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47crayons · 4 years ago

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so, you want to write a musician?

about me: i play viola and have experience in symphony orchestras, string orchestras, string quartets (+ a few other small ensembles), and solo performances. i've done some light composition, and have friends/family who play other instruments. while my musical history is extensive, by no means do i know everything or speak for everyone.

this guide will focus on classical music/how to portray classical musicians and things that aren't as easily researched.

quick overview of instruments in a typical symphony orchestra

upper strings (violin, viola), lower strings (cello, (double) bass; i've seen viola included here too, but it's more commonly classified as upper strings)

strings also technically includes harp and piano

woodwinds (flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon)

depending on instrumentation, they may also have piccolo, english horn, bass clarinet, contrabassoon

saxophones are not traditionally in symphony orchestras due to it being a relative newer instrument! but this is changing because more contemporary composes are including sax parts

brass (trumpet, trombone, bass trombone, tuba, euphonium)

percussion (depends heavily on instrumentation, but common instruments are bass drum, timpani, snare, crash cymbal, xylophone, marimba)

some things you should research

where the hands are supposed to go!! i'd recommend you look at pictures of professionals in orchestra settings (ny phil, cso, berlin phil are all top tier). some musicians *coughs at yoyo ma* have less than perfect posture when they're performing solos (for the same reasons famous authors can break "rules")

necessary equipment including reeds, rockstops, different kinds of sticks/mallets, rosin, mouth pieces for whatever instrument you're writing

common misconceptions

loose/photocopied sheet music is not aesthetic—it's annoying and impossible to keep organized. folders and binders are fairly common especially when managing multiple ensembles.

original copies are often expensive and required to perform a piece (legally) for profit or otherwise (though i know a few people who have bent this rule)

not all performers are good composers (i myself have very little formal music theory training), but many composers have performance histories.

not all musicians can sing.

perfect pitch is both a blessing and a curse. notes can be slightly lower/higher but in tune with the context of the piece, which drives people with perfect pitch insane.

having perfect pitch does not guarantee someone will be a prodigy, and people don't need perfect pitch to be a talented musician.

drama in ensembles does exist, but it rarely gets in the way of rehearsal. same thing goes for good friends: if your characters have even a shred of common sense, they aren't going to be talking/messing around during rehearsal.

instruments (especially good ones) are extremely expensive. people very rarely store instruments on the wall or other displays for fear of falling.

instruments are very picky and require tuning every time. every time! it doesn't take long anyway. temperature and humidity can and will make instruments go out of tune or damage your instrument if not properly stored.

some people listen exclusively to classical music, but in my experience, that's definitely not the majority

like with anything, most musicians struggle with self doubt at one point or another.

musician culture

getting excited when we hear a piece we recognize

getting frustrated because we can't remember the name of the piece (after all, no lyrics to search)

being horrified when a non-musician actor is playing a musician. yes, we notice. yes, it's obvious.

if people are joking, it's likely to be about: violas (a quick search for "viola jokes" will tell you all you need to know) or trumpets (a reputation for being overly loud, playing and not)

putting stickers (places they toured, their orchestra, or just purely decorative) on cases is common, but not for everyone. same goes for pictures (of family, past concerts, or anything) on the inside.

scrambling for a pencil when the conductor says to mark something. pencils are a musicians best friend :D

asking (and forgetting) how to split double stops/two parts at the same time. sometimes one stand partner will play the top while the other plays the bottom, and sometimes this is split stand by stand.

this has NEVER resulted in a sexual top/bottom joke. please just. don't. also no g string jokes. it's just unrealistic.

awaiting the obligatory "it's one week before our concert, and you sound like this?!" lecture

not talking about music 100% of the time!!! they have lives outside of music (most of them, at least /j). especially to close friends, music is probably not going to be a conversation topic unless something is out of the ordinary (high stress, something funny from rehearsal, etc.)

bragging/talking about how often they practice is generally not welcomed. great, but other people don't need to hear it!

stages are hot and bright. there's no way a performer can see someone in the audience with the possible exception of the first row.

practicing

three words for you: love. hate. relationship.

slow practice (like really slow lots of people recommend half speed; good for focusing on the right notes, tone, phrasing, smooth transitions)

metronome practice (while playing, it's not annoying at all! it's helpful and requires a lot of focus; when NOT playing, it's annoying and loud because it needs to be heard over the playing)

drone practice (having a machine/website/another person play one note in the background; good for tuning and scales)

and too many more for me to detail

auditions

ensembles may have entrance auditions to determine who gets in and seating auditions to determine placement within the section.

adrenaline does not make us play better; it just makes us make mistakes. and then thinking about those mistakes causes more mistakes.

some instruments, especially those with less repertoire, have common excerpts that come up frequently (i can think of one in particular that i've played for three separate auditions this year).

stopping/starting over is not recommended ever, but if you do, it has to be 10x better. most audition judges aren't looking for perfection!! they want to see how your character can keep going after messing up.

sight reading (being given new music, having ~30 seconds to look at it, being asked to play) is never perfect. i don't care how talented your character is; if they think they nailed it, they aren't experienced enough to see all the phrasing/dynamics that they didn't incorporate. no one gets sight reading perfect!!!

perhaps most importantly, musicians are not all the same! they enjoy it for a number of different reasons and have diverse and interesting lives outside of music!!! more information about specific instrument groups under the cut :)

strings

callouses. with the exception of pianists, most string players (and especially professional ones) have callouses where they press down/pluck the strings. i also have one on my right thumb where i hold my bow. cellists and bassists might have them on their left thumb from playing higher notes in thumb position.

hickeys are also fairly common, though only some people get them. upper strings will get these by under their left jaw. cellists may have one from the wooden body resting on their sternum. some people (including hilary hahn and many many others) use a cloth for comfort and to prevent hickeys.

few people want a hickey, but it might suit a character who is constantly trying to prove themselves.

our fingers do not "glide" anywhere. you can get cuts/"string-burns" from pressing down too hard when shifting. cuts like those are the only reason someone's fingers will bleed, and it's rarer than you think.

upper strings are more prone to back/neck problems from the way they hold their instruments on one side. see also: shoulder pain.

finger cramps happen. they aren't too common, but most if not all strings have experienced at least one.

pianos require tuning every few years or else the chords will be out of tune. few pianists can tune their own instrument because of how complicated it is.

piano parts/accompaniments will have so. many. pages. a page turner may sit on the right of the pianist to turn the page.

woodwinds & brass

spit. so much spit. some instruments clean afterwards with a cloth; others have a spit valve which is as gross as it sounds.

proper embouchure, or how a musician uses the muscles in their face/lips, is tiring, and people actually get strong cheek muscles. they can also easily turn red, but it varies based on a person's facial complexion. see also: good lung capacity.

flute and piccolo are not dainty. piccolo requires as much air as a tuba. an old teacher of mine almost passed out playing piccolo when she was in college.

flutes and piccolos are high, but often not shrill depending on the level of the ensemble.

reeds last a few weeks (less if your character plays for hours a day) and can be expensive to buy.

keys and valves can get sticky especially on older instruments which can result in the wrong note or bad tone.

saxes, clarinets, flutes are more likely to "honk" on low notes.

oboes are more likely to feel "wispy" on high notes.

articulation comes from the tongue, especially for brass instruments, and conductors may ask for "tah" "pah" or "wah" sounds depending on the style of the piece.

percussion

callouses from the friction between hands and sticks/mallets.

there are so many types of sticks and mallets!!! make sure to take a look at what materials are good for what instruments/sounds.

cymbals, triangle, and bass drum are not easy to play, even though they look simple.

percussionists with the exception of timpani may play more than one instrument during a piece, and they're constantly moving around in the back during their rests.

percussion instruments are too expensive for most people to have everything they ever play. practice pads are very common in place of these instruments.

ability to play one instrument doesn't translate to different instruments. for example, many percussionists don't have experience playing set/drum set.

some of the things detailed here are heavily glossed over, so if you have any questions, i'd always be happy to talk about it with you; i may not have answers, but i will try to help as best i can!!!

since you read this far, have my favorite viola joke.

what's the difference between a violist and a large pizza?

a large pizza can feed a family of four :)

tagging some people who showed interest: @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @kg-willie @owilder

#writing advice #writing resources #writing reference #music #wow this absolutely consumed me

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 5 years ago

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Jaskier's going through a bit of a dry spell. And that's fine, it's not the first time and life on the road isn't exactly conducive to getting laid frequently. But it's getting to be a bit much and even when they get to town, no one seems interested. Which is absolutely outrageous and Jaskier suspects it has something to do with the big, moody Witcher who seems to be stuck to his side tonight. Normally, he wouldn't complain about having Geralt there constantly, but tonight it's becoming a hindrance.

When Jaskier manages to slip off for a few minutes to order drinks and he runs into the stunning stable boy from earlier, he thinks his luck might be changing. The stable boy couldn't take his eyes off Jaskier earlier and Jaskier can only hope his opinion of him hasn't changed since then. He stands a little closer than necessary as they talk, forgetting about the drinks altogether and he pulls out all his best tricks. And Rowan gives back just as good as he gets, brushing his fingers down Jaskier's arm and slipping an arm around his waist. Jaskier is finally thinking they're about to get out of there when he feels Geralt slide up behind him.

Rowan quickly excuses himself and Jaskier takes a second to compose himself before turning to the Witcher.

"Who was that?" Geralt asks and to his credit, he doesn't seem to realize he's just intruded upon what was going to be a very good night for Jaskier. And when Geralt looks at him, totally unfazed and oblivious, he can't even blame him.

"No one," he says, smiling. "Shall we see about those drinks?"

After his first ale, a pretty young barmaid convinces Jaskier to sing for them. He only intends to play a song or two without pay - it is his livelihood, after all - but the crowd is enthusiastic and generous with the alcohol. And Jaskier never turns down a free drink. So he drinks for free and even manages to convince a few of his admirers to buy drinks for Geralt, too. He thinks he's being clever, and when Geralt lifts both eyebrows at him, he's tremendously proud of himself.

He plays a song for every drink, accepting requests from the benefactor, which means he plays a few songs twice and ends with a rousing rendition of Toss a Coin that has Geralt rolling his eyes all the way up to the rafters. The crowd cheers for more, but Jaskier's fingers are growing clumsy and he doesn't remember his lute having quite so many strings before, so he declines. He slips down from the table he's been sitting on and makes his way back to where Geralt is sitting near the fire.

The Witcher looks like he wants to be anywhere else, but there's an amused smirk playing beneath that frown and Jaskier is determined to get it to the surface. He slides up with a grin, ready to try and talk his way into one of those rare smiles, but he finds himself pulled forward instead. He's a little wobbly and then warm arms are around his waist, pulling him into Geralt's lap and pressing him against his chest. Geralt looks at him like he's trying to figure something out and Jaskier's cheeks burn.

"Hello," Jaskier hums.

Geralt shifts under him and his hands slip up Jaskier's back and under his doublet. Jaskier watches his expression, entirely unchanged as he feels him up in the middle of the bar, and the heat from his cheeks spreads lower.

He's never wanted to kiss someone as badly as he does now - other than maybe the last time he got drunk and looked too closely at Geralt. Only that time Geralt was sober and grouchy and this time- well, the empty tankards on the table speak for themselves.

Jaskier tips forward, bringing his arms up to rest on Geralt's shoulders and he grins at him, dipping down to kiss his nose. It wrinkles in response, but Geralt doesn't pull away and Jaskier wants to know just how much he'll let him get away with like this.

He twists his fingertips in the hairs at the base of Geralt's neck, sliding between them and twisting them around his fingers. No reaction. So he draws back a little, shifts in Geralt's lap so he can sit on his knees and touch his face. He starts slow, pressing his palm to his cheek, but when the only response he gets is a soft, stuttered breath, he pushes his luck.

Geralt's lips are soft under the pad of his thumb and Jaskier can barely breathe, so stunned that he's allowed to do this. He runs his thumb around his mouth, noting the way Geralt gives way to him. Gods, he must really be drunk to let him do this, and if Jaskier were sober himself, that thought would stop him. But he's past his limit tonight and he's wanted for so long to just be allowed to touch like this.

It's not even anything sexual, but his heart is racing and he knows Geralt can feel that, hear it. He knows Geralt is aware of every little way that he affects him and maybe that's why he's letting him do it. Maybe it's just as pleasing for Geralt to see him get worked up over it as it is for Jaskier to touch him.

Jaskier doesn't dare speak, his mouth is dry and he doubts the strength of his voice if he were to try. He slides his tongue between his lips and Geralt's eyes flick down, following the motion.

Oh, he thinks, that's interesting. He bites his lip and Geralt watches, even as Jaskier's hands move, tracing the vein in his neck and settling on his chest. He's used to being the center of attention, whether on a large scale or one-on-one, but until now, he's never been able to hold Geralt's attention for so long.

He's oblivious to the rest of the patrons as he tips down and presses their lips together. Geralt leans into it, sliding his hands to Jaskier's hips and pressing his fingers into the silky fabric of his trousers. Jaskier can barely breathe.

Geralt tastes like ale, but his lips are soft and the soft noises he makes when Jaskier presses against him are intoxicating. Jaskier moans as Geralt's tongue slides against his own, the heat in his body settling significantly lower.

Then Geralt pulls back, lips parted, and considers him for a moment before lifting Jaskier out of his lap and sliding out of his seat. Jaskier frowns. This was going so well, too.

"I think it's time for bed," Geralt mumbles and if that's not an excuse to get away from him, he doesn't know what it is. Jaskier's only satisfaction is that they're sharing a room, which tonight means sharing a bed and Geralt can't get too far.

He's thinking about curling up next to him - not his first choice for the night, but not a bad one either - when a firm hand wraps around his arm and he finds himself being led from the hall. It's only after he starts moving that he considers he might be in trouble. Maybe he pushed too far. But Geralt kissed him back, there was no mistaking that.

Geralt leads him out into the corridor and Jaskier hopes he's not about to get told off for taking advantage or something.

When he finds himself pressed against the wall, he's betting on it, but he doesn't remember much other than the kissing now which, he supposes, could be the problem. Before he has a chance to apologize, Geralt closes the space between them, pressing up against his chest and he kisses him again.

Once Geralt gets his hands on him, he doesn't stop. He pushes up Jaskier's chest, untucking his chemise and brushing the bare skin underneath. The breath catches in Jaskier's lungs and he tips his head back with a soft groan, pressing into the touch. Geralt's lips trail down from his mouth, dragging along his jaw and kissing a line down his neck. And it feels so good Jaskier can barely contain the little gasps and groans that pull from his throat. He pushes his hands up Geralt's chest and threads his fingers through his hair, humming as Geralt's hands slip lower over his hips.

He's tugged forward sharply and when Geralt shifts against him, he can feel the press of his cock against his hip. He moans out loud and Geralt growls against his shoulder, hauling him forward and pulling him toward the stairs.

They stumble up together but the going is slow. Geralt stops every couple of steps to press him up against the wall and kiss him, slipping his hands under his clothes and tugging at them.

Jaskier very much wants him to succeed in getting him out of them. He whines with every interrupted touch and presses into those that linger and when Geralt finally grows impatient and lifts him off his feet, Jaskier wraps his arms around him and kisses his face.

They make it to their room and Geralt climbs onto the bed, holding Jaskier against him. He drops onto his side, rolling so Jaskier is on top of him and all at once, his inhibitions are gone. Geralt shoves at his chemise, getting it up over his head and tossing it carelessly to one side. The shirt hasn't even hit the floor before Geralt's hands are on him again, hot and demanding and sliding under the hem of his trousers.

Geralt presses his hips up, rocking against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, pressing his face into Geralt's shoulder. He moans as Geralt's cock presses against him and shifts so he can grind against him. It's like a bolt of lightning up his spine and Jaskier reaches between them, fumbling with the fastenings on his trousers. He gets his hands batted out of the way and Geralt pushes him up, getting Jaskier's trousers undone and shoved down his hips before attending to his own.

Jaskier doesn't wait to get out of his clothes properly before leaning back over Geralt and rocking against him. He slots his cock against Geralt's, choking back a moan as Geralt rocks up to meet him. They move together seamlessly despite Jaskier's level of intoxication and every thrust sends electricity up his spine. He wants him like he's never wanted anyone before and when Geralt's hands slip down to squeeze his ass, Jaskier paws at Geralt's shirt until he gets him out of it.

Geralt draws away, turning his head and reaching for something, but when Jaskier presses closer, he's distracted, looping an arm around his waist and rolling his head back against the pillows.

He's beautiful like this, Jaskier thinks, kissing his way from Geralt's sternum to his jaw. It's a pity more people don't get to see him this way - not that Jaskier is overly fond of sharing. For years, he has considered this moment and how it would all go down but now that he's here, thoughts of fucking Geralt senseless are pushed to the back of his mind.

Jaskier would love to fuck him, given the chance, and he thinks Geralt might even let him when he's like this. But Geralt is big, bigger than anyone else he's ever been with, and more than anything Jaskier wants him inside him. It might mean spending another night at the inn - he doesn't know if he'll be up to travelling in the morning - but it's worth it.

Without thinking, Jaskier reaches back behind himself, pressing between his cheeks and Geralt growls against his lips. He shoves at Jaskier's arm, pushing him out of the way to do it himself. His fingers are rough, but he's gentle, refusing to push into him despite Jaskier's groans of protest. Jaskier squirms and Geralt finally relents, digging blindly through his pack on the floor to find a vial of oil.

He drops it onto the bed and helps Jaskier out of his trousers before pulling him close again. He kisses him hard, biting his lips and groaning low against him and when his fingers press against him again, Jaskier's hips jerk forward. He ruts against Geralt as his fingers slide into him and he doesn't care that he's whining and begging for Geralt to fuck him. He doesn't care that all his finesse has gone out the window or that he's got his face pressed into Geralt's chest because it feels too good to care about anything else.

Geralt is impatient. Jaskier feels it in the jerk of his hips and the throb of his cock beneath him. But Geralt makes sure he's slick and open, pushing a fourth finger into him before Jaskier insists that he's ready. Geralt keeps his eyes on him, sliding his hands up to Jaskier's hips and Jaskier whines at the loss of fullness, but Geralt isn't waiting any longer. He lifts Jaskier, pressing his cock against him, and while his fingers press into his hips, Jaskier pushes back onto him.

It's difficult, at first, but Geralt's thumbs rub soothing circles into his skin and Jaskier wants him badly enough to push through the discomfort. Geralt's head drops back as Jaskier fully seats himself and he arches off the bed with the first thrust.

Jaskier rides him hard, biting down on his lip so hard he leaves bruises. He keeps his hands planted on Geralt's chest, groaning with every thrust and Geralt is surprisingly responsive. The first time, he thinks the groan is a mistake, a slip of his perfectly cultivated control, but then he moans again and a wave of heat rolls up the back of Jaskier's neck.

"Fuck, Jas-" he breathes and Jaskier isn't sure the name isn't just Geralt being out of breath, but he's determined to do anything to hear it again. And he does.

Geralt is more verbal now that Jaskier's ever heard him. He moans and sighs and breathes praise into Jaskier's skin and it's the most wonderful thing Jaskier has ever seen. It sparks something in him and he pushes harder, squeezes his thighs around him and makes Geralt moan and writhe and arch off the bed.

Geralt comes surprisingly quickly, digging his fingertips into Jaskier's thighs with his name on his lips. He falls back against the bed, rolling his head back as Jaskier rides him through it. If it was anyone else, he would get him through his orgasm and slide off. He'd get himself off or let his partner do it for him, but when he moves, Geralt's hands press down on him, holding him in place. And Jaskier lets him, shifting his hips slowly and Geralt's mouth drops open, a low moan pulling from his throat.

"Don't stop," he breathes and Jaskier doesn't plan on it. He switches it up a little, picking up speed and lifting off Geralt's cock before sliding back down the length of him again.

He makes Geralt come again before he's flipped onto his back and Geralt presses against him, sliding his fingers up the side of Jaskier's neck as he thrusts into him. Geralt's fingers brush against his lips, echoing Jaskier's motions from earlier before kissing him soundly and tangling his hands in his hair.

Jaskier comes with Geralt wrapped around him, his own legs fitted firmly around Geralt's hips. He cries out and Geralt presses a hand over his mouth, smiling at him as he slows the roll of his hips. Jaskier's thighs continue to twitch even after Geralt has pulled out and flopped over next to him. He feels like he weighs a thousand pounds and even tipping his head to return Geralt's kisses feels like an immense effort.

He's vaguely aware of being sticky and sweaty, but he shuts his eyes, just for a second, and doesn't give it a second thought. He shuffles toward Geralt and a strong arm slides under his head, rolling him over to lie on top of him.

They don't talk about it.

Things return to normal, but Jaskier can't help the constant ache in his chest. A part of him was hoping this might change things, that Geralt would realize Jaskier wanted him as more than a friend, but he doesn't even acknowledge the fact that it happened. Which is fine, Jaskier decides, so long as things don't get worse he can cope with not having Geralt like that again.

For a couple of weeks, things stay that way, the only thing out of the ordinary is that Geralt keeps away from cities and villages as much as possible. They stop during the days, but inevitably continue on before nightfall, camping somewhere along the path. Jaskier doesn't ask about it because it's not a huge change for them, but it does strike him as odd.

It's not until they do stop in another town that Jaskier decides to bring up their relationship. He knows Geralt doesn't want him and it hurts, but he wants to clear the air between them. He waits until they sit down for supper, pushing his food around on his plate. When Geralt calls him on it he looks up.

"What's wrong?" Geralt asks though he sounds more annoyed than concerned.

Not a good time then, Jaskier decides.

"Nothing. Just tired is all."

"Hmm."

Well, that's that then. Maybe it's best if he doesn't bring it up, anyway. So he shares a bottle of wine with a dark-haired man sitting at the side of the tavern. He sings and flirts and drowns whatever feelings he has for Geralt with wine and cherry vodka and the end of the night finds him in the man's lap, pleasantly drunk and distracted. He's having a pretty good time until he realizes Geralt is missing.

He'd just looked back for a second, an instinctive response after looking out for each other for so long, and Geralt wasn't there. And now he's worried about it. His friend hasn't seemed to notice yet and Jaskier isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. But then he kisses his neck and Jaskier lets himself melt into it.

Geralt is a grown monster hunter - if he can't take care of himself for a few hours, who can? It's not totally out of the ordinary for him to just slip away without being noticed, so Jaskier decides not to worry and when his companion rises from the table, Jaskier lets himself be led upstairs.

The next morning, Geralt isn't talking. This also isn't entirely out of the ordinary, so Jaskier pays it little thought as they pack their things and make their way out of town.

Only it wears on into the afternoon and early evening and then they stop near a lake for the night. Jaskier complains about drowners, but Geralt just waves him off, dumps his things on the ground and disappears.

"Okay," Jaskier says, quietly and to no one in particular. He looks to Roach for some sort of explanation, but she's grazing peacefully, unaware of whatever is bothering her Witcher.

Daylight is fading quickly now, so Jaskier has to get to work if he wants to eat and have a fire tonight. He sets his things down, charging Roach with the task of watching over them and she just swishes her tail as he walks off into the trees.

Finding firewood is an easy enough task in the forest, but once he gets it back and assembled into a pile, he's at a loss. He's only ever had to do this alone before once and even then, Geralt was there to walk him through it. He struggles unsuccessfully for what feels like an eternity before giving in and eating apples and bread for supper.

It's too dark now to set up the tent alone, so he lays out their bedrolls around the pile of sticks and plops himself down on his own. Whatever is wrong with Geralt, he hopes he gets over it quickly because he'll starve to death like this within a week.

When Geralt returns, Jaskier is happy to see him, but the joy doesn't last long. Geralt's still silent and broody and he lays down without so much as a word and shuts his eyes. By the sound of it, he falls asleep quite quickly but Jaskier lays awake for a long time.

When his eyes open, it feels like they've only just shut, but he jumps up in a hurry when he finds Geralt packing things into his saddlebags.

"Oh, are we off?"

"I am."

Jaskier frowns, sure that he misheard. "Where are we going now?"

"You're not coming, Jaskier."

Oh.

It's been so long since the last time they separated that Jaskier had just sort of expected them to go on like this indefinitely. Well, maybe not, but he's certainly surprised that Geralt is leaving now. Neither of them has any obligations and they’re in the middle of nowhere. He doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

It's not until Geralt is walking away with Roach in tow that he realizes this is probably about the sex and his heart sinks. He should have known better than to sleep with his only friend.

Weeks pass before they see each other again and in that time, Jaskier has managed to both work himself up into a fit over it and also completely push the thoughts of it from his mind. He flips back and forth between the two often.

He finds himself in Rinde, keeping clear of an angry wife in Houtborg, when he runs into the Witcher at a tavern.

He approaches as though nothing is wrong but Geralt visibly stiffens at the sight of him and a little of Jaskier's determination slips away. He convinces Geralt to share a meal with him, but he gets up as soon as they've finished eating, making for the door. Jaskier follows.

"What's wrong?" he asks, "what have I done?"

Geralt turns to look at him, hesitates for a moment, then turns and walks down the steps. And Jaskier is forced to watch him walk away a second time.

They wind up together again in the summer. It's been months since they've seen one another this time, and Jaskier left Oxenfurt late this year, so he's only been on the road for a couple of weeks. He's on his way to Cintra when they cross paths, ironically, to look in on the child surprise Geralt so adamantly refuses to acknowledge. He's on his way out of Wyzima when he catches word of a Witcher, hired to dispatch the ghoul uprising in the cemetery. And Jaskier knows he has to wait and see. So he books himself in at the inn for three more nights and frowns at his coin purse as he settles himself back in his room.

Geralt shows up on the second night when Jaskier is sitting at the side of the lake. Jaskier's heart leaps into his throat, but he knows something isn't quite right and he feels like if he doesn't do something, he might not see Geralt again. He pulls himself up, slips his lute over his shoulders and head after the Witcher.

When he catches up with him, Geralt already seems annoyed but considering that's a large part of his personality, Jaskier pushes through.

"Geralt," he says cheerily and he gets a frown in response. "What, no snarky comment? What are you doing here, it's been an age."

"A contract," is all he says and Jaskier fights the urge to roll his eyes.

"The ghouls?" he asks, "I suppose I should have known you'd show up sooner or later."

"Hmm."

"Geralt-"

"Don't you have anything better to be doing?"

"Well, er-"

"I'm busy, Jaskier."

"Oh. Right. I'll just do..." his stomach turns uncomfortably as Geralt brushes past him, "...something."

He starts off back toward the inn without turning around. Maybe Geralt really is done with him after what happened. It wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier's lost a friend after sleeping with them, but Geralt isn't like anyone else he's ever known. He's about to apologize and think about leaving town when Geralt's voice stops him.

"Fuck. Jaskier, come back."

"What?" he asks, turning to face Geralt. The Witcher looks at him, his expression maddeningly unreadable.

"You don't have to go," he says, though he sounds like it's a struggle to say it. "I'll... come back for you."

"Oh." Somehow, this is a more startling revelation than the idea of Geralt not coming back for him. "Okay."

Geralt turns back around and Jaskier returns to the inn to wait for him. He doesn't know what to expect when Geralt comes back, so he orders a pint and sits by himself. He thinks about what he's going to say and every different path he goes down leads him back to the same thing; he needs to be honest with Geralt. It's just about the last thing he wants to do while they're in this situation, but he doesn't like whatever this is now at all.

So Jaskier tidies his room and calls for a bath, digging around in his pack to find the proper salts and oils for Geralt. He sits and waits on the edge of the bed and when Geralt comes back, stiff and grouchy, Jaskier strips him down and gets him into the bath. It feels good to get his hands on him again, just to feel like he's allowed this little bit of intimacy.

"I missed you," he says and Geralt just grunts. But Jaskier isn't deterred. He pours water over his hair and works the soap through it, careful to get out all the bits of ghoul and dirt and... whatever. He takes extra care, keeping his mind off what he promised himself he was going to say. Geralt deserves to know the truth, as hard as it might be to say out loud. Jaskier rinses the soap from Geralt's hair and runs his fingers through his hair, working out all the tangles.

"Why do you always do this?" Geralt asks, looking down at his hands in the water. Jaskier shuts his eyes; he's never going to get a better lead-in than that.

"Because I love you," he says. "Because you're my friend, probably my only friend. And because it's starting to feel like this is the last time I'm ever going to see you and I'd like for it to be a good memory, hopefully for both of us."

"What?" Geralt asks, frowning.

"Forget it, it doesn't matter anyway." Jaskier pulls away and Geralt turns around in the tub. "I can't reach your hair from here."

"Forget about my hair."

"Fine-" Jaskier huffs out a shaky breath and turns toward the door, but Geralt grabs his arms and hauls him back. When he lets go, he looks up at Jaskier.

"Sorry," he breathes and Jaskier shrugs. He's done worse. But when Jaskier looks down at him, he looks lost, like he isn't quite sure what to say.

Geralt reaches up to him, and Jaskier knows he's said too much. It takes all his strength not to flinch away from the touch but he knows he can't. Geralt has only ever gotten hate and mistrust from everyone else and even if this is the end, Jaskier won't show him anything like that. Geralt deserves better.

But he's soft when he touches him, brushing his fingers across Jaskier's cheekbones and cupping his jaw. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well-" Jaskier looks up and away and Geralt's hand slips from his cheek.

"So that night at the inn," he asks and Jaskier knows immediately what he means. There haven't been a lot of nights together since.

"Yes?"

"You weren't just bored and horny." He says it like he's only just realizing it himself and Jaskier is caught between exasperation and relief.

"What? No, absolutely not- is that what this is about? You keep running away from you because you think I fucked you because I was bored? Geralt, I'm-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you could-"

"What?" Jaskier asks, exasperated. "Want you? Geralt, you're bad-tempered and impatient and more often than not you reek like dead monster parts and I've followed you, every step of the way- into bogs and brambles and things I can't even describe. And I'm here, Geralt, for some Gods awful reason I'm still here. How could you think anything else?"

Geralt stares, evidently stunned into silence and Jaskier huffs out a breath. "And just look at you,” he teases, “have you seen you?" Geralt's face breaks into a soft grin and he laughs, nearly knocking Jaskier off his feet.

He reaches up, sliding one wet hand around the back of Jaskier's neck and Jaskier lets himself be pulled down to Geralt's level as their lips brush against each other.

Geralt hums against him, and once he seems satisfied that Jaskier isn't going to run away, he pulls him closer. He doesn't linger long enough for Jaskier to catch up with what's happening and when Geralt draws back, he slips his hands down his arm, tangling their fingers together.

"I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t think you wanted me.”

“I do,” Jaskier assures him, rubbing his thumb over Geralt’s knuckles. “I always do.”

Geralt’s lips twitch and he cocks his head. “Join me?"

"In your dirty bathwater?" Jaskier asks, breathless. "I don't think so."

"Hmm." Geralt stands up and winds his arms around Jaskier's hips, drawing him in again.

"Stop it," Jaskier huffs, "you're making me wet." His face breaks into a grin, belying his words and Geralt kisses him again. He keeps Jaskier occupied with his mouth as he lifts him up and climbs out of the bath, still dripping.

Jaskier pesters him to stop, that Geralt is going to soak him and the bed, but when he's on his back with Geralt above him, he finds he doesn't mind nearly as much as he thought. He squirms, slipping his arms around Geralt's neck, damp and happy and relieved, he finds he doesn't mind a little dirty bathwater.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #rex writes #maybe one day this will have a title

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lord-explosion-baku · 5 years ago

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Videotapes

Hizashi x reader

Summary: Hizashi picks up a fan to bring back to his place to make a special little home movie ;)

Warnings: s m u t, swearing, Hizashi gets a little rough, and uhhh... a bit of yandere at the end...

A/N: I hadn’t ever written Present Mic sm*t before, so i decided to give it a go. I couldn’t help but make him a little crazy at the end there. I am who I am.

“Damn baby, how are you so wet already? Is it cuz you like bein’ the star of the show or is it cuz you like me?”

You blushed and quirked your head to the side, letting your hair fall over your shoulder while you bit your lip. Such a bashful little thing. And when you looked directly at the camera to whisper, “maybe I just like you,” Hizashi’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

Goddamn you were so cute—perfect for the camera. Hizashi was going to make you his masterpiece.

Hizashi brought his hand to your cheek and his ringed thumb, still wet from petting your pretty pussy, brushed gingerly across your lips. You eyed him with eager trepidation.

“Show me how much you like me, hon,” he said, adjusting the camera so it framed that gorgeous face perfectly. “Kiss the ring.”

You pressed your plush lips against the ring on his thumb, then slowly moved toward the tip, kissing it before Hizashi pushed it into your warm, inviting mouth. He crooned, “that’s a good girl. Open your mouth more, give the camera a show, yeah?”

You did as you were told, showing off your tongue before you closed your mouth around his thumb. You hummed as you sucked it from the base to the tip, repeating the motion several times, knowing that you were teasing the voice hero with that deceivingly innocent gaze. You closed your eyes and swirled your hot tongue around his digit, acting as if his thumb was a sweet treat—something you wanted to savor. As hot as Hizashi thought it was, he couldn’t help but think that you got it all wrong; you were the sweet treat that he was raring to devour.

“Fuck,” Hizashi hissed, pulling his hand away from your mouth only to grasp a fistful of your hair. He felt himself throbbing against his tightening, leather pants. If he didn’t fuck you soon, he was sure to explode. He crushed his lips into your mouth, pleased to see just how willing you were to part your pretty lips so that he could snake his tongue between your teeth to deepen the kiss. He pushed you back into the bed and let the camera scan over your bare body. A hand reached down to paw at your beautiful breasts, his middle and index finger to pinching your hardening nipples while he squeezed harshly. He whispered lovingly at you while your nails scaled his arms, offering him delightful tickles that got the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. You were so soft, so good, so compliant and ready to be used. He gave your breast a light smack! and the cute little yelp you gave back was music to his ears.

While he propped his elbow on the bed, Hizashi filmed himself kissing you down your quivering body. He enjoyed your zealous sighs, noting when and where he should be paying closer attention to when your breath hitched or you’d give out a surprised giggle. Your fingers massaged the top of his silky, yellow head while he ran his hand up your cushiony thighs so he could push them apart, granting easy access to your all-too-ready entrance.

Hizashi passed you the handheld camera. “Keep that on your face, babydoll. I wanna see how hot I made you feel later down the line, kay?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, smiling at the camera lens. You blew it a little kiss and Hizashi felt his insides dissolve into liquids. You were just too damn adorable.

With both of his hands now free, Hizashi had them on either side of your thighs. He relished the soft squish they gave whenever he pressed against them while he kissed at your pelvic bone. Your thighs were just too damn good that he couldn’t feel right leavin’ them neglected, so he kissed them, delicately at first, but as you hummed and sighed, egging him on, he started to get a little rougher, using his teeth to graze across the softest part of your flesh before biting down, suckling long enough to leave his lovely mark. You cursed under your breath and Hizashi looked up to see both of your hands raised over your head with the camera still pointing at your gorgeous face. Good girl.

Hizashi licked a stripe up your wet pussy and let the real show begin. He lavished you with skilled tenacity, drawing maps across your skin with his pierced tongue, exploring your depths, fawning over your taste. “You’re so sweet, angelface. I could be down here all damn day.”

Hizashi got more excited when you started to moan—such a beautiful sound he never wanted to let come to an end. He suckled fiercely at your juicy entrance before he got to rolling his piercing around your blown-up bud. Your body shook. Greedily, you raised your ass to chase his mouth around and Hizashi had to buckle down on his hold of your thighs to keep you in place.

“Mic,” you mewled, trying and failing to grind up against him. Your pussy was so flushed and he could tell you were getting close. “feelssogoood.”

“Call me Hizashi, sweetheart,” he murmured into you, teasing you more with the reverberations of his low, lust-filled voice. “Think you can do that for me?”

“Mmmmm ‘zashi…”

Hizashi peered up over his tinted glasses to see you toying with your breasts, the camera pointing down at him.

“Naughty girl,” he purred, prodding fingers sliding through your glistening folds. “I thought I told you to keep that camera on you.”

Your lips tugged up into a coy grin. “Couldn’t help it. You’re too handsome when you’re between my thighs…”

“‘s that right?” Hizashi’s fingers pushed into your cunt and you groaned loudly. He curled into you, finding your g-spot immediately. Your free hand slammed into his bed and grasped violently at his sheets—jesus what a sensitive baby girl you were! “Turn the camera around, mama. I wanna see you.”

Hizashi went back to eating you out with determined integrity. His tongue moved at a rapid pace while his fingers tucked against your walls over and over until he had you whimpering. Finally your back arched and you let out a long, pitiful moan and Hizashi felt your pussy spasm and flutter around his fingers. When he looked up, he saw that the camera was left abandoned on his bed and both of your hands were in your forehead.

“Baby-girl,” he scolded, kissing your throbbing pussy. He moved up to pull your hands away from your face and frowned when you didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “Tell me you caught your big finish on film, mama. Tell me I get to see your solo later on.”

Face flushing, you bit your lip. “Sorry.”

Hizashi scoffed and pushed his slick-covered fingers into your ready mouth. “No, you’re not.”

You shook your head and sucked your juices off his fingers. Hizashi pulsed against your thigh.

“I thought you wanted to be my good girl,” he cooed, rubbing his index fingers against your damp bottom lip. He grabbed the camera and got off the bed. “C’mere.”

You followed, eager and ready to be given more commands. He told you to get on your knees, and you did. The camera pointed down on you, waiting for you to comply without having to hear another one of Hizashi’s orders. Catching on, you undid his clanking, leather belt, pulled down his pants, and let his dick, dripping with pre-cum, spring loose. You took it into your soft hands.

“Show that you can still be a good listener,” Hizashi told you. “Suck it—nice and slow baby.”

You licked up his shaft, once again making a good show out of it. You took your time coating him in your saliva with sloppy, languid kisses, paying close attention to the head of his sensitive cock. Your tongue rolled around him before you finally took him into your mouth. Your head bobbed down teasingly slow—so slow that Hizashi could help but grab your head and force you down further into his cock.

“If you’re not gonna play nice, then I’m not gonna play nice, baby. That’s our deal.”

You whimpered around him, but didn’t back down from the challenge. Instead, you chose to grab a sturdy hold of his hips to have a bit of control over him. He let go of his vice-grip on your head, but continued to play with your hair while he thrusted into your mouth.

You were almost as skilled at giving head as he was; with practiced technique and the addition of you running your tongue along that thick vein he had running underneath his shaft, you had his balls tightening in no-time.

“That’s—ahhh, fuck, that’s good sweetheart. That’s enough,” he assured, not wanting to spill out until the grand finale, but you didn’t let up. You grasped onto the base of his shaft and started pumping, ready to take him—all of him in. Hizashi didn’t know if you liked getting him riled up or if you were just over-excited, he was gonna fuck the living daylights out of you either way. To be fair, he liked that you could be a little naughty, but he wasn’t gonna let you run his whole show.

Hizashi cursed and grabbed your head, pulling you off of his cock before it was too late. A string of saliva trailed from your lips to the tip of his shaft and he had the camera zoom in on it.

“Beautiful,” he praised, lightly smacking your cheeks. “You almost had me there, hon. Just what kinda stunt are you tryna pull?”

“No stunts,” you shot out in mock-humility, “I only wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh yeah? Cuz to me it looks like you quite enjoy acting like a disobedient little bitch.”

Hizashi watched your cheeks flush. Still, you didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re not gonna play nice, then I’m not gonna play nice, baby.”

So. Fucking. Cute. Hizashi had to give it to you; he was not expecting the bratty ‘tude. The change in your temperament was riveting—enticing in a way that made him want to absolutely ruin you—to show you who the hero was in his little homemade movie.

Hizashi brought himself down on you quickly. It took a moment to wrestle you to his bedroom floor, longer than it would have if he hadn’t been holding a camera, but he had you out in front of him with your ass pressed against his throbbing cock, staring into his floor-length mirror nonetheless. He had his hands woven into your hair—obviously the easiest way to control you, so he learned—and had you staring at your beautifully flustered expression in your reflection.

Hizashi filmed himself sliding his cock against your sopping wet cunt, not yet entering you, but teasing you just enough to have you mewling for him to do so. The camera caught the torment on your face; he liked it and he was proud to know that he’d have it saved forever.

“If you’re gonna act like a bitch, you’re gonna get fucked like a bitch. Got that?” He asked while his free hand slid down the curve of your sides. Your brows knitted together and you nodded. Hizashi’s tongue slid across his teeth as the head of his cock pressed into your entrance. He watched as your mouth fell open when he slid into you and—ohh fuck, god damn did you feel great.

“So tight, babe,” Hizashi grunted, easing out of your constructive pussy. He thrusted back in and it wasn’t any easier to take the second time—even your fucking insides were perfect. “Didn’t think to warn me?”

Your answer was a lengthy croon as if you hadn’t heard what he’d said. You weren’t so snarky when you were stuffed full of his cock, were ya? Hizashi thrusted into you and you yipped at the snap of his hips. So responsive. He smirked at you in the mirror and pulled you back by your hair so he could lean over and brush his lips across your neck. You shuddered when he whispered, “your ass is all mine, solid?”

Hizashi did not start off at a charitable pace—no, he started drilling into you immediately. He was relentless in his endeavor to show you what was what. You were a noisy little thing, responding to every groove with a definitive plea, a sensual moan, a cracked out warble for more of him. He couldn’t stop grabbing your ass—it was perfect for the camera to see you fall back on his dick, to capture just how well you took him. He wanted to savor your sexy little peach. To him, this was a monumental fuck—top of the shelf, refined debauchery. Hizashi thanked the gods for modern technology and for you—the sweet little piece that you were.

Hizashi pushed your head down as he mounted you tighter against him. He felt your squishy walls tighten around his pulsating member and let out a labored groan, fighting the urge to paint your walls in his hot, white seed. He wanted to claim you, to own you, to keep you here in his bedroom for whenever he needed to relieve himself. He baffled himself with the idea of starting a family full of rugrats with you. Holy shit, he felt like he could fall in love by just how well you fit around him.

“Oh my god—oh my god, ‘Zashi, I’m-!” Your nails dug into his shag carpet as you panted and let out the cutest, broken squeal. Hizashi made sure to zoom in on your reflected face that was lost to euphoria this time around. It was fucking worth it.

Hizashi gave out a raspy chuckle, only to be caught off-guard by the excruciating massage your rockin’ pussy was giving his dick. He let you ride out your climax for as long as he could before he had to pull out. He had to. If he didn’t, it would’ve ruined the movie.

“Turn for me, sweetheart,” he urged, grunting as he pumped harshly at his cock. You did. “Open that slutty, little mouth.”

Hizashi placed himself between your lips and let loose, blowing his hot load into your mouth. You hummed and Hizashi commanded you not to spit.

“Show it to me, ma. Show me how much you love my cum.”

You stuck your tongue out, displaying the proof of his love to the camera.

“That’s so fucking hot, babe.” Hizashi caressed your burning cheeks. Hot. Hot. Hot. “Now swallow.”

You gulped and grinned widely at him. “You taste so good,” you purred, eager to be praised.

Hizashi pet your head, trailed a finger down to your jaw, to your chin, and tipped you up into a kiss.

“Such a good listener,” he said and he turned the camera off.

This might be getting a little excessive, but Hizashi popped the CD back into the computer and hit play. He watched that sweet girl strip for him for the seventh time that evening and it never failed to get him hard.

“Damn, ma,” he muttered while watching you eagerly wiggle around his bed. He checked his phone to see that you still hadn’t responded to his text he’d sent three hours ago. You hadn’t spoken to him at all since this exchange and it burned him to think that the two of you could have had such a world-warping experience and you didn’t think to send him so much as a smiley face back when he told you he missed you.

Hizashi began stroking himself with one hand, listening to that seraphic voice say, “maybe I just like you,” while flipping around on his phone to check your social media accounts with the other.

He couldn’t find you.

“What the fuck?”

Hizashi checked again. Three more times. Nothing.

Hizashi growled. This won’t do at all. You blocked him? Unbelievable.

He was getting angry. He didn’t stop touching himself though. That woman on the screen was too hard to deny. He came fast and this time on his laptop when the camera was just on your face. He heard your moans from when he was going down on you. It was too easy to get him there when all he had to do was listen to you.

He couldn’t help but think that maybe if he had come inside of you—a maddeningly dark feeling loomed over his shoulders.

…

Hizashi had assets. He could find out where you lived. As a pro hero it wasn’t hard to track someone down—say they were up to no good and had to be watched. Closely. He could confront you—see what all this was about. He was pretty sure he took care of you; you came twice for God’s sake! He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

I’ll look into it, he promised himself, wiping off his computer screen. I’ll look into it as soon as I’m done watching this video.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING: @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @rubycubix@smbody-stole-mycar-radio @zellllyyyy@sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn@im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello

#hizashi yamada x reader #present mic x reader #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #yandere bnha #yandere male #tw yandere #hizashi x reader #bnha #suggestive content

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hereisleo · 4 years ago

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NEON JUNCTION

w/ k.ys & j.wy

g/ cyberpunk!au, friendship, mild angst

w.c/ 3.8k

a.n/ @moonchildsaurora, here it is finally. from your birthday through christmas, new years and now our one year of friendshipvery, this is long overdue and thank you so much for you patience. ah, time flown hasn’t it. i will forever be grateful of your friendship and reaching out to me first, my lovely 🌹 anon. the incredible talent you have in creativity, you have me absolutely smitten over world building (multiples now) in our convos. you’re such a vibrant person, Sunray, and i adore you dearly from the bottom of my heart. seeing your messages first thing in the morning and at the end of the night is a good way to start and end the day. cheers to more years to come and who knows our dynamics might shift akin to woosang. i love you to pluto and back! here’s to friendship and to our first pieces of the year! (excuse the mistakes you find here pretend they don’t exists).

t.w/ expletives, character death (not the mains)

playlists/ cyberworld | k.ys skates & drones

An illegal virtual world. A damaged psyche.

How far is Yeosang willing to go to find the answers to his questions? Will he put his friendship on the line? Just as how his life is beginning to near its end. The DarkNet is not a place for weaklings and its the only place where he perhaps will get his answers.

A treacherous journey is afoot.

Yeosang knows the DarkNet better than he knows his world, the real world where his body is still on the chair in the attic of his friend’s humble abode. In the net, it’s only his mind and light particles forming his appearance. Dangerous but thrilling. He has come to love the rushing adrenaline, an outlet for him to rid of his pent up frustration. Is he properly armed? Is his supply stocked well? In the old world, this is all a video game played on television. In the current world, the world he lives in, the post-apocalyptic environment, this is his reality. The DarkNet, everything illegal happens here. Credit, fame, information, it doesn’t matter what or who you are in the real world but the DarkNet requires you to build a name for yourself. It has taken so much from him. He’s sore, tired, most definitely overworked although the last is self-imposed for many reasons. He can’t rest until he has answers and the credits needed.

A virus slams his wall of codes, dragging him into a fight, vision blurring slightly from the impact and red lights of warning. His monitor reads a huge output of energy from the wild AI that strikes him. The resounding sound of ‘FIGHT’ reverberates in his ears and his light particle fingers flew across the screen, mind racing and the heartbeat bar on the top right corner shines yellow in warning with how fast his heart is hammering in this ribcage. Not being able to code is akin to a death sentence in his line of work. Talons slam on to his screen, vicious orange lines of codes burning into his memory, a phoenix avatar. He hasn’t seen one in so long after- No, now is not the time, Yeosang. A little character waving a sign appears, the nervous bouncing and worried expression have him refocusing. ‘STAY ALIVE.’ He will and with it comes forth his avatar, roaring at the wild phoenix AI. A sophisticated dragon in black codes emerges, wrestling the phoenix on to the virtual dirt ground. If there’s one thing Yeosang has that is his own, it’ll be willpower. His friend calls it being stubborn but he’ll take stubborn too.

The virtual cheering falls deaf to his ears, the colosseum is a mere replica of past time, almost real, he could almost touch it. Almost. Alas, what’s long gone can never be rebuilt the same way. Yeosang simply doesn’t have the clearance or importance to enter the colosseum in the real world. No, those are for the governmental scums. The reason why he resorts to the DarkNet. Another swipe recalibrates his mind that he’s still in the middle of a deathmatch. He hates phoenix, they’re hard to kill. His neon green French nails dance under the black light of his screen, the pads of his fingers typing codes after codes. ‘TERMINATE’ and his dragon glows from within, orange light peeking between the scales, rumbling with brewing fire. The dragon pins the phoenix to the ground by its neck, the angry screeching of the bird makes Yeosang ground his teeth. Too close to home, the similarity of the screams of survival from that night comes crashing to the forefront of his mind. “End it, Mars!” He yells and his dragon obeys, jaws unhinging and relentless waterfall of flames burn the phoenix to its ashes. ‘VICTORY’ flashes on his screen. He doesn’t stick around for long, his vitals are yellow, caution. It’s time to log out, he taps the green box of ‘EXIT’ on the corner. The tugging sensation of his mind being dragged back into reality has him closing his eyes to diminish the dull ache. Yeosang doesn’t see the ashes trembling as his light apparition disappears from the illegal virtual world.

Disengaging from the DarkNet is proving to be difficult for Yeosang, his consciousness ebbs and flows, brainwaves tangled up in what’s real and what’s not. Wooyoung stands stiffly next to the Meta, feeling sick in his stomach, chest constricting with worry. He’s not averse to the virtual world but it doesn’t mean he likes it the same. He watches the Meta shut down, Yeosang’s vitals and brain activity updated on the glass screen mounted on the wall. The little character Yeosang crafted into the AI system jumps up and down with happy chirps, ‘STABLE.’ Hehetmon, it’s called, a moniker after the old TV show from the gone world. He and Yeosang would binge-watch together occasionally when he’s not swamped from juggling two jobs. Three. Watching over Yeosang is a job in itself. A job he’s willing to sacrifice everything else for.

A groan has Wooyoung almost throwing himself to his friend but he digs his heels and instead he kneels beside the blasted chair and hands reaching to disconnect all the wires attached to Yeosang’s body. He doesn’t know all the names of the cables but he does know the two most important, the EKG and the digital implant. Hehetmon on the screen highlights the different wires that need to be detached first. The cables slither itself back to its ports within the chair. He gingerly touches the base of Yeosang’s neck, the wire attached to the neural digital implant gives into his fingers without a fight. He thinks it’s muscle memory, he does this often enough Hehetmon keeps a record on how fast he could bring Yeosang out of the Meta. (Less than a minute when push comes to shove but usually under two.) They have come so far.

14-year-old Wooyoung was putting his younger brother to sleep, a worn-out storybook clutched between his hand as his brother rested against his chest, the strong thumping of his heart and his voice lulling the younger. He could have used the tablet, everything was in it but they only had one and he didn’t want to take it from his parents. They needed it more and they couldn’t afford another one, they couldn’t afford many things. His parents splurged on a book when they first had him, a treasure for their little treasure. He had read the compiled fairytales from cover to cover, the make-believe of the olden freedom, a taste he can only experience between the pages and in his mind when the house was still. A dream far from reality.

The door creaked open and Wooyoung stiffened. It was the newcomer. “How’s Kyungmin?” Timid. The new addition- Yeosang, his parents scolded him for being impolite by not referring to the other boy by his name. Exhausted, malnourished and was most definitely ill. His parents were apprehensive about Yeosang's sudden appearance but took him in regardless. Wooyoung was reluctant to have a new addition in the place. As if they need another mouth to feed. They were struggling to meet ends. He glanced at the barely one-year-old sleeping on his chest, the high temperature took a toll on the small body. “The fever broke.” He left it at that and Yeosang was understanding enough to let the matter rest. He put the book aside and cradled Kyungmin securely before standing up. Yeosang was shifting from foot to foot by the door, Wooyoung sighed exasperatedly, he was tired enough, “Just lie down somewhere already.” The blonde let out an awkward thanks and shuffled to the bottom bunk bed on the other side of the room. Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to tell him the bed Yeosang occupied was his. He left the room and laid Kyungmin back in his crib in his parents' room.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung didn’t expect Yeosang to flinch at the question nor did he expect to find the other boy to be curled up on the floor and reading the fairy tales book. Yeosang stood up, the book slipping from his hands and both of them winced when it hit the ground. He picked it up hastily and hung his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Wooyoung waved him off, “It’s fine.” Thick silence blanketed the room and neither moved to ease it. Yeosang opened his mouth before closing it again. He managed to string out a sentence after a while, “There were never any books back there.” Back there? Did he mean home? “Do your parents never read you to sleep?” Wooyoung almost apologised, Yeosang flinched at the mention of parents. The blonde shook his head and Wooyoung felt his stomach twist. “Mum used to sing me to sleep.” His chest tightened.

“How did you end up out here, Yeosang?” Wooyoung thought he was a bastard for not calling Yeosang by his name sooner. He never witnessed someone look so surprised by hearing their name. He walked up to his bed and sat down, patting the space next to him. Yeosang hesitated before giving in and sat next to him, posture tense and ready to bolt. “I ran away.”

Yeosang rouses from his ‘sleep’, the warm dark yellow light welcoming him into reality and so does the familiar voice next to him. Wooyoung is reading to him and he recognises the old story immediately. The Ugly Duckling. “It’s getting worse lately.” The pages flutter and Wooyoung keeps reading line after line in soft tandem. The book closes inaudibly. “You slept through dinner.” Yeosang steps into the Meta in the afternoon and for him to wake up at night, it’s getting worse indeed. He’s grateful that he hasn’t started hallucinating though he knows it wouldn’t be far if he keeps going at the pace he’s been putting his psyche through.

“Woo-”

“I know.”

“Wooyoung, I-”

“I know, Yeosang!”

“I know you can’t stop going into the Meta. I know I can’t stop you from fighting in the DarkNet. I know you need answers. But would you please take care of yourself for once!” Wooyoung runs an aggravated hand through his hair, he slumps forward in his seat, elbows digging to his knees and face hidden in his palms. Yeosang falls silent, letting his best friend, who is as close as a brother, gather his bearing. He stands up and his legs give out under him, muscles convulsing, sending him tumbling back to the Meta chair. He feels like puking yet his throat is also closing up, his head spinning and there is ringing in his ears, Wooyoung’s voice sounds so distant even though he is being held against the ravenette. He could make out flashing blue lights through his blurry vision, the health scanner kept handy beeps but he could barely hear it.

It could have been a minute or ten or an hour before Yeosang takes a hold of reality. His heart slams furiously within his ribcage and he’s once again reminded of the sped-up mortality rate of a DarkNet gladiator. The effects the Meta has on a person is damaging and he started to show the symptoms of what they called the bleeding effect. He currently renders more physical than mental and it won’t be long until the latter catches up. For how long he’s been exposed to the Meta, it’ll be sooner than he expects.

He blindly searches for Wooyoung’s hand, grasping it in a vice-like grip. He’s not the only one who’s scared. Yeosang doesn’t want to lose his sanity. He’s exhausted enough but there’s no rest for the wicked. He can’t rest, he can’t sleep with both eyes closed knowing there are answers for him out there and he needs to find it. He’s quite willing to put his psyche on the line even if it means him being thrown into the loony bin. Wooyoung loops his arms around Yeosang, tight enough for the blonde to feel how fast Wooyoung’s heart is racing. There’s a hole of emptiness in his stomach. “Can you stay with me tonight?” His voice is too raspy for either’s liking. There’s not a peep of sound coming from Wooyoung. Action speaks louder than words, especially when it’s Wooyoung. Wooyoung has a lot of words to use and yet he chooses not to, Yeosang knows better than to question it. He trusts the other with his life, his psyche and all that he is. There’s nothing that would err Yeosang to turn his back against Wooyoung. He owes Wooyoung way too much. All the credits in his account couldn’t repay what the other has done for him. It’s never enough and never will be. The seven years that they have known each other and the experiences they go through, Yeosang thinks he could never not trust Wooyoung. His life in reality and the Meta is in Wooyoung’s hands. Others would say their relationship isn’t healthy, that they are too dependent on one another and maybe that’s true. He knows he can’t function in the real world without the other.

“Promise me one thing, Yeosang. Don’t go into the Meta without me.”

Yeosang nuzzles his head into the space between Wooyoung’s shoulder and neck, his hands bunching the fabric of his friend’s shirt. The emptiness settles deeper. It’s not an answer because he knows he can’t keep such a promise. Wooyoung knows it too.

The DarkNet has shifted again. No two places look the same after each login. It changes constantly to avoid detection from the government’s pesky security. The lines of codes forming his apparition in the Net walk on the edge of a skyscraper. Mars languidly flew around the building ready to catch him if he slips. He won’t die necessarily, forcibly exited from the Net with some repercussions but not dead or just as good as dead. He has heard of those who were in comatose or worse. Mars huffs out a flaming breath, a rumbling growl thickening in its throat and Yeosang halts on his track. A stray orange feather twirls into his vision and his hands involuntarily shake, mind racing hundreds of miles an hour and he almost could feel the phantom cold sweat. He sees Mars’s wing slides between him and the feather, the thick lines of codes that formed the dragon burst into a pixelated mess and his ears ring from the explosion and the angry roar of his avatar. In the distance, Yeosang sights a phoenix emerging amongst the skyscrapers.

He sinks to his knees, hands covering his ears trying to block the screaming in his head or maybe he’s the one who is screaming. Mars knocks him into safety, away from the ledge and under its wing. No! No! No! His nails dig into his scalp.

The screeching of a phoenix avatar was the last warning he heard. The last sound to be ingrained to his memory with his mentor, with his brother, with his only friend in the blasted tech conglomerate. Yeosang could make out the silent words of the man across from him, trapped under locking codes and rubbles. Damages sustained in the Meta transferred over to the real world. The red warning signs ‘LOW HEALTH’ flashed before his eyes. His screen lit up with white words and Hehetmon skipped across the coded lines in loading.

- AVATAR TRANSFER IN PROGRESS -

URL: ORTECH://psh.MARS.980403

PREDECESSOR: [loading…]

Yeosang reached out futilely. The orange feathers fluttered around them, singing with heat as they glowed and sparked. Through his heavily cracked screen, he saw a small content yet the regretful smile of his friend. His eyes prickled with tears, dread, no, acceptance of the inevitable sank into him. Why is it always the best one to go first? One of the feathers zinged, a chain reaction of explosions rained upon them and Yeosang couldn’t hear his scream.

“Seonghwa!”

Take care of him, Mars.

- AVATAR TRANSFER COMPLETED -

“Kang Yeosang, get a grip of yourself!”

Yeosang stills at the call of his name. His battle screen is already up and the rectangular box of the communication line is open. Since when? Hehetmon spins in cheers when his eyes locked onto the pair of brown eyes he’s never tired of seeing. The beauty mark under the right eye puts a soothing balm into his mind. Wooyoung. His nails ease from its abuse against his scalp. Fuck, he must look so pathetic right now.

“You little bastard, I told you not to go into the Meta without me!” Guilt tinges in his chest. Yeosang opens his mouth, apology ready at the tip of his tongue. “Keep your ‘sorry’, we got a bird to cook.” Wooyoung never fails to reassure him but he knows it’s merely the calm before the storm. He’ll get his scolding later. Mummy never forgets.

He does what he does best even in trouble, “I’m still taller than you.” There’s still a quiver in his voice but the incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face makes him feel better. “Strip it off its feathers already, dammit! There’s milk on fire here!” Yeosang exhales and rises to his feet, his screen following his movement. The French manicure is chipped but the neon green is still vibrant in contrast to the black light emitting in front of him. He types in a series of battle commands, Mars flies higher and higher into the virtual light blue sky. Blades like armour materialise over the avatar’s claws and thick orange light peeks through between its scales. The phoenix is still far but his screen picks up the avatar’s image, the damages from their previous encounter aren’t fully repaired. What kind of a gladiator does that? Even Wooyoung can do better.

From Yeosang’s view, Mars appears to be a crow, so small up so high. Of course, he never sees the real bird, far extinct in the old world but there’s nothing that couldn’t be found on the Net. His avatar reaches right below the height barrier and takes a sharp nosedive, its weight falling at terminal velocity. Mars jaws unhinged and the fire stokes in the depths of its belly slowly rise to its throat. The screech emitting from the bird is as irritating as he remembers and his fingers tremble. He can’t tell if it’s fear or physical exertion but his head is in the game and mind is surprisingly clear despite the fireballs of feathers that are about to burst. Mars is partly hidden from his eyes with the myriad of singing explosives surrounding the dragon. Yeosang learns the hard way and he’s a learned man as Wooyoung puts it. He activates the defence codes just as the first fireball of many rains upon the black scales. He smirks from his perch, he didn’t spend many sleepless nights perfecting the codes for nothing, the tautness in his shoulders and back are good reminders too. The enraged squawk from the phoenix AI lifts his mood. The crosshair locks into place and the ‘TERMINATE’ sign appears. “Give it a good roast, Mars.” His finger taps the sign and an eruption of fire falls on the ugly big bird. His avatars claws sink into the phoenix broken pixels and glitches are visible around the broken codes. The storm of fire doesn’t relent, damages blooming across the sky and buildings. Surely the surge of energy catches the attention of fellow DarkNet users and government security. Mars doesn’t let up until each code is destroyed beyond repair, its claws tearing the wings apart by the joints. Yeosang slams his fists against the screen and yells when ‘VICTORY’ pops up in vibrant gold. Wooyoung’s cheers fall deaf to his ears over Mars roaring.

He slumps against the ledge, laughing like tomorrow won't come. He can’t believe it. He’s still alive and he supposes revenge is exacted. It feels empty somehow, he doesn’t know how to process the emotions in him at the moment. The event hasn’t hit him yet. “You’re so melodramatic, Yeosang,” Wooyoung chirps from the corner of his screen, “Give it a good roast, Mars!” His friend mimics his words earlier and Yeosang rolls his eyes but he can’t help the smile creeping on his face. Mars lets out a proud huff beside him, the dragon gives him an affectionate nudge and its ember eyes shine with much familiarity. His breath hitches but the avatar disappear with a sharp toothy grin. “Yeosang?” He makes a noise of acknowledgement. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He might have, “I’m alright, Woo. I’m going back now.” Even now you still look after me. Messages and clips of the fight start to spread in the forum. Data from the scrimmage is filed away, he’ll deal with them later. Hehetmon is skipping over the green box of ‘EXIT’ and he lets the mini AI jump on the button. He closes his eyes as the pull on the base of his neck erases his condensed light form from the DarkNet.

“Six months?!”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue as he inspects the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails, “Do you want one year instead? Okay. I’m completely fine with it.” Yeosang frantically refuses the added length, “Six months! Six months! Deal!” He never wants to wipe the shit-eating smirk off his friend's face so much. “Get scrubbing then.” Mummy never forgets indeed. Wooyoung not only scolds him but also gives his ear a good pinch and twist as soon as he is fit to walk around. Now he’s stuck on dishwashing duty under ‘consider it your retribution for breaking your promise.’ Yeosang sighs, he picks up a dirty dish and squirts the washing liquid on the plate. He’ll count himself lucky Wooyoung didn’t put him out there as hall staff.

“Did you process the data from last time?” His hand stops moving at the inquiry. Hell, he didn’t like what he saw on the files and Wooyoung most certainly wouldn’t either. God, he hates this so much. He doesn’t like it when the past comes biting back. “The phoenix URL traces back to ORBIT Tech.” A utensil clatters to the floor and Wooyoung curses like his seventeen-year-old self. “ORBIT Tech? Please tell me it’s a different conglomerate and not the piece of ‘the future is virtual science’ shit of your lunatic father’s!”

Yeosang nods, lips thinning, “Unfortunately, it is. That’s not the worst.” Wooyoung sucks in a breath, the come hither motion gestures him to go on. “I thought the phoenix was a wild AI or someone from the DarkNet was bribed,” he pauses, eyes searching for the dark browns of his friend’s, “It was under Seonghwa’s name.”

“Seonghwa’s dead! He couldn’t possibly-” Wooyoung halts his rant when he notices the unflinching gaze of his seven years companion. It clicks in his mind the inevitable of many other inevitables are descending rapidly on them. At some point, there will be a time where he couldn’t protect Yeosang. There will be a time where his friend has to return from where he comes from. He would be lying if he didn’t lose sleep thinking of this day. The twinkling skyscraper at the centre of the city mocks him. Yeosang doesn’t belong in the nest infested with lies. He’ll be damned, he much rather have Yeosang fights in the DarkNet instead. He’ll take the repercussions. But the chills running down his spine, the pressure in his chest and the unnerving hollowness in his stomach douse him in the harsh reality they live in. The finality of it grips his marrows.

“It’s time for me to stop running.”

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angst-art-writing · 3 years ago

Text

The Bliss of Being Blind(8)

TW: violence, blood, suicide

Training was different. Very different without Clint. It’s not that they were missing one person, they had.. Another person, it’s just that person was Icarus and not Clint. The ginger would have been there anyways, but once Clint was gone, he stopped watching and started training with them.

Iris was the only one who didn’t mind it. The two sparred together mostly, leaving Will and Talyn on their own while the two played around in their own little bubble. Iris would usually be the one to correct their form and teach, but she was too busy now.

Will was watching them go at it, seated in front of Talyn. She was sitting on a boulder, leaning her arms on his head.

The couple danced wildly. Iris was trying to hit him, but he moved fluidly and rapidly, ducking around and underneath her fists, avoiding her sharp kicks. Will could see sparks underneath her gloved hands, darting out from underneath. He hadn’t noticed her gloves before- she had never bothered to cover her hands- Maybe her hands were cold. The cool seasons were here, anyways.

At last, the dance ended with Icarus pinning Iris underneath his boot. He grinned down at her and stepped off as she got up. Iris turned towards Will and Talyn. She smiled apologetically then.

“Sorry you two,” she said, as she brushed back pieces of hair from her flushed face. “We got a bit carried away. Come on, we can get back to work-”

“No,” Talyn said abruptly, getting to her feet. “It’s late. We should go.”

“Aw, no- Diana won’t mind, will she Tal? Will, you want to stay, don’t you?”

No. “I have to help my mother back home,” he responded, getting up as well. “I’ve got to get the kids to sleep soon.”

“I can cover for you again from Diana, Iris,” Talyn said sharply as she sat down her quiver and bow, leaning them against a wall. “Come on, Will.”

She began walking and Will turned to follow. Before he exited, he turned back and waved at the two.

“Thanks, Talyn! Have fun! We’ll see you tomorrow!” Iris called, not seeming to notice the energy.

Will glanced back and saw the two sparring again almost immediately.

-------

Talyn and Will talked together up until the crossroads, in the middle of town. She bid goodnight to him, hugged him, and took off her own way with a brooding look. A look so brooding she wondered if Clint had possessed her. Will watched her back for a moment, before he turned too. But he did not turn to go home like he had said.

Sneaking past the patrol guards was easy. He moved through the town quickly, using the tall buildings to cover himself from the guards patrolling the area.

He didn’t have any weapons on him; Not that he planned on fighting anyways. He tried to avoid it. His family could be hurt if he managed to get on the wrong side of Diana and the guards.

Will no longer had to sneak as he approached the edge of the city, to where hills stood tall. The only footsteps he heard were his own. He began to go up one, the sharp night breeze cooling the sweat on his face. When he got to the top he looked down and smiled. There was a tall house and a huge farm. The owner wouldn't mind, for they wouldn’t even know.

Hopefully. Stealth was Talyn’s thing. She always bested him at hide-and-seek.

He ran down then to the stables and geared up the horse. The horse looked at him sleepily but didn’t make any noise. If needed, Will would bribe it with a carrot he saw when he was sneaking in. The horse didn’t mind, and soon the two were galloping off.

Moving past the hills and the fields to the tune of the horse’s footsteps, he approached another clearing and flat land, just before the forest. He stopped there and hopped off the horse, patting its neck graciously before turning to look out. The horse bent its head, searching for any speck of green grass to munch on. With the cold on its way, the grass had died off.

“Sorry bud,” Will whispered. “I’ll get you a treat when I go back, yeah?” He cooed, patting the horse's neck before turning and looking out.

In the middle of the clearing, this was the base for one of the sections of the Front, built like a castle. It was surrounded by large towers built out of stone, with brilliant spikes at the top and a large grey gate he could see standing tall. Brown, dying vines decorated the front in a chaotic pattern, but the banners that hung were not crowded by the strings. Will could still see the symbol, a wolf snarling dark against a blue clash.

Base Alexiarie.

Base Alexiarie was one of the four bases of the Front. This base represented protection, loyalty. The other three, Will did not know. This one was the most well-known and the most respected. In the battle against Victor, many of their soldiers had died in honor. After the war, the sections of the Front had been set up. The other bases were located around the Capitol.

Will began to head down to the base. There didn’t seem to be many guards towards the back.

He began to walk along the side, counting the windows. When he got to number twenty-three, he picked up a pebble and chucked it at the window, praying. It sailed through-

“Ouch!”

Will smiled. Right after, came Clint who threw back the pebble. Will avoided it. He looked out the window, his look of annoyance changing to one of surprise.

“Will?” He whispered, though Will still heard him. The wind stilled, pausing in the air.

“Yeah! It’s me! I came to visit!” Will grinned brightly up at him. "Come down!"

Clint sighed, looking around for a moment. “I might get in trouble-”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“..Good point. Okay, I’m coming.” He sighed, lifting one leg over the edge. He used the tangle of vines to climb down, landing softly at the ground. He was barefoot, dressed in night clothes.

Will headed over quickly, immediately hugging him when Clint was settled. He felt him tense at first, and he was ready to draw back before he felt Clint’s arms wrap around him. Clint smelled of sweat and ice and dog. The smell was comforting.

After a moment they pulled back, and Will smiled wider. “I wanted to check in on you. How is it, base Alexiarie? Tough? Easy?”

“It’s great. The commander is Pierce, Diana's buddy. He’s training us, and the dogs at the same time.” Clint said. “It’s hard work. But I like it. The other bases are working hard too, I'm sure."

“What are those ones like? I was never able to figure it out and I always get them mixed up.”

“Well, Brigid stands for perseverance and strength. Virtus stands for bravery, and Athaera represents glory. They’re all good, in their own way.”

“That’s weird... Oh! Have you heard any talk about Lilura and Eira?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been training non-stop. But it seems things just keep getting worse from the bad moods of the other commanders.” Clint sat down with his legs crossed. “I did hear Lilura is paying us well, though. With resources.”

“Seriously? But don’t they need those for themselves?”

“They want more fighters, I think. Trying to buy us. But I don’t think we will. It’s not our battle. Those two realms have always hated each other, they’re trying to get rid of one another. Eira’s the one who started it, from what I did hear. They declared war, accusing Lilura of awful things and taking its citizens for..projects.”

“What? That’s insane. Lilura keeps to itself-”

“Supposedly.”

Will leaned back on his hands then. “We do keep getting refugees and people from Lilura. Diana’s happy with them, they started to stay in the Inn’s. Melanie’s is packed, filled to the brim."

Clint shrugged some. “I wouldn’t worry about it; it’ll sort itself out.” His face brightened, as if remembering. “Oh! How’s Aliane and the kids? I miss them a lot."

“They’re fine. Aliane is disappointed you’re gone, but work keeps her busy. The kids are rowdier than ever- But we manage.” Will added the last bit to assure him they were fine. In truth, it was harder. But he didn’t want to tell Clint back, didn’t want to tell him that he wanted him to come home, right away. He was able to keep his mouth shut.

“That’s good!” Clint opened his mouth to say more, but his head snapped to the right as he was interrupted by an echoing slam.

Will followed his gaze, seeing the gate start to open. Clint’s eyes widened a tad, before he looked at him. “If you get caught, my ass is- Whatever. To the right, when you move the bushes, there’s stairs. Wait down there till the patrol passes, then go. Okay?” He spoke firmly, familiarly. It was the voice when they were in a tight spot, and he had to take control.

Will nodded quickly, hugging Clint briefly before the two got up. Clint began to scale the vines quickly, while Will followed his directions, the sounds of heavy boots teaching his ears. His chest tightened slightly, palms beginning to sweat.

He moved quickly, light on his feet before reaching the bushes. Thorns poked at him as he moved them aside, revealing a staircase leading underground. Praying no one was there, he descended- Listening to heavy boots walking then fading shortly after.

Waiting for a few moments, he turned and looked down. There were torches, lighting up a hallway. There was nothing in it, but there was a turn.

Biting his lip, Will began to walk down. He took a torch off the wall, then, and began to walk. He walked and turned, heading down that hall, to another set of stairs. Perhaps this used to be a hangout spot, a faster way of travel- a place to hide. All he knew was that Victor built these bases for his armies and they were repurposed after the end of the war.

He went up and found a trapdoor, forcing it open as he headed up the stairs. He exited out then, finding himself outside one of the newer fences. This structure hadn’t been around before. It was surrounded by a tall fence, with tall spikes at the top. Will looked up. He could see red on one of the black spikes, shining in the moonlight. Perhaps a bird had flown into it..

Shaking his head, he began to turn, to head back up the-

“Please, please, please...” A soft wailing whisper, that made Will pause in his tracks. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck, and he turned, looking back at the spiked fence. Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him towards the fence.

He paused.

“Please...”

The voice sounded feminine, soft, and desperate in a different accent Will hadn’t recognized. Tears dripped off their words, slowly and wet. He pressed his face against the fence, peering through a gap with one eye, to try and see.

His gaze settled upon a smaller building inside with barred windows. It looked like it had been built in a haste, not nearly as well built as the other buildings. It didn’t even look safe.

There was a faint creaking noise that made Will’s gaze travel up, squinting at the top of the window. A figure, as pale as snow, was slipping through the bars, squeezing their thin frame through. The beat of Will’s heart froze as the figure paused, teetering on their toes at the edge.

“Home...”

The same voice quivering as if the wind had shaken their words.

Will couldn’t do anything but stare, his eyes widening and his mouth opening.

He tried to find his voice, but the words stuck in his throat and echoed in his head.

Stop! Don’t!

He wanted to close his eyes, squeeze them shut and never open them again- but alas, he saw the person lean forward and hurtle towards the ground; Limp before they even hit the cruel earth. They floated down, like a dove that had just been shot out of the sky.

Will swore he could almost see feathers billowing out as the person hit; But the feathers were black. He knew it was blood and not soft feathers. Hot, sticky blood.

------

The next day, Will met Iris and Talyn at the back of the Inn, where they were taking care of the horses for travelers. He didn’t want to risk being overheard inside, so they talked out there. Iris cleaned the hooves while Talyn refreshed water, and Will cleaned off another horse. His hands were still shaking. They hadn’t stopped, and they shook even more violently as he retold the story of last night. He had planned to keep it a secret but that would be impossible.

“...They fell, just like that. I... I could see their blood. It was so dark it looked black,” he recalled. He struggled to keep his voice steady. “They’re refugees. From Eira..”

It was silent for a moment. He felt the two girls staring at him.

They spoke at the same time. “Are you okay?”

Will just nodded his head and avoided their gazes.

“How... Did you... Come to this conclusion?” Iris asked him slowly, going back to cleaning. He saw the muscles in her neck tense slightly, her jaw stiff.

“Think about it. We get all these refugees from Lilura- because they pay. They’re a very rich kingdom, from the little we know. Eira has been focusing on the war, they can’t afford anything. They send their people here for protection, but they cannot pay for it. Yes, they are protected. But they do pay. They pay with their freedom.”

“Why would they do that?” Iris asked next. “My mom, I mean.”

“Why would Diana let someone in for free? Lilura is giving us stuff. Eira has nothing to give. But Diana wants to keep up her reputation, keep cool with Eira and Lilura. Eira’s Ruler has no idea.”

Talyn looked down for a moment, before she looked up, a glint in her eyes. “What can we do?”

“I...Don’t know. If they’re out, they won't ever survive here anyways. The guards will find a reason to arrest them.” He rested one arm, leaning against the horse. His mouth was dry. Slowly, he looked at the other two. “There is no safer place..”

“But we can’t just leave them there! It’s awful!” Talyn cried, setting down the bucket. Water splashed out of it slightly.

Iris hissed slightly, giving Talyn a stern gaze. “Talyn, whatever we do will only make it worse for them. They’ll be slaughtered. Just like last time.”

Talyn opened her mouth, but then quickly shut it and looked away.

“We’ll do what we can, Tal,” Iris continued, making her voice less firm. “We cannot save them right now.”

Will looked away then, and silence fell over them once again.

He wished he hadn’t seen the person fall. Wished he could’ve just turned his head and looked away and never spoken about it again. But he didn’t have that privilege.

#oc writing #whump #whump series #suicide tw #whump writing #oc whump

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

Text

Finding Harmony - Ch 1 The Key of M

This story is complete on AO3

Season 3 was still coming out when I wrote this one, but it’s still probably my favorite of my works so far, so I hope you enjoy it. This is part of my ongoing effort to get my AO3 works posted to tumblr; you can filter the tag ‘backlog’ if you’d rather not see them.

Summary: Before any note can harmonize with another, it has to be on pitch. When Luka agrees to work with Marinette on a design project, he's happy to see that she's started making some changes for her own happiness. “It’s like you’re tuning your strings right now. You started out a little flat, and then you tuned too sharp. So now you're working back towards your true pitch." As she gets closer to striking her true note, he can't help but think how beautiful they sound together. He wishes she could hear it too.

“Marinette wants your body.”

Luka nearly swallowed the guitar pick he had clamped between his lips. He made a muffled sound and dropped the sheet music he’d been trying to arrange so he could whip the pick out of his mouth to demand, “What did you say?” He moved his guitar off his lap and turned to hang his legs off the edge of the bed so he could face his sister as she crossed from the door towards her end of the cabin.

“Finally,” Juleka smirked. “I’ve called your name three times. Marinette’s been trying to call you for like an hour.”

“What?” Luka frowned and shuffled around on his bed, finally finding his phone half-buried under his pillow. Sure enough, he had a bunch of missed notifications. “Oops,” he muttered.

“I just got back from her place,” Juleka told him, sitting sideways in her vanity chair to face him. “She’s got an idea that she’s all fired up on and she’s wondering if you’d be willing to model with me for it.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Jul,” he said almost automatically.

Juleka smirked. “I know you’d do anything for Marinette.”

Luka smiled ruefully. “Yeah, that too.”

“Sap.”

“Like you can talk. I’m gonna go call her back now.” He stood up and walked out to the deck.

Marinette picked up on the first ring with a delighted “Luka!” that made his heart skip a bit.

“Hey, Marinette, sorry I missed your messages, I was kinda in the zone and I wasn’t paying attention to my phone. Juleka just told me you were trying to reach me.”

“No problem, I understand, I’ve been there! I’m sorry I interrupted, though, I guess this could have waited, it’s just I was excited and you know I’m a planner and—”

“Breathe, Marinette, it’s fine.” He smiled, leaning on the rail of the boat. “What do you need?”

“Well, you know I felt really bad about that whole Reflekdoll thing a while back—”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but—“ Marinette sighed. “Well, never mind about that. I still feel bad for Juleka and now that I know she wants to model I started thinking about what would look good on her, because you know the suit before was cute all but it didn’t really scream Juleka, and so I started messing around with some designs, more of my edgy stuff, you know, the kind of thing I do for Jagged Stone and Kitty Section, and the more I thought about it the more excited I got and I think I have some really cool concepts—”

“Breathe, Marinette,” he repeated, grinning.

“Right. Sorry. Anyway um I guess designing for Juleka kind of got me thinking about you, and I have some things in mind that I think would look really good on you and I was wondering if you would mind taking some pictures with Juleka when the pieces are done? What do you think?”

“I think all you had to say was ‘Hey Luka, will you model my designs with Juleka,’ and I’d have been sold,” Luka chuckled. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good but you know I’d do anything to help my two favorite girls. Just tell me when and where and what you need me to do.”

The delighted squeal that answered him left him grinning for an hour.

***

“Mom Luka’s here we’ll be in my room see you later!”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cheng,” Luka said with a chuckle, as he followed Marinette through the bakery at a slightly more civilized pace.

“Good to see you, Luka. There’s a plate of snacks in the fridge if you two get hungry.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

It was a good thing he’d been to Marinette’s place with the rest of the band, because she was so far ahead of him he might as well have been by himself. When he climbed up through the hatch into her bedroom (her room was really pretty cool for not being a boat), Marinette nearly barreled right into him. “Whoa!” he cried, catching her around the waist just in time to keep her from falling over. “Relax, Marinette, I’m not going to turn into a pumpkin. You can slow down a little.” He waited until she was sure she had her balance back, and then let her go.

“Sorry,” Marinette said, bouncing slightly on her toes and then grabbing his hand to drag him to her chaise. “I’m just so excited to show you. I hope you’ll like it.”

Luka took a seat on her chaise as she directed and smiled as he watched her rush around. “It’s great to see you so inspired. Maybe I’m off base, but it just feels like you’ve been missing a little bit of your spark lately.”

“Yeah,” Marinette sighed, and it was like all the frenetic energy drained out of her at once. She came and sat next to him on the chaise, looking almost...mournful. “A lot of things have been happening, and I’m starting to realize that I’ve been...prioritizing the wrong things. Sometimes the wrong people.” She glanced at him and then away, twisting her fingers. “I didn’t like the person I was becoming. Which is complicated, because I didn’t like the person I was before, either. Before I met Alya and A-Adrien and got to be better friends with Nino and Kitty Section.” She flashed him a crooked smile. “You wouldn’t have liked me then either. I was a pushover and a victim and a...a bystander.” Luka moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder in silent encouragement. “Some things happened at the beginning of the school year that really pushed me out of that comfort zone, and I started really trying to be a friend, someone my friends can rely on, and for a while it was great. I still messed up a lot but I started standing up for myself and other people, and I wasn’t such a spectator. But...” Marinette chewed her lip. “I don’t know, I feel like somewhere in the last few months I got confused.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “I need to find a way back to the person I wanted to be. Except I don’t even know who that is, because if I don’t like who I was before and I don’t like who I became, then where am I trying to go?” She moaned faintly and put her face in her hands. “And all you did was compliment me and now I’m just spewing this out all over you and you didn’t ask for any of this, I’m so sorry. I’m probably not even making sense.”

“Marinette, you’re making perfect sense,” Luka said, squeezing her shoulder, and reaching down for the guitar case. “It sounds like you’ve been bottling that up for a while.” She nodded, face still in her hands. “It’s like...you’re tuning your strings right now,” he continued. He set his guitar on his lap, set his fingers and plucked a string. “That’s G, right? You started out a little flat.” He moved his fingers and played a G flat. “So you started tuning towards your true pitch.” He played G again. “But you overshot and you went sharp.” He played the G sharp. “So now you’re working back towards G again.” He plucked the G one more time and grinned. “Or maybe it’s M in your case.”

”There isn’t any M, Luka,” Marinette giggled.

“I think there is,” Luka smiled, fingers fluttering in a familiar pattern as he played up and down a G major scale. “I think you’ll find it.” He looked up and met her eyes. “And when you do, it’ll be beautiful.”

Marinette held his gaze for a moment, then blushed and looked at her hands. “Thanks Luka. I know—well, you’re one of the people I haven’t treated so well, so...thanks for understanding.”

“I could tell it wasn’t the true note, the real you. We all make mistakes, Marinette. You’ve always been honest and sincere with me, and I value that more than anything.”

Marinette smiled weakly. “I feel like that should be part of the Couffaine family motto. Liberté, sincerité, originalité.”

Luka laughed out loud. “I like it.”

Marinette, smiled, and the light came back into her eyes as she jumped up. “Enough navel gazing. How do you feel about snakes?”

Luka’s eyes widened slightly and he felt a flicker of panic. “Uh—”

“Because I have the greatest plan for you,” Marinette said, rushing over to her desk. “Check this out.” She pulled up a board that had been laying flat on her desk and held it vertical so he could see it. Front and center was a large picture of a blue and black striped snake with a red head and tail. It was bold and striking and it looked nothing like Viperion. Luka relaxed a little. He should have known better.

“Snakes are cool,” he grinned. “I like the colors.”

Marinette squealed and bounced a little. “I know, they’re perfect for you! I mean blue was the easy choice but I was afraid that would be predictable and boring but then I found this picture and—Can you help me hold this? Thanks. So the snake—it’s called a Malasian coral snake by the way—is the inspiration for collection, see? I’m working out an embroidery design, and I’m also incorporating the colors, although not as much on Juleka’s, I want to use mostly black for her with maybe a bright pop of color, maybe the red, see? And if she’s posing with you, maybe she won’t be so nervous. It’ll be a good way to help her get a little more experience so she’ll be more comfortable next time, and if the photos turn out well she’ll have a start to her portfolio.”

“Sounds great. You’re so thoughtful, Marinette. I know Juleka will appreciate it,” he told her admiringly.

“I really haven’t been lately,” Marinette sighed, as he helped her lay the board back down flat. “But I’m trying to be better.”

Luka touched her shoulder. “If you really want to change yourself, I know you can, Marinette. If it’s worth anything, I think you’re pretty great the way you are.”

He jolted when Marinette turned to him and threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, but he put one arm around her and hugged her back. “Thanks Luka,” she whispered. “You’re the best.”

He patted her back gently, resisting the urge to really hold her. “So, what do I need to do?”

“Measurements!” Marinette snapped back on task. “I need to take some measurements. Especially for the shirts and jacket, I’ve got to make sure there’s room for all—” she gestured vaguely at his shoulders. “That.”

He raised an eyebrow. “All what?”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned to her desk to dig out a measuring tape. “Take off your jacket, Luka.”

He did as she asked, laying the guitar back in the open case and dropping his denim jacket and hoodie on the end of the chaise. Marinette pursed her lips as she turned back to him, then took his wrist and held up his arm so that his bicep was flexed. “Yep. That’s what I meant.” Luka felt a sudden flush as she ran her hand up his arm and onto his shoulders. “You’ve got a lot more muscle than the guys in my class—except Kim but he’s a special case—and your shoulders are broader.”

“Um...thanks?” Luka cleared his throat.

Marinette jumped back. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just thinking out loud.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though he knew he was blushing, and he couldn’t quite keep from smirking just a little bit. “Go ahead.”

Luka stood patiently while she measured what felt like every inch of him.

“Sorry,” she said, writing numbers down. “I just don’t want to have to make you come back, so I’m trying to get everything I think I possibly could need. Once I’ve gotten a little further in the designs, I can bring fabric samples over to the Liberty for you guys to look at.”

“I appreciate that, Marinette, but these are your designs, you don’t need our approval.”

“I know, but I want you guys to be comfortable with the clothes, especially Juleka now that I know she’s so nervous. And the best part of designing is seeing how excited people are to wear the finished product. I really want you guys to be thrilled.”

Luka smiled at her enthusiasm. “I have confidence in you, Marinette.”

She flashed him a soft smile that made his heart flutter. “You always have, Luka. I appreciate it.” She straightened up and put her pencil down. “I think that’s everything I need.” Marinette bit her lip, and looked a bit...shy? That was new. “Um...do you have to go right away? We could hang out for a bit if you’re free...do you play video games?”

“Not really,” he admitted, with a shrug, and then added quickly as her face fell, “I’m always up for trying something new though.”

The way she lit up at that was not good for his heart. “Well, I’ll go easy on you since you’re a beginner.”

Luka chuckled. “Teach me your ways, master.”

Even ‘going easy,’ she destroyed him. His quick fingers and excellent hand-eye coordination were his only chance for redemption. At the same time, he’d never enjoyed losing more. Competitive Marinette was a side she’d never shown him before and Luka was hard pressed to pay attention to the game, distracted as he was by her wide smile and sparkling eyes. After she’d pounded him a few times, she had mercy on him and switched modes so that they battled together against online opponents. He was still pretty useless but she didn’t seem to need him to win anyway, and playing cooperatively gave her more opportunity to coach him. By the time he had to leave, he could at least survive through the fight while Marinette took their opponents apart. That was good enough for him; the game was okay but he mostly just enjoyed watching her have fun. This was clearly one of her passions and he loved watching her be so gung-ho over it.

“You’re amazing,” he sighed finally, putting down the controller. “I think I’d have to practice a long time to get good enough to even come close to beating you.”

“Oh, I didn’t—you did really well for your first time!” She hastened to reassure him. He laughed at her round eyes and panicked expression.

“Relax, Marinette, I don’t mind. Even losing to you is fun. You’re cute when you win.” He winked at her and she blushed, but recovered quickly.

“You’re right, I am amazing,” Marinette said airily, and then giggled. “At least at video games. My classmate Max and I played in the interschool tournament and we tore the competition apart.” She looked down at the controller and sighed, putting it down on the coffee table. “I actually haven’t taken much time to play lately, I’ve been so busy. Another reason to make some changes.”

Luka put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I don’t know what happened and I wish you weren’t so sad about whatever it was, but it sounds like you’ve got a good handle on what you need to do, so I know you’ll be fine. Thanks for teaching me, Marinette. I had fun.”

“Me too,” she smiled at him. “Thanks, Luka, your support means a lot to me. And,” she blushed a little, “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“I love spending time with you,” Luka said, letting go of her shoulder and getting to his feet. “I do need to get home now though. I’ll go grab my stuff.” He went up the stairs to her room, giving her time to recover from her spluttering. Luka sensed that she felt lonely and unappreciated lately, and he didn’t want to pass up a chance to let her know how much he appreciated her, or how happy he was to spend time with her.

Luka put his jackets back on, zipped up the open guitar case, and lifted the strap over his head. He stopped by the desk, looking down at the snake image, and smiled to himself before going back down the stairs.

Marinette walked him out through the bakery, where her mother pressed a small box of sweets into his hands. “Be safe getting home, Luka,” Marinette told him at the door.

“See you soon, Marinette.” He smiled at her, squeezing her shoulder once more before walking away.

As he walked he thought about what Marinette had said to him. Luka was glad she was taking some time and space to take care of herself, but he couldn’t help wondering what brought on the change. Marinette seemed so down about it...He hoped she felt better about it soon, because the changes she was making seemed good for her. So far, he certainly liked what he was seeing. It was great to see her investing in her art. Just spending time with Marinette was enough for him, but getting to be involved in something she loved so much made it that much better.

Luka sighed, adjusting the guitar case and smiling at himself. He’d long ago accepted that he was hopelessly deep in a hopeless love when it came to Marinette. He knew Juleka thought he was an idiot, but he really just didn’t mind it.

Loving her made him happy.

#quickspins #finding harmony #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics #backlog

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arahul-abyssia · 4 years ago

Text

What Lies Out of Sight

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Me: Hmm... I should create a bunch of weird headcanons to try to add continuity to a world that explicitly doesn’t care about such things.

Anyway, this story for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern ’s Nintember event is a bit more of a ‘Lower-Deck Episode’ type, focusing on the sorts of individuals that go unmentioned in the tales we see, those who are passed over without a second thought, but must surely exist if the world were an actual one, fully fleshed out, not just made for a game for playing. This story is also only a little shorter than the length of the last two combined, so, prepare for that, I guess...

~~ Meal, Depths, Ascend, Teamwork, Determination ~~

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

“I already told you, I’ll be fine!”

None of the other members of his squad ever seemed to want to take risks and branch out. They were perfectly happy to spend their time off lounging at the beaches or the café, or doing whatever other mind-numbing things came to their minds. Kolba preferred to use his free time to see what else the world had to offer, beyond his little hometown and the drudgery of work.

Kamron always seemed to fret about Kolba’s escapades. Even though he came back from each of them just fine, even though he was never late when he returned, even though he had frequently shown that there was nothing to worry about, Kamron refused to let him hear the end of it.

“Y’know, if you’re so worried for my safety, why not come along?”

“Because it’s dangerous, and I’m trying not to put myself in harm’s way when I don’t need to!”

“Well, maybe we’ll be safer together. Strength in numbers, he always says…”

“That hasn’t once worked out for us! No matter what formations we take, those two always chew through us faster than we can blink! And that’s if Karla, Kollen, Kiam, and Kyrra haven’t walked off a cliff, as usual!”

“And ‘those two’ won’t be there, so there’s no problem!”

“That’s not the point!”

Kolba sighed and shook his head. He didn’t know why he continued to argue with Kamron about his plans; neither one ever budged on their positions and no new arguments ever came up. He threw his pack onto his shell, adjusted his boots, and walked out of their quarters into the warm ashy air of Bowser’s Fortress.

He’d give his boss credit where it was due: no matter what the design, every single building in the fortress was great at keeping the smoke and smog out, palace, towers, and barracks alike. It wasn’t absolutely choking, but spending time out in it did eventually make it harder to breathe, and it was typically better to avoid it as much as possible, especially in times such as now, when the volcano below was more active than usual.

Kolba walked down the rocky paths and across the ashy fields, toward the nearest long-range warp pipe, which lay a little beyond one of the cracks in the rocky wall around the volcanic region. He would have much preferred for one to be near the barracks, but given that those who maintained the network, whoever they were, were on Peach’s side, Bowser’s forces weren’t allowed to have one within their walls. And he had heard tell that the reason so few short-range ones existed within the fortress was some disagreement between the pipe maintainers and His Stubbornness himself, though he had no clue what that could be.

As he crossed through the crack, it was as though he had passed a magical barrier, for beyond it the sky was suddenly clear and blue and not a trace of ash wafted in the air. He took a deep breath and then set off down the hill towards the massive red pipe at its base. He always thought it interesting how different long-range pipe travel was from short-range; the smaller pipes were always just big enough to fit comfortably, and your movement remained controlled, while the larger ones, well…

Kolba jumped up onto the rim of the pipe and stared down into the dark pit within. The first time he used it, it was quite daunting, but he had long since gotten used to it. With one final check that he had everything in his pack that he needed, he leaped from his perch into the darkness. After a few seconds, his descent slowed and came to a stop for a split-second, then his body began to rocket upwards, the pipe spitting him out into a small grassy clearing surrounded in part by trees, and the rest by more open fields. He looked around to get his bearings, noting that the pipe he emerged from was smaller than the one near the fortress, though certainly not as small as the pipes typically were. He hopped down and looked around some more. Judging by the grey mist in the area, he was already in a location that was only partially active.

That was one of the aspects of their land that he was never sure if he liked. The Mushroom Kingdom and its surrounding regions had an alarming tendency to shift around, the locations of forests and deserts and mountains and everything else moving elsewhere quite noticeably and often suddenly, taking entirely different names and appearances in the process, and many locations hiding themselves away or appearing out of seemingly nowhere. But if the land did not shift, his off-time pastime could not exist. He loved to explore the areas that had become hidden, their entrances having become barely detectable paths that were far off the usual routes.

One of which should be right… around… here!

In the foliage at the edge of the field was a winding string of rocks about as wide as his finger. He pushed through the plants and began following it closely. In almost no time at all, the grey mists had set in more and he emerged from the bushes into a rocky and craggy location. If he had seen it when it was active, he did not know, but he was sure that it was inactive now; the stones lodged in the sheer cliffs that clearly had been paths up and down them were now greatly displaced from one another, and all the pipes were bent oddly and emerged from the ground or pits at weird angles.

Kamron frequently expressed his concern that Kolba would be caught in an inactive zone when the world shifted and then be unable to find his way back, but he was not concerned at all. He knew that the shifts only ever happened on three occasions--between Bowser’s schemes, between other sorts of crises, and between sporting events--and he made sure to never go exploring when nearing or after the end of any of them. And given that His Surliness was busy planning his next scheme to kidnap the princess (which would no doubt ultimately fail), and the world had shifted only two days ago, he was confident he’d be safe for this excursion.

He began to climb up the cliff in front of him, to see what was beyond it. The hand- and footholds were entirely unusable, but his training in being a Fence-Climbing Koopa allowed him to scale the cliff anyway, albeit with some difficulty. In only a few minutes, he had reached the top and pulled himself up. The clifftop had other cliffs he could climb, but there was also a clear disjointed path of relative flatness, so he chose to follow that.

He would have liked to have seen the views from the crags, but the dense grey fog that marked an area as inactive made that an impossibility. On other adventures of his, there was usually something interesting about the locations he was exploring, or something curious to find, but this place seemed to be nothing but broken rock, sheer cliffs, and weird pipe formations.

Maybe I’ll take a few pictures of the weirdest ones… yeah, that’ll work…

He stopped, pulled his camera out of his pack, and continued onward. While the pipe shapes so far were certainly odd, there were none that he thought particularly picture-worthy. After another several minutes of walking, he decided to flip about and walk backwards for a bit, to see if anything notable popped out where he couldn’t see before, after he made sure the ground before him was relatively straightforward and flat. Walking like this for a few moments, he noticed that his footsteps sometimes seemed to echo about the cliffs, and other times they were practically silenced in the fog.

And then, as if to confirm it, he felt his boot touch something else’s leg as his pack leaned into something similarly squishy. He whipped around to find the telltale mushroomy shape of a Toad doing just the same.

“Oh, hello—”

“Waaaaauuuugggghh! It’s a Koopa Troopa!” The Toad began to flail and scream, as they so often did whenever the Army attacked one of their towns.

“Uh… yes? How are y—”

“G-get away from me! Or I’ll… or I’ll… I’ll make you!”

He brought his arms up to what was probably supposed to be a fighting stance and bent his face into what was likely meant to be a brave and daring glare, but both were quite shoddy attempts.

“Hey now, I may be part of Bowser’s Army, but I’m not here to—”

“Bowser?!” The Toad started yelling even louder and hopping back and forth on his feet, shaking the ground beneath the two, in what could only be described as a dance of panic.

Wait… shaking the ground?

Kolba looked down and saw that the ground around them was cracking from the Toad’s stomping. He reached out his arms and tried to get him to stop, but the Toad seemed too enveloped in his own frenzy to notice anything else in the world.

And then the ground beneath them gave way, revealing the gaping maw of a long-range warp pipe. Kolba turned to get to safety, but the rim of the pipe was too far away and he had already begun falling.

If this was any other pipe, he would have been fine, and could just be sent back up and out once he reached the warp zone. But because this area was inactive, so too was the warp pipe, and so no warping was possible. A panic welled within him, but he took a deep breath and made to recall his training for situations like these. The rhyme for long falls…

Pull in your limbs and tuck in your head, that’s how you don’t end up dead!

And so he did just that, giving himself a slight spin in the process. There was always something comforting about being inside a shell, the walls pressing close, offering a peace wherever one may go, providing protection from basically everything, halting any possible dizziness. To say it was simply ‘nice’ would be to put it far too mildly.

After what was probably around half a minute, he felt his shell bounce on the hard metal at the bottom of the pipe, the spin keeping him from turning in any other directions, and the bouncing stopped, he stuck out his legs to halt the spinning and then fully emerged. It was almost completely dark, the only light being what little made it down from the entrance high above.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then sat down to brainstorm a way out, but his thoughts were interrupted by a strange rhythmic squeaking noise, slowly getting louder and louder. He looked up just in time to have the giant mushroomy head of the Toad hit him in the snout, squeaking even louder. As his unwilling assailant fell face down on the ground, Kolba rubbed the point of impact; though it wasn’t really painful, it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

The Toad popped up and whipped around. “Gah! You’re here too?! Why?!”

“...Because you broke the ground beneath us…”

“HUH?! How?!”

“...With all your yelling and screaming and stomping. Like that.” Kolba tried not to be overtly rude, but he couldn’t help but let a slight amount of irritation creep into his voice.

His comment, however, seemed to get the Toad to realize what happened and calm down. “...Alright, fine, no, that’s right…” he looked around, likely coming to the same conclusions Kolba did. “So now what? I’m stuck at the bottom of a warp pipe next to a Koopa Troopa with no way out. What did I do to deserve any of this?!”

Now that was just plain rude. “Well, since it seems we won’t be getting out of here anytime soon, you can sit down and quit acting like I’m the worst thing since Bowser’s Hotel Scheme.”

He made to protest, but immediately his eyes seemed to fill with sudden realization. There was a moment’s pause, then he took a deep breath and plastered a weird smile, somehow both entirely genuine and entirely forced, onto his face. “I’m sorry, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Hi! My name’s Jol, as in Jol T. I’m from the town of Shroomvale.”

Now that was better. Kolba plastered on his own mostly-real smile. “Hello, I’m Kolba, Kolba Koopa. I’m part of the Koopa Troop in Bowser’s Army. Pleased to meet you!”

Kolba stuck out his hand for Jol to shake. He hesitated at first, but then grabbed onto it and quickly shook it. His face seemed to relax in relief. “Oh, good! I thought that might’ve hurt…”

This comment came as a surprise to Kolba. “How exactly would a handshake hurt you?”

Jol seemed to fidget back and forth, realizing what he said, then stumbled about for an answer, saying nothing that Kolba could find meaning in besides what was probably a sort of backpedaling. Eventually, he interrupted, tired of the pointless blubbering.

“Look, it seems like you have some… ‘conceptions’ about me that are preventing us from talking like two normal individuals. So, if you would, please tell me what the problem is so we can work things out. I am all ears.”

The Toad stared at Kolba, with some mixture of confusion and shock, then sighed and began to formulate his words properly. “It’s just… after all the attacks by Bowser on Peach’s Castle, and all the Mario Brothers’ adventures to stop him, rumors start going around, y’know? That the members of Bowser’s Army will stop at nothing to help him, that they coat themselves with something that makes those aligned with Peach unable to normally touch them without getting hurt, that they are imbued with an evil magic that makes their every move serve some purpose of Bowser’s. And now that I say it out loud, to you, it sounds completely insane! But… when so many around you say something, it kinda affects how you think, y’know?”

Kolba closed his eyes and thought. He knew that rumors spread about the Troop, but he had no idea that some were like this. A part of him wanted to feel insulted, but he then suddenly realized that his own societies had similar misgivings.

“Well, some of us aren’t too much better. For a time, I was convinced that all Toads, save for a select few that I could count on one hand, were complete cowards who couldn’t do anything to try to save themselves from danger.”

“Oh? What changed your mind?”

“Met a decent handful over the years who attempted to fight off our attacks. I don’t think it ever worked, but I admired the thought, and felt bad that our assaults succeeded in spite of their efforts.”

Jol nodded, something seeming to give him pause. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again. “So, if you feel bad seeing the destruction Bowser’s Army causes, why do you still work for him?”

Kolba sighed. “It’s… a living. Obnoxious as Bowser and his direct lackeys can be, there’s a lot that’s provided free of charge, and I’ve met some good friends there. I know the attacks can be difficult, but I’d like to think that we make up for it and then some when the Mushroom Kingdom counters, which, more often than not, consists of a thorough defeat from Mario and Luigi.”

At this, Jol snickered. “Y’know, that’s honestly perfectly fair! Exactly how many times have you had to respawn due to them?”

“Oh, I’ve lost track at this point… I think I’m up to, like, fifty separate times or so?”

“Really?! Fifty times you’ve been trounced by one of their boots?”

“Or hit by a fireball, or punched in the face, or used to destroy brick blocks and then hurtled into a pit, yeah… you get used to it after a while, comes with the territory and all…”

“That’s… okay, fine, that’s honestly impressive that you’re able to put up with all that…” he paused for a moment. “Y’know, I’ve honestly never realized just how much you guys go through as well, having to serve Bowser and all. No offense, of course, the thought just never crossed my mind.”

“Eh, none taken. Though I am curious: how did you know I was a member of Bowser’s Army? Surely you don’t think every single Koopa is aligned with him?”

“Of course not! I actually have several good friends in Koloburg who are Koopas. It’s just… I guess I can just sort of ‘tell’? I don’t know what it is, there doesn't seem to be any specific visual difference, but unless someone’s in disguise, I just know who’s going to be friendly and who’s going to be hostile. …Or, would be hostile under typical circumstances, I suppose…”

“Oh, then it’s just like us! We can tell which other individuals are aligned with us and which aren’t. I guess that’s a universal thing…!”

Another brief bout of silence, then: “So… we really only get to see Bowser being the attacker… what’s he like when you’re working for him?”

“Not much better, I’d say. His Grouchiness is impatient, petulant, and pretty much impossible to please. It’s not like he mistreats us, but I think he could stand to be a little more grateful if he’s going to keep pulling these schemes to kidnap the princess. ...If you ever get the chance, don’t tell him I said any of that.”

“No worries! Why does he keep doing that anyway, if it never works out? Like, at all?”

Kolba smiled and dropped his voice to a conspiratory whisper. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but the tone would make all the more impactful. “You didn’t hear this from me, but there are rumors going around that it’s not actually Peach that he wants; they think he’s doing this to get Mario’s attention, but he doesn’t actually know how to do that… well, like a normal person. There are a couple of holes in the idea, but it certainly would make the whole situation a lot more interesting, right?”

“But didn’t he rob several other Kingdoms and throw a wedding on the Moon just to try to marry Peach, like, only a few months ago?”

“Like I said, there are a few holes. Some think Peach might be in on it all, but that’s even more flimsy… still though.”

Jol sat for a moment in thought, then shrugged and giggled. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d be at all surprised if it turned out that nearly every crisis in our kingdom was the result of the world’s most dangerous love triangle.”

“Right?! Anyway…”

The wall between them had finally been broken and taken down. For some time after that the two talked about all manners of things, laughing and joking as though they had always been friends. Eventually, however, the conversation did indeed once more die down.

Kolba stood up, Jol following suit. “So, fun as this has been, I think it’s high time we get out of here. Any ideas?”

“Oh, I completely forgot where we were… uh, hm… rope obviously wouldn’t work, and we can’t wall kick like the Bros…”

“Yeah… although…” An idea was rapidly forming in Kolba’s mind. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was the best idea he had.

“Huh? What is it?”

“You know how the Brothers occasionally use this move where one stands on the other and they spin through the air?”

“Y’mean their Spin Jump? Yeah, I think I’ve seen it.”

“If we imitate it in here, if we can move the air around enough, it might provide us with enough lift to get us out of the pipe.”

“Huh… I mean, it’s worth a shot…”

“Right! Grab your bag and hop on!”

With haste, Jol leaped onto Kolba’s head, which he had to retract a bit to be able to properly grip the Toad’s feet. On his mark, the two began spinning clockwise, jumping more and more frequently, and in little time at all, they felt their jumps being boosted by the air flow. Though it was beginning to dizzy them, they kept at it, each jump and twirl bringing them slightly higher.

And then, Kolba’s feet did not reach the ground, and with a quite similar sensation to exiting a functioning warp pipe, the two shot upwards, reaching the top of the tube in about as much time as it took them to fall to its bottom. The change in space outside caused them to lose their rhythm, and the two shot off in opposite directions, each hurtling pack-first into a cliffside. Both took several seconds to catch their breath and balance, then stood.

“Yeah!! Your idea worked! Nice job!” Jol ran to Kolba and proceeded to vigorously shake his hand with both of his own. Kolba returned the gesture with far less excitement.

“I’m… honestly a bit surprised, but yeah, we’re out now! ...Should we do something about the pipe?”

Both turned and looked at the maw of where they were trapped only minutes ago, the last gusts of the wind they created dissipating into the fog.

“Nah, it’ll fix itself eventually. So, what are you going to do next?”

“I dunno about you, but I think I’ve had quite enough adventure for one day. I’m gonna head back to active places, maybe get something refreshing from a café in a simple grassy region. ...Ya wanna join me?”

Kolba thought for a moment, then grinned. “You know what? I think I will.”

And with not another word, the two began their return treks together through the grey mists.

#super mario series #nintember #super mario bros.#my writing

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yasbxxgie · 4 years ago

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Breaking Bones, Breaking Barriers: Black Stuntmen Honored at African American History Museum

Greg Wayne Elam knows what it’s like to face adversity.

In 1976, he was a strapping 29-year-old stuntman trying to make his mark in Hollywood. While on the set of the film “King Kong” he was charged with scaling a 60-foot telephone pole, dressed only in a loincloth. Elam gradually inched his way up the narrow structure, only to learn that the stabilizing safety device that the stunt coordinator had assured him would be at the top, was not there.

He had two options: plunge to the ground and risk losing the gig (not to mention, life or limb) or hold on for dear life. He chose the latter.

“I had on a G-string, it was the month of February and the wind was blowing and that pole was shaking,” remembers Elam, 69, with a chuckle. “I just held on tight. About two hours went by; it had gotten to a point where I didn’t have any circulation left in my legs. I couldn’t feel my legs at all.”

As if the situation couldn’t get worse, the crew filmed his scene from various angles and then went on to shoot others without signaling to Elam that he was cleared to come down. Fellow black stuntmen Ernie Robinson and Richard Washington ultimately came to his rescue on the set, helping him down with a crane-like device known as a scissor lift.

“They weren’t hiring black stuntmen in Hollywood back then, so when we did get work they would challenge us on the set,” recalls Elam, of Orange County, California, who went on to snag high-profile stunt work for popular black stars Michael Jackson, Richard Pryor and Gregory Hines among others. “We just took the challenge until they recognized us as stuntmen. We fought for the right to have equal opportunity. We didn’t do it for glory, we did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Elam and fellow members of the Black Stuntmen's Association (BSA) – many of whom had also endured overt racial discrimination in the film and television industry: such as threats of physical harm, name calling and being shut out of jobs altogether – were formally honored at the Sept. 24 grand opening of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture.

BSA memorabilia, props, photos and news articles are featured in the entertainment-themed “Taking The Stage” exhibit. Members of the group hope to meet President and Mrs. Obama who are both scheduled to attend and make remarks at the star-studded affair at the National Mall's newest landmark museum.

“The Smithsonian? This is just unbelievable,” gushes Stone Mountain, Ga.- based character actor Alexander Folk, 70, who bonded with BSA members during his brief stint as a stuntman in the 80s. “When we were working out and doing stunts together, never did we think in our wildest dreams that something like this would come. That’s where not giving up comes into play. This honor is a testament to the fact that your wildest dreams will come to pass if you don’t give up. This honor is long overdue.”

A group of 25 black stuntmen came together in 1967 to found the BSA, which celebrates its 50th anniversary next year, in an effort to generate jobs for African American stuntmen. It also provided a safe space for stuntmen – and eventually stuntwomen of all races too – to bond, vent, network and hone their craft.

When the BSA took legal action against the major motion picture studios 40 years ago their main goal was to eradicate the widespread practice known as “painting down” in which white male actors essentially wore blackface. Stuntmen dressed up as women often stood in for actresses, leaving many stuntwomen unemployed too.

BSA members filed Equal Employment Opportunity charges against the major studios in 1976 and ultimately secured a settlement agreement. As a result of their groundbreaking lawsuit, current BSA head Willie Harris says the major studios, including Paramount, Fox, Disney, and Warner Bros. were forced to pay stunt performers of color an undisclosed amount of money in damages.

U.S. Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, a former Equal Employment Opportunity Commission chief, actually helped them secure the lawyer who argued the case.

“Even though the black stuntmen fought tirelessly to get the major studios to end this disgraceful and racist practice some 40 years ago, as recently as 2014, Warner Bros. was slammed for painting down a white [stuntwoman] on the set of the show 'Gotham.' This is Hollywood’s dirty little secret that they don’t want you to know,” said Nonie L. Robinson, granddaughter of late BSA Founding President Robinson, who is best known for his stunts on the “Miami Vice" television series, as well as the films “King Kong,” the original “Planet of the Apes" and "Greased Lightning.”

“When we started there were no black producers, cameramen, directors, makeup artists and lots of other positions,” asserts Harris, 75, of Las Vegas. “After our lawsuit the big studios had no choice but to start hiring them too. When the Civil Rights Movement was going on in this country, we were doing the same kind of fight in Hollywood and we won. We were the pioneers; we changed the industry for the better. Because of us, folks like Denzel [Washington], Samuel [Jackson], Will [Smith], Jamie [Foxx] Morgan Freeman and Tyler Perry now have access to better roles.”

Three years earlier, in 1973, the BSA took on American Honda Motor Co. Inc., accusing the company of refusing to hire black actors and stuntmen for its television commercials. The job discrimination lawsuit, which was endorsed by the United Auto Workers Union, asserted that over a three-year period, only three black performers out of 120 were used in 27 Honda motorcycle commercials aired on television. Honda reps formally denied any wrongdoing, but Harris says a spokesperson pointedly told their lawyer, “blacks didn’t show a good image on television.”

Harris says embattled actor and comedian of late Bill Cosby is widely lauded as being the first of the major black Hollywood stars – an exceptionally small number at the time – to demand that a black stuntman be hired to double for him on the set of his 60’s era television series “I, Spy.” Actors Harry Belafonte, Lou Gossett Jr. and Sidney Poitier also reportedly pushed for inclusion.

The BSA is also known for promoting equality for stuntwomen, ultimately becoming the first professional organization of its kind to invite women of all hues to join. “You can call it a movement, a struggle or a fight, but overall [the BSA] was about increasing opportunities for African Americans in the entertainment industry,” says veteran stuntwoman Jadie David, 66, who worked as actress Pam Grier’s stunt double during the blaxploitation film era. “It was called the Black Stuntmen’s Association, but their fight evolved to include people of color, women and all marginalized people in the entertainment industry.”

Robinson, of Los Angeles, will be joining the BSA “pioneers” during their trip to D.C. to shoot footage for a documentary she is working on, chronicling their “untold” and “courageous” story of breaking down “the barriers of race and gender in Hollywood against incredible and dangerous odds.”

“Many times they didn’t have the proper safety equipment or airbags; they literally put their lives on the line every day,” adds Robinson. “Once they got on those sets, they didn’t know if they would make it home [alive] or not. They paid a high price for inclusion.”

Robinson says famed music producer Quincy Jones is executive producer for the aptly titled “Breaking Bones, Breaking Barriers,” which Robinson is producing with Cecilia Peck, the film’s director and daughter of famed actor Gregory Peck. The full-length feature is set to be released in 2017 and will include interviews with BSA members, activists, journalists, Smithsonian reps and Academy Award-winning actors Gossett Jr. and Whoopi Goldberg.

In 2012, the BSA received an NAACP Image Award; state legislators in California, Mississippi and Nevada have also celebrated the organization. Most members agree, however, that being a part of a Smithsonian exhibit feels like a once-in-a-lifetime honor.

As for Elam, it seems he landed on his feet in more ways than one, when he managed to get down that telephone pole 40 years ago. He went into full retirement in 2010, after many years working as a stuntman, leading a highly-sought-after stunt training class and also working as the stunt coordinator for many films, including “Deep Cover,” “Hoodlum” and “The Color Purple.”

He has officially passed the torch; all three of his adult sons, Ousaun, Kiante and Kofi now work as stuntmen for some of the most elite black film stars: Samuel Jackson, Morgan Freeman, Will Smith, Don Cheadle and Jamie Foxx.

Harris says he and his BSA colleagues take pride in knowing that they helped pave the way: “We were the ones who opened the door.”

[v]

Photographs:

The Black Stuntmen Association circa 1965

Stuntwoman Jadie David, bottom, hits the ground after jumping from a derailing rollercoaster during the filming of the 1977 film "RollerCoaster." The fall broke her back.

Pioneer Stuntman and Stunt Coordinator Ernie Robinson and Philip Michael Thomas on the set of "Miami Vice" in the 1980's

Pioneer Stuntman Ernie Robinson dressed as the character "Tubbs" from "Miami Vice", pictured with Edward James Olmos in the 1980's

Willie Harris and Alex Brown in 2016

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kenobion · 5 years ago

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Changing Strings

This is a little tutorial on how, when, and why to go about changing your bass (or guitar) strings. Granted, I am no specialist, so these are things I have picked up on my own through various readings, but it should do as a summary. You can always research more into a topic if you’d like to learn more about it.

Your initial question might be why bother with changing strings anyway? A guy at the music store I bought my strings from told me he knows guitarists and bassists who never change their strings . . . they simply adjust the treble on their amps instead. That workaround is a hint to one of the reasons why: old, stretched out, dirty strings lose their tone, in particular the clarity and brightness.

Replacing your strings helps ensure the sound that is delivered to your amp is the best it can be and helps you get in some bonding and understanding of your instrument through general care, plus it gives you a chance to try out even more string types or gauges - there are many to choose from (once you start looking at them it does become a bit addictive, full disclosure).

My current preference (psst D’Addario want to sponsor me? hah):

So how do you know when it might be time to switch out your strings? It’s partly up to you, because depending on how much and how often you play, you might need a more or less frequent schedule. Generally, if you start to lose clarity of sound from your strings and your playing starts to sound muddy, that’s a pretty good sign that your strings might need some refreshment. Visual signs to look for could include dullness of color, compared to shiny new strings, and little dark marks or the appearance of grunge across the strings.

Here’s a closeup on the old strings I removed from my bass. You can see they’re a bit grotty.

When you play, you should always wash your hands beforehand (hah), so your instrument stays as clean as possible, which will help reduce wear from exposure to unwanted materials (like grease on your fingers from food you recently ate, etc etc). This routine, along with wiping the strings down after you’re done playing, will help give your strings some extended life too, but in time the natural oils from your hands will end up on them anyway.

Here I have overlaid the old strings over the new ones on my bass. You can see a definite difference in color, the old ones being duller.

Generally, the dead sound and darker/semi-dirtied appearance will clue you in that it’s time. I noticed this on my own strings after about six months, so you can use that as a benchmark, but depending on your playing habits and which strings you have, you might need to change sooner or later.

Now that you know the why and when, let’s get to the how. The first consideration is not the process, however, but which strings you are going to use. Not only are there many many brands out there (like D’Addario, Ernie Ball, and more), but there are also many different string materials too. These include:

Nickel - for a warmer, more vintage tone

Nickel-plated steel - used for many styles, very versatile, these are most likely what is on your bass

Stainless steel - very bright, strong tone

Nylon - more likely to be used in guitars versus basses

Chrome - for an even richer tone, warmer than nickel

And you may see even more than that too. Strings also come in different winding styles - this refers to the way the outermost layer is wound around the core. Roundwound (traditional), halfwound (for less finger noise), flatwound (for no finger noise), and tapewound (for a more upright bass sound) are some of the options.

If you know which strings you currently have, you might like to stick with the same ones, and if you’re not sure, nickel-plated steel roundwounds are a pretty solid choice. If you’re feeling more experimental, feel free to choose something different - you might like the new sound you discover.

And if that weren’t enough to think about, you also have a choice to make regarding gauge too. Gauge refers to the thickness of the strings, and gauges are often referred to based on the size of the lowest string. In this case, 100 is the size of the E string of a regular light gauge set, which is a common sizing, so such a set is commonly referred to as 100s for short.

There are heavier sets available, and lighter ones too. It really depends on which feel you prefer under your fingers. I like the feel of slightly thicker strings, so I’ve gone with medium gauge, which is 105s. What you choose is up to you.

Observe the size of the medium gauge and round, bumpy appearance here for the roundwounds:

As you can see, there are plenty of options when it comes to selecting your strings, from brand to material to winding to gauge to options for coating (which can add color to or act as protection for the strings from wear), and it can be a bit overwhelming. You may want to look into the difference in tone between strings and do some reading, or you might wish to follow your instincts and simply go with your gut for your choice.

One more thing to note: bass strings come in short scale, for short scale basses (which you might have if you have a smaller reach), and in long scale, for regular size basses. Make sure you choose the right one, because short scale strings will not fit a full scale bass.

Once you have chosen and purchased your strings, it’s time to get to the process of switching them in.

First, be sure to loosen all of the strings on your bass (or guitar, but I’m a bassist so I’m going to use the bass term usually) evenly. Take off all of the tension. Turn the tuning keys until the strings are slack.

Now you need to remove the strings - you can either cut them near the stockhead using a wire cutter, then unwind the remainder from the posts by turning the tuning keys, or you can completely unwind them using the tuning keys to keep them intact (my preference). Once detached, pull them out through the bottom of the bridge, then put them aside.

Bass, de-stringed:

Once you’ve removed all the strings, you might like to take a chance to do some cleanup of your fretboard, now that it is exposed. If you have some fretboard oil, this would be a good time to apply it (just make sure there’s no lemon oil in it, especially if you have a maple fretboard, as the lemon will dehydrate the wood and make it more susceptible to cracking). This is a time you can polish your frets too.

Once you’re done cleaning, grab your new strings. Starting with the E string, the thickest one, uncoil it if it is wrapped up, then put it through the hole in the bridge, and over the appropriate saddle, so it rests in the groove. Pull it through until the ball end rests against the bottom of the bridge. These photos demonstrate using my A string, which I wanted to rewind anyway.

Now take the far end and draw it towards the lowest pole in your stockhead. You will notice a hole in the middle of the pole - stick the end of the string into this, as far down as it will go. Then, flatten the string into the slot sideways, to get it prepared for being wound down along the post.

Guiding the string down the post, start to wind it, using the tuning key. You will have to do a lot of turning, so keep at it. As you turn, gradually guide the string downward along the post, so it wraps evenly and is prevented from bunching together. You may hear some noises as the string bends.

Eventually, you’ll feel the string start to take some tension (no need to worry about tuning right away, that can be left until you have all the strings on). You can stop winding at this point, and move on to the next string.

Repeat the process for each string. If you have a string guide (as I do), an extra round piece of metal that is situated beneath and roughly between the third and fourth posts, make sure to thread the third (D) and fourth (G) strings beneath it, and put each string in the appropriate groove on the backside of the guide. Not all basses have this, but if yours does, it helps keep your strings in line.

With all of the strings now successfully attached, you can tune your instrument up. You may notice over the next couple of days that you will have to consistently readjust your tuning each time you play, because the strings are still getting used to being stretched out. After about a week or so though, this will likely become less of a problem.

Ready to go!

When you change strings, especially if you change gauges, there is always a chance your action - the distance the strings are from the frets - might change. If your action is too low, you can experience a lot of undesired fret buzz, because the strings are too close to the frets and inadvertently touch them. Action that is too high, conversely, can cause extra tension in the strings, which means you need to apply a lot more pressure while you play.

If you find you need an adjustment, you can either adjust the saddles on the bridge, or you can adjust the tension of your truss rod (the piece of metal that controls the curve of the neck and attaches to the instrument’s body). That’s a whole other issue though, and this piece is long enough already, so I’ll save that for another time. I hope you enjoyed reading! 🎸

#bass stuff #bass guitar #guitar #tutorial #random #long post

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howling-harpy · 5 years ago

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Below the surface

Pairing: Speirs/Lipton Rating: G Word count: 2708 Summary: @tomorrow-is-forever-all-ours prompted: “ Speirton + fantasy AU” Carwood defies warnings about a cursed lake in order to feed his family. Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect. * Carwood’s family was small and facing tough times, and so on a Sunday morning when the sun was just coming up he took a fishing rod, nets and a bucket of baits and hiked to the lake in the woods in hopes of an easy meal.

It was a risky thing to do, not only because he wasn’t that good of a fisherman, but also because the lake was cursed. Everyone in the town knew that one shouldn’t go near it, drink from it, and absolutely never swim in it, because anyone who did never came back. The lake was in the middle of the woods, surrounded by ancient evergreen trees and in the crook of rocky hills. Its water was so clear it appeared black due to its muddy bottom and shadows of the trees, and it was so perfectly shielded by the rocks and the trees that it was always calm as a mirror.

The morning light was cold and yellow when Carwood came to the edge of the lake. Mist was dancing across the even surface. For a cursed lake it was very beautiful, deceptively so, as he knew it to be cold and deeper than anyone knew. On the shore Carwood looked around him and found something very convenient: in the middle of the reeds and tied to a pine tree there was a rowing boat. He didn’t know whose it was or how long it had been there, but it looked seaworthy enough to be sailed, and so he did. The woods were quiet when he pushed the boat from the shore and leaped aboard, careful not to let his feet touch the water. The boat had oars, and carefully he rowed the boat further on the lake. He didn’t dare to go too far from the safety of the shore, but there would be no fish big enough to feed a family of three in the reeds, so he rowed. Nothing happened. The quiet of the woods didn’t falter, and the water of the lake sounded like any other against the sides on the boat. When Carwood thought he had found a good spot, he prepared the nets, cast them over, and then turned his attention to his fishing rod. During the next hour he did indeed manage to hook a beautiful silvery fish, then another and another after that, as poor a fisherman as he was. He gutted the fish there on the boat, tossed the scraps over the edge, and then, satisfied, rowed the boat back ashore. For a cursed lake it sure was generous fishing grounds, and he decided to leave the nets in the water and come back to check on them in a few days. He took the fish back home, where his mother was glad to have something so fresh and good to cook for her children, and so much that she didn’t need to prepare it all right away but could wrap some of it in paper with salt and store it in the ice box. They ate well that night, as well as the next and the night after that. In three days, Carwood returned to the lake. He found the same boat, pushed it from the shore and took it to the same place he had gotten so lucky three days before. He had his fishing rod with him too, but first he reached for the nets. He had hoped there would be fish in it, but all hopes of easy prey vanished as he pulled and found it too light. His disappointment turned into bafflement and worry when he pulled the net into the boat and found it not only empty but destroyed. At first he thought it had been torn only in one place, but when he carded through it more carefully he noticed how the entire net had been shredded, every eye torn open, leaving only loose strings on floats. It had been a strong net, worthy for even sea fishing, but now it was destroyed. A shiver went down Carwood’s spine on that quiet morning as he wondered what had torn the net like that, but he wouldn’t allow himself be spooked by thinking too hard on it, and so he left the net in the bottom of the boat, took his fishing rod and started fishing. He had brought his father’s other fishing net with him too, so when this time big, silver-scaled fish took his bait, he gutted them, tossed the scraps back into the lake and lastly threw the net after. This time too he took his prey home to his family, but the shredded fishing net he hid and fixed on his own. Three days later, Carwood went back to the black-watered lake again. He took the boat, rowed to his spot and pulled up the net. The net was threateningly light as he was pulling it up, and surely enough, he found it shredded just like the last one. Thick ropes had been snapped like they were nothing, ripped apart leaving nothing but holes too large to catch anything that could swim in sweet waters. He fished with the rod again and still decided to try his luck with the net he had just fixed, tossing it overboard. As he did so, he did glance into the black depths of the lake, the water so clear he should have been able to see all the way to the bottom, yet there appeared to be none. For a moment too long Carwood stayed like that, leaning over the side of the boat and staring into the water, trying to make out what was in there in its unknown depths. Little hairs in the back of his neck stood up, and quickly he pulled back. Without letting himself think too much about it he hastily he rowed back to the shore, jumped to the safety of dry land, secured the boat and rushed home. But this time too he had caught more than enough fish to feed his family, and this time when he once again brought his catch to them, his brother suggested he should bring back enough to sell at the market. “Take father’s old fishing nets and try with those. You have clearly found an excellent spot, so why not bring in more?” his brother said. Carwood just smiled and promised to try, not daring to tell him where he went fishing and what had happened to the nets he had already taken there. Three days passed again, and Carwood went to the lake to get the net. He took the boat and started rowing, taking it out of the reeds and further from the shore. He pulled with the oars, the boat moving easily along the calm water, and he kept glancing over his shoulders while he manoeuvred the boat to the floats marking his net. He had a strange feeling he was rowing further from the shore this time. He kept glancing between the floaters and the shore as the boat glided along and could have sworn he had never taken the boat this far before, but quickly deemed the thought silly. The net had weights so it wouldn’t float away, so it must have been simply a trick of light in this morning that was mistier than usual. Pale haze drifted slowly across the lake and made it look different, that was all. He brought the boat side first next to the nets and pulled the oars up. It was dead quiet around, not even the water made a sound against the sides of the boat, and suddenly Carwood felt that too familiar shiver prickling at the back of his neck. Suddenly, he didn’t want to lean over the side of the boat and pull the net up. He didn’t want to put one finger over the side of the boat, let alone put his hands into the water. It was a silly feeling and he should have pushed such a childish thing out of his mind, but he was alone out there, shivering in the summer morning, and so he decided to try the rod first and only then pull the net up last. It wasn’t like he had caught anything with that thing anyway, so regular fishing was the most sensible thing to do. Only today, he didn’t catch any fish. His line stayed relaxed and the float didn’t jump at all for a whole hour. Carwood checked the bait and tried different sides of the boat, but caught nothing. Eventually, after over an hour of sitting there with nothing trying his hook, he had to turn back to the net. There was nothing he could do to avoid pulling it up, silly childish fears or not. He put the rod away, took a deep breath, reached for the net and started to pull. It was heavy. He had expected it to be light so he hadn’t really pulled at it and found he couldn’t make it budge at all. His grip slipped and he had to try again, this time leaning further over the side. Suddenly there was a hard thump from underneath the boat, so hard it made the tail end jump and water splash. Carwood startled and yelped, splashes getting him wet with water as cold as straight from a spring, and he quickly turned to see what had happened. He wondered if he had hit a piece of driftwood but immediately realized that was impossible since the boat wasn’t moving anywhere. He snapped his eyes back to the net that he was still grasping, and as he looked back into the black water, he saw two eyes looking back at him. He froze on the spot. There was something in the water just below the surface, a pale creature with sharp bones, a shining white skin and two black eyes staring right up at him. It looked like a man and yet nothing like one, it had a human face that was too hard and shiny, too smooth and too white, with black hair that floated like fine algae around the head, and as Carwood stared, the creature opened its mouth, shoving its red insides and two rows of pearly-white, sharp teeth. A streak of primal fear struck through him, and Carwood cried out and threw himself on his back in the bottom of the boat. There was a splash and the creature emerged from the water, flopping over the boat’s side, rocking it and making it take a gulp of water. Carwood cried out again, scrambling away from the creature though he couldn’t get far in the small rowing boat. The creature was the size of a full-grown man and shaped like one too, only hard and smooth all over, so pale it looked like it had been drained of all blood and with a strange green tint in its complexion. It had arms and legs where a human would, but they looked different, as if they had bones and muscles in the wrong places, and they had rows of fins as well as fish-like webbings where fingers and toes should have been. Its skin was hard and white all over, but in places it was covered in green algae and strings of clam shells and pearls, as if it was wearing them. It turned its black eyes towards Carwood, showed its sharp teeth at him, and then spoke in a human voice: “Is nothing enough for you greedy humans?!” the creature roared. “You come into my home uninvited, and even though I still let you eat my fish, you still keep trying to catch me! I will never go into your traps, human!” Carwood, who had scrambled all the way to the other end of the boat and was grasping his fish knife in hand, froze when he heard the creature talk. Between that, its black eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth, Carwood couldn’t think of anything to do, let alone to say. “What?” was the only thing that he managed to hiccup, and even that was more a shocked reaction than any attempt at communication. The creature in his boat squirmed closer, fins flaring and teeth bared. “How dare you!? You treat me like an animal that you can trap and drag ashore to treat as prey or a pet! I will not have it, you will see, fisherman!” The creature had fins lining its face, and it flared and shook them while it flashed its teeth. “I was not fishing for you!” Carwood sputtered, “I didn’t know you lived here – I don’t even know what you are! I’m just trying to feed my family!” The creature hissed. “I am what lives in this lake!” Carwood remembered fairy tales, nursery rhymes and childhood stories that his mother had used to tell about evil creatures that lived in bodies of water – lakes, creeks, rivers, streams, wells – and suddenly he knew what this creature was. “You are a water-dweller. A spirit of the water,” he said, “you drown children.” The creature flared its fins again and hissed, its hindlegs kicking like it was trying to swim in the air. As it spoke Carwood could see gaping flaps on the sides of its neck, flaps that he recognized as gills. “I do not, you insolent human!” it hissed, clearly offended. “I do not drown children, I swim with young men! Did you think that all those delicious fish guts you baited me with could lure me into a trap?!” “I’m sorry!” Carwood said, “I didn’t realize! I really wasn’t fishing for you! I’m not trying to catch you! I didn’t even know a creature like you lived here! Please don’t drown me, my family needs me!” The creature narrowed its eyes at him. “I am not a creature! My name is Speirs,” he said. He seemed to evaluate Carwood’s fear with new eyes and with less teeth. He crossed his arms underneath his chin, leaning against the middle seat of the boat. “And I’m not going to drown you, human. But this is my lake! I allow you to be here, that is all.” Carwood dared to lower the knife a little bit. The water-dweller was a terrifying sight with his bottomless eyes, white glimmering skin and sharp teeth, but he was talking like an intelligent being and Carwood had to admit that he was a beautiful creature, once you got over the strangeness and danger. “I… I… thank you for letting me be here, Speirs. My name is Carwood,” he said, hoping to pacify the thing. To reach him Speirs would only have to launch once and sink his sharp teeth into his neck, and he didn’t doubt that he was capable of that. Speirs looked at him, his pale face suddenly curious under his dark hair. He tilted his head, pearls and clams rattling. “Carwood, huh,” he said, his voice smooth like a song. “Yes,” Carwood breathed. Speirs’ cold black eyes glimmered and flickered, looking him over. “Well then, Carwood. Thank you for the fish guts, they were very juicy and delicious.” “Ah… O- Okay.” “You are welcome to fish here to feed your family all you like, but don’t you ever throw a net in my lake again,” Speirs said. “I won’t, I promise,” Carwood hastily assured. He swallowed even though his dry throat protested and lowered the knife. “I promise to be kinder in the future, okay?” Speirs stared at him blankly for a moment, and then flashed him something that could have been interpreted as a toothy smile. “Just keep the fish guts coming,” he said. He pushed himself to the boat’s side again, looking like he was about to dive back into the water. Then he suddenly stilled as if remembering something and turned back to him. “Oh. And Carwood?” “Y—Yes?” Carwood managed. Speirs gave him another mysterious, sharp smile and fluttered his dark eyes. “I hope you’re a good swimmer.” And before Carwood had a chance to say anything, Speirs made his whole body bounce and convulse, throwing his powerful body back into the water and capsizing Carwood’s boat.

#band of brothers #speirton #band of brothers fanfic #mun ficci #this was supposed to be a short one dammit.........

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thesweatycollectiontyrant · 6 years ago

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35MM

Today, we have more of a song cycle than a musical all based on 35MM photographs. Today’s Bop is 35MM.

Background Info

One of my friends told me about one song from this show. On the way home from rehearsal that night, I listened to it. Wow. I was hooked. I think this show really decided to go in a different direction and it did it successfully.

Writers

Music and lyrics are by Ryan Scott Oliver, who has written a few stand-alone songs I’ve played for people and heard at performances, and also wrote music and lyrics to Jasper in Deadland. The concept came from Matthew Murphy, a popular theatrical photographer. The show is based on 35mm photographs taken by Murphy.

Character List

WOMAN 1 (Soprano) - plays Woman 1, Image 1, Nightmare, the Lover, Cantus, Watcher, Soprano, Betsy, Nightwalker, Lonely, Jessy, and Chorus WOMAN 2 (Mezzo-Soprano) - plays Woman 2, Photographer, Nightmare, the Broad, Altus, She, Watcher, Les Voix en Dessous, Alto, Lindsay, and the Balladeer MAN 1 (Tenor) - plays Man 1, Image, the Idle Boy, Tenor, His Savior, Watcher, Les Voix en Dessous, Alex, A Friend of Jules and Jessy’s, and Chorus MAN 2 (Tenor) - plays Man 2, Image, Nightmare, the Manny, Bassus, the Sinner, Watcher, the Cajun, Bass, Jay, Her Mister, Jules, and Chorus MAN 3 (Baritone) - plays Man 3, Image, Nightmare, the Long-Tethered Knight, He, Watcher, Ben, Radio and Chorus

Who’s Singing

I chose to listen to the only available cast recording, featuring Alex Brightman, Ben Crawford, Jay Armstrong Johnson, Lindsay Mendez, and Betsy Wolfe.

Let’s Do This

I’m really excited to get into this show. From the songs I’ve heard, the show is really fun to listen to. A lot of good audition songs will come out of this. I’m also following the vocal score offered by Samuel French, so the songs might be somewhat out of order from the recording.

The show begins with an Ensemble number called “Stop Time”. I started the song, and got about twenty seconds in and I was so shook I had to rewind. That’s how good this is. Betsy is singing high soprano notes and I’m a sucker for that, of course. I really love Lindsay Mendez’s voice. Just so smooth and gorgeous. Her chest voice is so strong.

The next song is called “Crazytown”. I have heard a little bit of this song because of the strange noises the Ensemble makes during it. The first two verses are interesting. Then this got weird REAL quick. I’m here for all this rapping. That song was pretty dope.

The next song, “On Monday” is one of my favorite songs in this show. There’s kind of a “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen meets “Backseat Serenade” by All Time Low vibe. It’s very pop punk, so in all reality we’re just revisiting middle school. Not to mention, Betsy Wolfe’s voice is perfection in every genre. I love the “sol-mi-la-mi-sol-mi-la-mi-sol-mi-re” theme on the chorus on the word “juvenile”. Her voice is just so crystal clear. She’s literally wailing on a High G. She’s such a versatile singer. This song is one of those that puts me in a good mood regardless of what I’m doing.

“Caralee” is another fun song in this show. Before I start talking about Jay Armstrong Johnson and the song in general, let’s talk about the intro. We’ve got some sort of percussion, strings, and a harpsichord. First of all, a harpsichord? Interesting choice. It fits so well despite it being an “out-there” choice for a show like this. Another thing I’m kind of obsessed with is the strings at the end of the measure. It’s playing thirds, and on the last eighth note, it is a C# and an E, and the C# is so flat. I’m pretty sure it’s on purpose, but it kind of gives the rest of the song a funny vibe. The song starts and it’s about this manny who watches this brat named Caralee. She practically tortures him by just doing normal, little kid stuff, like playing with scissors and getting into his stuff. This song is so funny to me. There’s a lot of clever wordplay and rhyming. You can envision this situation. We’ve all seen it before. I don’t want to spoil too much. This song is also really easy to listen to.

“The Party Goes with You” begins and the intro is so lovely. I could listen to that on loop all day long. It’s got kind of a chamber music sound to it. It almost reminds me of Evanescence in a way. It’s a shame I didn’t listen to this song earlier. Lindsay Mendez is so lovely in this song. The song is very simple. During the chorus, there’s a rock organ with some tremolo that comes in, giving it a more modern sound. The melodic line during the verses is mostly just up and down the scale, and it’s so satisfying. This is a great song for an Alto. It sits pretty low in most female voices. It has a melancholy feel to it. Check this one out. It’s special.

Now we’re back to a seemingly zany piece of music with “Good Lady”. It starts out with sort of a medieval chant by the Ensemble in 5/4. Then a faster rock feel starts with Ben Crawford on the lead, and WOW. This dude’s voice is so nice! It reminds me a lot of Steven Pasquale. This song is really cool. A lot of different stuff. I’m about a quarter into the show, and I think this show would be really good driving music. The song begins and ends the same way.

I’m probably gonna skip most of the Transitions, but “Transition #2″ is really nice. It foreshadows the melody of “The Ballad of Sara Berry” which comes later in the show.

“He & She” has a quirky feel at the beginning. THIS SONG IS SO GOOD. The runs and riffs. Wow. Ben and Lindsay really did it in with this one. I wasn’t too fond of “Crazytown”, but since then, I’ve liked every single song. Completely. That’s really great. This is a fantastic duet.

Now we’re on “The Seraph”. The song is slower, but it has a really easy-going, coffee shop feel. That song is really nice. Go check that out.

“Immaculate Deception” was nice. It’s one of those songs where I’d like to sing it, but I’m not crazy about listening to it. It’s cool to hear everyone together.

Next is “Leave, Luanne” which a lot of people have talked about, but I’ve never listened to it. The tempo marking describes it as a “Southern Gothic Ghost Story”. I was so transfixed while listening to it, I can’t write anything about it. This is an epic song. seven and a half minutes. Wow.

“Mama, Let Me In” is a nice little chorale sung by four of the members of the company.

The next song, “Why Must We Tell Them Why?” starts out and it sounds like anything straight off the radio. It literally could be a Walk the Moon or The 1975 song. THIS SONG IS SO FUN OH MY LORD. UGH. Go listen to this. I know I’m saying that after every song but it’s just because I mean it and it’s so good. Literally everything about it. The music, the harmonies, the singing, the stories, the everything. Do yourself a favor and listen to this song and this album in general. This song also reminds me of “Ready to Go” by Panic! at the Disco.

I’m pretty sure “Twisted Teeth” is about vampires? Hopefully? The lyrics to the song are really weird, but I really like the music. Betsy and Jay did a great job on that one. It starts off strange musically, but it gets better.

“Hemming and Hawing” happens, and this song is so beautiful. Just simply beautiful. I don’t really know how to describe it, other than gorgeous. A nice 9/8 meter, kind of a “The Only Exception” by Paramore feeling.

“Cut You a Piece” is one of those typical I gave you my heart and you broke it songs. But there’s something special about it. The song is really nice. I’d say it’s worth listening to.

“The Ballad of Sara Berry” is a murderous prom-queen song. It’s also the first song I listened to from this show. It describes Sara Berry, whose goal is to thwart Julie Jenkins to win Senior Prom Queen. She is encouraged by her parents because they tell her that there’s no room “for a princess at prom”. She goes to all odds, killing all other candidates until Julie Jenkins calls the cops on her, all while Lindsay Mendez is belting up a storm. This song literally ranges two octaves. It is goosebump-inducing. GO CHECK THIS OUT.

The “Finale” reprises all of the songs sung throughout the show.

Audition Songs

A lot of these songs are solos that just have background vocals. If used for an audition, just cut the background vocals. The way this show is cast is that there are five singers and they all play different characters throughout the show. The characters will be labeled as the character they play in the specific song, followed by which singer it is. The singers and voice types are labelled in the above Character Descriptions section.

“On Monday” - The Lover (Voice 1), G3-G5

Good for a soprano with strong mix; potential character piece depending on interpretation.

“Caralee” - The Manny (Voice 4), D#3-G4

Great for Tenor with good comedic chops.

“The Party Goes with You” - The Broad (Voice 2), F#3-D5

Really good for a low Alto who can sit comfortably on the lower notes.

“The Seraph” - The Sinner (Voice 4), C3-A4

Good for a folksy Tenor or Baritone. Just cut the other parts, and this would be a great audition song.

“Hemming and Hawing” - Radio (Voice 5), A2-F#4

Awesome song for a Baritone. Cut the other line, and it’s perfect.

“Cut You a Piece” - A Friend of Jules & Jessy (Voice 3), C3-F4

Beautiful storytelling song. Cut Jules and Jessy’s parts.

“The Ballad of Sara Berry” - The Balladeer (Voice 2), F#3-F#5

Great song for rock Mezzo. Cut ensemble parts.

To Wrap It Up

This show is so different and unique. I recommend it to all MT fans. Rights are available through Samuel French. This is accessible for High Schools if you guys cut the language. This would also be really good for colleges and professional and amateur theatre companies. You’d need a dynamite Music Director and a fantastic cast, but it’s very doable. I love this show, and I can see myself listening to this for a long time. I was very pleasantly surprised by this amazing show.

Get it.

#35mm #musicals #musical theatre #contemporary #rock #belt #song cycle #ryan scott oliver

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createlaffs · 3 years ago

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Cello Diary #3

7/19/21

Didn't practice over the weekend, was really bummed about that, but I DID today so it's okay!

Started with plucking, went through scales, nothing fancy. Tried to start minor scales, but I'm not sure what the appropriate method is after the fourth degree, so I didn't keep that up. I think my Cello keeps slipping because wood has less friction than tile, maybe? I'm going to try and practice in a different part of the house tomorrow and see if that helps; maybe the office. It's cramped in my room anyway, so it should help even if the Cello keeps slipping.

Anyway, after that, I did a fuckton of bowing. Like, a shitton. Started with just moving my arm while holding the bow, tried to spend more time on that than usual. Also took breaks from actual bowing on the cello to do this as well (I should focus on doing it even more.) I bowed on open strings, then honed in on different facets of bowing; tone quality, up vs. down strokes, changing notes without changing strokes, focusing on elbow vs. shoulder usage, etc. Focused mainly on using the C and G strings, since I'm still lacking the hand muscles/hold memory to play on the D and A strings without it hurting. Really trying to train my ear to hear the slightest sharp or flat tones, too!

Some specific problems I noticed today;

- Maybe this is because of all the slipping, but I'm not sure how to position my Cello. Should the scroll fall behind my head, or directly beside it? How steep should the Cello run diagonal along my body? How far forward should the base go? Are my legs cradling it properly? Are my feet too far in or out? Is my body leaning to one direction or the other? Ugh!!

- I don't breathe when I'm bowing, especially once I start trying to change notes while maintaining the same stroke direction. So many things to focus on; hitting the right tones, keeping even pace on my bow stroke, my posture, pulling back with my arm to hold down strings as opposed to pressing against my thumb, pressing hard enough into the bow so that the strings reverberates. Hopefully, just my doing it more often it'll become more comfortable, and doing all those things will just be second nature.

- I think I'm going to start researching how to properly direct my practice, or at the very least try to jot down a plan. Maybe pull out the book my old professor had me buy? Or start plucking out at least one melody per session? Since my professor isn't responding, I'm not really sure, but I do want to make sure I have a goal of some sort beyond just these exercises.

Lots to do! Hopefully will be getting it soon.

#cello #diaries

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deadcactuswalking · 4 years ago

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 28/11/2020

Huh... I expected a busier week this week but I probably got what was ahead of me just a bit earlier this week instead of anything that feels contemporary or currently relevant. I mean, yes, we do have three top 10 debuts but that’s as far as our stories go in terms of the big singles and albums I expected to have some kind of less muted impact on the chart. The big issue here is that I didn’t consider how much of a chaotic mess 2020 has been, so people really want to get straight to the festivities, if you catch my drift. Hence, with four weeks until Christmas, and a Christmas that for a lot of people will be a lot different thanks to you-know-what, we have a lot more of the holiday stuff crashing in earlier and harder than I or anyone expected. It’s still November, guys, calm down. Anyway, Ariana Grande’s “positions” spends a fifth week at #1 and welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

As always, here’s a brief rundown of what’s going on. Most of this rundown for the UK Top 75 will be holiday music, so I might as well run through the returning entries and climbers first. We have “One More Sleep” by Leona Lewis at #72, “Merry Xmas Everybody” by Slade at #69, “I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday” by WIzzard at #61, “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea at #55, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” by Brenda Lee at #52, “Step into Christmas” by Elton John at #49, “Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson at #46, “HOLIDAY” by Lil Nas X up to #42 off of the debut, the horribly racist and despicably awful “Do they Know it’s Christmas?” by Band Aid at #38, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé at #35, “Merry Christmas Everyone” by Shakin’ Stevens at #33 and then some big gains for the Christmas songs that were already here, like “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues featuring the late Kirsty MacColl at #26 having the biggest rise of the week (there’s always controversy surrounding that song each year so it tends to surge high – also it’s an incredible song), “Last Christmas” by WHAM! at #20 and “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey already up to #14. That doesn’t mean there weren’t other gains and returning entries of course, in fact, we have some big ones, those being “Plugged in Freestyle” by Fumez the Engineer and A92 inexplicably making its way up to #39 because Irish drill is always good for the holidays I suppose. Speaking of drill, “Whoopty” by CJ is at #12 and “Loading” by Central Cee is at #34. “Get Out My Head” by Shane Codd also enjoyed continued gains up to #24. Thanks to BTS releasing their umpteenth album Be, the lead single “Dynamite” is back at #37 – more on them later. Oddly, thanks to the PlayStation 5 of all things, “Sunflower (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse)” by Post Malone and Swae Lee returns to #30. I mean, okay, sure, it could be a worse song at that spot. Naturally, however, we have some big fallers and drop-outs because of this, so I’ll list them off starting with the fallers. Nothing survives Christmas music, and especially with UK chart rules, streaming cuts and a BTS album, everyone suffers, but especially hip-hop and R&B. In no particular categories, here’s our mish-mash of fallers: “Lemonade” by Internet Money featuring Don Toliver, Gunna and NAV at #22, “Giants” by Dermot Kennedy at #28, “What You Know Bout Love” by Pop Smoke at #29, “i miss u” by Jax Jones and Au/Ra at #31, “UFO” by D-Block Europe featuring Aitch at #32. “Holy” by Justin Bieber and Chance the Rapper at #40, “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion at #41, “Princess Cuts” by Headie One featuring Young T & Bugsey at #43, “Looking for Me” by Paul Woodford, Diplo and Kareen Lomax at #45, “Lasting Lover” by Sigala and James Arthur at #47, “Come Over” by Rudimental featuring Anne-Marie and Tion Wayne at #50, “Ain’t it Different” by Headie One featuring AJ Tracey and Stormzy at #51, “Holiday” by Little Mix at #53 (Wrong type of holiday), “Chingy (It’s Whatever)” by Digga D at #54, “Come Over” by Jorja Smith featuring Popcaan at #56, “Tick Tock” by Clean Bandit featuring Mabel and 24kGoldn at #57, “SO DONE” by The Kid LAROI at #58, “One Too Many” by Keith Urban and P!nk at #59, Jason Derulo’s “Take You Dancing” and “Savage Love (Laxed – Siren Beat)” with Jawsh 685 at #60 and #62 respectively, “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles at #64, “Mood Swings” by the late Pop Smoke featuring Lil Tjay at #67, “Deluded” by Tion Wayne and MIST at #68, “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi at #70, “Lighter” by Nathan Dawe and KSI at #71, “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals at #73, “Papi Chulo” by Octavian and Skepta at #74, and “Confetti” by Little Mix at #75. Honestly, I can’t find much to complain about here, other than maybe “Lemonade” or “Princess Cuts”, but a lot of these were either some of the biggest hits of the year or just songs hurt prematurely by the festive season. Oh, and there’s also drop-outs from the UK Top 75 ranging in degrees of importance. Here’s just the notable ones: “Straight Murder (Giggs & David)” by Giggs featuring Dave, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, “Stop Crying Your Heart Out” by BBC Children in Need off the top 10 debut last week and some over major hits from the Autumn-Winter season in 2020, like “Put Your Records On” by Ritt Momney, “Daisy” by Ashnikko, “For the Night” by the late Pop Smoke featuring Lil Baby and DaBaby, “Laugh Now Cry Later” by Drake featuring Lil Durk and three genuinely massive #1 hits and songs that will represent 2020 on a wider historical scale: “ROCKSTAR” by DaBaby featuring Roddy Ricch after 31 weeks, “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi after 52 weeks and finally, “Dance Monkey” by Tones and I after 67 weeks. Okay, so “ROCKSTAR” is the only good song there but I’ll talk about these tracks in my end-of-year lists, if those happen. Now we’ve gotten through all of that, let’s discuss our new arrivals.

NEW ARRIVALS

#66 – “Blue & Grey” – BTS

Produced by Ji Soo Park, Levi, V and Hiss Noise

No, I haven’t listened to that new BTS record, even if it’s just six new songs, “Dynamite” and a skit. I don’t mind BTS or K-pop as a whole but I do like my pop music with a bit of personality that I find a lot of these idol groups kind of lack. That doesn’t mean they can’t have infectious and good songs, however, and that also doesn’t mean that they can’t display actual emotion because this song is directly about anxiety, depression and especially artist burn-out, which is a topic of all bands BTS should know well. Reading the English-translated lyrics, despite a clear language barrier, some of these lyrics are pretty poetic and I do like the use of colour imagery. Some of the lyrics seem odd, probably because if I were a Korean speaker I’d pick it up more naturally, but SUGA’s first verse is pretty concise and effective, using this metaphor of a blue question mark over his head, and J-Hope gets into some unexpected biblical territory and goes on this admittedly emo-pop trajectory that I kind of vibe with. The song itself is actually less sonically interesting than I expected, being a mostly melancholic acoustic guitar-based ballad that sure, has some pretty nice acoustic pick-ups, but doesn’t really lay an interesting enough foundation in the verses for them to flow over, especially with the awkward 808 bass and strings that are honestly a lot prettier than any of the instruments further to the front of mix. The boys sound mostly fine, and the chorus is really nicely sung, but J-Hope’s aggressive delivery and charismatic inflections, as well as some clever mixing, make his verse the clear stand-out here, at least in my opinion. For what it is, this is a damn good attempt at tackling these subjects to a young audience and I respect it, even if its meaning gets lost in imagery and could be a bit skewed thanks to how the song’s written. Otherwise, yeah, this is nice.

#65 – “Move On” – Lil Tjay

Produced by Avery on the Beat

You know, it’s odd that we have such scattered new arrivals this week and they all seem to be concentrated in little bubbles at opposite extremes of the chart. These first three are damn near consecutive and in the top 10... Well, you’ll see. For now, we have Lil Tjay of all people debuting on the chart with what seems to be the biggest single from that upcoming second record. I’m not a big fan of the guy, in fact I think he kind of ruined Polo G’s “Pop Out”, but the lead single, “Losses” was pretty okay, and I haven’t looked far enough into his work to really make a judgement. Also, despite being a typical New York Auto-Tune crooner kind of on the same level as A Boogie wit da Hoodie, he has a connection with the drill side of New York, and has collaborations with people like Fivio Foreign and the late Pop Smoke. This doesn’t really show any of that, however, rather going for a break-up track where Tjay feels like he’s going against his deeper instinct to move on from his ex-partner, even if he admits the relationship was toxic. It doesn’t help Tjay’s narrative that the song is borderline unlistenable, though. He decides to sing the ad-libs and some parts of the chorus in this tedious and nasal cadence even worse than his usual whiny voice, which is mixed way too high and he’s still somehow completely unintelligible under the layers of ugly Auto-Tune and reverb on the echoed background vocals. Also, this beat is based on a cheap acoustic guitar loop with a stiff trap skitter planted on top and bass mastering so terrible Lil Baby would be jealous of it. By the time the beat brings in some interesting electric guitar riffs, it’s fading out, and it is absolutely a sensory overload in the verses. I don’t mind the content here at all, but yeah, this sounds awful in almost every regard. Also, since this is our only “rap” song here, where’s Megan Thee Stallion’s album on the chart? Not even “Body”? Huh, I guess that’s why you shouldn’t release in the holiday season.

#63 – “This Christmas” – Jess Glynne

Produced by ???

Jess Glynne produced a cover of the Donny Hathaway classic and uploaded it as an exclusive to Amazon Music for no reason other than potentially driving up sales for that Christmas #1. It worked with Ellie Goulding’s “River” last year (which wasn’t even a Christmas song, just a Joni Mitchell cover), so let’s hope she doesn’t succeed this time. It is on YouTube, so I won’t protest that much, but honestly, why would you want to hear Jess Glynne’s cover over the Hathaway classic, with his smooth, buttery voice, soaring strings and lest we forget the pianos, bongos and that gorgeous horn section that make the relaxed single an absolute classic and one of the best options for Christmas pop, especially in the more R&B sector. With her recognisable but generic smoky-indie-girl voice, plastic-ass production on the horns, strings and especially the digital production, Jess Glynne’s cover isn’t modernised or revived, it just feels gentrified. It tries to go for a guitar solo but it’s in the back of the mix and lasts for like five seconds so what’s even the point? Lil Tjay’s song may have been terrible but this offends me more on a personal level for whatever reason, probably because I am opposed to how commercialised and cultural Christmas is nowadays, which makes the best, more grounded and down-to-Earth Christmas songs the best written and those with the most longevity... at least I think so. This won’t last, though, it’s “I Love Sausage Rolls”-tier Christmas track, and I hope it fades away soon enough.

#48 – “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” – Justin Bieber

Produced by honestly, who cares?

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and (censored)ing end me. At least Jess Glynne can convincingly sell a Christmas track with her smoky, warm and powerful voice, and, you know, at least the woman can SING! Justin Bieber making a Christmas song is completely expected after his born-again-Christian ass got married and settled down with his new family, and this is pretty obvious in his songs. I mean, “Holy” is practically already a Christmas song, and even with that, it takes a more interesting Christian angle and is mostly about marriage and relationships. Bieber has made Christmas music before, yes, but as a Disney-like child star just to sell records for his big conglomerate... and wow, how Bieber hasn’t changed, since THIS is a soulless cover of the Brenda Lee classic exclusive to Amazon bloody Music. It’s not even on YouTube in full so what’s the point of listening to this all? What is the use of this? It’s not going to charity, it’s less widely-available than the original and as far as we know, it’s not connected to a wider Bieber Christmas release. When Katy Perry pulled this schtick last year, at least she had an original song – and a good one at that – to back it up. If you’re going to sell your soul to the industry devil to attempt to get a sappy Christmas song out to the public so your name creeps back into the household, at least be upfront about it, and not hiding behind your Amazon Music subscriptions. The worst part is how this is actually charting higher than Brenda Lee’s rendition. Bieber, you soulless industry puppet, put your Goddamned song on Spotify or Apple, or just don’t make it at all. You already have a Christmas standard in the form of “Mistletoe”, and that one actually kind of bumps in the sleigh, so why are you doing this? God, I’m praying for an actually good song on this chart any moment now.

#10 – “Life Goes On” – BTS

Produced by Pdogg

You could describe BTS in a lot of ways, but “alternative hip hop” isn’t what I would have expected. Thanks for that, Rolling Stone India. Anyway, this is the big album-release single from the record, and it’s about you-know-what, but more specifically finding comfort, safety and happiness during chaotic world events. They made a speech at the 75th United Nations General Assembly, because of course they did, and this was their main message: “Life goes on, let’s live on”. Honestly, it’s not a bad message and something that people do need to hear right now, even if it is more of a blanket statement than anything too specific or meaningful, and, you know what, that will definitely help this song’s longevity. I mean, that vaccine’s on its way... right? Either way, this song is pretty good. I do like that chipmunk vocal sample playing against the slick acoustic strumming – I understand this sound is all over the album – and both the falsettos from members like Jungkook and RM’s deep rap cadences work pretty well over a beat that, whilst lacking the punch you’d want for a song like this, does a good job at expressing that wish to find serenity and be calm when... you know, 2020 is happening. SUGA’s verse is short, pointless and kind of just there to get all the boys on one track, especially since he’s not really flowing that well here. It reminds me kind of how they want all of the Backstreet Boys to get on the big single to appeal to each and every fan, even if the clear stand-outs of personality will have the most success. For BTS though, I don’t see that, and I think they pretty clearly work best together when they compile all of their ideas into a mellow albeit pretty motivational track like this. I absolutely love those harmonies from Jimin and V in the outro, and whilst I don’t see this sticking around on the charts, I’ll stick around in my playlist, which is more than I can usually say for whenever the Korean lads pop up on the chart. This is our first of three consecutive top 10 entries this week though, so let’s keep going.

#9 – “Monster” – Shawn Mendes and Justin Bieber

Produced by Frank Dukes, Kaan Gunesberk and Matthew Tavares

Oh... he’s back. Well, okay, Shawn Mendes sounds pretty nice over this trip-hop-adjacent steady drum beat and the really pretty, cloudy guitars, as well as some of the harmonies they end up having and the distorted guitar by the end and... man, I know “Wonder” flopped but I don’t see this sticking around either. It’s just a nothingness track and while I do like the more specific content about the uncertainties of fame and the music industry, even from the Biebs, Sure, this is pleasant but it’s clearly just radio filler and since radio doesn’t factor into the UK’s charts, I see this as a pretty profound refusal of wanting an actual hit from both Shawn and whoever that guy is next to him on the cover art. I was wondering on how to actually write this segment since I really have nothing to say about this song at all other than that. I was thinking of ignoring Bieber’s presence but that would actually give me less to talk about, so... “Monster” by Kanye West is one of his most hard-hitting tracks and definitely one of his best brag-rap bangers, with an iconic verse from Nicki Minaj and admittedly middling input from JAY-Z and Rick Ross, all stuck together by the minimal, tribal percussion that lets everyone go off and be a bit more unorthodox, as well as Bon Iver’s eerie voice caressing this beat in the intro and outro. Let’s get even newer for a song from this year, like King Princess’ beautiful piano ballad “Monster” that does a damn great job at representing the characters it was made for, those being Marceline and Princess Bubblegum from Adventure Time. I’ve yet to watch Distant Lands because I want to re-watch at least the essential episodes from the original series before, but I am excited to see these characters again and in a different light. 21 Savage’s “monster” featuring Childish Gambino is a pretty damn good trap track, with an unexpected rap verse from Gambino, Paramore making a song called “Monster” for the Transformers soundtrack is the most late-2000s thing that has ever occurred – in 2011, no less, uh, I like the “Monster Mash”. I think there’s an Eminem song in there somewhere, I don’t know. Look, you get the point, I hope that’s enough stalling. Let’s get to that final song.

#8 – “Prisoner” – Miley Cyrus featuring Dua Lipa

Produced by the Monsters & Strangerz and watt

So, Miley Cyrus was a Disney teen pop star and has since been trying to carve out her musical identity to varying degrees of success, but most transitions to styles have been largely unsuccessful in terms of creating a long-term sound. You have the dance-pop, club and hip-hop-adjacent party tracks on Bangerz, the psychedelic “avant-garde” era of Miley Cyrus and Her Dead Petz, the soft country-pop ballads on Younger Now, the ugly alternative R&B-trap-RuPaul-featuring garbage on She is Coming and finally her new, new wave sound, which can be seen in his most polished form on Plastic Hearts and its two singles, “Midnight Sky” and “Prisoner”. Miley is getting a whole bunch of sounds from a lot of different genres and styles going around in the late 1970s and early 1980s, such as the hard rock, pop rock and even punk rock styles all gaining a lot of popularity at the time, and has fused them with disco and modern production to make what is basically a Blondie album if they still had their stuff together in 2020. She has got legends on this album though, like Joan Jett, Billy Idol and even Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac, and honestly I really like how she’s making a female-fronted rock album that is written and performed really well and honestly should probably be her style going forward if she wants to stick with the longevity. I mean, look at “Midnight Sky”, it’s literally still at #7 staring in the face of its successor, “Prisoner”. Much like Lipa’s own “Physical”, this track interpolates Olivia Newton-John’s classic of the same name (that kind of sucks in retrospect), and does a better job than “Physical”, where Dua Lipa has much more of a presence over the drum machines and that minimal bassline that runs through the chorus really well alongside the strings and swells of guitar. This is dance-able, sure, but it’s more of a showcase of Lipa’s swagger and Cyrus’ raspy tone that really works on this album. That pre-chorus is great, especially the second time where Lipa goes solo for that last line. Honestly, my only complaint is the bridge / outro, which feels pretty under-cooked, and that there should be more inter-play between the characters on display here. Other than that, yeah, this kicks ass, and I’m just grateful this song is here and as high as it is, especially on a week like this.

Conclusion

Now, is it completely fair to give Worst of the Week to a song I can only legally listen to 15 seconds of? Yes. Absolutely. It’s going to Justin Bieber’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” on pure cynicism alone. Dishonourable Mention goes to Lil Tjay for “Move On” being an earache, with the Honourable Mention going to “Life Goes On” by BTS for just being solid all around. It’s pretty obvious where Best of the Week lies, though, so yes, it is going to “Prisoner” by Miley Cyrus featuring Dua Lipa, and it really wasn’t even close. Here’s our top 10 for this week:

Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank if you want to give me more undeserved clout and I’ll see you next week.

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frankkjonestx · 5 years ago

Text

Insects’ extreme farming methods offer us lessons to learn and oddities to avoid

To picture this farm, imagine some dark blobs dangling high up in a tree.

Each blob can reach “about soccer ball size,” says evolutionary biologist Guillaume Chomicki of Durham University in England. From this bulbous base, a Squamellaria plant eventually sprouts leafy shoots and hangs, slumping sideways or upside down, from its host tree’s branches. In Fiji, one of the local names for the plant translates as “testicle of the trees.”

Some Squamellaria species grow in clusters and teem with fiercely protective ants. As a young seedling blob plumps up, jelly bean–shaped bubbles form inside, reachable only through ant-sized doorways. As soon as a young plant cracks open its first door to daylight, “ant workers start to enter and defecate inside the seedling to fertilize it,” Chomicki says.

The idea that ants tend these plants as farmers gave Chomicki one of those surprise-left-turn moments in science. In a string of papers published since 2016, he and colleagues share evidence for the idea that the Philidris nagasau ants may be the first known animals other than humans to farm plants. (The other known insect farmers cultivate fungi.) Chomicki’s latest paper, in the Feb. 4 Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, reports that ants planting seeds of their blobby crop make trade-offs, going for full sun and maximizing the rewarding, sweet flowers rather than planting in the shade, where plants would have higher nitrogen.

Until Chomicki’s work, biologists accepted only three groups of fungus-farming insects as achieving the essentials of full agriculture and so rivaling human efforts. Select types of beetles, termites and ants each tamed different fungi, tending their much-needed food crop from sowing to harvest.

Humans didn’t farm any food before roughly 12,000 years ago as far as we know. Insects started much earlier. Even leaf-cutter ants, relative newcomers to farming, have been growing their specialized crops for about 15 million years.

The dark lump above, a Squamellaria plant, is not part of the tree it hangs from. It’s a member of the coffee family, cultivated on sunny branches as part of lumpy plantations created by Philidris nagasau ants.G. Chomicki

Ants find homey cavities in the base of a Squamellaria blob (cross section shown). The plant naturally forms both knobby-walled zones (left inset) perfect for latrines and smooth-surfaced living spaces (right).G. Chomicki

To compare agriculture in insects and humans, entomologists, archaeologists and other specialists have held three gatherings in the last six years searching for principles and perhaps some practical advice. (A press fellowship from the Konrad Lorenz Institute for Evolution and Cognition Research paid for me to attend the 2019 symposium in Klosterneuburg, Austria.)

The fungus farms of leaf-cutter Atta ants and their close relatives invite comparisons with human farms. Both kinds of farmers do things that look unsustainable, such as growing single crops at a vast scale and applying pesticides. Yet the ants have managed to persist for millions of years.

Biologists have long mused about whether we humans can make our farms more robust by imitating the practices of ants and other small farmers. That question sounds especially pertinent when human agriculture is heading for big challenges, such as predicted population growth and climate change.

How to learn from ancient farmers isn’t an easy question though. Evolution hones by competition, not design, so there are some goofy tactics out there among the insect marvels. Now is a great era for such discussions, because researchers are paying more attention to smaller, odder insect farms. Scientists have barely begun to explore the ways beetles grow fungi, or the quirks of the ants that grow their own plants.

Farmers vs. not-quites

Just what counts as true farming makes a fine starter for impassioned conversations among scientists. (Perhaps the fungi are farming the ants, one longtime expert argues.) In this article, true agriculturists are defined as those who habitually plant a crop, tend it, harvest it and depend on its success.

Plenty of other creatures — social amoebas, a marsh snail, a damselfish, for instance — have evolved ways to encourage food to appear where and when they want it. Impressive as those feats are, plenty of scientists don’t consider those lifestyles full-on agriculture.

Ambrosia beetles dig tunnels into trees for their fungus farms. The fungi take in nutrients from the tree, and become beetle chow. J. Hulcr

Several thousand species of the group called ambrosia beetles make up the biggest of the three insect groups that humans deign to call true farmers. Florida’s avocado growers have become urgently interested in the invading redbay ambrosia beetle (Xyleborus glabratus) because it raises a fungus that can destroy the innards of avocado trees. Fungus farming has evolved independently at least 11 times among these beetles, says forest entomologist Jiri Hulcr of the University of Florida in Gainesville. A few ambrosia species tunneling into trees bring along a fungus that can digest wood’s tougher molecules. Most ambrosia fungal farms, though, are just scavenging nutrients in the dying tree. Still, the fungus gets nutrients, then the beetles eat the fungus.

A similar outsourcing of digestion feeds a second group of true farmers, around 330 species of termites in the subfamily Macrotermitinae. The termites collect bits and scraps of dead plant material and feed it to a fungus coddled in cozy caves dug out by the termites. Then the tiny farmers feast on the fungus.

Within a tunnel, Euwallacea beetles raise daughters that mate with their lone, blind brother (light brown), then set off to create more tunnel farms.J. Hulcr

The showiest of these termites are the African Macrotermes, which are master builders as well as farmers. Above ground they create mounds of hard, red-orange mud several meters high and as jagged as the Alps. The mini-mountains are porous, able to channel airflow and manage temperatures for the fungus caves within. The farm feeds the offspring of a king and outsize queen, which, in one species, is reported to produce some 20,000 eggs a day.

Atta girls

The most famous big-scale insect farmers invented their own Kansas. Fungus-farming ants started out modestly in agriculture as long as 60 million years ago. But around 15 million years ago, the Atta leaf-cutter ants and some close relatives went big. Today, each nest grows a single genetic strain of fungus at an industrial scale. A farm is a vast monoculture, a one-crop wonder like some corporate expanse of wheat rippling to the horizon.

One Atta nest can grow big enough to feed 7 million residents. Imagine Chicago with more than twice as many people, all growing their food inside city limits — and the ant city still would have more residents and more food. Of course every citizen of this double-Chicago spends a lifetime dining on mostly one food.

Atta leaf cutters are the ants that trek through so many nature documentaries. Nothing says tropical forest like a few seconds of a tiny Atta forager dwarfed under her huge leaf shard. Those leaf haulers even got a close-up in the 1994 animated Lion King movie, never mind that no real-life leaf cutters live in Africa.

Macrotermes michaelseni termites in South Africa also took up farming, bringing home bits of dead plants to feed a fungus garden.Avalon/Photoshot License/Alamy Stock Photo

Macrotermes bellicosus colonies nourished by their fungal garden build large aboveground mounds with a hard exterior and sophisticated ventilation.GFC Collection/Alamy Stock Photo

Some Atta ants live in the southern United States, however. So when I took a trip to Austin in January, Ulrich Mueller, a researcher who has spent decades studying fungus farmers at the University of Texas, offered to lead a mini-expedition to search for local leaf cutters.

I get my first glimpse of Atta texana about 10 steps into the main research building of the Brackenridge Field Laboratory. On a wall hangs a see-through teaching aid that resembles a two-story hamster palace with a tiny moving ant here and there. In one of the clear plastic boxes connected by walkway tubes lies what looks like an old gray bath sponge that really ought to be thrown out. Up close it seems more alien: irregular, micro-pocked, with zones of swampy dark brown fading to something close to pale flesh.

This fungal heap is why all those leaf haulers truck their green snippets in long lines on ant highways. The ants don’t eat the greenery. They poop on it, a pretreatment that encourages the fungal digestive enzymes. Then the ants deposit their little leaf confetti on the fungus heap to wait for lunch to grow.

“This is their stomach,” Mueller says. The fungal heap digests the greenery that the ants’ guts can’t. Feeding an ant nest full of fungus takes so much greenery that one nest of a South American Atta ant can become one of the neighborhood’s major plant eaters.

Leaf-cutter ants may be the most famous insect farmers. Atta texana ants (shown on their fungus) can provide most of the food for a colony with millions of ants.Alex Wild/Univ. of Texas at Austin

Protecting the crop

To a human, this great grazing fungal stomach appears too uniform for the ants’ own good. Each nest grows just one fungus clone, says Mueller, who has dug up bits, sampled, compared and resampled over the course of years. A human farm that grows only one or even two crop varieties invites disaster. If a pest or disease can crack the defenses of those few varieties, the whole crop is gone. Think Irish potato famine.

These ant species, however, have cultivated monocultures for millions of years. Some even use pesticides to fight a pest, swiping an invading fungus with a toxin secreted by Pseudonocardia bacteria, which thrive in an ant’s specialized pocket or body crease. Humans struggle with pests evolving resistance. For example, some Colorado potato beetles have evolved some resistance to 56 pest-killer ingredients. So how do ants keep their crops going?

For one thing, ants keep a close eye on their crops, catching and treating problems early. Mueller estimates that a farmer ant passes each bit of fungus in a garden multiple times a day. Humans call this micro-monitoring of crops “precision agriculture” and see its value for human farms too.

Also, ants may be ahead of humans in fostering beneficial microbiomes. The way ants transplant bits of garden to start a new patch could be one of the big differences between ant and human agriculture, Mueller says. Humans plant just the seed or the cutting. But when ants need to get some fungus going in a new spot, they nip out a chunk of the whole garden and move it — fungus plus whatever bazillion microbes are entangled.

The ants are replicating an entire microbial community, Mueller says. The ant farmers don’t need to know microbiology or anything except that a tuft of fungus tastes healthy. That way a microbial ensemble gets passed along that’s compatible with the crop and is a good mix against current menaces. “The ants figured out 60 million years ago … how important these interstitial microbes are,” Mueller says.

Questionable practices

While Atta ants may manage their external gut’s microbiome admirably, some other ant farming practices look wasteful.

The fungus that Atta and some close relatives grow as their only crop is not super-efficient at breaking down compounds in the leaves. “It just takes the easy-to-digest stuff,” Mueller says. In turn, when the ants eat this fungus, they treat it more like an apple tree than like a window box of salad greens. Ants nip off the plump, pickable tidbits called gongylidia that fatten at the ends of strands of this particular fungus. Plenty of the rest of the fungus is wasted.

There are seemingly more efficient options. One ant species found at the Brackenridge Field Lab, in the Cyphomyrmex genus, tends pale yellow to amber chunks of yeast that the ants eat like grapes, without even seeds to spit into the trash. Plus these farmers don’t have to cut fresh leaves to feed the farm. Instead, the ants fertilize by bringing in an available waste product: caterpillar droppings.

The Atta ants’ efforts to collect so much greenery look inefficient by comparison. To explain the process up close, Mueller and grad student Tristan Kubik lead me out of the lab into the Brackenridge woods. This balmy, blue-sky January afternoon ought to be perfect for ants hauling leaves.

To find some foragers, Kubik, a third-generation insect enthusiast, stalks with the intensity of a cat. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s pointing at: little shreds of green that give the smallest irregular twitches. It’s like looking down at a few cupcake sprinkles on the floor, each giving just the tiniest jiggle per ant step, and all barely out of sync. These are leaf cutters carrying home their greenery.

The bitty jiggles are micro-steps, and the home nest is not even within human sight yet. Just one foraging trip that’s a middling distance from the nest, say 75 meters, could take about two hours round trip on smooth ground. These A. texana ants, however, venture twice as far. All that for just one sliver, maybe the size of a fingernail paring, of some leaf. The word that pops to mind is “ridiculous.”

A lot of leaf snippets need to be cut off greenery and hauled home and then snipped some more to feed a giant fungal garden. Atta cephalotes ants will often clear a path to bring supplies to the nest.Alex Wild

In human steps, the nest is just a several minutes’ stroll away. Nests look strangely undramatic viewed from above. The biggest one we see that afternoon lies on a gentle bank with a minor reddish splotch or two of soil erosion among gnarled winter trees. With coaching, I see several modest finger-poke–sized holes in the ground. I wonder how many thousands of ants might be toiling beneath our boots. Mueller debates with himself: “three million … maybe five?”

Cutting leaves into bits is a lot of work. To make tiny confetti out of one square meter of leaf surface means cutting back and forth and around a distance of 2.9 kilometers, researchers estimated in 2016 in Royal Society Open Science, after observing a lab colony of A. cephalotes. The energy that goes into feeding the farm sounds all too familiar.

Fungi as a crop don’t photosynthesize as plants do and so can’t make lunch out of sunlight. It might be more fair to compare a fungus farm not to a wheat field, but to cattle or pigs in human-run feedlots. Each calorie of food, be it slivers of leaf clippings or railroad cars of soy beans, needs to be grown or collected and then hauled in by farmers. Giant feedlots run by ants have the same relentless supply challenges that human ones do.

Look natural

It doesn’t surprise Ford Denison that some people see drawbacks in viewing ant farms as agricultural role models. Denison is author of the 2012 book Darwinian Agriculture, and he participated in the 2019 Konrad Lorenz symposium. At the University of Minnesota in St. Paul, Denison studies agricultural sustainability and thinks about how to strategically copy from nature.

Just because we see a farmlike marvel of an ant nest or a sustainable mixed-species forest doesn’t mean mimicking its full form would be a great idea. The thing to do, he says, is to look for the details that evolution has tested for millions of years against other options.

Evolution certainly did not test the monoculture form of ant nests through competition. The ants can’t grow their fungus any other way. If there’s more than one strain of fungus in a farm, “there’s chemical warfare,” he says. One strain typically kills its rival, even if they’re growing in separate chambers.

“Their long-term use of monoculture may be evidence that monoculture can be sustainable,” Denison says. Humans looking for natural models, however, should probably aim for a higher bar. Monoculture farming among these ants “certainly doesn’t mean that it’s better than polyculture,” he says. Cultivating more diverse farms might have eased pest problems. But who knows? Ants with one crop never competed against ants with more than one.

Small ants plant seeds and cultivate the flowery Squamellaria species for shelter plus sweet floral feasts.G. Chomicki

Back to the trees

Other insect farms certainly have quirks that look as if they evolved under intense competition. Consider the treetop Squamellaria blobs, which face challenges in recycling nitrogen.

Nitrogen is often a precious commodity for plants like Squamellaria that don’t live in soil. For these plants, which have forged a space station lifestyle clinging to tree branches high above the ground, the P. nagasau ants may be cherished deliverers of nitrogen or other nutrients. The ants also offer vital defense, rushing to attack intruders that try to nibble a seed or a leaf from their bulbous farms.

As payback, the plant offers absolutely necessary shelter for the ants and food that’s convenient but replaceable in a pinch. The flowers of Squamellaria plants hold a sweet appeal for ants. When the petals fall off, the flower pauses in development for days, and ants visit to feed on a sugary rim with a shot of amino acids at the flower base.

In six Squamellaria species, as the plants grow and open more entrances to their inner cavities, the ants move in through tiny doorways and raise young. A large plant can host around 10,000 ants, and a whole ant colony can expand its boundaries to embrace multiple plants, even a mix of lumpy species.

In the plants’ bases, some chambers form smooth inner walls while other cavities sprout widely spaced little knobs. Ants tend eggs and larvae in the smooth-sided chambers. The knobby-walled cavities, Chomicki thinks, serve as ant latrines and garbage dumps. From the plant point of view, these chambers serve as donation centers for nitrogen-rich ant excretions.

The knobby walls’ uptake of nitrogen is “very, very efficient,” Chomicki says. He has injected different concentrations and tracked plants keeping up with massive influxes.

Ants check all the boxes for truly farming in the six species, Chomicki argues. He has videotaped ants planting Squamellaria seeds by tucking them under tree bark. Ants then defend the seeds from leaf beetles and other predators, even attacking inquisitive scientists. This vigorous defense in the treetop world could count as yet another chore in tending the farm.

“The ants are directly consuming food they fertilize with their feces,” says one of Chomicki’s coauthors, ecologist Toby Kiers of Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Fertilizer pollution is a hot topic in the Netherlands. In Kiers’ vision of a more sustainable future, field crops get their fertilizer from the manure in neighboring pastures, so a former waste product circles back into something useful.

Take inspiration from the ants, she urges. A blob farm is “like the ultimate circular economy.”

from Tips By Frank https://www.sciencenews.org/article/insects-ants-extreme-farming-methods-offer-good-bad-lessons

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cub-shipping-blog · 7 years ago

Note

How about some Kurb?

Of course, anon! Sorry I couldn’t get around to this until just today… My notifications haven’t been working for some reason? Thank you for the ask!

Who’s more dominant:

Me! I know, surprising. By nature, Kurloz is more submissive but pretends to be dominant, and I’m more dominant but pretend to be submissive! I’m controlling and independent by nature, and he secretly likes it.

Who’s the cuddler:

Kurloz, hands down. I have this thing about excessive touching– it makes me feel trapped and gives me anxiety! I don’t mind cuddling every now and again, but he definitely demands it. Unless we’re in public.

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon:

Usually, he’s the little spoon! As I said, I don’t like to be held for too long, and he loves being held. He’d never admit it, but he’s a total prince who loves being pampered.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:

I’d say jamming and just being in each others company. My favorite moments are when we’re both just saying whatever comes to mind and are able to laugh with each other.

Who uses all the hot water:

Kurloz. Fucking drama king has to take forever in the shower. Plus, since he’s cold blooded, he really likes being warmed up. He’s taken many an hour long shower.

Most trivial thing they fight over:

E V E R Y T H I N G. Once we had an argument over fucking Johnny Cash. We’re both super argumentative and have to have the last word.

Who does most of the cleaning:

I do! Not that Kurloz doesn’t clean, I just clean a lot more. We both have executive dysfunction out of the ass, so it’s not really much of a competition.

What has a season pass on their dvr/Who controls the netflix queue

Neither of us really watch television, to be honest. I’m not a fan of movies because I have attention disorders and I don’t like sitting through it, but he does like his horror movies. So, I’d say Kurloz probably controls Netflix. Meanwhile I’m running around the house like a cat w/ a burst of energy.

Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working:

Are you kidding? It’s me. No way is Kurloz actually interacting with some menial laborer over this travesty– what do you mean, he’s nervous? Nonsense! No one even asked you anyway, shut your motherfucking mouth!

Who leaves their stuff around:

Both of us are pretty good about picking up after ourselves, but every now and again he’ll trip over some boots I left out and I’ll get a string of curses between my temples in three different languages. It’s a rare occurrence for just this reason. Migraines for days, man.

Who remembers to buy the milk:

Me! I’m used to doing the shopping for the house, and I always keep a list w/ me. I’m pretty efficient with that sort of thing. Kurloz doesn’t want to interact w/ the peons. And by that I mean he has anxiety.

Who remembers anniversaries:

Kurloz is actually way better about that than I am. I have serious memory issues because of my mental illnesses– there have been many times where I’d ask a question multiple times, or forget I told him about something and tell him twice in a day. It’s… actually kind of upsetting for him, but thankfully my memory degradation is at a standstill and won’t worsen! I’m just a bit flighty, is all.

Who cooks normally:

Doesn’t matter, because I’m just cooking for myself. He has to prepare his own meals because of his special circumstances.

How often do they fight:

We’ve only really ever had two or three large scale fights, and they were always horrible. They lasted hours and the backlash was days long. Eventually we came around and made up and patched up the holes, learned from it all, but I always hate it when we fight. I’m miserable without him.

What do they do when they’re away from each other:

I have BPD, so I do a lot of distracting to keep myself from getting torn up over the fact that my FP isn’t with me. Most of the time, it works! I have to talk to him a lot, though. He expects a lot of text messages and a missed call or two.

He isn’t a whacko like me, so he actually gets stuff done. He’s pretty efficient and practical about doing what he needs to do first, and always waits to entertain me until he’s finished because he knows how easily I can distract him. No matter how much I whine.

Nicknames for each other: (°w°)

I call him… carus (Latin for handsome, priceless, expensive, attractive), sugar, love, honey, baby, babe, sweetheart; Every now and again I’ll hit him with pumpkin, Adonis, highblood, or Daddy.

He calls me… princess, honeypop, sugarbear, babygirl, baby, babe, voodoo doll, cherry, cherryblood, cutie, etc;

Who is more likely to pay for dinner:

He better pay for dinner, my ass is poor and he’s a highblood with church status. Ah, I’m kidding. I’m willing to split the bill, but he’s paying for the tip. Motherfucker’s well off.

Who steals the covers at night:

Brother’s always robbing me blind. I don’t mind, because I’d rather be cold on my own than have his icy ass pressed against me.

What would they get each other for gifts:

I like making gifts, so I’d always write a song, or poem, or draw a picture. But I’ll get him stuff he likes, like incense or herbs, crystals and bones and all that witchy shit.

He prefers to shower me in attention and sweet words for gifts rather than material things, and I certainly do not mind! I would too if I had the capacity for it, I’m just a bit awkward. Sex is always a nice present.

Who kissed who first:

Kurloz kissed me first, probably because I was asking if I could kiss HIM, and he just did it to shut me up. I have a habit of going off on a tangent when I’m anxious.

Who made the first move:

Kurloz. At the time, our dynamic was pretty much based off of our outside personas, so he was the more dominant force in the relationship.

OH HOW THE TURN TABLES.

Who remembers things:

Kurloz! See the question about remembering anniversaries.

Who started the relationship:

Kurloz! See the question about the first move.

Who cusses more:

SHIT DOG I’D SAY IT’S A FUCKIN TIE BETWEEN THE TWO OF US ASSHOLES IF YA KNOW WHAT I’M FUCKIN SAYIN LMAOOO BETWEEN THE TWO OF US THERE AINT A GODS DAMNED CLEAN MOTHERFUCKIN WORD IN OUR CONVERSATIONS

What would they do if the other one was hurt:

Let me paint a picture for you.

Me: [hurts myself] Ow!

Kurloz: {WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME}

Me: [explains something trivial I did to myself bc I’m a clumsy dumbass]

Kurloz: {DUMBASS.}

Alternatively.

Kurloz: [hurts himself] {SHIT.}

Me: What?

Kurloz: {NOTHIN.}

Me: Did you hurt yourself?

Kurloz: {SHUT UP.}

Me: [laughs]

Who is the dirty talker:

:3c

We’re both fucking filthy and can’t shut up.

So…

Tie?

A headcanon:

@clergymime is STILL a sleepy cuddler and forgets he’s supposed to be an asshole and is incredibly sweet when he’s tired GO TEASE HIM.

#mine #kurb #ask #meme #irl kurb #clergy #friends

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