızılay Square, and the serene Gençlik Park.

We even attended a music concert, which was unlike anything I had ever seen.

One evening, as we were having tea on the terrace, Arda and I talked about our relationship and the future.

"Do you think our cultural differences will be a problem?" I asked, voicing a concern that had been on my mind.

Arda looked thoughtful. "I think any relationship has its challenges," he said. "But as long as we communicate and respect each other’s backgrounds, we can make it work. My parents love you already, and I know your family will welcome me too."

I smiled, feeling reassured. "You’re right. We’ll take it one step at a time."

[veronika-tserber]

Zodiac Signs, Cities & Curious Facts! 🌆

Each city was selected by me from "The Rulership Book" by Rex E. Bills, alongside one fact that matches that particular sign's energy! There are more cities and places that align with the vibration of each sign, but these are the ones I picked for this post. All pictures are from Google Images.

Enjoy this random and (hopefully) fun thread!😁

♈Aries: FLORENCE, Italy

Florence has a unique street festival: The "Calcio Storico" is a traditional street football game played annually there. The game involves four teams representing the four historic quarters of the city, and it's known for its rough and intense style of play!

♉Taurus: LEIPZIG, Germany

Leipzig is known as the "City of Music": Leipzig has a rich musical heritage and is considered one of the world's most important cities for classical music. Famous composers such as Johann Sebastian Bach, Richard Wagner, and Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy have strong connections to Leipzig, and their music is celebrated in the city's numerous concert halls, museums, and festivals.

♊Gemini: LONDON, England

London has a "whispering gallery": The Whispering Gallery in St. Paul's Cathedral is a circular gallery that runs around the interior of the dome. Due to its unique acoustics, if you whisper against the wall on one side of the gallery, the sound can be heard on the other side, over 100 feet away.

♋Cancer: ISTANBUL, Turkey

Istanbul has a famous street for cats: The "Cat Street" or "Kedi Sokak" in Turkish is a narrow street in the historic district of Sultanahmet that is home to dozens of stray cats. The cats are well-fed and cared for by locals, and the street has become a popular tourist attraction.

♌Leo: BERLIN, Germany

Berlin is a graffiti artist's paradise: The city has a long history of street art and is home to some of the most famous graffiti murals in the world. The East Side Gallery, a section of the Berlin Wall that has been turned into an open-air gallery, features over 100 paintings by artists from around the world.

♍Virgo: MOSCOW, Russia

Moscow has a rich literary history: Many famous Russian writers, including Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Anton Chekhov, lived and worked in Moscow. It also has the largest number of public libraries in the world: "The Russian State Library" , which is the largest library in Europe and the second largest library in the world, after the Library of Congress in the United States.

♎Libra: VIENNA, Austria

Vienna has a rich musical history: Vienna has been a center of musical innovation and creativity for centuries and has been home to many famous composers such as Mozart, Beethoven, and Strauss. Today, the city is renowned for its classical music scene and is home to the world-famous Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.

♏Scorpio: TOKYO, Japan

Tokyo has a unique fashion scene: Tokyo's fashion scene is known for its avant-garde and eclectic styles, with Harajuku being the center of youth fashion culture. "Gothic Lolita" is part of Harajuku, and it incorporates darker and more macabre elements into the Lolita fashion aesthetic.

♐Sagittarius: TUSCANY, Italy

Tuscany is home to the oldest university in Europe: The University of Bologna, which is located in Tuscany, is the oldest university in Europe, having been founded in 1088. It is still one of the most prestigious universities in Italy.

♑Capricorn: BRUSSELS, Belgium

Brussels is home to the "Atomium": The Atomium is a unique architectural structure in Brussels that was built for the 1958 World Exposition. It is designed to represent an iron crystal magnified 165 billion times, and it has become an iconic symbol of the city.

♒Aquarius: LOS ANGELES, California

LA is the birthplace of the Internet: The first successful transmission of a message over the Internet occurred on October 29, 1969, between two computers located at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) and the Stanford Research Institute. This event is considered the birth of the Internet.

♓Pisces: GALICIA, Spain

Galicia is home to an ancient spiritual destination: The Way of St. James, also known as the Camino de Santiago, is a famous pilgrimage route that leads to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. Every year, thousands of people from all over the world make the 780 km journey on foot, bicycle, or horseback. Many of them walk the route for spiritual reasons, while others enjoy the physical challenge and the opportunity to meet people from all over the world.

Now, that was a pleasure to put together! How do you feel about the fact/city for your sign? As a Virgo, I'd love to visit the Moscow library, but as a weird/edgy fashion sucker, Tokyo seems like a whole lot of fun! Also, the Aries one made me LOL! Y'all just can't stop fighting, can you? 😂

Which fact/city is your favorite one(s)? Let me know down below! 🖤

- Foxbörn

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ 1

ᴄʜᴀʀᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ

ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʏ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ?

[dinoburger]

something I've been thinking about a lot is art and institution - there was a post going around criticising the institutional practice of art, I believe, and an artist I follow added:

"but make sure you still learn the fundamentals"

something about that sentiment just feels... off.

As in... for a while I wanted to pick up music theory, for instance. Pretty much all of it revolves around the Western scale. Videos I watched would off-handedly mention "different scales based on micro-tones in other countries" but never linger too long on that thought.

The fundamentals for different practices are fundamentally different here - it's true that having multiple areas of interest can do much to expand one's practice, but if your focus was going to be traditional Turkish music and playing the Oud - or primarily interested in playing the çifteli - you'd be learning a lot of extraneous stuff before learning anything actually relevant, and that aspect of your practice would be treated as the extracurricular.

You'd still be, essentially, trained for the Western industry before anything else, having that treated as the standard practice and the one you'd be overwhelmingly nudged into before anything else.

There are general practices in art that can help hone your observation like in music, general practices that can help tune your ear - ones that have been developed for centuries - and it's not that learning these are damaging to your "true artistic self" somehow... but the fascination with outsider art comes from this recognition that someone without all these self-imposed standards is more likely to break them and develop a practice that isn't commonplace.

What subjects we ascribe the status of "fundamental" and what as "extracurricular" effects the psychology of the practice, by degree of what we consider industry standard as opposed to the "lesser, hobbyist art". This is what patriarchal hegemony has used to discern the refined practice as opposed to women's crafts, but obviously this cuts along social boundaries.

It's definitely what I've noticed when learning the traditional fundamentals while being interested in cartoons - to mimic the established greats is to study, to take interest in more "childish" styles and subject matter is to be a hobbyist.

However... I never learned much about the composition of comic paneling or dove deeper into the process of character design from this study, either. This also strikes me as strange considering what a revered art form animation can be.

There is no institute that can teach every microcosm, but, curriculum does a lot to enforce a standard to judge the value of everything it produces by the same metric. Ironically, you can only expand practice by observing and breaking rules in the same way another established artist has. There's little effort made to demonstrate the application of other influences outside of rigid lessons.

This is, in conjunction with the fact you learn little about other applications for art at all outside of the art market, industry and commodity - or, really, ways to conduct practice that don't involve selling to something. This assertion of value and career, despite how unrealistic it is for a lot of people, establishes the standard. Creativity in crafts that overlap other fields or hail from other cultures are never given the weight of the accepted modern practice.

Institution as a metric of value for art and ideas fails in the self assertion that it is the metric for value, that its teachings and assertions are objective and somehow culturally neutral, when more radical practices are limited and less accepted traditions relegated to extranea.

I'm definitely not the first or last person to point out that artistic practice and creativity influences just about every field in some shape or form. The practice of art is the practice of expression. The practice of art is the lifeblood of culture. The practice of art is the endless iteration of more and more expansive, intersectional ideas and concepts.

The practice of art will be wherever you find what you love and what about the world inspires you, not the relegation to institute.

Becoming more involved as an activist has made me more passionate about art than practicing art institutionally has in years - in over a decade since I studied it in highschool.

The aspects of what we consider fundamental and what traditions speak to us... we can decide that for ourselves.

[nevzatboyraz44]

Damboi instrument, also known as mouth bun, has become very popular in our country lately.

Mouth Kopuzu, one of the ancient Turkish instruments still used in Central Asia, has a history of 6 thousand years.

Another name for the Mouth Kopuzu instrument, which takes its name from the sound it makes, is Damboi.

The origins of the interesting instrument date back to the geography of Central Asia.

The instrument, which has a history of 6 thousand years, has survived from the Middle Ages to the present day.

The mouthpiece is a kind of instrument used by the Central Asian Turks during the periods when they believed in Shamanism.

Mouthpiece gets its name from the sound it makes like "dammm dammmmm".

There are types made from various alloy metals in the Central Asian Turkish republics and Northern Mongolia, and from bamboo stripping in India and oceanic islands.

The mouth piece, which is especially indispensable for ethnic music and shamanic rituals, shows its traces in Turkish culture as playing the comb.

Interestingly, this instrument is among the traditional instruments in almost every country in the world.

This instrument, available in various sizes and shapes, is called "mouth harp" in Europe and America.

This device, which was used in Shamanic rituals in the past, was also used in entertainment and music production.

This instrument, used especially by locals, has recently become popular again in our country.

HOW TO PLAY THE MOUTH PLUMP

It is played by placing a flexible metal tongue between a metal fork.

The fork rests on the front teeth and the metal tongue is vibrated with the fingers.

It is played by using the oral cavity as a resonance box.