#but if the point was for lorenzo to long for a simpler life that never was and project that longing onto a woman from his past | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mithrilwren · 5 years ago

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Dedicated to my own persistent insomnia over the last number of months, and the fact that I’ve never written a Fjord-centric oneshot, which is frankly criminal. This is Fjord/Caduceus, but leaning more towards the queerplatonic side of of the die than explicitly romantic (smooches are nice but have you heard of unfaltering emotional support?) [also on ao3]

the morning calls your name (fjorclay, ~5000 words)

It’s not so much that Fjord stops sleeping. It’s more that it’s begun to taper down: the number of hours he spends with his eyes closed.

There was a time that he got a full seven hours a night, sometimes even more than that, though it seems a far off memory now. Ship life is lousy with routine, the kind that can ruin the wrong sort of man - drive him mad with boredom, or make him rabid for the first sight of land, or trouble - but for Fjord, the routine was all part of the draw. You always knew the time your shift began, and when the bell rang and your berth beckoned, you went. His body got used to that predictability. It knew how to lull itself off to sleep without his help. All he had to do was lie there, let himself be drowned in the creak of the bulkheads and the briny surfside air, and then he’d be out, just like that. There wasn’t a trick to it. It just happened.

A month ago, he would have settled for six. Now he tells himself that five is still enough to go on. Five hours is all that Vandren took - and after all, why should Fjord need more than him?

It’s when the number gets to four that it starts getting harder to convince himself that everything is the way it should be. That everything is fine, just as it is.

But, of course, he does.

—-

One night over dinner in some backwoods tavern, Caduceus catches Fjord by the wrist. “Are you running a fever?” he demands, already reaching for Fjord’s forehead with the hand that isn’t occupied keeping Fjord’s still. The spoon between his fingers steadies, and the last of its soupy contents are saved from sloshing back into the bowl, or onto the table.

Fjord hadn’t realized he was trembling quite that badly, if he’s honest.

The meat of Caduceus’s palm is cool against his skin, a soothing pressure that might have been easier to bear in a less public venue. Embarrassed, he pulls away before the others can see. Maybe he is catching ill. It could explain why his face seems determined to flash between flushed and clammy with giving him a moment’s rest, and why the shivers running down his spine are more electric than your typical chills.

Fjord puts the spoon down and places his hands in his lap. If he presses down on them, his fingers quiet a little. Better.

Caduceus lets him go without a fuss, which he’s grateful for, but… gods, he misses the hand once it’s gone. It was nice to have something to lean against, if only for a few seconds. It’s too early to go to bed, but his head already feels impossibly heavy.

“Don’t think so,” Fjord answers finally. “Must just be hungry. Low blood sugar, maybe.” He can’t pretend like Caduceus didn’t see what he saw, though he’s still hoping Caduceus might. And after all, if it isn’t sickness, maybe it is hunger. It would make sense. Food’s been turning his stomach lately, the type or quality not seeming to matter. He hasn’t really examined it too closely. He was raised a kid in an orphanage that never had enough to go around, then a sailor on a long haul vessel, where the hardtack was all that was left by the end of the voyage. A lack of appetite has never been anything but a blessing.

“Mmm,” muses Caduceus. “Then you should make sure to finish that.” He nudges Fjord’s meal towards him. The sodden vegetables that sank to the bottom of the bowl swirl in a lazy arc as it inches closer, leaving streaks of oil all through the thin broth. Fjord’s stomach does a flip.

Caduceus is one to talk, he thinks. If there’s anyone who needs a lecture on feeding himself enough, it’s their resident vegetarian. But Fjord doesn’t say that. Caduceus will (rightly) read his words as deflection, and redouble his efforts to get Fjord to finish the bowl. Which would be simpler to do, if his hands would just stop shaking for two damn seconds.

It’s a bit of a conundrum - a circular problem, really. Eat, then feel better, then it makes eating less of a trial. He just has to pick a point and start.

He reaches for the spoon. And that’s as far as he gets.

Nott and Beau are arguing about something across the table. Somebody stole someone else’s mug, there’s not enough pork belly to go around, some circumstance has off and upset Caleb; who knows what it is tonight. There’s always something to bicker about, but at least tonight it’s keeping the rest of the group’s attention occupied.

“I could help, if that would make things easier,” Caduceus offers, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, and this time Fjord’s face flushes with a definite heat. Shame slinks down low in his belly, enough to overpower the nausea in his gut, enough to spur him to pick up the bowl, spoon be damned, and swallow the rest of the broth in three mighty gulps. When he looks at Caduceus over the rim of the bowl, already regretting the decision, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s still smiling, like he’s pleased either way, so long as the soup made it into Fjord.

He definitely doesn’t feel better.

“I can feed myself,” Fjord insists, wiping the corners of his mouth with his hand. He means to be scornful; it comes out defensive. The shame coils a little tighter, curdling the soup to bile in his belly. He isn’t a child, but he’s doing a fine imitation of one.

“I know you can,” Caduceus says, unmoved. “Did it help at all?”

“Yes,” Fjord lies. Then, because he’s starting to feel like an asshole, “thanks.”

He shouldn’t have snapped. Like always, Caduceus is just trying to help. He’s not searching for ammunition, or picking him apart for things to whisper to the others: proof that Fjord is unable to shoulder his own load, yet again.

He wouldn’t do that. Others might, others have, but Caduceus won’t.

At least, Fjord hopes.

They really haven’t known each other that long.

—

It must have started with the dreams. Or… well, then again, maybe it was the shipwreck that did it. The two experiences are indelibly linked; you don’t get one without the other. Could have been either. Might have been both.

Probably both.

Either way, the months drag on, and Fjord finds his eyes opening a little earlier each night. At first, that seems like a good thing. There are things that need doing, and not enough capable hands to do them. Nobody else can mend a spoke like he can (that’s a lie - Jester’s magic does in an instant what his hands can in an hour), or keep a fire going on a damp night (that too - and Caleb doesn’t even need wood to do it), or-

There really isn’t much, is there? Things he can do, that the others can’t.

More nights than most, he ends up just lying awake as the moon glides slowly overhead, curled with his blanket below his chin and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, like a little more pressure might help him nod off for good. Occasionally, he gives up and wanders a bit off from camp. Finds a log, leans his back against it, counts the leaves in the trees above. He does his best to ignore the scratch of rough cotton against his chest, and the salty particulate that dries hard and irritating within the weave of coarse fabric, that doesn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubs. The discomfort is as good an excuse as any for why he doesn’t want to lay back down. But in general, the group doesn’t ask. Everybody has their own shit to deal with.

He does find, alone in the cool night air, his eyelids fluttering, listening to the birds greet the new dawn, that he rests a little easier. He still can’t usually sleep, but a light doze is manageable.

When there’s a tavern, he shares a room with Molly. Molly, who drinks and carouses and comes back at all hours of the night - sometimes alone, sometimes in company, always loud . And if Fjord wakes up once, that’s it for him - the end of whatever meager rest he’s managed to eke out, though truthfully, if it’s a night involving company, a hallway sit or chatting with the bartender till sunrise is preferable to being present for what follows, asleep or no.

It’s annoying at times, sure, and he begins most mornings bleary-eyed one way or the other, but it’s not that bad, all in all. The nights when Molly is present and it’s just the two of them, Fjord sleeps well, and deeply, and the dreams tend to come less often than they otherwise might.

Those are the good nights.

Then comes Shadycreek Run. Then comes Lorenzo, and darkness, and endless nightmares that spill into the waking hours, and when they all emerge into the light of day once more, Fjord can no longer bring himself to wander too far from camp at night, not without someone else watching his back.

And Molly is gone.

And Caduceus takes his place. And they all move on.

And Fjord still sleeps, on most nights. Just a little less.

—-

“Hey, there. That’s alright. That’s fine now. You want to take a few steps back towards me?”

Fjord blinks, the shattered shards of glass crystalizing in his vision into something a little less metaphorical, a little less abstract.

The cup. He dropped it.

Oh.

It’s well past midnight, though in the absent light of Rosohna, there’s no good way to tell. There’s also no good reason for Caduceus to be awake, down here, watching Fjord make a mess of things as he fumbles for a glass of water in the dark.

He’s not really sure why his eyes are burning. It’s just a glass; they have twenty, of all shapes and sizes, and none of them expensive. What a stupid thing to be upset over.

He’s just tired.

He’s just tired .

“Fjord?”

Oh, right. Caduceus is still standing there, waiting for Fjord to back away from the hazardous region now strewn across their kitchen floor, like a normal person would.

The first step is easy enough to keep steady. The second is harder. Caduceus grabs a hold of his shoulders by the third, guides him into a chair that definitely wasn’t there a moment before. “There you go,” Caduceus encourages him. “Let me just get that cleaned up, ok? Just a couple minutes. Don’t go anywhere on me.”

Fjord opens his mouth - to offer to help, or to apologize, he’s not sure which - but his tongue is lead-weighted, his throat too closed off to form sound. Caduceus grabs a broom, and Fjord takes deep breaths, and watches someone else clean up his mess.

“Thank you,” he says as Caduceus pads back over his direction after depositing the broken glass into a basket by the door. His feet are bare, but he doesn’t seem worried about any shards that might remain. “You didn’t have to do that.” Vandren’s accent cloys in his mouth, too difficult to maintain properly at this time of night. His ‘r’s are beginning to morph into something smooth and clipped, rather than long and drawling, and his words come slower as he tries to choose simpler ones, the kind that don’t require an effort. “You should… bed. Sleep. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.” Shit, he almost made it, but that last one nearly ended in a flipped tongue. Fjord shuts his mouth before it can betray him any further.

“I’d offer you a metaphor about glass and houses, but it seems a little too on the nose,” Caduceus teases. He goes to the wall and lights a little lantern, summoning a dim glow that neither of them technically need to see, before kneeling in front of Fjord’s chair. Caduceus’s height being what it is, that brings the two of them just about to eye-level. “May I?”

Fjord nods, not quite knowing what he’s agreed to, but feeling it’s owed, regardless. Caduceus places a few fingers beneath Fjord’s chin, turning it this way and that, tipping his jaw back to expose Fjord’s throat in a way that sends his blood singing from root to fingertip. When he swallows, his gorge rises against the soft fur that carpets Cadcueus’s knuckles. He shivers - not quite afraid, not quite not.

“Can you look down at me? There. That’s perfect.” Apparently, Caduceus finds what he’s looking for with little effort, because he barely meets Fjord’s eyes longer than a moment before his gaze shifts away. Or maybe Fjord’s does; it’s hard to tell. He’s been having trouble keeping his eyes focused, recently.

“What- what was that for?” Fjord stumbles, trying and failing to land in the realm of ‘curious’ rather than ‘irrationally frightened’.

“I was just wondering… hmm. Did you know, you can tell a lot about most animals, just by looking at their eyes?”

“I... did not.”

“Oh yes. If an animal is fatigued, or in distress, their pupils tend to dilate and contract rather rapidly. Haven’t you noticed?” If this is an allegory that ends in his health being measured against Jester’s weasel, he’s laying full claim to the right to quit the team for good.

“Can’t say that I spend a lot of time looking into animals’ eyes.”

“I highly recommend it.” Caduceus cocks his head to the side, pausing to mull over whatever his next words will be. His shock of pink hair tickles the edge of Fjord’s collarbone. Fjord swallows again. “Your eyes are telling me quite a bit, Fjord.”

Maybe there’s a bit of animal in him after all, because Fjord’s first instinct is to bolt like a cornered one. “Like what?” he asks, a question he doesn’t want the answer to.

“That this isn’t the first night you’ve been up wandering at all hours. That you could use a little more sleep than you’re getting.”

Fjord huffs a laugh, then forces himself to shuffle the chair back out of Caduceus’s reach and stand. Caduceus follows suit, quick enough to block Fjord’s path before he slips out of the kitchen. He’s lithe, but tall and long-limbed, and Fjord would have to shoulder-check his way out to get past him. He doesn’t think Caduceus would put up a fight. He wouldn’t force him to stay.

There’s no reason to feel as trapped as he does.

“I should probably get to bed, like you said,” Fjord offers weakly.

Caduceus doesn’t move aside. “Will you sleep, when you’re there?” A whine is building up in Fjord’s throat, desperation and frustration mingling into something easier to call anger than dread.

“As much as I ever do,” he forces through gritted teeth, not quite there enough to lie. “Let me past, will you?”

Caduceus’s willowy arm branches towards the doorframe - at first a barrier, and then an acquiescence. A beckoning, guiding Fjord through. “...Go ahead.”

Would you come with me?

The question is so unexpected, even in his own mind, that it startles him back into some measure of wakefulness. Once he has it, it rests on his tongue like a buzzing insect, begging to be set free. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest since Molly died, and Caduceus wouldn’t read the same implication into the question as others might- But it’s too late to ask for that now. It’s all too late.

When they first got this house, Beau and Jester claimed a room together, like there was no question that one would stay without the other, and he really had wanted his own space back then, he had wanted it, had been desperate for it, because it was safer to be on his own - less time he had to spend hiding the salt-water stains, and the accent slips. He wanted it, and he can’t complain now about loneliness when Caduceus is already gone and settled into his own private sanctuary on the roof, when it’s all been decided and laid down in stone. The sheer neediness of the request chokes him. He can’t always be the one asking for help. He can’t be-

Fjord-

He can’t-

Fjord…

He can’t-

“Fjord.”

They’re at the top of the stairs.

How did they get there?

Caduceus is still at his arm, still talking. “Will you be alright?”

“Always am,” he says mechanically, because it’s true. He’s kept going this long.

There are blankets being handed to him, hands guiding him into bed, hands smoothing back the hair from his forehead. His mind leaps about, springing from one thought to the next with alarming speed, and the one incredulous thought at the center of it all: that he used to want something like this, in the years before he taught himself not to want anything from parents that were never coming back.

“I could stay, if you’d like.” Did Fjord say it after all, then? He doesn’t think so. He would have remembered - but the trip from kitchen to bedroom is still rather hazy. “Do you want me to stay, Fjord?” Caduceus asks again, uncertain, like he doesn’t already know the answer to his own question. That’s a first.

“M’ fine,” he mumbles into his pillow. Now that it comes down to it, the prospect of having someone else there when he wakes goes back to being terrifying, though the reason why eludes him, lost somewhere in the sparking cavalcade of exhausted thoughts. Maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe he’s just scared of everything. That tracks.

“... alright.” Caduceus isn’t pleased with his answer. That tracks too. He’s not usually good at giving them. He’s not usually good...

“Sleep well, Fjord.”

And he does, for the hour or so before another dream comes, and when he wakes it’s to the visage of a yellow eye burnt into his eyelids. But somewhere beyond that, in the periphery, there’s another sight too: the memory of two pink irises, and a soft hand against his throat, so different from Avantika’s sharpened nails or Uk’otoa’s slithering grip.

It’s been a while, since someone has touched him there, and not meant for him to choke.

—-

It’s fitting, he’ll think many years later, that the end of it all came in a dream too. That he should have woken again in the ocean’s embrace, but safe on dry land as well. The kelp that embalms his limbs protects rather than pulls: warding against an icy death, rather than dragging him to it. There is no struggle to reach the surface - no call to fight, to destroy, to dominate, to consume. There are only gentle words, gentler warmth, and an ever-greening light - not a promise of salvation, but a path towards it.

He dreams, for as long as it takes for his friends to pull him from his cocoon. Once he’s finally found his feet again, his legs are stronger beneath him than they’ve ever been. When he reaches out to summon the sword, his fingers are steady. No hint of a tremor in his wrist.

It feels like being awake, for the first time in a long time.

—-

They take a long, long rest in Halas’s armory, or what’s left of it. Honestly, Fjord would have rather kept going. He’s all too cognizant of the time that’s passing in the outside world. The last time the group went on an indefinite sojourn into the unknown, they came back to find Felderwin in ruins, destroyed in their absence. He hasn’t forgotten how Nott could have lost her husband and child for the sake of his stupidity, his hubris. How they all could have brought about the end of the world if he’d just pushed it a little farther. How even now that he’s left that life behind, even now that the Wildmother has - somehow, impossibly - deigned to make him her paladin, he still has a lot to make up for.

The rest of the party is already asleep, all pressed to the edges of the dome like fish in a barrel, circling Caleb’s huddled form beneath the apex. Even in the faint light from the glowing runes of the two magical ballistae, Fjord can make out the beginnings of an angry bruise at the base of his throat, where the golem’s collar snapped shut and bit into the flesh. Caleb’s hand twitches every so often towards the injured spot, worrying the absent collar even in sleep. He understands; Fjord doubts he’d be able to forget something like that any quicker than Caleb.

From his perch in the gunner’s nest, there isn’t much to see - just a closed door to the tower, and the still-smoking remains of the golem at its foot.

Off.

Who knew it could be that simple? One word from Caduceus, and the lights go out. If he’d known, he thinks with more humor than bitterness, he might have asked Caduceus to try it on him months ago, just to see if it stuck.

Fjord told the others that he didn’t need to rest with them, that he felt fine. And it was true, truer than it’s been in a long time. He’ll be tired when the party wakes, but not deliriously so. That’s the thing - when you get enough sleep on the regular, missing a night or two here or there isn’t unbearable.

And funnily enough, he has been. Sleeping, that is.

At first, he thought the shift was Melora’s doing - a depth of dreaming she invoked to keep Uk’otoa’s eyes off him. He was alright with it being nothing more than her failsafe against his being taken back - anything for an extra few hours of shut-eye. But the change wasn’t all at once, a one and done thing. There are still plenty of nights that he tosses and turns, wakes sweat-soaked and exhausted, paces the length of his room while he waits for a socially appropriate hour to start on breakfast. Still, he’s found that not dreading the mornings to come is helping at lot with staying asleep. There are still problems and worries to face when he gets up, but far fewer that he has to handle on his own.

He didn’t really realize, until now, how much the facade was taking out of him.

Though he wishes he could, Fjord doesn’t meditate the way Caduceus does, at least not when he’s alone. He’s tried before, but he never seems to know the right words, the right rituals, the right state of mind. But he’s learning. He’s getting there. In the meantime, Fjord does what he can: he thinks the night away. He ponders lakes and dustlands and marshy swamps; all the places they’ve been, all the ones they haven’t visited yet. He hears her voice in the remembrance of crashing waves, and calls that close enough to worship.

He thinks, for him, it is.

When the rest of the party finally comes to, Fjord hasn’t slept a wink. Still, he doesn’t feel exhausted. He’s fine, actually.

And you know what? This time, he really might be.

—-

The girls have their tattoos finished by the time the three of them return to the ship, bellies heavy with greasy food and hearts a little lighter. Caleb goes to check on Nott, already asleep in their room, and a wincing Jester drags Beau around the middle and pulls her off to bed, both trying not to jostle the other’s fresh ink. Which just leaves Fjord and Caduceus on deck, and Orly, who’s in the process of wrapping up his tools into bundles and tying them off with leather twine.

“Your cabin’s waiting, Cap’tn,” Orly says, catching Fjord’s eye. “Finally got the last of Avantika’s things cleared out, if you’ll be wanting a bigger space.”

He’ll never quite be comfortable with that title, nor the privileges it seems to afford. “No,” he hedges, “that’s- my old room’s fine. Plenty of space for me.” Caduceus clears his throat and Fjord flinches, all at once reminded that he’s not the only one impacted by his refusal. “Unless you’d rather have the room to yourself, Caduceus? I could- or you-”

“Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” Caduceus says, pleasant but noncommittal, then heads for the hatch to the lower level. Fjord stares after him, not really sure what to do with that.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Orly says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “Night, Cap’tn.”

“Night,” he echoes back. Orly disappears below deck, and then it’s only him, left with nothing but his indecision to ward off the night chill.

It’s not like he has to make the choice right away - Avantika’s former quarters are on the way to the rest of the crew berths. He’s somewhat surprised to find that no one else has taken up residence there. Like Orly said, they’re far more generous than the typical room. But the way he had said it… it’s almost like they were keeping the space open. For the Captain, whenever she- whenever Fjord returned.

Fjord staunchly swallows past the lump in his throat, then turns the doorknob to Avantika’s quarters.

There it all is, just as they left it, if a bit more barren - a desk, a bed, a poorly sealed hole in the floor, an empty alcove where a shrine once sat. It’s a fine room, and well insulated from the outside world. With the doors to the balcony closed, he can barely hear the ocean’s rock against the hull.

Fjord sits on the double bed, presses a hand to the sheets. Still the same mattress as when- as the last time. He can tell. It’s not hard like a typical berth; Avantika had a taste for the richer things in life. She was particular. She was…

His throat closes up a little more, not from emotion this time, but a memory. He looks down at the pillow, and sees red hair spilling like silk from a careless hand, sees his own grip come up to match hers. Sees how easily a slender throat can snap, with enough pressure. If the mood is right. If it’s what has to be done.

Avantika never once asked him to stay.

He doesn’t know what it’s like, to wake up in this bed. He doesn’t want to.

...He doesn’t have to.

Caduceus is still awake by the time Fjord finds his way back to their old room. There’s a little kettle going on the dresser, which has to be against some sort of shipside regulation, but without an open flame he can’t find any reason to complain. Caduceus doesn’t comment on his tardiness, but he does offer Fjord a cup.

Fjord can’t help but notice that there were already two set out.

“So, how’s it feel?” Caduceus asks as Fjord takes a seat on the opposite bed.

“How’s what feel?”

“Being back here, on this ship?”

Fjord sips his tea - herbal, loamy, not bad - and takes the time to consider his answer. He wants to give an honest one. He’s been working at that. “Good,” he decides. “I missed this.” What this is is somewhat nebulous, even in his own mind, but it feels right when he says it.

“Good,” says Caduceus. “Glad to hear it.”

They sit a while in silence after that, drinking their tea, exchanging the occasional friendly glance over their respective cups. This feels… safe, in a way that Avantika’s chamber didn’t.

“Hey, Caduceus? Can I ask a question?”

“Mm?” Caduceus hums, setting down his tea and giving Fjord his full attention. “Sure.”

“It’s just… something that I’ve been wondering about.” He laughs, the old self-deprecation still creeping into his voice, though not as heavily as it once did. “It’s stupid... you probably don’t even remember this. But there was a night, back in Xhorhas, when you helped me clean up a broken glass in the kitchen.”

“...I remember,” Caduceus says after a moment, expression unreadable.

Fjord’s heart is pounding harder than it has any right to.

“Did I… did I ask you, to stay with me?” Fjord ducks his head, knowing that his embarrassment, as always, shows too clearly on his face. “I mean- just because you said, you know- I wasn’t sure.” He cuts himself off before he can stumble back into the neverminds and forget its. They can only protect him so far, and he really does want to know, as much as he fears the answer.

Caduceus breaks into a soft smile. “Well, not in those words, no. But it seemed to me that you were asking for something, for a very long time. We just weren’t very good at hearing you.”

Fjord laughs again, rubbing at his neck. “You have to actually speak for people to hear what you’re saying.”

Caduceus watches him, rolling over Fjord’s self-effacing tone with painfully solemn honesty. “I don’t think that’s always true.”

Fjord stares at the walls, not really able to keep on meeting eyes that always seem to see right through him. “I wanted you to stay,” he admits - not quite a whisper, but not quite there either. “ I was afraid to.”

“Why’s that?” The question betrays nothing more than curiosity, but Fjord treats it with the seriousness it deserves.

“Vandren always taught me that there’s nothing weaker than saddling other people with your problems. I didn’t want... to need that kind of help. To be weak, like that.”

“Even if I wanted to give it?”

It’s Fjord’s turn to look at Caduceus, to really look at him. Insight has never been his strong suit, but Caduceus seems genuine, in the way that Fjord wants to be, has been trying to be.

“Why?” That’s the crux of his confusion, the one thing Fjord can’t wrap his head around. “Why would you want that?” What am I to you, that you keep on giving, when all I do is take?

“Because I care for you.” He says it like it’s true, like it’s what he really feels. I care for you . What does that mean? “You don’t believe me,” Caduceus states, impossibly understanding, but still disappointed.

“No,” Fjord is quick to correct him, not wanting to throw his words back in his face, “No, it’s just…” Why bother with me, of all people? “It just seems like it shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“You make it sound like kindness is a burden.” Fjord shrugs. Caduceus leans forward, knees a breath away from brushing his own. “You are not a burden to me, Fjord.”

His eyes are burning again. Fjord grips the edges of the mattress, tries so hard not to hear those words for what they are, and what they mean, because the moment he does he knows something will break.

“You don’t have to believe me. But can I… may I show you?” The other mattress creaks, and then his own dips as Caduceus sits down by his side, waiting for an affirmation. When Fjord nods, he takes both hands and places them on either side of his chin. He turns Fjord until they’re nose to nose - breathing the same air, filling the same space. The pads of his thumbs soothe along the rabbiting pulse that courses beneath Fjord’s skin.

Fjord closes his eyes, overwhelmed, as Caduceus lifts one hand and traces it along the edge of his cheek.

“I wondered, for a very long time, if I was on the right path. Whether what I was doing was really what the Wildmother intended.” His fingers move to the line of Fjord’s nose, pausing over the scar that cuts a jagged crease over his eye. “You were the first sign, that I had found my destiny. I knew, from the moment we met, that there was something broken in you.” Fjord flinches, but Caduceus’s other hand squeezes his neck gently, keeping him from turning away but not forcing, never forcing. “But you found your way out from the darkness. I may have lit the way, but you pulled yourself out. And I am so proud of you.”

Fjord’s mouth parts involuntarily as the words seep into his chest, caught between a gasp and a whimper. The burning behind his eyes finally spills over. “You- every part of you, even the ones you hate- deserved to be saved. So if anything, it’s me who was selfish in all of this. Because I wanted to be the one to do it.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person. He’s not sure he ever has. He should be mortified. But as Caduceus’s thumbs smooth away the wetness from his cheeks, he can’t bring himself to feel any shame. The tears seep like poison from an old wound - too long held inside his chest, too long carried beneath his skin, and hidden away.

He lets his head drop to Caduceus’s shoulder. Lets himself be held. Lets himself hold on in return. And doesn’t feel guilty, for any of it.

—-

Crew quarters aren’t nearly as finely made as the captain’s cabin. Here, you hear everything - every groan of the hull, every buffett of wind, every shuffle of rigging from those still above deck.

Fjord wakes to all those familiar sounds, and some that are new - gentle snores, puffs of warm breath, a heartbeat slower than his own. The seagulls are just beginning to herald the dawn, their cries sharp and biting, urging him to get up and start the day.

A little longer, Fjord thinks hazily. Just a few minutes more.

He pulls one elbow out from where it’s fallen asleep beneath Caduceus’s side, then presses the tip of his cold nose back into the warmth of the silken shirt in from of him. Caduceus stirs, but doesn’t wake, and the arm that covers Fjord’s shoulders pulls him in a little closer. He lets himself be pulled. Lets his eyes fall closed.

Before he knows it, he’s asleep again.

#critical role #critrole fic #critrole angst #fjorclay #fjord #caduceus clay #cr spoilers #(only tagging because there are very mild ones from the last episode in this)#me: this is going to be a quick drabble #me (5000 words later | crying): oh no #my writing

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luvtowritefics247official · 7 years ago

Link

From this prompt list:

http://luvtowritefics247official.tumblr.com/post/162456813766/angstysuggestive-sentence-starters

#46: It's okay, I'm here.

Welcome aboard the angst train.

Also, I didn't start it off with the sentence this time. Sue me.

They're 19-18 in this.

Arnold stood beside the coffin, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed into the pockets of his black trousers. He was faced away from the entrance of the church, his gaze distant and unfocused with eyes raw, but dry for the time being. People had ceased to approach him, instead finding their seats for the ceremony. He knew Gerald was in the corner, eyeing him worriedly.

Arnold blinked suddenly, refocusing on the world around him, and becoming once again fully aware of where he was. Taking a shaky breath as he turned his head, he froze when he saw Helga suddenly appear in the entrance way looking harried in a black dress and tan trench coat, and a little...wet?

Huh, it must be raining. Figures she wouldn't have an umbrella.

He suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion, and from the look on her face she saw the breakdown approaching. With a sympathetic tilt of her head, eyes filled with pain for him, she was striding down the aisle to him, practically running until suddenly her arms were wrapped around his shoulders and holding him tight. Even in her pink heels, she was on her tip toes, and he was tucking his chin into her shoulders, breathing in deeply as he held onto her desperately.

She ran a hand threw his hair as she spoke softly, “It’s okay. I'm here.”

“But...how? I...I thought you were in Paris?”

She pulled away, hands still resting on his broad shoulders, and offered a small, teasing smile, “Wow, I can't believe I'm the first to tell you about this, but...you see there are these things called airplanes.”

“What about your internship?”

“Eh, it was almost finished anyway.” She shrugged.

Arnold could only stare at her, “I can't believe you'd just...drop what you were doing to be here…”

Helga's smile faded, and she regarded him seriously, “I would drop everything for you, Arnold. And, if you don’t know that by now, well...you're as dense as everyone always thought you were.”

Arnold swallowed thickly, “Thank you, Helga.”

00000000000

She stuck around at the boarding house after everyone else had left, helping clean up in the kitchen and threatening him when he tried to help.

“You need to sleep.”

“Can’t.”

She kept her mouth shut when he came up beside her and began drying dishes. She’d get him to sleep later, even if she had to bring Ol Betsy out of retirement. But for now, she'd let him keep busy.

“You didn't have to stay to help.”

“I know. I want to be here.”

“Thanks.”

There was a few minutes of silence, except for the task of cleaning and putting away dishes.

“It's strange,” Arnold said quietly, “just days after he turned 91. Strange to think he was right all along.” Helga had ceased her cleaning, watching him carefully; quietly analyzing him as he stared out the kitchen window. A small smiled briefly touched his lips, “I sort of figured he'd live to at least 100. I had...I had hoped, anyway.”

The frown had returned, and Helga straightened, “Arnold…”

“I think...I think after Grandma had…” He swiped his hand across a cheek and cleared his throat, “when she was gone, I think it just...it was hard. I think he stuck it out as long as he could, but…”

Helga lifted a hand to shoulder, squeezing lightly, “I can't even imagine what that must be like. I'm so sorry, Arnold.” When all he did was shake his head, she cleared her throat, “Your parents?”

“Still stuck in San Lorenzo from the flooding and all the damage. They're grounded for at least another week.”

“Well, I can help out with stuff until then. Make sure we clean all the nooks and crannies in the place. Lord knows I've probably crawled through them at some point.”

Arnold chuckled, recalling the days when life was simpler, if not odder. At least when it came to Helga G Pataki.

But then a thought struck him, “When do you head back to Paris?”

“Oh,” Helga went back to cleaning the dishes and shrugged, “I'm just having my roommate send my stuff back. I didn't really have that much anyway.”

“You're...you’re staying here?”

She shrugged again, avoiding his gaze, “I mean, I could've taken the job back in Paris they offered but...I was having a hard time taking that step to accepting it. And, with my skills and amazing personality, I'm not too worried about finding a job. I have some good contacts here.” Helga placed the last dish on the clean stack, and finally looked up at him, “And...I guess I just missed my home.”

Arnold's brow furrowed, “I distinctly recall you saying Hillwood was never your home.”

Helga smiled as she shook her head, “No, Football Head. Not Hillwood.” She moved forward and pressed a hand to his chest, “This one. This was what I was homesick for.

“I missed you, Football Head.”

Arnold breathed deeply, and laid a hand over hers, his other arm wrapping around her and tugging her close, “I missed you, too.”

I had a brief moment where I thought Helga was too OOC but then I realized nah. I don't explore this facet of their relationship enough, so this was nice to write.

#hey arnold #arnold and helga #tumblr prompt

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giacintodenmark · 6 years ago

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A Week in Rome

I journeyed over to CPH airport at around 6 PM to make it to my 8:30 PM flight on Friday night. After some difficulties, I made it to my home for the week at 2 AM.

Saturday

A late start to the day, I had nothing planned... and so began my first day wandering around the city without a particular destination in mind.

My first view of St. Peter’s Basilica. The sheer size of the building and the number of sculptures placed atop the structure, surrounding the square was quite an amazing sight to see.

I was taken aback by the sheer number of tourists surrounding the more famous places in Rome, I’ve never seen so many anywhere I have been... they are paradoxically beneficial and detrimental to the city. While tourism brings money and activity into the Roman economy, it also brings piles of garbage from careless littering and city spaces blocked off to the locals.

I found myself walking along the River Tiber. It was quite beautiful (save for the garbage within it and the general neglected decay of the areas bordering the river) and it served me well as a means to navigate my way through the city.

Another view of the river... an abandoned houseboat and small dock falling apart off in the distance. According to myth the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus were cast off as infants on the banks of the Tiber River under the order of their Uncle, King Amulius... they were seen as threats to the throne. The brothers were later saved by Tibernus, God of the Tiber River, at the site that would grow to become Rome.

The Temple of Fortuna Virilis (”manly fortune”). Dedicated to the god of keys, doors, granaries, and livestock... Portunus. The building that stands now was constructed around 120-80 BCE. It is one of the greatest examples of classical architecture of the Ionic Order (there are three: Ionic, Corinthian, and Doric). It is one of the best preserved ancient buildings in Rome.

I cannot deny that the extremely hearty Roman food and it’s equally hearty people demand high regard.

I learned a lot about the simple and very rich food during my week here... and in turn learned a bit about the people that cook and eat the cuisine.

Campagna Amica Market was my stop for my first meal in Rome. Open only on weekends from 8 AM to 3 PM along a road near Circo Massimo, the place was filled with locals getting their fill of fresh produce, meat, seafood, bread, sweets, olive oil, and wine (and a few tourists, who knew what to do with themselves along a spectrum of absolute confidence to embarrassing incompetence, I was on the latter end).

After four embarrassing exchanges in Italian, English, body language... I managed to pull together I little meal for myself. It doesn’t look like much, but it was quite delicious. A loaf of bread filled with walnuts and olive oil, some fresh ricotta, some cured pork with red pepper flakes, fennel seed, and black pepper, and a very very ripe persimmon (they are going to keep their good persimmons for their regulars). Unfortunate the most Roman grocery stores and markets warrant so much packaging for their food.

I ate my lunch at Circo Massimo, the ruins of a chariot racing stadium. It was once the largest stadium of the Roman empire. I eventually went back to the market to escape the heavy wind that kept kicking up dust from the field.

Back in the market, I was given some charcoal roasted hazelnuts and squash + a bit of wine from some of the people managing the market. I sat for an hour or two watching the group of men and women, a few kids... working together cracking, cooking, and distributing the hazelnuts to visitors and friends.

I found myself before the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine. The triumphal arch was built in AD 315. The arch interestingly reuses a number of pieces from other older imperial monuments of the 2nd century (piecing together other pieces like a collage is called spolia.

Taking old pieces of ruins/other monuments was quite common for Baroque architects (late 16th century) (many of the churches of Rome are of the Baroque style)).

The Arch of Titus, constructed in 82 AD to commemorate the war victories of the then recently deceased Emperor Titus, including the Siege of Jerusalem.

A detail of the Arch (not pictured in my photo). Depicts the spoils of the extraordinarily gruesome Roman attack on Jerusalem (stemming from a Jewish uprising within Judea, a Roman-held province). Much of the spoils coming from the Jewish Temple... one of which is the giant golden menora seen left from center.

The Colosseum, created in 70 AD and opened in 80 AD. Titus (the son of Emporer Vespasian, the one who began construction) opened the Colosseum, adding to his popularity in Rome.

A view of a residential area on my way back to the flat I was staying in.

Sunday

A view of Rome from Villa Borghese park near the Spanish Steps and Villa Medici.

A fountain within the Pincio Promenade. I recommend coming here to escape the swarms of tourists and busy car paths, its a pleasant place to wander... filled with large wavy trees... there are a great number of statues and busts dispersed amongst the area.

Old Bridge Gelateria, no artisan crafted ice cream or unique flavors... or something along those lines... like some of the other “top gelato” places mentioned in articles by Eater and the likes... but this is one of the Roman classics for some simply good gelato. My friend and I ordered three flavors: crema (eggs, cream, sugar), chocolate, pistachio.

Castel Sant’Angelo or the Mausoleum of Hadrian initially commissioned as a massoleum for Emporer Hadrian and his family in 123 - 139 AD. It was later used as a fortress and castle by the popes... it is now a museum. The ashes of Hadrian and his family + some of the popes are likely held deep within one of the Treasury rooms within the building.

Altar of the Fatherland, built in the honor of the first king of a unified Italy (Victor Emmanuel. The building’s construction began in 1885 and was completed in 1925 in the Neoclassical architectural style.

View from the top of the Altar of the Fatherland. The easy to access spot provides a nice view of the many ancient Roman ruins within the area.... this view shows a portion of the Imperial Forum (?).

Another view from the same vantage point.

Michelangelo’s Moses with San Pietro in Vincoli... part of Pope Julius II’s tomb, which was originally commissioned in 1505 (with a much grander scale and design in mind) but not completed in 1545 (with great difficulty, inconsistency, changes in plans/scale/commissions ... the work troubled Michelangelo for 40 years of his life).

Monday

Today I wandered to a variety of churches and other landmarks south of where I was staying.

I first stopped for lunch at Mercato Testaccio to continue with my exploration of the different food markets scattered throughout the city. I wandered through the aisles, looking at the usual spreads of fresh produce and groups of Romans doing their mid-day grocery shopping.

I stopped by Mordi e Vai, a humble deli space ran by a man named Sergio Espesito who serves up classic Roman slow-cooked meals between two simple bread rolls. I ordered #1, allesso di bollito, brisket with bitter greens... the bun is dipped in stewing broth that holds the brisket.

After lunch, I wandered a little southeast to the Protestant Graveyards. Romanticist poets Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats are buried here.

Keats died of Tuberculosis in 1821 at the age of 25, his tombstone reads...

This grave contains all that was mortal, of a young English poet, who on his death bed, on the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his tombstone: Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Shelley drowned while sailing along the Italian Riviera a year after Keats, his tombstone reads...

Nothing of him that doth fade, // But doth suffer a sea change, // Into something rich and strange. (A quote from Shakespear’s The Tempest)

I walked North, wandering through a number of small churches and parks on my way to the Roman Forum... once the heart of the ancient city’s government, trade, and culture.

I surveyed the Roman Forum from the Capitoline Hill Plaza, designed by Michelangelo.

I concluded my Monday adventure at one of the oldest wine shops in Rome, Ill Gocceto. I enjoyed watching the servers swiftly open wine bottles and pour while conversing with regulars. They’d pop the corks with a flourish of speed as they made their rounds through the busy shop.

Tuesday

I wandered East to visit the Ecstasy of St. Theresa by Gian Lorenzo Bernini in the Cornoaro Chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria. I planned to stop by a number of places on my way to the destination.

I stopped by the landmark Fountain of the Four Rivers, also desgned by Bernini. The base of the fountain represents River Gods belonging to four major rivers within the four continents subject to papal authority: the Nile of Africa, the Danube of Europe, the Ganges of Asia, and the Rio de la Plata of the Americas.

For a snack I visited Forno Campo de’ Fiori, a historical bakery known for its classics like pizza rossa and pizza bianchi. Rossa is a thin pizza crust topped with a rich tomato sauce. Bianchi is even simpler, just pizza crust brushed with olive oil and speckled with flaky sea salt.

After my snack and a couple small stops, I made it to my destination. The Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa is considered one of the central sculptural masterpieces of the Roman Baroque period that spanned from the 17th to the 18th century. The group’s imagery comes from the autobiography of Teresa of Avila:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it...

After reaching my destination, I enjoyed the long walk home to the light of the setting sun.

Wednesday

I got up early in the morning to get in line for the Vatican Museum. I planned well as I was the first in line behind the many hundred that congregated behind me as the time to open drew closer.

I did not take many photos while I was in the museum, I left my phone off to focus on what was in front of me.

The mysterious Belvedere Torso is a fragment of a statue from the 1st century BC. Over time the statue was damaged and lost to be rediscovered in the 15th century. was highly influential to artists of the Renaissance Michelangelo who uses the Torso’s iconographic form in many of his own statues and paintings.

One of Francis Bacon’s pieces from his study of Diego Velásquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X. Supposedly the study produced around 50 pieces between the 1950s and 1960s. The most well-known pieces from the study are those that are a part of the “screaming pope” series

Friday

I couldn’t do much Thursday, the storm was too strong to take the long walks needed to explore Rome.

I woke up early Friday to get into St. Peter’s Basilica, mainly to see Michelangelo’s Pieta.

I ended by Roman adventure at Mercato Trionfale, the largest market in Rome with an astonishing array of vendors.

Although the market is said to be the most busy in the mornings, my mid-day visit was still overwhelming. I didn’t buy anything, I just wandered through the aisles and watched the exchanges occur. I wished I spoke Italian to understand the conversations I would walk by, the way in which the produce is bought.

Saturday

I returned home on Saturday, I spent most of the day waiting for my departures at the train station and the airport... I watched people walk by and wrote in my notebook.

From the floor of Roma Termini, waiting for my train to the airport. I was glad to return to Denmark.

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nikfix · 6 years ago

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Circus Tricks with the Ringmaster, Francis Lorenzo

Photo by Alyza Abacan

I met Francis Lorenzo (or Fran, as many people call him) after my band Garage Morning played a set at Checkpoint Rock Bar in BF, Parañaque. We headed to Tas Roofdeck to have drinks with MOONWLK’s Nick Lazaro, Isa Romualdez, and a few other friends. He goes in the same gym as with my bandmate and close friend, Roy. I began looking at Fran’s stuff after meeting him, and we even got to play with his former band Sleepwalk Circus, which makes really good music. I would see Fran again a few months after at the Fete dela Musique Post Rock/Math Rock Stage, playing with acts like AOUI, Tom’s Story, Twin Lobster, and others. I was amazed with his intricate arrangements and textural guitar work. I’ve been really curious with what he uses to create these awesome guitar tones.

How did you start making music and playing guitar?

I remember fragments - how I initially wanted to be a pianist but eventually got too defeated (I really suck at piano, one would think it’s just a simpler typing keyboard) that I moved to the guitar instead. Till this day I kind of regret it, the keyboard is the ultimate future proof instrument that can do everything (forgive me guitarists, if I could - i would gladly be labeled a stringed traitor).

Photo courtesy of Fran Lorenzo

How did your career, and your band/s start out?

I used to play solo gigs under my name I think? I really can’t remember - but eventually a lot of those songs got carried to Sleepwalk Circus which was formed with my friend Jm Quiblat (I was the sleepwalk chill guy / he was this energizer bunny circus guy). Cut to now, I went full circle and am sort of back alone.

Photo by Alyza Abacan

Who are your main influences? And how did they inspire you to play better?

Can I answer this one guitar wise cos entire musical wise might be too long and boring for people? Not a lot of credit is given to Billy Corgan (Sorry, I meant William) when it comes to influencing a generation to pick up or play a guitar a certain way. Then we have Sigur Ros for that large orchestral guitar sound, Kevin Shields for the even noisier stuff and Phil Keaggy for all those minstrel stuff. But ultimately sound wise, I think I am more influenced by piano/keyboard players as a whole, I have evolved (devolved?) into a guitarist trying hard to sound like a keyboardist.

Tell us more about your music.

1st Band: Sleepwalk Circus - these guys are still active but without me around (Sorry we had no drama, but we can think of a nice move-like story/scenario if you ask us. It just won't be consistent). Back then tho we relied a lot on delays to fill out stuff - having a perfect bpm drummer really helps enhance this. They have a much heavier sound now but do check em out.

Current: TheRingmaster - In summary, we could say this was initially the spinoff series to SC - I am going to release a new album soon where I collaborated with a lot of cool musicians! I don’t really use much delay/reverb as before but I think at this point anything I make turns out dreamy for some reason. I guess it’s one of those natural inclined sort of things. I sadly can’t give a date yet on the release because I myself don’t know. I’m really bad when it comes to those kind of things.

You can hear a lot of my stuff in commercials or tv shows. I tend to fool around with my last name but if you see Fran <insert dumbest last name you can think of>, usually that is my stuff. (Clearly we get bored in the credits section of these things)

Future: I have plans to have someone with me in the future - the equal partner. Some songs are semi done (I write a lot) - to be honest i’m more excited about this than my upcoming album release.

I’ve seen you play that awesome Shoreline Gold Suhr JM. Tell us more about it!

I was never really a fan of Strats or Jazzmasters (or a fan the Fender lineup in general - mostly because they look so normal and generally have a thin/bright sound). Strats were generally tinkly sounding (with addition to having the most generic guitar design) while Jazzmasters have this weird “look at me people” mid attack sound going on. And then along came this Suhr Strat, you can say I was “initially forced” to get it because a friend of mine (Carlos Tanada) at the time needed additional money to lessen the wedding whapam.

But wow, just from feel alone you could tell its difference from a regular fender and below tier Strat. The neck setup and plek make everything so comfortable. Also I don’t know what John Suhr does to make it sound so balanced. How one can best describe it is - it sounds like you don’t need to treat it in post anymore - kind of balanced. I also like how it is enough to be different but not so different enough that strat players won’t complain about it. Carlos bought the strat back eventually by the way.

With that in mind I tried out the Suhr JM for the sake of seeing if Suhr was consistent for that model too - honestly I was hoping I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I did and ugh - poof went the $$$. This thing was meant to be played with an overdrive forever on. Also It didn’t help the only available one left was the rare Gold model either! Aside from unique red-ish guitars, i’m a sucker for white and gold guitars! I had to get it. Again I am sorry future sick me who won’t be able to pay his emergency medical bills.

What about your other guitars. Which is your favorite one, which ones do you use the most for gigs/recordings and why?

Like all musicians, I name all my important guitars. In general I like ‘clearly a gem but undesired anyway’ guitars. It would be like Lobster, everyone knows lobster is amazing but majority always name Sushi, Steak, Lechon or Spaghetti as their favorite dish:

Bijou, The Gretsch White Penguin - I don’t bring this one around too much because it requires too much care, that kind of care that doesn’t go well with alcohol. This is probably my prettiest guitar and I would say is an example of a 10/10 lookwise guitar. Even non-music instrument people would ask about it - like a work of art, there are so many pleasant details to appreciate from the pearl inlays to the efforted gold sparkle binding. Sound wise, it has this great acoustic sounding clean + overdriven tone which I did use on a few of the songs for my upcoming album! But honestly I only ever really desired one purely on looks. Much like not really caring if a supermodel I will marry has wonderful cooking skills or not.

It was always a childhood dream to own one so when an opportunity came to get one at an attainable price - i had to do it. I’ve been contemplating on selling it (I had it low effort posted) because I honestly have no right owning one, in the same vein we should question the lifestyle of a homeless man driving around and living inside a Rolls Royce.

Bill Goldberg, The Suhr Jazzmaster - This is the current workhorse / live gigging guitar. It plays and sounds so consistently well no matter what amp I am use which is why it ended up becoming my current go to guitar. It has that Suhr comfortable PLEK neck playability and still has enough looks and symbol power to make people go “Awssshiiii” when they see it. I do want to change the pickguard to some custom art piece made of wood one day, perhaps when I look at my wallet and realize I haven’t made a terrible life decision in a while. Also I like how despite the price, there is something about Fender type design guitars where should a ding or a massive paint scratch accident occur - it's alright. Like an expensive dirt bike - it looks prettier should it take a beating.

Natasha Sashiminov, The GIbson BFG Les Paul - I remember when this model first came out, everyone kept dissing it because it looked so ‘bad’ in photos plus it wasn’t of tradition. C’mon oldies, it’s called BFG (actually stands for “Badass Fucking Guitar”) so you can tell the target market already. I saw one in person (It really does look nicer in person) and tried it out - so warm and loud + great sounding for the price tag. I think I got it for brand new 35k range (Considered cheap for a Gibson and my first REAL/of worth guitar) back then - a true unwanted gem. P90 and burstbucker combo + chambered body keeps it nice and warm. The non lacquer wood looks so raw that if a ding occurs, you would think it was part of the design - I love it, no guilt from accidental dings. The first gen ones then became sought after a while (they’re more expensive now) - people eventually realized they were actually great guitars. Recently I heard Gibson released a new BFG version but the configuration of this first gen one is still better! (Attached is a tripleplay to make it output midi notes)

MEH, the James Tyler Variax 89 (USA Version) - These things are apparently super expensive, like an absurd $3000+ range expensive because the USA versions are limited + built in James Tyler’s factory with his specs. That being said this is the ugliest guitar I have. The only reason I got it was I really wanted a Variax for recording purposes and finding a cheap one was near impossible (The Korean models go up to $1000), but then I found someone who was selling it to me for cheaper the price than the Korean model! (Don’t want to give exact amount I paid because people will get annoyed) And just so I can say I own an actual James Tyler. Feel wise though, this is sadly the comfiest of all guitars to play with. PLEK, Perfect smooth playability no matter how you set it, playing at higher frets still gives a center stable non jittery tune note on the tuner, graphtech nut and tuners make it super stable no matter how hard I strum, real humbuckers sound awesome and of course the HD modeling, etc. See, I always find myself justifying its existence. I remember asking Micsis if he would like to paint it white and then somehow make it all fancy but he gave me a “No, this coat is expensive. And there’s a cpu inside.” reasoning so cue ~ sadface and any form of hope. But in fairness I use this thing a lot for recording albums + works, I could say this is the most useful guitar in my collection - as much as possible I don’t want to be seen with it tho.

Tinosexual, the Antigua Squier Baritone - This is how I usually do my bass lines when recording or if I need -5 down song writing inspiration. I only mention this here because apparently this certain model is sought after - and I got it at a really cheap price. Like below 10 cheap. Hee.

The First One / Art Guitars - I have guitars that I keep at weird tunings / for display. I currently have 2 DND’s being sanded right now before I can ask my go to artists to work on them so I can’t picture em at the moment. This picture is actually my first ever ‘guitar’ made with Indonesian artwork to give tribute to my homeland. It’s a piece of garbage sound wise - I used it on one song in an old Delusion of Reference album (Merry Frolics) where I needed an annoying cheap ‘sounds broken overdriven guitar sound. I was thinking of helping market some of these artists to do commissions in the future so i’ll mini tease that here.

Let’s take a look at your pedalboard. What effects do you use live?

Hoboy hoboy this is where my face actually lights up. I’m not so interested in drive / dirt pedals but I do keep myself updated with the stuff out there. I base my purchasing on ‘uniqueness’ and ‘featureness’. Sometimes I don’t understand why people would get X + Y pedal when pedal Z does em both for half the price at better/equal the sound. My pedalboard at home / recording is the same as my live so I don’t need to remove anything + I still sound the same live. If I could give pedalboard advice though, give yourself a size limit! And try not to exceed that size. It makes for easier gigging + controls the unnecessary gas.

1) Digitech Freqout - This is the only pedal out there that does this kind of sound. It sounds more natural than the boss feedbacker and you can adjust how fast it ramps / how loud it goes or even the pitch and when it activates. I lent my ebow to a friend after getting this as well because it can do that sound - ish.

2) Dwarfcraft Silver Rose v2 - The original one I believe was a BillyC commissioned pedal by Devi Ever that got discontinued because the two had a falling out. Dwarfcraft revived and improved the v2. After getting this fuzz, I immediately sold every other fuzz (except for one) I had - this was that tone I was looking for. Controlled messy fuzz. I can’t describe the tone so I suggest people look it up on youtube instead. It has so many modes! I also love that this fuzz has a clean through knob to help with the ‘control’ and layering.

3) Devi Ever Rocket - Of course I had to get this for that SP Muff tone. On one side it has a messier version of a MUFF and a crazy octaver fuzz on the other. This thing is amazing for thickening or for “notice me / stank face” fuzz leads. Yes, it does the siamese dream tone stuff really well.

4) EHX Pitch Fork - This pedal has amazing polyphonic tracking, add an exp and it can do whammy stuff. It also does pog stuff. Has a blend knob and has a chorus like effect in built as well. Why do people even bother with the other similar featured pedals then like the Pog / Digitech Drop / etc?

5) EHX Soul Food - I like the sound of Klon drives simply because they are really transparent. This Klon clone is the only drive I have tried that doesn’t affect the tone of the guitar or doesn’t cut the low end. I would like to get a tumnus one in the future just for real estate reasons but the Soul Food is priced too well.

6) Boss DC-2 Dimension C- I love this chorus, it’s so subtle in a way that if I am plugged into a stereo setup - it will sounds like I am double tracking but am on time a lot. Think the Cure type subtle chorus - so naturally great for coloring clean tones.

7) Boss SL-20 Slicer - This was a dismissed pedal by many because of its ‘one trick’ pony-ness but this really is useful for time based rhythm effects especially if the drummer is following a strict bpm. They come by really cheap here but in Japan I remember it being sought after because the synthers use it to spice their pads up. Sometimes if I can’t think of anything I place a basic loop and just have the slicer come up with riffs or pattern ideas for me.

8) Eventide H9 Max (2) - Owning a Max automatically turns up to 4 H9 cores into a max. (Hey you friends trying to take advantage of my remaining slots! I see your slithery intentions!) I would really like to have gone back to multi effects - it makes things so much easier but there are so many unique effects in the H9 that I use a lot (from other pedals as well) that I can’t go back as of now.

9) Digitech Jamman solo XT - I only use this because I used to have 2, I wanted them to sync and I wanted my loopers to have a set bpm with savable banks. Usually I tend to play verse/chorus in advance so I can focus on singing more live, it goes well with the inbuilt loopers of the H9’s.

Sideboard - Optional RC202 or VE20 depending on gig : Voice effects only on long big sets or if I have a guest singer with me. I make her do dynamic effects on our signals + a few triggering.

10) Strymon Zuma. Before I had this thing - my board was such a hassle to power with adaptors everywhere that would get lost / broken etc. Not to mention the extension cord / wire nightmares. This is the only PSU out there I know that could provide my power needs. The H9’s are hungry. The Jamman, Freqout and Pitchfork also require their own hungry selfish slot. That’s 5 hungry slots down without the remaining others. But money well spent - it’s so quiet.

Also let me tell a story for people who can’t comprehend why one would spend so much on a proper PSU, I once played a gig where they was an outdoor fountain. I brought my Les Paul at the time and because of the gun metal hardware (suspected) and improper shielding, every time i touched the guitar and the mic I would become electrocuted. I had to stop the set because it was getting legit scary and painful - that even roadie who held it nearly dropped my guitar. Cut to future where I played similar gig but this time with this PSU (same guitar) and poor no more noise and electrocution! It could be that they fixed their power thing but I will give credit to the PSU.

What amps do you use at home and live? Oh noes - forgive me pure bloods, I don’t believe in real amps! (Except for live where I have no choice) I honestly think modeling amps are better. My priority has always been recording and to 100% of people who have told me “My recording of a mic’d amp” sounds better than an even basic line 6 - I am sorry, we just don’t have the heart to tell you it does not! Hell even your heroes don’t hide that they prefer modeling. It’s cool though, i get to level up my ‘nodding so hard + snickering sipping’ plastic look.

What are you listening to right now?

Olafur Arnalds has an album coming out soon that I can’t wait for - the releases so far have been amazing. Same goes for Halloween Alaska! A little Lambert here and there as well as stuff from my musician love - Alice Sarah Ott. The new Jon Hopkins is so pleasant to the ears too so I occasionally go to that + Kiasmos old stuff which is in a similar venn diagram.

What advice can you give to your fellow guitar players and musicians who want to play like you do?

Be lazy if you can, let your pedals do the work for you. Think of it as computer code that you can efficiently make use of so you can focus on doing other things.

Nice chords > blupluplubplupl headache solos.

Will your notes sound good on a keyboard? If so awesome!

Swells + OD + Delay + Reverb = whale sounds = boring. Don’t do it. That’s not ‘experimental’ anymore. Also why is it strymon people always make demo vids/clips of whale noises? What a waste of power.

In the same vein fast dotted delay sweet disposition style delays will make me like you less as a guitarist. Sorry, i meant as a person.

Play with looper pedals! Learn how to support yourself with a long bars. Don’t solo over yourself though, rhythm jam with yourself. Also any loop noise / accidental or ugly when in a pattern could potentially become great music if escorted with the right notes.

Reverb is not meant to hide your notes - it’s meant to accent, enhance or immerse.

Play the same chord 5 times in strong generic strum vs a 5 times crescendo strum. Which sounds better?

“You can coat a turd gold - but its still a turd” so make sure your source instrument is actually nice sounding.

BPM perfection is oddly a skill I find lacking in the general musician population. Play rhythm games guys. Parappa the rapper or Um Jammer Lammy guys! They’re less forgiving = training!

Find yourself an extremely skilled versatile guitarist and do the opposite of how that person plays.

Once you start playing to impress - you have failed.

Ignore all my advice and don’t listen to what anyone tells you to do. They don’t know you like you do.

Get to know The Ringmaster by checking out his stuff!

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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At what point in the completely nightmarish process of online dating does one decide that it’s worth spending money on making that experience slightly less terrible? After the first truly bad date? After the 70th?

A generation ago, things were simpler. You essentially had two options: Meet a fellow human being in your respective flesh sacks, or pay somebody (or a newspaper) to set you up with one. The internet wrought popular paid services like Match.com in 1995, JDate in 1997, and eHarmony in 2000, but it wasn’t until Tinder invented the addictive “swipe” in 2013 that online dating became a true free-for-all.

But a free-for-all doesn’t pay, which is why if you’ve ever spent time on Bumble, OkCupid, Coffee Meets Bagel, or any of the other zillion apps promising to make us feel a little less lonely, you’ve likely seen ads for a mysterious paid version of the very same service. They offer perks like read receipts, the ability to see who’s already swiped right, and a temporary “boost” that automatically puts you at the top of the pile for a certain amount of time. The practice has a long history: OKCupid rolled out its A-List feature as early as 2009, before Tinder and Bumble even existed.

And what the freemium pricing model did for online games is becoming the strategy used by dating apps today. They’re free to use, but the psychology of gaming suggests that the more you use them, the more tempting it is to advance to the next level. When it comes to online dating, however, the reasons that people choose to upgrade to the payment models are far more varied than that of a typical gaming app.

It may seem redundant, particularly when there are already dating apps where you can see who’s liked you that don’t cost a thing (Hinge, for instance). But people are still paying for premium — lots of them. Last fall, Tinder beat out Candy Crush to become the Apple Store’s top-grossing app after unleashing its Tinder Gold service. And app makers claim it’s worth it: In June, Coffee Meets Bagel co-founder Dawoon Kang told Vice that men who pay the $35 per month for the upgraded version have “a 43 percent higher number of connections (mutual likes) than non-payers” and that conversation lengths increase by 12 percent.

Those I talked to who’ve used premium versions of free dating apps didn’t have a singular reason for doing so — their motivations ranged from wanting to expand their location-based potential matches to avoiding the stigma of being discovered by Facebook friends on a kink-friendly app in a conservative town. But the most popular reason seemed to be the desire to see who’s liked them without having to make the commitment of liking them back.

Hannah, a 31-year-old teacher in Chicago, bought Bumble Boost after four years of being single and realizing she wanted to get serious about marriage and family. She says she doesn’t interact with a lot of men on the job (“other than my first graders, their dads, and our parish priest — none of whom I’m interested in dating”), and all of her friends are couples. A weeklong trial of Bumble Boost cost her about $10, which led to a monthlong package (about $25) and then a three-month-long package (about $50).

What you get when you pay for free dating apps

Bumble Boost, $24.99/month

See everyone who’s right-swiped you

Extend matches by 24 hours

Rematch with expired connections

Tinder Plus, $9.99/month for users under 30; $19.99/month for 30+

Unlimited likes

Rewind last swipe (if you swipe by accident)

5 Super Likes per day

1 Boost each day (puts you on the top of the pile)

Passport to swipe around the world

Tinder Gold, $4.99/month added to the cost of Tinder Plus

Everything that Tinder Plus offers, plus the ability to see who’s liked you

Feeld Majestic, $15.99/month

See who’s liked you

Hide profile from Facebook friends

See when others were last seen on the app

Grindr Xtra, $11.99/month

OKCupid A-list, $9.99/month

Ad-free

See who likes you first

More search and filter options

See who’s read your messages

For Hannah, the biggest benefit was seeing who liked her before making the commitment to like them back. “[It’s] been helpful in seeing who’s left in the dating pool, adjusting my expectations, and deciding what ‘trade-offs’ I’m willing to make,” she explains. It also helped her get out of her comfort zone. “I definitely decided to match or message with some men I would’ve left-swiped on if I hadn’t known they were interested in me. I think it’s such a fine line — being open to different types of men and giving ‘pink flags’ in profiles the benefit of the doubt, while still listening to your gut and not wasting your time going out with men you’ll never be interested in or are straight-up jerks.”

That curiosity is the same reason Wynter, a 33-year-old engineer in Brooklyn, made the leap to Boost. “I recently broke up with someone and was out of the loop with swiping,” she explains. “A few days went by after downloading the app and I wasn’t getting any matches. I had friends reviewing my photos and got the thumbs-up on quality. I think I’m an attractive person and couldn’t understand the issue — was the app broken or what? I figured if I could see the matches, I could at least see who was swiping on me. Even if I wasn’t attracted to that person, it gave me some validation that I wasn’t a monster.”

However, paying for Bumble didn’t improve her actual experience on the app. In three weeks of using it, she’s gone on one date but said she probably would have swiped right on the person anyway. “Sure, I’m able to reach out to more people because I can connect to them, but the response rate is the same. A small percent of the people I match with respond or move past a few back and forth messages.”

That wasn’t an issue for Molly, a 25-year-old producer in Leeds, England, who paid for Tinder Gold despite never planning on actually meeting anyone from the app. “Arguably getting Tinder Gold was basically just a vanity purchase to reassure myself that people would be interested in me if I started using it more seriously,” she says. The ego boost worked, however: “Seeing who has liked you is kind of wild; it’s completely overwhelming but it was very, very interesting.”

For 23-year-old writer Dylan, the draw of Grindr Xtra was expanding the radius of potential matches. In New York City, where he’s based, the free version of the location-based app only showed him profiles within a couple of blocks. “In my opinion, if you live in a big, densely populated city, [the upgrade] makes a big difference. Though convenience is great, I don’t want to limit my dating or hookup prospects to just a couple blocks from my apartment. I would hate to miss out on meeting someone exciting just because they live six blocks away.”

In South Carolina, 36-year-old legal professional Jessica (not her real name) paid for the premium kink-friendly app Feeld because that was the only way her profile could remain hidden from Facebook friends. Due to her field of work and the fact that she lives in a small town in a conservative state, she didn’t want her precise sexual desires (profiles on Feeld specifically ask users to list them) to be public knowledge.

She says having the freedom to use an app without fear of being exposed introduced her to people she wouldn’t have met if she hadn’t known that they were into her first. “I hooked up with two guys separately that were younger than my age range, so I would not have seen them if I had not paid for the app and saw that they liked me first,” she says. “They were fun times.”

She also discovered a few surprises about the people in her town. “Lots of guys that I would not think were into kink were on the app,” she adds. “Just goes to show you do not know what goes on in other people’s bedrooms and not to judge a book by its cover. … It has made me more open and exploratory in my own sex life.”

Physical validation, sexual discoveries, and newfound open-mindedness: They’re the sorts of intangible objects that money isn’t supposed to be able to buy. But for most of the premium users I emailed, that’s what they found — all for under $25 a month.

But how much more likely are you to find an actual, IRL match? According to Eli J. Finkel, a psychology professor at Northwestern who has conducted comprehensive studies on the subject, the real genius of online dating isn’t sophisticated algorithms that promise to find your soulmate, like the ones offered by Match or eHarmony. Nor is it the ability to browse the profiles of other users for a glimpse into their actual personality (studies show it’s pretty much useless).

It’s much more simple than that: Online dating expands the pool of potential partners. In a 2015 New York Times op-ed, he wrote, “With Tinder, online dating is capitalizing on its strength — an expanded dating pool — and then accelerating the process of actually meeting someone.” So the greatest benefit of paying for an already free app might be services like Grindr’s location expander and Tinder’s unlimited swipes.

Of course, even when you’re paying for it to be somewhat less soul-crushing, dating is still dating. Unfortunately, that virtual $10 doesn’t unlock the gateway to the magical closet where your perfect match has been hiding all along, or even the gateway to someone who’s willing to meet up. “I’ve met some nice guys and met some duds. There are plenty of people that I talk to that I end up not meeting, either because it fizzles out or distance or whatever,” says Jessica.

“The actual interactions weren’t really any different than using the free version or any other dating apps,” adds Hannah.

Lorenzo, a 38-year-old customer service manager in San Diego, downloaded the paid versions of Tinder and OKCupid because he wasn’t looking for the kind of long-term relationships promised by sites like eHarmony. He said that at first he was able to schedule a date each week, but that the constant stream of matches started to turn into more of a trickle. “As far as OKCupid goes, I’m not sure it’s worth the pay,” he says. “I hardly get any likes, and most women don’t respond unless you message them.”

It also doesn’t prevent users from being, well, predictable human-being-on-a-dating-app levels of shady. Wynter says she’s skeptical of whether paying for premium is worth the cost because “I know a lot of men who swipe right on everyone they find even mildly attractive and filter later. It’s especially frustrating on Bumble because then I don’t feel I should put a lot of effort into my initial message because the match doesn’t guarantee a response.”

That’s the thing about paying for a free dating app: It might not provide the variables to the mysterious formula that equals “love” (or “great sex” or at the very least “a mildly pleasant evening”), but it’ll probably give you some interesting insights about the nature of humanity or a pretty solid confidence boost. And for many, that’s reason enough.

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Original Source -> Dating apps like Tinder and Bumble are free. But people say paying for them is worth the money.

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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