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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 102

Okay, trying to queue this again after it apparently got eaten along with chapter 101.

Y’all pray for me to whatever higher powers you believe in or can make up on the spot. Thanks.

Thanks for this chapter goes to the fabulous anon who sent me an ask about Jedis. I really, really hope you are seeing this chapter and I hope you like it. I also want to thank @baelpenrose as my resident Star Wars expert, who checked, double checked, and triple checked my writing to make sure everything was as entertaining/accurate as possible.

Before you all cringe at some comments Sophia makes, she is deliberately downplaying her knowledge of Star Wars in an attempt to see if she can give some of the other characters a twitchy eye.

After an extraordinarily bizarre situation regarding my former foe and who I assumed was his partner, I was profoundly relieved to find myself in a very boring, very normal situation a couple of weeks later. Even the regular family dinner was pretty normal: grilled cheese on a very good sourdough, with a tomato soup so garlicky that even I had no objections to it. I made a point to puree it, so Derek was very happy with the texture and I was happy with the flavor. Arthur shot me odd looks once in a while, but it was a happy, calm dinner.

And things were going… so well… I thought as Maverick dragged everyone into his quiet argument with Sam.

“Sam,” He stated emphatically as he dunked his sandwich and ripped a tomato-soaked piece from it. “We all want it to be real but… humans don’t exist outside of Earth and the Ark.”

“Yoda is not human,” Sam insisted loudly, grinning the entire time.

I choked on my soup. “Yoda? You two have been arguing Star Wars this whole time?”

“Maverick insists they are not real,” Sam enunciated carefully. When he got excited about a topic he loved, he had a tendency to rush everything and drop syllables, making his words nearly impossible to understand.

“They meaning Jedi?” Arthur asked, eyeballing the pile of sandwiches on the table. Finally he snagged his third half-sandwich and dunked it without ceremony. “As much as I wish they were real, I have my doubts.”

So did I. “Human beings who can use telepathy, telekinesis, and distance-empathy?” I scrunched my nose. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched.”

“But extraterrestrials exist,” Sam pointed out.

Conor nodded. “They do, obviously. Otherwise, Noah would be a bloody big figment of our imagination.” Shaking his head, he smiled. “If we didn’t make Santa real as children, I doubt we could make up someone like Noah, right?”

Sam only got more serious. “I was always taught that aliens don’t exist. My teachers told me that the only life off of Earth were bacteria. But, even if Else is bacteria, Noah isn’t. So, maybe other things we thought were pretend are real.”

The table was silent for a moment, shattered only by Derek dusting bread crumbs from his hands as ceremoniously and loudly as humanly possible. “Sam has a point,” he signed. “Fabricators exist, aliens exist.. Hell, telepathy exists - “

“Not telepathy,” Miys interjected from above.

“Neuro-pheremonal communication exists,” Derek finger-spelled, making a point of how cumbersome the term was in a way none of the rest of us really could. Seven minutes later, he took a slurp of soup and continued. “Unicorns exist, even if they are chubby. Why not Jedi?”

I opened my mouth to refute, then realized I couldn’t: we had the genetic code for both narwhals and rhinoceros in the gene bank. Good effing luck convincing anyone unicorns don’t exist, I guess. Instead, I grasped on my one last leg of logic. “But humans, like Luke Starkiller and Obi-whatsit Kenoshi don’t actually exist.”

Maverick looked absolutely revolted by something, which confused me. He liked tomato soup, and actually chose the cheese for the sandwiches himself. “Sophia. Have you even seen those movies?” He was absolutely aghast as he posed his question, and I suddenly understood what he was revolted by.

“Of course I did,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “In college, in Intro to Adolescent Literature.”

Soup abruptly coated everything on the table as both Arthur and Conor spat violently at my clarification. Arthur scrubbed his chin the fastest, so had the honor of levelling his incredulity at me. “Sophia Reid. Do you mean to tell me that you have only seen Star Wars ONE TIME?”

I shook my head, confused. “No. I’ve seen all three.”

“ELEVEN,” Sam corrected me loudly. “There are eleven movies.”

“Please, please tell me you at least saw Rogue One,” Maverick begged. “You may not have known it was a Star Wars movie?”

“Is that the one where the robot hits the guy and says he has another fresh one?” I asked carefully.

Maverick nodded. Arthur, however, looked like he was about to start breathing fire. “I am going to force you to consume every bit of Star Wars media worth consuming if I have to get Charly and Derek to program the audio versions to play in every room you enter.”

“I can do that,” Derek signed, unhelpfully.

Arthur just nodded. “See? I can make this happen. Your quarters will feel like Hoth, all digital communications will sound like C-3PO, and many Bothans will die before your datapad functions.”

Alarmingly, Miys interjected. “Wisdom, Bothans are an endangered species. Please do not encourage Educator Farro to commit atrocities.”

I was still gasping in confusion when Arthur recovered from his choking. “Oh shit. Bothans are real? They were a very back-stabby race of dog-type people who fought against fascists in Terran media. I thought, at least. I wouldn’t actually kill a real one… I am far more high functioning of a sociopath than that, thank you.”

“Noah,” I choked out. “Are you serious? Are Bothans real?”

“Affirmative,” they responded, setting off an entirely new round of choking and sputtering. I would need to have something done about my floors if this kept up. “And while they do resemble Terran canines on a very superficial level, they are genetically more closely related to a Terran fern.”

Arthur looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. “That is the least back-stabbing and least threatening plant I can possibly think of.”

Conor, not to be outdone, was still curious. “Boston or Fiddlehead?”

“Asparagus fern, Human Conor,” was the reply that set off a thousand coughs.

Sam recovered first. “That does not mean Jedi don’t exist,” he insisted.

“Of course Jedi exist,” Miys answered in a tone that was as close to being confused as I had ever heard.

Almost immediately, Arthur, Maverick, and Sam started cheering and high-fiving. Conor looked confused, while I spat my soup out again.

“WHAT?” I choked out between attempts at keeping tomatoes and garlic out of my lungs.

“They are as real as any member of any other Terran religion.”

Silence ruled the room for a split second, broken first by Arthur throwing his fork in the air behind him. Like a signal, it led to Sam and Maverick dropping their head to their forearms with a groan.

I managed to recover enough to slide my food away, lest I risk death over an absurd conversation. “Are there anything like Jedi in the known galaxy?” I asked, receiving a thumbs up from Arthur, who was still trying not to choke on his soup.

“Only in small measures.”

That seemed like the magic phrase to snap Arthur out of whatever coughing fit he was having. “Are there any species in the galaxy that have Jedi abilities?”

“You will need to be more specific.”

Conor, laughter out of his system, joined gamely. “Is there anything that can move physical objects without touching them directly?” he started.

“Several species can,” Miys conceded. “Those who only experience what you consider ‘sight’ as changes in air currents can, in fifty-four percent of cases so far, also change the air currents in a sufficient way as to move physical objects.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “They can stare at something hard enough to move it?”

“Wisdom, if I experienced physical pain, I am certain that your oversimplification just now would have caused such a sensation.”

Without rebutting, I waved for Miys to continue and ignored the laughter caused by the comment.

“Similarly, there are species more limited than Hujylsogox, who can perceive the physical world strictly through sound,” they continued. “In such cases, it is not uncommon for these species to also alter their surroundings by vibrating physical objects at a frequency that causes them to move within physical space.” A brief pause before, “And no, Wisdom, that does not mean they scream at objects until such objects move. I would also like to point out, Educator Farro, that the same species can cause internal organs to vibrate as a sufficient frequency as to cut off air flow.”

“Force choke is real,” Arthur whisper-shouted, mildly horrified. Clearing his throat, he spoke more clearly for his next question. “What about ‘there is a disturbance in the Force, as if many voices cried out’ etc?”

Miys buzzed thoughtfully for a moment before replying more clearly. “There are number of species who are able to perceive and interpret with great accuracy any changes in interstellar radiation, no matter how small. Should, say, a star go nova or collapse into a black hole, they are very reliable in providing information to cartographers. Should such a species state with certainty that a planet ceased to exist, I would need to see the planet from orbit in order to disbelieve them.”

Maverick let loose a low whistle, but it was Sam who spoke next. “But what about living beings, on an individual level. I know you can do that, but can any other species?”

“It is, perhaps, the most common trait in the known galaxy,” Miys admitted. “Even humans can do this, to a degree, although you tend to ignore it against all logic.”

“Okay. What about force lightning, though?”

I actually started to respond to that, having an answer finally, but Miys beat me to the draw. “Species who communicate through electrical currents are more numerous in the galaxy than those who can see. In the same way, they need to be able to manipulate such currents. Their young are frequently sequestered on their home worlds in order to prevent electrocution of species whose neural organs can be disrupted by uncontrolled communication. The same species are capable of using those same currents to increase their own synaptic response and reflexes.”

I almost wanted to laugh at Maverick’s face. He looked frustrated and ashamed in a way that I could not figure out. Maybe because these abilities existed, but not in humans? Regardless, his tone was frustrated when he asked his next question. “What about force ghosts? Please tell me those are real?”

“Very much so,” Miys confirmed. “Though likely not in the way you think. What you consider ‘Force Ghosts’ are, in the galaxy as it is, the result of technological advancement combined with spiritual beliefs.” A few groans surrounded the table, but Maverick perked up slightly. “Many species believe, as a result of their evolution, that their predecessors’ life energy persists after death. In these cultures, it is so common as to be unremarkable for a person to have a synaptic recording chip installed shortly after birth, to record their entire lives. They, then, pass their chip on to their successor in position.” Wait a minute… I thought, but Miys continued before I could put everything together. “In such circumstances, many species’s neural organs will manifest a… personality, separate from the original, in order to preserve mental stability. Such manifestations are very similar to what Terran media considers a ‘Force ghost’.”

“Hang on,” I ventured, holding my hand up emphatically to cut off any other questions from the table. “That. Stop there.” Taking a deep breath, I thought back through everything I had read in the past. “I thought the idea of deliberately having multiple, distinct identities was… a story, honestly.”

“Even in your own past, it was discovered that the human brain can host two distinct personalities with no difficulty, Wisdom,” Miys admonished. “These species, however, are uniquely adapted so that, along with the memory implant, they suffer no actual combination or confusion of experiences. What their ancestor experienced is their ancestor’s memory, and what the person experiences is the person's memory. A person cannot overwrite an ancestral core. Only speak to it.”

“Can humans do that?” Sam asked, dazed in wonder at this new revelation.

“Not yet,” Miys responded. “But I do insist on the word ‘yet’, as you were never meant to do many of the things you do now.”

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#the miys #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #found family #original writing #earth is space australia #hfy #humans are awesome #aliens #apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #original sci fi #original science fiction #my writing

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de-profundis-ad-astra · 4 years ago

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WIP INTRO || WRETCHES AND KINGS Writeblr Masterlist

GENRE || Adult Urban Gothic POV || Third person omniscient STATUS || First draft completed, second draft in progress SETTING || Modern day THEMES/FEATURES || Modern mythology, criminal aesthetic, found family, immortality, death, revenge, grief cycle, moral crises, platonic soulmates

SYNOPSIS

An undeniable crime problem plagues the city of Easthold, an affluent city rife with thieves and bandits of all pedigrees. This in and of itself is not all that strange. What’s strange is the incredibly high volume of unsolved crimes, of acts no one has claimed, ones even the Easthold Police Department can’t even begin to find blame for. Even when committed in broad daylight, even when the police arrive on the scene in the middle of a heist, no one manages to catch more than unclear glimpses of the culprits, no bullets hit their marks, and when all is said and done there is somehow never any reliable evidence. No camera ever manages to catch a thing, no trap is ever successful, and never has a single witness managed a coherent report, like somehow none of them ever pay enough attention. Like somehow what they’ve seen can never be put into words.

Throw a stone in Easthold and you’ll hit a crook, from thugs to conmen to masked killers who all call the city home. They all know their place, yet somehow the balance of powers never really makes sense. Like something is missing. Like everyone is fighting to be the second best while the title of top dog remains empty. Not that the reluctance to take charge is all that surprising, considering the way any crew which starts to grow big enough to extend their hold over the city is cut down. Driven out or found murdered, often laying in the remains of what was clearly a vicious shootout, though the killers are never found. Like vigilantes, only not so altruistic; the spoils belonging to the defeated gangs are always taken, only to reappear at the scene of yet another unrelated crime.

There’s something deeply wrong in Easthold. Something strange and unsettling. Like a catastrophic event has knocked the whole city just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. It’s in the way the EPD have cabinet upon cabinet of unsolved crimes that never manage to make their way into reports, years of unacceptably unpunished offences that would bring the might of a federal investigation if only they were disclosed. In the way a startling amount of those offences resemble crimes from days long past.

There are secrets in Easthold. Things no one knows, things everyone knows, and awful, impossible, inescapable reality they’ve all been trapped within. It’s in the way unease builds and dissipates without cresting, citizens never quite recognizing their own discomfort, never fully acknowledging the oddity of acting without reason, of crossing the street or averting their eyes, of taking the long way home simply because that one corner just didn’t feel right. In the way the city is beset by sudden explosions, the way gunfire rattles, the way streets echo with chilling laughter like the ghost of a memory, the phantom chill of a nightmare, the ceaseless loop of those who will not be laid to rest.

MAIN CAST

MARLENE WALCROFT || As the leader, Marlene has always has to present herself as reasonably level-headed, controlled outside the occasional snaps of frightful anger, a little overbearing in her need to dictate every plan maybe, but what criminal kingpin isn’t? What’s odd is the new fear kept behind closed doors, Marlene second guessing her own ideas to a degree that is wholly out of character, running over plans again and again, pulling them apart and looking for flaws, debriefing even after successful missions when everyone else just wants to celebrate, unconsciously pressing her hand to her heart like reassurance that it’s still beating.

SPENCER MCFARLANE || He may be happier in a no-holds-barred fist fight, but nobody could say Spencer isn’t good with a gun, an excellent shot with just about any weapon he can get his hands on. What’s odd is the little burst of panic he gets right after firefights, patting his own chest, checking again and again like he can’t quite believe he wasn’t hit.

HYRENE BRAEDEN || For all her quick temper and flippant attitude, Hyrene can be utterly pedantic about checking and rechecking the timers on bombs, which honestly isn’t an awful trait. What’s odd is the way Hyrene gets angry about it sometimes, storms about the penthouse yanking out every last alarm clock, the way she swears she can still hear something ticking with furious intention, like the last seconds of a countdown.

TERRANCE PHOENIX || Terrance isn’t wracked by guilt, doesn’t regret what he does the way some might; he’s a killer and he owns it, he chose it, and it truly doesn’t bother him. What’s odd is the way he still can’t sleep, can’t close his eyes some nights when the darkness squeezes close and he feels so cold, like the depths of the ocean are pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs. As Marlene’s second in command, he feels the responsibility to hold the crew together in the event that the kingpin finally snaps.

KYE || In terms of safety, Kye is as reckless as they come, all slapdash impulses and delighted disregard, chasing amusement at any cost when it’s only their neck on the line. What’s odd is that sometimes Kye walks around with a parachute strapped to their back and no intention of flying that day, utterly overzealous precaution without any real explanation as to why, like some part of them is always terrified they’re going to fall.

CAIM ROBINETT || Caim drives like he made a deal with the devil, like every vehicle is just an extension of his being, inherent ability paired with unmatchable knowledge of ever backroad alley in the city. What’s odd is the nightmarish daydreams he gets sometimes, when he looked back at his latest baby and sees flickers of crunched metal and shattered glass, the phantom scent of spilled gasoline and the unmissable click-swoosh of a catching flame.

ELIAN REED || There’s nothing odd about Elian. Just an unfortunate case of someone who got caught in the wrong situation at the wrong time. Or perhaps something is off. Every moment spent with her savior, the queen with hair like fire, it’s almost as though she’s in the presence of a ghost. They’re all like ghosts, and she can’t quite place a finger on why. She also can’t place a finger on why not just Marlene, but everyone in her inner circle, is so hellbent on making sure she’s never around them for just a moment too long.

EXCERPT

This job. Shit.

Terrance had his own suspicions about how aware the others were of how frequently he snuck off. Hyrene knew. And that didn’t necessarily mean the others did, too, but it left the possibility. That was enough to set his teeth on edge. Marlene asking him to play such a pivotal role in the job only made it worse.

If she knew about what he was doing now, then she was undoubtedly asking him to do it with the belief that he would not be walking away from it.

And for that alone, he would be sure to prove her wrong. How dare she disrespect him like this. Besides, when he died and woke up still in her home, then that would be cause for a great deal of fun.

He hadn’t been prepared for it all to happen so soon, though. He’d expected another few months to prepare to get rid of the threat that was Marlene McFarlane, but in that time she, too, had identified him as a threat, and was making the first move to see him taken off of the playing board.

“Terrance.”

Not a question of his presence. A statement. He heard the clacking of Marlene’s heels on the hardwood floor before she appeared.

Maybe the first punches would be thrown tonight, then.

“Yeah,” he said in answer, dipping his head in Marlene’s direction as she made her approach. She stalked forward with the gait of someone intent of making him into prey. He did not appreciate that.

“I had a question for you,” she said, positioning herself across the island from him. A smart move, if she really knew the extent to which he could harm her. If he tried hard enough, there wasn’t anything in the world that could bring her back.

But she didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Right now all she needed was the reliable second in command that he had dutifully played the role of for many years. The time for surprises would come later. Perhaps sooner than expected, but they could still wait.

“Go ahead,” he said invitingly, even going so far as to open his hands to her. Nonthreatening.

Her pale green eyes fixed on his mask, still settled near the corner of the island. Her eyes tightened. Okay, maybe a little threatening.

“How did you do it?” she asked.

Terrance laughed out loud. “I’ve done a great many things in this life you’ve given me. You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

Marlene kept her expression flat. Though emotionless, she somehow appeared angry when she asked, “How did you kill a god?”

Terrance paused in the middle of his drink, suddenly finding that he had to channel all of his focus into making sure he didn’t choke up what he’d already swallowed. Carefully swallowing what was in his mouth, Terrance lowered his glass to the counter with a quiet thunk.

“Who’d you hear that from?” he asked, his voice rasping slightly.

“People whisper,” said Marlene with a nonchalant shrug, leaning with her elbows against the surface of the island. “They spin the most splendorous tales out there, do you know that?”

“They’re also a bunch of crackheads who hallucinate half of the things they think they see,” Terrance countered. It certainly wasn’t false.

“But the imagery they spin is so vivid, wouldn’t you say?” said Marlene. “You haven’t heard the tales they tell about you?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“They whisper of the Renegade in a skull mask.” Another flicker of her eyes in the direction of the very same mask. “They worship the ground the Master of Death walks on as he mingles with the living.”

TAGLIST

@firefeatherx @goldenhour-goldenboy @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @phoenixhalliwell @havenforafrazzledmind @living-reminder @beatriz-silva-00 @pascalz @worldominatorx @givemethatgold @agirllovespancakes @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @veuliee @briskywalker @davairys @aetherwrites @ryns-ramblings @teriwrites

#writeblr #wip intro #original writing #writers on tumblr #original stuff #wretches and kings #trying to get back into a pattern of posting #lets see how it goes #i've been wanting to introduce this wip for a while #finally just had to suck it up and do it #anyway #enjoy?

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bookfreaky · 3 years ago

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LOVE DOING - The Analysis

Intro:

I try to never analyse my work while still working on it, because I believe that the painting must be born from an image in your head, or a feeling, and not from a concrete idea. That is the foundation of abstractionism. Then when you’re finished and you are kind of star-gazing your own work, you try to find what made you create all that, what made you use that colour or this shape. I did that and I saw that all the dots were connected in the same theme: Love.

Love as a broad concept and my experience with that. I think love is a very liquid sentiment, like water, it takes the shape of its every container you put it, but pretty much it’s still love. That same impulse is there. It can be like water also in the way it reflects the sun light, how it changes colours and distorts shapes. Love can be illusory; it can be lysergic but it can also be the answer to many simple questions in life. In its gas form it can be contagious and performative as it inhabits imagination, but it can also become solid when under pressure, just like water becomes ice under high pressures. In difficult situations, the love you feel for that person may be the only thing that keeps you going. I experienced that, and I think many people did too with so many people getting ill and dying during the Covid pandemic.

Like water it nurtures, like water it drowns. Love can be represented as a substance, like it just did, but also it persists as an action, an abstract action at so, an actual verb. In abstractionism, it’s to be said that colour is verb while shape is noun (I won’t remember to said that), for that reason I focused in this collection mainly in two colours in their variations, red and blue. Without the political branding aesthetic, red is seen in psychoanalysis as a active colour, the colour of human blood. Blue could be described as a “calmer” colour, but not so lacking in action. As Rebecca Solnit said, I quote:

“Water is colourless, shallow water appears to be the colour of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

So I dedicate this four paintings to the people I love and whomever loves things, but also to all the feelings that come about with love. Some of these paintings are capable of calming me and I could keep looking at them for hours, forgetting about myself. Others make me feel angsty, uncomfortable and looking at them oblige me to think about my own existence and fear my future.

I really hope you look at the paintings before you read the whole thing, and suffer through the same. Thank you.

Love Escaping Into the Blue:

This one was the first painting I made, before I imagined it to be a collection, and it was born from the experience of decompressing love from a place of deep passion; where you are taken by this sudden and enormous sadness but also relief. I felt free, really. I read this biology paper from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, called “Light in the Deep Sea”, and it explains that there’s some uniformity of colour in the ocean animals according to how deep in the water they inhabit. Animals living in the great depths of the sea, between 6,000 and 11,000 meters deep, have commonly a very vivid red colour, but closer to the surface of the water, between 200 and 1,000 meters deep, most animals are silver and grey. That’s because in this depth the brightness of sunlight is fragmented into a blue colour, and grey reflects the blue light creating the illusion that the animal is, in fact, blue. A Blue Whale is actually grey, not blue.

[Seadevil Fish (Cryptosaras couesii), left. Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus), right.]

The painting shows a leak of red coming into blue and bluer space, which is this feeling of infatuation and selfish desire, possession, fear and jealousy that is very red in colour and has connotations of violence and anger, moving into a place that is not so deep in the water but clearer and wider as the open sea, illuminated by this navy-blue light. It’s like you can finally breathe and see that your love is still there, but it has changed. In hope by being closer to the atmosphere it is also somehow closer to the divine. I imagine some people might feel lost when love escapes into the blue, and I get this sensation too, but it’s about loving freely, learning how not to feel love so deeply into ourselves, but widely like the ocean.

Love Growing in the Pit of the Stomach:

When I looked at this painting in particular after it was done, I had this sensation of angst that was difficult for me to name. It’s about desire, it’s about this feeling growing inside of you that you know it will be something more than what you want, but what you need. I’ve become obsessed with the image of holes, looking like they are piercing the canvas; I think they show this emptiness I feel, like a window showing how hollow I am inside, but also, they give me this satisfying feeling by looking at them, like opening a wound and poking a bubble. I think this emptiness comes from the idea most trans women cannot take away from the back of their heads, which is if you do or do not have a “female genitalia”. Gender in our culture is very centred around genitals and biological sex, for centuries being a woman has been defined by the person who’s able to carry a man’s child. There is this little fantasy of mine where women have this little hole in them that can swallow the world. The idea of it, for me, has grown into a very real desire very much like the desire for sex. Actually, very close to sex too. But the roots growing out of the hole, in green and blue, represent pain and fear, because I’m not sure if I’m okay with the idea of having to undergo a surgical procedure to fulfil this fantasy, neither I am sure if it is a fantasy or a need.

Most of my work resembles yonic shapes (resembling the form of a vulva), either in this work or in former ones, and it’s never intentional, it sort of just slips from my subconscious. I believe that the vulva, as well as the womb, are under-shadowed symbols of power. Phallic shapes are very common in art and what-not, they are usually associated with offense and aggression. Like when school boys draw a dick on the toilet stalls as if marking their territory. The vulva, however, is never quite portrayed like that.

I read about this Japanese visual artist, Megumi Igarashi, who made several pieces of art shaped after her own vagina, including a yellow vagina-boat (which I absolutely loved) and she got arrested and fined for “obscenity”. I think that for her subversive art-form she should be considered a national hero. Many man-made constructions are phallic images, look at the Washington Obelisk, or the Eiffel Tower, but in nature we most commonly find yonic shapes, like the Grand Canyon.

There is a profound violence in desiring this, feeling as if a part of your own anatomy is lacking, but you can’t grow it naturally, you can’t do it in a god-intended way. The bright red colour represents violence and sex, and in this case both. It’s way more complicated than the concept of having kids and being a mom, it’s a lot more than to be seen as sexual beings, and sexuality, and to feel loved; it’s about symbols of power and somehow getting that denied. It’s about learning how to love this new body, a body that is foreign, infertile, obscene and unconventional. That love is hard to achieve and it is violent because women, and especially trans women, have been taught to hate their bodies.

Love Falls In The Bathroom:

This one took the longest to finish and left me with the most unsure brush-strokes, much perhaps because it isn’t based off on an idea but on a memory, on dream. In three more years I’ll be the same age my mother had and she had me, 29 years old. Somehow it feels like a looming date. Having kids and getting pregnant, specifically, have been sporadic subjects of therapy sessions – the antithesis is always the same: you are not lesser of a woman for not being able to get pregnant, you can still be a mom through other means, you are not even sure if you want kids or marriage, you can always adopt – Those answers feel reasonable, but none of them ever could appease the deep feeling of something missing in me, like something is perpetually wrong with me. Then I understood that in this painting, I was trying to evoke these feelings. Love and grief.

[My mother, pregnant with me, in the 90s.]

My friends tell me I seem to be older than I actually am, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not because I had never been a happy child. I feel like I had my childhood robbed from me. I mean, I had an okay, comfortable childhood, and a problematic teenage-hood, but I never had a girlhood. I am still grieving it. I had been assigned male at birth, I’m still grieving that too.

In July of this year, I experienced a very vivid dream, in which although short all the images and the sensations were, felt very real. I was taking a shower in my bathroom, I close off the water, wrap myself around a towel, my usual pink one, and when I’m stepping out of the shower stall I fell. I hit my right elbow against the toilet lid as I fell with my legs open in opposite directions, a sharp pain struck me under my thighs, close to my groin, and a light string of blood followed right after that. It wasn’t menstruation blood, thin and clear red, but thick and dark. It was all very quick but I knew, right then, right there, exactly everything that was happening. I was pregnant, 13 weeks, alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood. I wonder how many days of my recent life, how many hours a day, I am really just sitting down alone on my bathroom’s floor surrounded by blood. I woke up and it still felt very real. I had spent the next two days very quiet, not wanting to speak to anyone. I wanted to tell someone as soon as I was back from the dream, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to call someone, a friend, anyone, and say “I lost it. I lost my baby”. I realised then, in that post-dreamy state, that I have been silently grieving for a lot of things, things I haven’t yet allowed myself to grieve for. Things I still did not have a chance.

Love Lost In Imagination:

This one is the only one what doesn’t forecast red and blue colours, but instead in red and blue paint mixed together in a royal purple colour. It was the last one I made, and it’s the one that differs the most in shape. I like to imagine it was love in it’s gas form, vaping inside your brain like Nitrous-oxide, with white-coloured cloud shapes and yellow peacock eye-feathers. It’s about how sometimes love can only exist in imagination, how we often elaborate better scenarios in our heads, and we think “what if things were different?”. I believe to be okay to fantasize, anyway the utopia is what moves us towards a reality, but sometimes we can get lost in imagination, and in questioning the same questions over and over. “What if I hadn’t done this and done that?”; “What if I hadn’t said no?”; “What if I had stayed longer to watch that movie?”; “What if had come out as trans earlier?”; “What if I had become a professional writer?”; “What if I had born a woman?”. Is love real if it perpetrates only in thought?

I would be more than happy to quote some of Saint Augustine here, and his theological virtues, love being one of them, but I wouldn’t like to make this essay even longer and complicated.

I think to myself sometimes, when was it that I started to prefer having peace then pleasure. My head has always been very noisy, very noisy, and I wanted it to stop. Now it feels like I’m constantly too quiet about everything. That somehow, like the Little Mermaid by Hans Christensen Andersen, when transitioning into a woman I exchanged my legs (my body) for my voice, and now I can’t voice or even pinpoint what I want. I’m just so tired. So, so tired. My mental health hasn’t been great for more than one year, and the pandemic didn’t help. I’m constantly anxious around people, even the closest ones to me (especially the closest ones to me), I’ve been eating like a bird and sleeping like a cat. Still, sometimes I imagine what future I would like, and I imagine myself living somewhere with open space, trees, breeding horses just like my grandfather did, space for dogs, musical instruments and the kids. Space for being big.

The painting makes me think that sometimes I can only love myself in this imaginary place. Otherwise, it just looks slightly like a chicken’s head. You decide.

- Original work, G.L. Alódio.

#art #art analysis #art essey #personal #my own #painting

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aliceslantern · 4 years ago

Text

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Ienzo starts classes. A lunch with peers ends up with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Later that night, still trying to reckon with the strange feeling Demyx had inflicted upon his magic, Ienzo went to Aeleus to tell him what he’d witnessed.

“A Heartless, here?” he asked. “You’re sure of what you saw?”

“I killed it myself.” Ienzo sighed. “Though--it did not reek of darkness, the way they usually do. Perhaps a newborn?”

He frowned. “Potentially. I’ll--reach out to my contacts, and see if they know anything.”

Ienzo nodded. Aeleus and Even had claimed the downstairs study as their own, jockeying for space in a strange show of dominance. “There’s… something else worth mentioning.”

“And that is?”

“The… boy I saved. He’s part of one of the bloodlines.”

“And he could not defend himself?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I was confused as well. I was going to wipe his memories--but he showed me this pendant, this rune. I wish I’d gotten a better look at it.” He sighed. “He also gave me his phone number.”

“Might be worth associating with him--if so just to learn something.”

“Unless his is one of the bloodlines associated with Xehanort.”

“It’s… possible, I admit. But if the boy could not fell one Heartless, I doubt he could hurt you .”

Ienzo felt a rush of affection towards Aeleus. Unlike Even, who tried to protect him from everything, Aeleus had faith in Ienzo’s abilities. Martially, he had trained him, and Ienzo’s spells spoke for themselves. “I shall… keep an eye on it.” He bit his lip, than forged forward. “When we spoke… I felt something in my magic. I’m not sure what , as it did not seem like any spell I’ve ever encountered, or read about.”

Aeleus’s eyes glinted. “That is… curious. Was it like a pull, a thrall, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so… but it was… odd.”

“What did the pendant look like?”

Ienzo described it, and Demyx, as much as he could.

Aeleus just seemed more confused, furrowing his brow. “None of the bloodlines have that resemblance. You said it looked halved?”

“Yes.”

He knotted his hands. “I will ask about that too… but Ienzo. Please, as charming and normal as this boy might be… be careful.”

“I… will.”

---

This settled, Ienzo began classes.

It was strange, to take transport by himself, to have some modicum of independence. Even texted and called him constantly, worrying over him. But for the most part, Ienzo’s first days at the university were… ordinary.

He found himself rather bored with his coursework. A lot of the general education classes were just that-- general , and given the limited amount of courses afforded to him due to his late enrollment, not what he was particularly interested in. He found himself saddled with Intro to Psychology, City-State Culture and You, Music from the 43rd Century On, Women in Contemporary Literature, and Magic and the Law. Of this courseload, only psychology and literature were intriguing, though, he found, incredibly easy. Five page papers? One chapter readings? He aced assignments easily, found himself both grateful and frustrated that Even had been so demanding in his education. It gave him plenty of free time to study on his own.

His psychology professor actually stopped him one day after class. The lecture hall consisted of ninety students, and Ienzo was not the most colorful character there, literally speaking. “Ienzo, right?”

He adjusted his grip on his bag. “Yes, sir?”

“Forgive me--you’re not in trouble for anything,” the man said. He was older, a little wizened, with thick dark hair partially pulled up. “I’m just a little… I suppose, bemused would be the word. Clearly--you’re already beyond the mark of anything you’ll learn here. Your last paper was testament to that. I hadn’t even read some of the sources you cited.” He smiled. “Why haven’t you tried to test out of these basic courses? I’d love to see you in one of my three or four hundred level modules, where you might actually be challenged .”

Ienzo hesitated, feeling something like pride and, at the same time, anger. It was Even’s idea for him to go to school. Why hadn’t he told him this was an option? “Simply because I did not know I could,” he admitted. “Though that must be lack of foresight on my part.”

“That, or an overworked advisor.” His professor exhaled. “Let me speak with them. I’m happy to keep you in this class, but you’d be bored to tears.”

“That would be… much appreciated.”

---

Ienzo was still pondering over this dilemma, unsure of how to respond to Even’s latest messages, a warm anger budding under his skin. Why would Even deliberately hold him back? He slid into his seat in his music class, prepared to simply disappear into the lecture hall and read for the class time. His professor chatted on about assignments (papers which were usually simply reactions to that week’s listening assignment), but before she launched into the lecture, she decided to introduce the class’s new TA. Ienzo felt him before she even said the name.

Demyx.

The boy must’ve felt him too; his eyes snapped towards Ienzo’s, and he gave him a smile. Ienzo returned it hesitantly. Demyx sat at a desk besides the professor’s podium before he was asked to handle attendance, which he did, carrying around a clipboard. When he got to Ienzo, he said in a low voice, “got to say, did not picture you as the music appreciation type.”

“I’m not. Most other classes were full.”

The grin got wider. “I do not want to be back where you were.”

Ienzo scribbled down his name. “Nor do you seem to be the type to be a TA.”

He shrugged. “I could use the free credits. Besides, Ariel is an awesome teacher. Say. You busy, after this? Couple of us were going to go get lunch in town.”

An opportunity to learn more, Ienzo reminded himself, feeling his heart catch bizarrely. “I could eat.”

“Good. Now I gotta get going. See you, Zo.”

It took Ienzo a moment to realize this was a nickname, too long to form a witty retort. He’d had aliases before, of course.

He’d never had a nickname.

The warm prickling feeling in his magic increased, and for some reason, he sighed.

---

As class wound down, Ienzo felt himself getting anxious. Talking to Demyx was one thing, given how they'd met. But talking to others? Ienzo did not know how to socialize, what to talk about. What were people his age into, their music and TV shows and entertainment? What did they do for fun? What if one of them figured him out? Should he simply be very boring so he was not invited back?

Should he be himself?

(Who was that?)

"Zo! Ready?" Demyx had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

"Yes."

Demyx clapped his shoulder; the touch was startling. "Awesome. Come on. We're meeting people there."

"Oh, who?" How much did he have to mentally prepare?

"My friend Lea, his roommate Roxas, this girl Yuffie, oh, and one of my roommates, Riku. Just a few of us. And maybe Riku's boyfriend and girlfriend if they're free, I have no idea." He shrugged. "Depends if I run into anyone else."

"Collecting people," Ienzo remarked.

Demyx laughed a little. "Sort of."

Ienzo tried to swallow his nerves. Demyx chatted happily as they left campus, going down some of the older and narrower cobble streets of the city. Ivy spilled over everything, the warm and soft light soothing on Ienzo's eyes after the harsh fluorescents of the lecture hall. "Are you from here?" Ienzo asked. "This city."

"Nope," Demyx said cheerfully. "I'm from Destiny Islands."

An archipelago off of the west coast. "A long way traveled for school," Ienzo said carefully.

Demyx just shrugged.

"Demyx!" The voice was shrill. A small, dark haired woman had her hands on her hips. "I've been waiting for ever. I'm starving."

"I'm sure you didn't die," Demyx replied. "Everyone here?"

She sighed. "Nope. They wouldn't let me grab our normal table until I had more of a "party." I cannot believe , after how much we've invested in this place." She smiled slyly. "Who's your friend?"

"Ah--right. This is Ienzo--uh--"

"Avella," he provided the fake name helpfully. "I take it you're Yuffie?"

"The one, the only." She grasped his hand and shook it roughly. "And don't you forget it."

"...For some reason I don't see that happening."

Demyx smiled. He rested his hand on the small of Ienzo's back, simply meaning to usher him forward. The touch was sudden and disconcerting. He thought of that blue pendant, beneath Demyx's shirt, probably warm with skin--

They were granted a table this time, a corner booth in this small restaurant. All the furniture was mismatching, and Ienzo could see the cook working at the grill behind the bar. "Is that the whole kitchen?" He asked.

"Yep!" Yuffie said cheerfully. "So I hope you're not in a hurry."

Ienzo sighed. He was rather hungry. "I suppose lunch is now an afternoon, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Demyx, you didn't say he was this cute."

Demyx flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Aw, come on," he said instead.

"Table of losers, anyone?" The lankiest person Ienzo had ever seen added.

"Ugh, who brought in the trash?" Yuffie asked, wrinkling her nose.

"That would be me," a blond boy said, rolling his eyes. "Demyx."

"Hey."

Four people was a lot to juggle, Ienzo realized. A waitress gave them some water. As Lea and the blond (Roxas?) regaled Demyx of some skateboarding incident, Yuffie leaned over. "You been here long?" She asked.

"To town? Is it that obvious?"

"You smell like a freshman, but you don't look like one. Dope hair, by the way. How'd you get it to tone down that color? I tried going gray once and it was a disaster." She grinned widely.

Ienzo sighed heavily. "I'm afraid it was all a bit of a mistake," he lied smoothly. "A friend of mine was a cosmetologist and needed a guinea pig. It was supposed to be blond--or so she said." He shrugged.

"Gotta stand out, right?" Lea said. "Where are you from, and how did you con your way to us?"

Meant to be a joke, but Ienzo found himself fighting to stay composed. "Demyx collected me at the library," he said vaguely.

"He was lost," Demyx lied, equally as smoothly.

"You can never leave well enough alone," a new voice added, and Ienzo's head snapped up. He felt the prickle of magic before he could really comprehend who he saw; a tall boy with silver hair. They held eye contact for a moment too long; Ienzo noticed Demyx's jaw clench the slightest. So he knew, too. What was going on? Had Ienzo been lured here? He realized he'd been seated in a corner. Should he excuse himself for the restroom, and leave? Or mine what he could from this exchange?

"This is Riku," Demyx said, taking a sip of water. "My roomie. Remember?"

Ienzo nodded. "Ienzo. Pleasure."

Riku dropped his things at the only available seat. "Nice to meet you."

Ienzo probed at the boy's energy. It felt… odd. Not quite normal. That hair--he couldn't not have magic. Equally, he felt Riku probing him , his teal eyes cautious and calculating. Riku knew something.

"So you're new to Twilight Town," Riku said, with a hint of skepticism. "Why here?"

Ienzo had to be careful. "I've heard good things about the marine biology program," he said. "That aside… my family thought it might be a good fit for us. The city, I mean."

"The darkness has been driving a lot of people out of their homes," Riku said. "It's… it's horrible."

"Indeed it is," Ienzo levelled. He didn't know what to read into that. "Are you from here, then?"

"He's from the islands, like me," Demyx volunteered. It was a casual enough remark, but Ienzo could grasp at the implications. They were magic users who had found one another.

"How fascinating," Ienzo remarked, consulting the menu. "I thought Destiny Islands had a rather small population."

"Oh, it does," Riku said, with an eyeroll. "Somehow we're the only two idiots who didn't know each other."

"That is quaint," Ienzo said. "Now. What is good here?"

He spent the rest of this lunch participating in inane conversations about nothing much. It took most of an hour for the food to arrive. Riku glanced at Ienzo now and again, curious, suspicious; the boy's magic could not penetrate him. Once the meal was over with--the check split awkwardly--they all left.

"Hey, Zo, wanna hang?" Demyx asked. "Or do you have any more classes?"

"I've got some time," he said. He had to know more about them.

Demyx smiled. "Awesome. Our place isn't too far from here."

Ienzo followed them, letting his magic wake up. Demyx brought him to an apartment building; Ienzo immediately sensed wards. They climbed two flights of stairs before Riku unlocked the door.

It certainly seemed like an apartment two young men lived in; the furniture was haphazard at best, and while it was clean, it was cluttered, and dull. Riku shut and locked the door, whispered a spell. Then, to Demyx, "what is going on. Is this a joke to you?"

"Hey! You told me to keep an eye out, and I did. So." He scowled.

Oh. So Demyx's friendly interest in him was a ruse; he shouldn't have been so disappointed. He braced his magic.

"I didn't think that the person you referred to would be--" He exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his hair.

"Care to explain?" Ienzo asked coolly.

Riku locked eyes with him. "What's your line?"

"What's yours?"

"Does it matter?" Demyx asked quickly.

"I mean, yeah, it does. If he's one of Xehanort's puppets --"

"I most assuredly am not," Ienzo said. "I take it you're not either."

Riku tried to frisk him again. "Who are you?"

"A person of no importance."

"Yeah, right. With the magic you're packing?"

"Guys. Guys. Let's settle down, okay?" Demyx asked. "Let's just talk."

Ienzo furrowed his brows. "Okay. Talk." He knew he had to be careful. “Were you looking for other magic users?” he asked Demyx.

He shrugged. “Not, like, consciously. But if it happens…”

“So you’re a seeker, then.” He shook his head.

“Not a… dark seeker,” Demyx said. “That sounds way too tiring. I just… I dunno. If some kid pops up, gotta keep them safe, you know?”

“Not that you need it,” Riku said. “You’re the one that saved him, aren’t you?”

Ienzo sighed. “Yes.”

Riku sat on the lumpy, ancient couch. “Guess our friend was right,” he said to Demyx.

The accused shrugged, his eyes on the ground.

“Right about what?”

“Things are changing here,” Riku said. “You can feel it. Something’s… not right. I’m not sure what you have to do with it.”

“He says he’s not with Xehanort. Shouldn’t you trust that?” Demyx asked.

“People lie,” Riku said simply.

“I’m not lying ,” Ienzo spat, feeling his anxiety spike. He had to remind himself he was the strongest of all of them; not that he particularly wanted to fight. “For all I know, maybe you are.”

Demyx rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Then prove it,” Riku said. “Why shouldn’t I report you right now?”

“Because--” How to prove his innocence without revealing his real identity? He took a breath. “Reporting me will just make the situation go from bad to worse.”

“Why?”

“Lives could be on the line.” He stuck his chin out defiantly. “I’m with the resistance. Report me and part of the network collapses.” Not technically a lie. “I suspect you are as well.”

“...We’re independent,” Riku said instead. “We’re not with anyone. But…” Cautious now. “The resistance is still around?”

Had he just made an even bigger mistake? “...Yes.”

“Thought all those guys were gone,” Demyx said.

“Most of us are in hiding in some form or another.”

“Huh,” Riku said softly. “Who would’ve thought.”

“Fighting Xehanort might be futile… but if we don’t, we’re complicit,” Ienzo said.

“He’s collecting them,” Demyx said. “When he can find them. Bloodlines. Made easier by the government rounding us up.”

“Like cattle,” Riku added. “Easier for the Heartless to breed if nobody can kill them.”

“But Twilight Town’s been neutral,” Ienzo said. “They wouldn’t just hand over--”

“A few people in exchange for stopping the darkness causing complete collapse of everything? Dunno.” Riku shrugged. “But right now here is the safest place to be. After the islands…” A sigh.

“I’d heard. I’m truly sorry. I… know how it feels.”

Demyx worried at the pendant. “I try not to think about it too much. All you can do, you know?” He cleared his throat.

“This… resistance,” Riku began cautiously. “Could you get me in touch?”

Ienzo kept his expression blank. “I could.”

“I know you don’t trust me. Why would you? I wouldn’t trust me either.” He held out his hand. “But I won’t sell you out if you don’t sell me out.”

Ienzo took it. Riku was telling what he believed to be the truth. “Alright. Deal.”

Ienzo left soon after; Even was bugging him incessantly. Your class ended three hours ago, why aren’t you home? Ienzo scowled. Demyx followed him out. “Hey… Zo,” he began.

“Yes?” he asked neutrally.

Demyx rubbed his arm. “I didn’t… look, I didn’t invite you along so Riku could interrogate you. Honestly. I wanted…” He trailed off. “I do want to get to know you. Really.”

Why ? Ienzo nearly asked. He thought briefly of how it had felt when Demyx touched the small of his back.

He blushed. “Why don’t we… get together, sometime? As--as friends,” he backpedaled quickly. “Real friends, not…”

Ienzo smiled tiredly. This day had sapped his energy. “I might enjoy that--if you don’t get killed by more Heartless, that is.”

Demyx laughed a little. “So… I’ll call you sometime?”

“Sure.” There it was again, that warmth.

“And Ienzo?”

“Yes?”

“Get home safe, okay?”

#heartlines #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #riku #aeleus #ienzo is trans

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fanficreadingcorner · 5 years ago

Text

It’s been too long

Pairing: None just nice platonic relationships between three best pals

Words: on the shorter side with only 1,768

Masterlist

A/N: So I came up with this idea while I was talking to a friend and watching the Witcher. So right before the feast Jaskier asks Geralt if Witchers ever retire and Gerald says they do when they get old and get killed. Which lead me to think, hmmm does this mean that Witchers never age? If they don’t then that means they hunt monsters until they die. So I thought what if Geralt had finally killed all the monsters, then what? He would just continue his existence cause there are no natural predators to a Witcher anymore and this is what came to mind. A Geralt that never aged along with Jaskier who also stopped aging for reasons to be explained and you the reader as a witch. Let me know what you think, and if you want me to write them during a specific time or doing something. Let me know, my head cannon is that they’re responsible for a lot of things that happened. SORRY for the long intro, now on with the show!

“Jaskier’s home” you said while moving to go unlock the door so that Jaskier could barge in like he did every day, there was one time you forgot to unlock the door and not only would Jaskier never let you live it down after he slammed himself against the door, but Geralt had also laughed so hard that day that it would forever be ingrained in your memory. He didn’t laugh often, or at all for that matter so that had been a rare treat. You moved to go pick up your laptop and things that were scattered around the dining table while Geralt grunted and went to go check on the mac and cheese that was cooking in the crockpot, it was his turn to cook today after all. Suddenly the door burst open and in strode the famous bard.

“I’M HOME” yelled Jaskier at the top of his lungs. You would think that with how often he yelled that loudly that his vocal cords would have been damned by now but alas I guess the healing was something that came with when that witch ‘cursed’ him all those years ago.

“We know, you tend to almost break down the door every time you throw it open” grumbled Geralt while you moved around setting up the table so that the three of you could enjoy dinner together, something that had originated sometime in the 18th century if you remembered correctly but it was really hard to pinpoint when exactly considering how long you all had lived at this point.

“Aren’t you lucky then that I have absolutely not muscle in any part of my body as as to not hurt the door, unlike someone I know that stockpiles it like flour in 18th century France” jabbed Jaskier right back causing you to snort in amusement, you’d think that after living together for so long that they would treat each other with more love but not even 600 years, give or take a few, could mend somethings. Although admittedly this was how they showed their love for one another.

“Well you would know wouldn’t you Mr. ‘I wanna be part of King Louis court it looks so fancy and I can probably make a lot of money out of it playing my songs. So I’m going to go to France by self’. How many times did we have to save you from the guillotine?” questioned Geralt while turning off the crockpot and then looking at Jaskier with a smirk on his face.

“I lost count after 5” you added laughing when you saw the look of betrayal on Jaskier’s face. Before it quickly morphed into a smug face.

“It doesn’t even matter because I’m alive and, guess whose song is number one on the charts again” bragged Jaskier while doing a little happy dance. You would think that after the first time this happened, he would have lost some of the excitement but it’s never a boring day with those two. Although admittedly it was a lot worse the first time this happened because he wouldn’t stop bragging for YEARS afterwards. Luckily it died down, although he still celebrated with the same dance every time. Laughing and shaking you head while you sat down to eat you remembered that you probably shouldn’t be surprised that his songs were this popular you forgot sometimes that this was the same man that made ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’ famous in what was basically all of Europe at the time which in itself was an impressive feat considering that things were not as wide spread as they were now.

“Yes, while we’re glad that you found your calling as a song writer I still don’t get why you won’t become a singer again, you have a good enough voice” You stated while waiting for Geralt to bring the food to the table and Jaksier to finally sit down. “You’ve done it before, we know you can do it” You continued as Jaskier sat down and rolled his eyes at you.

“I’ve already told you, it’s too much work and I make more than enough money this way, plus the last time we did this remember how hard it was to stage my murder?” he countered while Geralt placed the food on the table, sat in his chair and started serving the food to everyone.

“Eh I guess you’re right, It was cool though when you went on tour and we were able to tag along. Have you talked to Paul recently?” you continued while taking your plate for Geralt to dig into.

“No, he’s busy or something, also I’m still kinda upset. Not at him of course but at the queen, why didn’t the queen grant me knighthood as well. Lord knows we’ve known that family for years, plus Geralt helped them come into power! But nope she has to go and knight Paul, I wrote most of those songs you know!” huffed Jaskier while quickly spooning some mac and cheese into his mouth and chewing aggressively. You raised your eyebrows in amusement and shrugged.

“Perhaps” started Geralt, who had been quiet as of so far, “It has something to do with the fact that ‘you’” he said with air quotes around the you, “were ‘dead’ and thus she couldn’t really knight you” he finished off pointing his fork at Jaskier and then placing it in his mouth.

“She could have done it posthumous; she knew I wasn’t really dead” muttered Jaskier before continuing his assault on the cheesy noodles.

“Anyways” you dragged out hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere before Jaskier got too caught up. “so casting is finally done for ‘The Witcher’” watching Geralts reaction only to see him groan and throw his head back in frustration. Rolling your eyes, you continued. “So, they cast a British actor to play you, I think his name is Joe Batey? Resemblance is uncanny to you and his acting’s great, plus he seems to be able to capture your essence pretty well.” You continued as you watched Geralt try to make himself as small as possible to avoid the next question that was undoubtably going to come from Jaskier, which was not an easy feat considering how large Geralt actually was.

“That’s great! If you don’t mind me asking who got cast as Geralt?” Questioned Jaskier none the wiser as to why Geralt seeming very invested in his food all of a sudden and not the current conversation like he has been a few moments ago.

“Oh no one in particular” You started off watching Jaskier reach for his water and take a sip. “Just some actor that goes by the name Henry Cavill” At that Jaskier spit the little water he had in his mouth out causing it to go all over Geralt, and then proceeded to laugh like a mad man.

“You’re joking!” Jaskier managed to choke out in between his laughs while Gerlat grunted and slid his hand down his face to ride himself of the water that had landed no his face. Shaking your head no, you confirmed Jaskiers question, Geralt would be acting as himself. Once Jaskier managed to calm down a bit he asked a follow up, “how did you manage to get him to even audition, let alone take the role?!” now he looked like a teenager wanting to know how to the two most popular kids in the entire high school had gotten together. You looked over at Geralt expectedly waiting for him to answer.

“I lost a bet” was all Geralt muttered before Jaskier started laughing again causing Geralt to groan in annoyance and roll his eyes. “It’s really not that funny Jaskier” he tried hoping to calm the bard down just a tad. Gasping Jaskier now had Geralts full attention.

“Not that funny!?” he exclaimed dramatically, hand over his heart like Geralt had just said the most offensive thing in the world to him. “Forget ye not how you came into this predicament of even being an actor?” chuckled Jaskier while Geralt grunted under his breath. “That’s right, a bet, you lost a bet to me and now you lost a bet to (y/n), so I guess it’s safe to say that you probably shouldn’t bet anymore. Even if you were good at it before” finished Jaskier with a flick of his wrist before picking up his plate and washing it in the sink. Shrugging Geralt stood and started cleaning up the table before answering Jaskier.

“I suppose my luck finally ran out, although I think that happened when the witch cursed you with eternal life” Geralt smirked while bring up the dirty plates to the sink. Causing Jaskier to whip around and gasp dramatically at Geralt.

“I will have you know that I am a blessing to this trio that we have, isn’t that right (y/n)?” asked Jaskier catching you off guard as you placed the leftover in the fridge.

“uhhhhhhh” you hesitated while closing the door and turned to face them. “I would like to be excluded from this narrative?” You tried hoping that they wouldn’t drag you into this.

“Well I never!” huffed Jaskier. “I thought the writer of the famous Witcher novels would have more to say on this” he continued before turning back to the dishes.

“Flattery will get you nowhere” responded Geralt while handing Jaskier more plates to wash while he finished clearing off the table.

“It used to” mumbled Jaskier while aggressively scrubbing a patch of cheese on one of the plates before placing it in the dishwasher. You leaned against the counter next to him before responding.

“To be fair it was a different time and in the stories I wrote you aren’t exactly immortal” you said before pushing yourself off the counter to make your way upstairs. “Anyways, the network wants me to have the pilot scene finished by tomorrow, so I will see you guys later” you excused yourself before making your way up the stair but not before hearing Jaskier start to bother Geralt again.

“Hey Geralt which do you think was the better of these two songs I wrote, Bohemian Rhapsody or Thriller?” started Jaskier, hearing Geralt grunt in annoyance you knew this would not be over soon.

“It don’t think it’s important” answered Geralt, while you heard Jaskier sigh in annoyance.

‘It’s very important and you know it! Some of my best work….” Jaskier trailed off as you made it into your office and shut the door. Never a dull moment with these two.

#geralt of rivia #modern AU #Jaskier #reader is a witch #The Witcher #the witcher fanfiction #Inaccurate history

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vfdarkness · 5 years ago

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A Voice From Darkness - Ep1 - The Black Door

What follows below is a transcript of the first episode of A Voice From Darkness. To listen to the podcast - look for it on Apple Podcasts, Google, wherever you normally listen to podcasts, or here.

INTRO

Dark ambient drone.

RYDER

You find yourself alone in an abandoned manor. The furniture moves of its own accord, whispers resonate from empty rooms. The dead are unquiet all around you.

A beat.

RYDER

You need my help.

Dark ambient drone changes to:

INTRO MUSIC

RYDER

This is A Voice From Darkness.

Intro music continues, but gradually fades out.

ACT 1

RYDER

Hello. As always this is Dr. Malcolm Ryder, parapsychologist. You’re listening to A Voice From Darkness. If you’re having any problems that are paranormal, supernatural, unexplainable in any way please call in.

A beat.

RYDER

I’m here to help. Oh, and my producer is letting me know we have a call on the line. Tell us your name, caller.

All of Amanda's dialogue has the SFX as coming through a telephone.

AMANDA

Hello, Dr. Ryder, my name's Amanda Ful-

She cuts herself off.

AMANDA

Just Amanda.

RYDER

That's all right, Amanda - we don't need to know your last name. But we do need to know what you're calling about. What unnerving situation have you found yourself in?

AMANDA

Can I ask you a question first? Is that all right?

RYDER

Of course, please - ask away.

AMANDA

To be completely honest - and I'm sorry - but I've never listened to your show before. I've heard of it - obviously - otherwise I wouldn't be calling. But... do most people call in about vampires, zombies, werewolves? Those sorts of things?

RYDER

If I understand your question, what you're asking is: do most of our calls involve familiar paradigms of the supernatural? Is that correct?

AMANDA

Yes. I guess that's what I was getting at.

RYDER

Believe it or not - no. Most calls are... stranger. Outliers. Every conversation on this show, at its root, features an occurrence that the caller cannot explain by simply invoking the natural world. Vampires, werewolves, demons - perhaps sometimes people interpret the raw sensory data they take in as such creatures. But that does not mean they exist. At the very least not in ways we've traditionally conceived them. Does that make sense? Did I answer your question?

AMANDA

No. No - that answered my question. Thank you. It makes me feel better too. What I'm calling about - it's not like a ghost or demon. I don't think? I don't know what's happening, really.

RYDER

And what is that you've called about, Amanda?

A beat.

AMANDA

(uncertain)

A black door?

RYDER

A black door? Have you walked through this door and something happened? Did you witness a terrible being emerge from the door?

AMANDA

No. I haven't gone through - or any of that. I... I... I'm sorry I should have thought about what I wanted to say before calling. It's - it's complicated.

RYDER

For complicated things - I think it's best if we start at the beginning. When did you first notice the door?

AMANDA

The first time. Right, I probably should start with that. The first time was at a charity event at an art museum. I was there on a date - our second - the guy and me. The first didn't go great - but it wasn't terrible either - so I figured I'd invite him along with me. Only it was awful. Soon as we got there he ran up to the hor d'oeuvres and stuffed his face. Having a guy ignore you to graze on cocktail shrimp is... it's not attractive. Everyone was in the Impressionist wing. That's where the event was. So I slid myself under a velvet rope and took a stroll over to the Postmodern Contemporary Sculpture wing. It's my least favorite kind of art. I figured, "Why would anyone come here when they can spend the evening looking at real art?"

RYDER

I think you're being a little unfair. There's a few contemporary pieces I've seen that-

(interrupts self)

But you didn't call to talk art. Not the point of this call or show. Please - continue.

AMANDA

Right - so between this "sculpture" of a trashcan with the American flag in it and a robot standing in front of a tombstone that reads: RIP The Working Class - there's this black door. The Black Door.

RYDER

It's an art piece? Part of an exhibit?

AMANDA

That's what I thought - at first. The black door was the only thing in the room that didn't wear its subtext on its sleeve, so I went up to it. I wanted to figure out what the artist was communicating. I got close-

(interrupted)

RYDER

What about the door suggested the supernatural to you?

AMANDA

It just... drew me in. It felt like only a few seconds had passed - but this security guard shook me by the shoulder. Asked what I was doing there. I told him I was at the charity thing. He told me that ended hours ago. It was past two in the morning. My bad date and I, we'd gotten there - I don't know - around seven? I'd been staring at this black door for several hours.

RYDER

You experienced unexplained and mysterious passage of time? That's fantastic.

AMANDA

Why is that fantastic?

RYDER

Well it's not - I mean for you - but it's common across a multitude of sub-fields within the paranormal - from hauntings to alien abductions. So many possibilities...

AMANDA

Is it ever associated with black doors?

RYDER

I'm not sure. What did the guard say about the door?

AMANDA

The guard. I asked him about the artist responsible - who made the door - I thought it was a hypnotic sculpture or something? But he had no idea what I was talking about. He said he didn't see a door. Had never seen one there.

RYDER

It was invisible to him?

AMANDA

No. It vanished. I turned my attention away - to the guard - and when I looked back... it was gone. Disappeared.

A beat.

RYDER

A door that causes time lapses and can disappear? I can't explain it right now, but I'd be happy to research and get back to you on another night, Amanda. Would that be all right?

AMANDA

Doctor, I'm not done. That was just my first encounter. The black door - it's... following me.

A beat.

RYDER

Following you? How? Wait - hold that thought, Amanda. My producer is telling me we need to cut to our pre-recorded segment. I'm sorry, please stay on the line.

TODAY IN ODD AMERICA:

Eerie music plays in the background.

RYDER

On this day in Odd America we find ourselves in Moline, Illinois - the year 1938. After attending a community meeting at the First Methodist Church, the Dhondt family were never seen again. Husband and father Bryan spoke at that night's meeting. His wife Claire accompanied him, as did their only child - seven year old Sarah. Reports at the time stated the family walked home as they lived close to the church. Evidence suggests they arrived safely as daughter Sarah made a diary entry that very night - which noted nothing out of the ordinary. Sarah had played with her friends while her parents attended the meeting. They all went home in high spirits.

A beat.

RYDER

But the next morning, Bryan did not report to work at the John Deere factory. Claire missed her weekly Bible study. Sarah did not show up to school. Friends and family went to their home to learn the cause for their absences. Upon arrival, they found jack-o-lanterns in the bedrooms - two larger for the parents.

One smaller for the daughter. Each carved face made to resemble one of the Dhondts - Bryan, Claire, and Sarah. All contained burnt-out, melted candles.

A beat.

RYDER

The disappearance of the Dhondts is the first recorded case of the Jack-O-Lantern Murders - they're called murders - though this is a misnomer as no bodies have ever been recovered - only pumpkins carved to resemble the missing. Several cases every year have been reported across America since the Dhondts's disappearance. Who's committing these terrifying acts? Is it a singular entity or a coterie that's passed down this dark tradition over the years? And what's become of all the bodies? This is a wide and lonely country. They could be anywhere. And so - it remains a mystery.

A beat.

RYDER

This has been today in Odd America. Now back to our main show.

MUSIC FADES OUT.

ACT II

RYDER

All right, Amanda, we're back. Now, you were saying, the black door is following you?

AMANDA

I see it everywhere. Most places I go - the same door is... there.

RYDER

How do you know it's the same door? What does it look like? I mean, other than being black.

AMANDA

The doorknob's a dull, unassuming brass, I guess? The rest... The door itself it isn't wood or metal painted black. I don't know what it is, but it's darker. Like...

A beat.

AMANDA

Like the center of a black hole. Like the color of absence. It hurts to stare at. I could feel a strain in my eyes... and my chest at the museum... Not just then - every time I look at it, really.

RYDER

The color of absence? That reminds me of the Nietzsche quote, paraphrasing but, "Fight not with monsters lest you become one. And gaze not into the abyss, for when you do the abyss gazes into you."

AMANDA

That's exactly how it feels - when you stare at it - this black void is staring right back into you. Feeling your insides.

RYDER

And this door, that's the color of absence, is following you?

AMANDA

The black door's everywhere. My apartment building, work, the grocery store. Everywhere. But never in the same spot. One day it'll be next to the copy machine at work, then down the hall of my apartment building. The door's always moving. But always near me. Like a shark circling its next victim.

A beat.

AMANDA

I've asked others if they see the door - most the time it disappears after I ask... but sometimes... Sometimes a co-worker or someone - I'll ask them - and they will see it. They'll stop and stare at it - into it. I'll have to shake them - Force them to look away. Then... I'll ask about the door again. And they all say me the same thing: Open the door.

A beat.

AMANDA

Everyone who's seen the door tells me I need to open it. After they say that - the door disappears, and they forget. The worst time... The worst time my best friend at work. We were in the break room, alone, during our lunch and it appeared. Unannounced. Unwelcome - like always. I pointed to it - hoping it'd just disappear and we could keep talking about whatever Netflix show she'd watched last night. I think that's what we were talking about. Only...

A beat.

Before I could lower my hand, she dug her nails into my wrist. Her eyes were locked on the door. Her nails pierced so far into me - I bled. Not a little either. Before I knew it, there was red everywhere. The table. The floor. Her. I couldn't get her nails out of me - or get her to look away. She's one of my closest friends - I was a bridesmaid at her wedding, and... I had to throw her against the ground. To get her to stop. To get her to look away and let go. After I did... she gently released me, put her bloody hands on my face, and told me to open the door.

RYDER

(empathetic)

That's terrible.

I'm sure it was traumatic to go through.

(back to business)

You haven't opened the door though, right?

AMANDA

No. No. I haven't.

A beat.

AMANDA

Not yet, anyway. I guess that's why I really called. What would happen if I did open it? What's behind it? At the very least, if I opened it, even just a crack, would - would it stop following me? Do you know, Doctor?

RYDER

Amanda, under no condition should you open the door. I'll be honest - I have no idea what's on the other side. I've never heard of anything like this before. But from everything you've said - I can't imagine it's anything good. You agree with that, right?

Dead air.

RYDER

Amanda?

AMANDA

(disappointed)

Yes - I mean, I guess I do.

A beat.

AMANDA

I was really hoping you could help me, Doctor.

RYDER

Amanda, I can help. But you need to give me time to research. Promise me you won't open the door - won't touch it - won't go near it. We need to figure out what it is.

AMANDA

Yes. Yes I promise not to open the black door.

A beat.

AMANDA

For now.

Her phone disconnects.

RYDER

Amanda?

A beat.

RYDER

I believe she hung up. Well if you're still listening, Amanda. Stay strong. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. But that's all the time we have for now. Remember - if you are bothered by anything supernatural or unexplainable - please give me a call - next time on A Voice From Darkness.

OUTRO MUSIC

#creepypasta #nosleep #audiodrama #audiofiction #horror #dark fantasy #audio drama #audio fiction #podcast #avfd #transcript

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blackwhitefrancis · 7 years ago

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A Shade in the Sun

A Story of Black and White: Part 2 (Intro, Part 1)

Oh no. What have I done? The consequences of my actions kept replaying in my head. I kept asking myself if there was a way I could have done it better. Or maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all. I did what I did because it felt right at the time, but was that enough to justify my actions? Was that enough to justify this pain? I didn’t want to regret it, but that’s what it felt like, and I didn’t like it.

With a heavy heart, I sat under the shade of a charcoal tree as big as a giant sequoia. Just a few weeks ago, you asked me to get rid of the black trees that made up the rampant forest outside our home. I did, but this one was one of the few trees I couldn’t take down. Compared to what used to be here, this wasn’t too bad. The improvement was definitely noticeable.

I tried to distract myself and focused on the specks of light on the ground that came and went as the leaves that resembled burnt paper shifted with the wind. I looked up when I heard a slight hiss as you came closer. The light burned your dark skin, and I was surprised to see you go outside the house. I almost didn’t hear you approach because of all these emotions swirling in my heart. It had been a lot brighter around our sanctuary since you let me out of my isolation. You even retreated in that dreary dungeon you call your room and spent most of your days there.

You sat beside me, admiring the view. The new landscape looked beautiful. Verdant and lush, against the backdrop of broken walls that I didn’t even bother to fix. No one spoke for a while. I decided to break the silence. “It hurts, and it’s all my fault. I feel so stupid right now.” I didn’t want to see your reaction, so I looked back down. I was doing my best to hold back tears.

Of course you didn’t even bother to tell me otherwise. You dwelled in the truth, and even I felt that was the truth. I was being stupid. No doubt about that. After an agonizing few seconds, you finally responded. “I don’t mind.”

I was surprised. That was not what I expected. Not at all. “You know I could hear you cursing up a storm all the way from your room, right?” Every time I made a stupid decision, I could hear your piercing words even though you probably did not intend for me to hear them. It made me cringe every time, and I wanted to hit my head against a wall over and over.

You sighed, yet still did not look my way. “I just… I just don’t want you to get hurt.” My heart sank. I didn’t think I could feel any worse. How could I forget? I almost died. Then you locked me up in my room. You probably thought I hated you for what you did, but the truth was that I was ashamed. I let the same people hurt me twice, and I just couldn’t live with myself. You checked up on me as often as you could, wondering if I would still be there the next day. It took me almost a decade regain my strength. During those years you endured life by yourself because you protected me.

Then one day, you just decided to let me out. Even now, I don’t understand why, but I’m still grateful. You even left me with your armor and your disguise, but I decided it was best for me not to wear them. They didn’t suit me at all. Perhaps another stupid decision. I could see the worry in your eyes when you see me walking around so vulnerable. You probably already regret letting me out of that room. “You should just lock me back up again. Maybe it’s for the best.” It was frustrating. In the short amount of time I’ve been in control, I’ve made more bad decisions than you did in a decade.

I started to stand up and head back to my room, but before I could, you grabbed my arm, and pulled me back down. The action surprised me only a little bit more than the loud sizzle from the contact of your cold, dark hand with my warm, white skin. There was irritation yet determination in your voice. “I’m not going to do that again.” After a few heartbeats, you spoke again with a more consoling tone. “Stupid decisions make great lessons. You know how I like to learn. Don’t worry about it too much. It’s fine.”

Another surprise. I looked at you and saw understanding in your eyes. I was so confused. “I don’t get it. You spent all that time protecting me from pain, and here I am asking for it like a moving target. You should be angry at me. Don’t you even feel like I’m wasting all those years of your effort? I should go back to my room, and spend the rest of my days there. You go ahead and take charge again.” We disagree on many things, but why not this? Wasn’t this a logical decision? Something you’d make?

You looked at me straight in the eyes. “I almost forgot what it was like to know pain. It reminded me that we’re still alive.” The wistful smile on your face had me at a loss for words. The surprised look on my face must have said it all. You seemed embarrassed. Not something I’d associate with you. You turned away again and continued. “Those years I was in charge was just me trying to survive. Life wasn’t the same without you. Since then, I never felt alive... until now.”

I stared at the distance, not looking at anything in particular while trying to organize my emotions. What should I say to that? I just went with my heart and said the first thing that came to me. “I’m not afraid of being hurt. After all that happened, I’m glad I can still feel.” I had to admit, I startled myself with the conviction I heard in my voice. It felt good to say it out loud.

I could see you nod from the corner of my eye. “Just be careful. If something happens to you, I don’t think I’ll make it.” You turned to me and cupped my chin with your hand and turned my head to face you. You leaned forward. So did I, putting our foreheads together with a slight hiss. “I trust you. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it, and I don’t want to live the rest of our lives afraid of making stupid decisions. Whatever happens, happens. We’ll just deal with it together. Okay?”

My heart swelled. I felt like I could soar. The sea of emotions that settled in my chest calmed down. Tears fell down my eyes. Your approval meant everything to me. “Thank you.” It was all I could say.

“Crying does not look good on you. Just so you know.” Just like that you were back to your old self. I smiled.

I looked up, basked in the light filtering through the leaves, and let the tears run down my face. I closed my eyes as I enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the cool caress of the breeze. There was silence for a good long while. When I heard you snore, I had to hold back a laugh. I took a peek. You looked so serene, so at peace. I could feel the pain melting away.

Thanks to you, I’m stronger than I ever was. I won’t let you down. I promise. It’s time for us to stop surviving and to start living. I’m going to make sure of that.

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jessicakmatt · 5 years ago

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Sample and Hold: Vintage Keys, Electric Organs, and Funky Guitar

Sample and Hold: Vintage Keys, Electric Organs, and Funky Guitar: via LANDR Blog

Welcome to Sample and Hold, the series on the LANDR Blog where we highlight one unique crate-digging session and the digger’s gold we came back with using Selector—the world’s first AI sample recommendation tool.

Starter Loop: Melodic Piano from Lofi Hip Hop

I’ll start off this Sample and Hold session with a jazzy piano sample.

I’ve been looking through LANDR’s sample database to find some choice cuts for a recent article about the best hip hop samples when I came across this one.

This piano loop comes from Kits Kreme’s Lofi Hip Hop sample collection, and it definitely lives up to that lo-fi classification.

In the background of the sample, you can hear the hissing and crackling that come from the sound old vinyl and cassette tapes make.

I think this jazzy loop is ripe for chopping up and sampling with an MPC style groovebox.

You could easily throw a hip hop drum kit under this sample and create a funky lo-fi beat.

Selection 1: Final Stage from the Beautiful & Melodic Piano Pack

My first selection from the samples Selector returned based that vintage keys sample is this wistful sounding loop that appears to make use of an electric piano.

My best guess is that the instrument is based on a Rhodes piano, given the metallic-sounding tines in the loop.

It’s definitely a common trope to use the Rhodes to evoke melancholic feelings, you just need to know a few sad chord progressions to get the job done.

Another notable quality to this sample is the delay effect Equinox used to make the sound echo and give a spacey quality to the sample.

Delay is a pretty cool effect to use on a Rhodes sample because it can be used to accentuate the percussive sound of the tines being struck by making them echo in the background.

The echoing tines in this sample add an extra sparkle to the loop’s sound.

This sample is also another great example of a piano loop that could be chopped up into shorter samples a producer could use in a groovebox.

Selection 2: Dry Organ from Fancy French House Vol. 2

From the Rhodes sample, Selector gave me this dry organ loop from Engineering Samples.

Specifically, this sample sounds like an electric organ, not a pipe organ you’d hear in a church.

I guess Selector wants me to write about different types of vintage keyboards since this electric organ has a pretty old school sound.

Let’s talk about the most famous electric organ of all—the Hammond B3. It’s well known for its punchy, soaring sound that could add soul to any track.

Electric organs use a series of serrated metal tonewheels that rotate in the field of a pickup and produce an amplifiable sound.

Whenever one of the Hammond B3’s keys is depressed, nine specific pickups turn on and “listen” to their corresponding tone wheel.

The frequency each tonewheel creates when it rotates in their corresponding pickup’s field is used to emulate the sound of an organ’s pipes.

Of course, it took a lot of work to tune the tonewheels properly to get a sound that actually resembles an organ, but the result is pretty convincing.

Using pickups and electricity to generate sound opened up a lot more options for adding effects than old pipe organs did.

The Hammond made use of tonearm controllers that could be used to fade in or fade out frequencies and change the sound. This was a form of early additive synthesis!

Consider the tone in this sample, it appears to use focus on the higher frequencies that electric organs produce.

Another interesting thing about this sample is that you can hear a slight vibrato effect in the organ’s tone.

This is based on what the B3 model of the Hammond organ is most known for– the Leslie speaker.

Leslie speakers are where the original electric vibrato effect came from, but it uses a completely analog way of affecting an amplifier’s sound.

That’s because a Leslie speaker is literally a rotating speaker that uses the listener’s perspective and the doppler effect to add vibrato to an instrument’s tone.

See how changing rotation speed affects a Leslie speaker’s vibrato in this video.

Leslie speakers sound really good, they’re warm and add a very tangible sense of vibrato to an amplified instrument’s sound.

This sample uses a relatively slow vibrato, meaning that a Leslie speaker would have been rotated at a slower speed to generate this level of vibrato.

If you ever have a chance to try a Leslie speaker, crank up the vibrato speed and you’ll be amazed by just how much mechanically spinning the speaker can affect an amplifier’s sound.

Selection 3: Funky Guitar from Cozy Beats

To find something that goes with that funky organ sample, I’ll dig awhile to find a Selector result that complements it nicely.

Got it! I found this great rhythm guitar sample on page four.

While it’s in a minor key, it has a somewhat uplifting quality to hit.

It’s bittersweet and dreamy, like getting up late after a long night out.

This sample really complements the feelings evoked by the earlier samples in this Sample and Hold session.

It goes well with that organ sample or even the first piano loop I used to start this Sample and Hold session.

I liked it especially because of something interesting that happens right at the end.

You can hear that swooshing sound that’s produced when a vinyl slows to a stop on a turntable.

It’s a great set up for dropping into a bigger part of the track. Perhaps this guitar groove could make a good intro for my next track.

The post Sample and Hold: Vintage Keys, Electric Organs, and Funky Guitar appeared first on LANDR Blog.

from LANDR Blog https://blog.landr.com/sample-and-hold-vintage-keys-electric-organ-funky-guitar/ via https://www.youtube.com/user/corporatethief/playlists from Steve Hart https://stevehartcom.tumblr.com/post/190681160659

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