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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

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the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.I

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This is the first chapter of my work for the @geraskierbigbang in colaboration with the incredible @gen-syz-art (also on Twitter) as my artist.

New chapters will be updated five days a week - aside from the weekends - until completion ✨

[When Geralt first comes across the mansion, he comes in because the nearest town is still hours away and he knows Roach is not going to make it that far without rest.

That is when he meets Julian - the only resident of the truly enormous estate that seems to have everything one might dream of within its walls.

When Geralt returns the second time, he tells himself that it’s only because he wants to thank Julian for his hospitality and help, and not because he wants to see him again, feel the warmth of his fingers against his skin.

And when he returns again after that, he learns that both the mansion and his own heart may not be as simple as they seem.]

See the first art piece by @gen-syz-art here

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The first time he comes across the mansion, he's returning from a hunt.

It’s long past sunset, nearly midnight, and the pale light of the crescent moon is barely enough to illuminate the path that leads Geralt to the gates.

The town he came from is still no less than two hours away, and Roach is already starting to trip, tired after a long ride. If it wasn’t for that, Geralt would’ve probably ignored his own exhaustion, as well as the wounds on his shoulder, but the mare needs rest, and that's what makes him stop when he sees a flickering light behind one of the large windows of the mansion.

It's hard to tell in the darkness but even so, the building looks immense, as well as the garden around, part of which is separating the mansion from the gates.

Geralt doesn't want to risk it, doesn't want to wander into a stranger's home, especially at this hour, but he knows that Roach won't make it to the town they came from, and he doesn't know any other places they could stop at along the way.

So, against his better judgement, he tugs on the reins and stops the horse, jumping down from the saddle with a pained grunt.

He comes closer to the tall gates, adorned with some intricate design, and pushes on one of the arches, not really expecting for it to give. To his surprise, it does, making no sound as it opens, letting him into the garden.

"Stay here," he says, turning to Roach before slowly stepping inside, his every sense heightened.

The path leading up to the mansion is wide enough for a carriage and Geralt can't help but think who it is that's going to open the door if he gets to it.

Up close, the mansion is even bigger than it seemed from behind the gates, and Geralt isn't sure if he'd ever seen a building that big, even in Novigrad. The Oxenfurt Academy seems bigger when he thinks about it but then again, the Academy is made up out of multiple buildings while the mansion seems to only be one.

There doesn't seem to be any movement inside but the light behind the windows tells him that there is a fireplace burning, and since it's on the first floor, Geralt figures that it must be a living room or, perhaps, a library, so whoever it is that he's about to meet must still be awake.

He's almost half-way through the garden when there is a sound somewhere to his right and Geralt instinctively snaps his head towards it, ready for anything that might be hiding in the tall rose bushes but, to his relief, the creature that steps out of its hiding place is not a ghoul or a foglet but a large dog.

It steps out onto the path in front of the witcher, blocking the way, and growls at him, low and protective, teeth bared and dark eyes directed straight at Geralt. It doesn't seem aggressive and it makes no move towards the witcher but Geralt still knows that he won't be able to make it another step without the animal moving from simply warning him to protecting its owners.

The dog barks at him, high and loud - the way hunting dogs bark to attract their master's attention - and Geralt already raises his hand to cast an Axii, knowing that otherwise, the animal will not let him pass, when the front door of the mansion opens and a man steps outside, a lit candle in his hand.

"Asra?" he calls, and the dog's ears perk up. "What is it, girl?"

He comes closer, head tilted slightly to the side as he studies his late-night guest.

Geralt clears his throat, still making no move towards the mansion or the man in front of him, the dog separating them.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he says, words carefully measured. "My horse is tired and I am unfamiliar with these places, I don't know where it is that we could stop if not here."

The man stops a few steps away from him, and this close, Geralt can see the features of his face. The tentative eyes, sparkling dark-blue in the flickering candlelight, the sharp jawline, the long lashes.

He cannot be older than twenty-five, Geralt thinks to himself.

"If you'd be so kind as to let me feed and water my horse, I'll be on my way before long, and won't disturb you any further," he says, not knowing if he should lower his head or not. "I will pay, of course."

The man in front of him stays silent for a moment, then reaches his hand out and beckons the dog closer, sinking his finger into the long fur on its head.

"You're hurt," he says, indicating at Geralt's shoulder with a move of his head.

Geralt shrugs it off, even though the pain is getting stronger by what seems like every minute. Up in the saddle, it was easier to ignore it.

"I dare not disturb you with that," he says. "I only need to give my horse some rest."

The man hums, averting his eyes and biting on the inside of his lower lip. For a few moments, there's silence, and Geralt already wants to apologise and leave but before he gets the chance, the man stops him.

"I'll open the stables if you let me bandage up those wounds," he says, a glint in his eyes.

Geralt opens his mouth, then closes it. There are a thousand different ways that he can see this going wrong. He could get lured into the house and robbed - or killed - he could get captured and never make it out or there could simply be a price to pay for the intrusion but there doesn't seem to be a choice.

And, he admits halfheartedly, there is something about the host that feels welcoming.

"Alright," he finally says. "If you insist."

The man smiles at that - bright and open, and gestures for Geralt to follow him.

With a little hesitation, the witcher whistles for Roach and, once the mare catches up with them, follows the man deeper into the garden, towards the stables.

"And what shall I call you, wayfarer?" the man asks, holding his hand out for Roach to sniff.

It's something about his voice, Geralt decides.

"Geralt," he says. "Of Rivia."

"Of Rivia?" the man echoes, another smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "I have never been that far South. Heard that the summers there are an absolute wonder."

He stops to bring the burning candle up to the lanterns at either side of the stable doors and turns to face Geralt again.

"I'm Julian."

***

The stables are pleasantly warm after the cold night air. Not even summers in the North are warm enough.

It's dark inside but Geralt can hear horses breathing in their sleep. By the sound alone, he counts five.

"And what is this lovely creature?" Julian asks, extending his hand towards Roach and getting his fingers into her forelocks when she doesn't object.

Strange, Geralt thinks, She usually bites at people she doesn't know.

"Roach," he says, sneaking a look around when his eyes adjust to the darkness. "Like the fish."

Julian hums and opens the door to the nearest stable, gesturing for Geralt to lead the horse inside.

"I'm afraid my stableman is already asleep but there is more than enough food in the feeder and I will get her some water in a minute," he says, patting the mare on the neck and watching Geralt undo her bridle. "She will be at her best tomorrow, you can trust me on that."

Geralt turns to him, hands stilling on the buckles of the saddle.

"Tomorrow?" he echoes.

Julian nods, the corners of his lips curling up in a soft smile.

"Surely, I cannot allow for you to travel through the night if there is a place for you to stay? What a horrible host that would make me!"

Geralt wants to objects, wants to say that it's unnecessary and that they'll be on their way once Roach is fed but somewhere deep in his heart, he knows that they both need proper rest. The pain in his shoulder keeps getting worse and if he doesn't sleep or at least meditate, it will grow unbearable by morning.

"That's very kind," he says finally. "Thank you."

He's still waiting.

Waiting for Julian to take a closer look at him and finally realise that he's a witcher. Waiting for him to say to get out and never come near his estate again. Like everyone always does.

But Julian doesn't, even as he raises his head and meets Geralt's eyes that he knows are glowing in the darkness, reflecting what little light there is.

"Come on," he says when Geralt sets the ammunition aside. "Let's get her some water and head inside, those wounds of yours seem pretty bad."

Geralt wants to say that it's nothing, that his regeneration with deal with it on its own after he gets some sleep but he knows that he'd already agreed to this, so he bites his tongue.

Julian leads him out of the stables and back into the garden, towards a well, the dog following closely at his side. It doesn’t seem to be afraid of Geralt, unlike most other animals that he comes across in towns or on the Path and he would almost question that but then again, it seems like a hunting dog, so maybe it's just used to protecting its master against any danger.

"What led you to these regions?" Julian asks, moving the heavy lid of the well with surprising ease, considering his slender figure. "Especially at this time of night."

Geralt feels like he should offer help with getting the water for Roach but he's not sure if that might be overstepping. After all, he's only a late-night guest.

"Work," he grumbles, tensing when the dog leaves Julian's side to come closer and stiff at him, its long nose reaching all the way to his waist. "I'm a hunter."

Julian chuckles and turns to him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"A hunter with two swords behind his back and a silver medallion?"

Fuck.

"A monster hunter," Geralt adds quickly, telling himself that now it's doesn't count as a lie.

"A monster hunter," Julian echoes, getting the laces of his off-white shirt out of the way and slapping Geralt's hand away lightly when he finally decides to reach for the bucket full of water. "And what was it that you were hunting? A wyvern I've seen a couple of times in the last months?"

Geralt has not had his hands slapped away from anything in such a long time that for a second, his words fail him and he just stands there, looking at his glove like he's waiting for an imprint of Julian's fingers to appear on the dark leather.

"Nekkers," he finally says when it doesn't. "Uh, got a contract in a town a couple of hours from here."

Julian sets the lid of the well back into place and clicks his tongue at the dog for it to stop sniffing at Geralt's armour.

"Sorry for that," he says, turning to walk back towards the stables, Geralt following him a few steps behind. "She's a little distrustful towards strangers, especially at night. But she won't do you any harm."

Geralt isn't particularly scared of the dog because even if it were to bite him, his armour would protect him from the teeth. And even if he wasn't wearing any armour at all, well, he'd had injuries much worse than a dog bite. But it does feel a little reassuring that he's on the dog's good side and doesn't have to think about that, to begin with.

"You got a contract a few hours away but the nekkers are all the way up in these lands?" Julian asks. "Seems a little far to me."

The witcher hums in agreement and, when the man remains silent, realises that that doesn't seem to be a sufficient answer.

"The baron that hired me has croplands here," he says, even though it's not true and he's got no idea why the people in town needed him to deal with a nekker nest so far away. With contracts like that, questions weren't really relevant, all that went into account was the coin. "Nekkers killed a couple of his workers and he wanted me to get rid of them."

He doesn't even know why he chooses to lie but Julian doesn't seem to doubt his words, pouring the water out into a basin in Roach's stable and running his hand through his mane before closing the door.

"She will be just fine here," he assures, noticing the concern in Geralt's eyes. "Come on, let me take you inside. I don't imagine a nekker wound should be left unattended."

***

Geralt follows Julian to the front door and when the man pushes it open, hesitates for a split second before stepping into the mansion.

The hallway is dark, only partially illuminated by the warm flickering light from one of the rooms to the right - the same light that Geralt saw through the windows.

The dog follows them into the house, brushing over Geralt's leg as it sneaks past him and disappears somewhere in the other end of the seemingly endless hallway. It's almost ominous, how it just gets lost in the darkness despite the winter-white fur.

"Are you hungry?" Julian asks, leading Geralt into the room with the fireplace that turns out to be a library, just as he'd suspected.

Geralt is hungry, though it's only now that he realises that. The last time he ate was just after the break of dawn, when he'd just set out and all the tavern was able to offer him was a loaf of pumping bread because it was still too early and the breakfast wasn't yet ready.

"I'm not," he says, still.

This is already too much, he knows. All he needed was food and water for Roach but now he's staying in the mansion overnight and all of that is already more than he's comfortable with. Asking for anything else would be even worse.

"Stubborn, aren't you?" Julian says, narrowing his eyes at the witcher like he wants to see if he's going to break under that gaze.

When Geralt doesn't, the younger man just nods with a soft smile.

"If you change your mind, let me know."

In the warm light of the fireplace, he looks even younger than he did outside, and Geralt catches himself looking at Julian for a little too long as he moves the logs in the hearth to light the fire a little brighter. His eyes turn out to be bright-blue rather than dark, like cornflowers.

"I can wake my majordomo up for him to take a look at your shoulder," he says, indicating at an armchair for the witcher to sit in with a move of his wrist. "Or I can do that myself. If you don't mind."

Geralt really doesn't know why he even cares but if all he has to do is sit still and let the man bandage him up, it's not a big price to pay for the opportunity to sleep in the safe warmth of a home rather than outside, waking up from every little noise.

"It's your call," he says, finally.

Julian nods, resting his hands on his hips and giving Geralt a nearly evaluating look.

"Stay here for just a minute," he asks. "I will get a clean cloth and be right back."

The witcher hums an affirmative and Julian disappears in the hallway, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It feels strange, being here. The expensive carpets on the floors, the paintings and tapestries on the walls, the endless rows of books on polished shelves that climb all the way up to the ceiling, not to mention the overall size of the mansion.

Geralt feels like he doesn't belong here, like as much as a touch from him, bloodied and dirty after a long hunt, is going to ruin the soft leather of the armchair he's been pointed to along with everything in close proximity.

There is a very big part of him that wants to leave, just meditate somewhere in the garden while he waits for Roach to have her rest but there is also a part of him - smaller but persistent - that wants to stay.

It's something about Julian, he decides. Something about the ease that he holds himself with, like he's not afraid of the witcher. Not something that Geralt sees very often. Especially after Blaviken.

He gets so lost in his thoughts that he almost fails to notice soft footsteps from somewhere behind him and when he turns, he's greeted with a wet press of a dog's nose against his palm. It sniffs at him thoroughly and with interest, and Geralt allows for it, keeping still as not to scare the animal away. It seems a little strange to him that the dog is inspecting him again but what does he know about dogs, really.

It also seems to be bigger, somehow, because back in the garden its nose could only reach his waist but now it's sniffing at the buckles that go over his ribcage. Or maybe it just seems like it and it did the same exact thing back in the garden.

"Ah, I see you're making new friends," Julian smiles, reappearing in the room, a towel in one hand and a deep dish filled with water - in the other.

"I suppose, she likes me more now that I'm not an intruder in your garden," Geralt chuckles and he's surprised to learn that he means it.

"Oh?" Julian breathes, gesturing for the witcher to sit down. "Oh, no, Asra is upstairs. This is Lucio, her brother. They look identical, I know, he's just a few inches taller."

Fuck, Geralt thinks, Of course, he's got two dogs and not one but fucking shapeshifting.

Reluctantly, he lowers himself into the chair, watching Julian place a stool beside it to sit down himself, all of his appliances laid out on the nightstand by the chair. Aside from the towel and the dish with water, there are also bandages and a curved needle for stitches along with some thread.

"You know how to stitch wounds?" Geralt asks before he can stop himself.

Julian hums an affirmative, waiting for the witcher to undo the buckles of his armour and set it aside. The left sleeve of his worn black shirt is torn where the nekker's claws had slashed against his arm and the fabric is soaked with blood.

Julian wrinkles his nose but remains otherwise unperturbed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take the shirt off, too," he says softly when Geralt makes no move to do so for some time. "Promise I won't look."

To reaffirm his words, Julian puts a hand over his eyes and Geralt can finally feel some of the tension bleed away from his shoulders. He tugs the shirt off over his head, wincing when the fabric, trapped in the wounds with dried up blood, rips away from them, re-opening the cuts. Just before Julian opens his eyes again, Geralt casts a Quen over himself to partially stop the bleeding.

"Not as bad as I thought," the younger man says, examining his shoulder before gently pressing a towel, warm from the water, to the wounds.

Geralt watches the white fabric turn red and bites his tongue.

"I should have a shirt that will fit you," Julian adds, wringing the towel out over the bowl before bringing it back where it was.

"That won't be necessary," Geralt replies quickly, averting his eyes to look into the fire because if he doesn't, he feels like it's going to get overwhelming again. "I've put you through enough trouble."

The younger man sighs, amused rather than annoyed, his warm breath ghosting against Geralt's damp skin. The witcher expects to feel his eyes on him, lured in by the scars, just like it always is when someone sees him shirtless but Julian remains concentrated on his task, paying to mind to anything else. And it's somehow both worse and better at the same time. Geralt used to people staring - some with interest but most - with disgust - used to them nitpicking at every scar, every mark left on him by claws or fangs or swords, re-opening them again and again but Julian doesn't seem interested in them. His eyes don't flick over Geralt's chest and abdomen once.

"The guest rooms are in the West wing, on the third floor," Julian says, apparently having decided on letting the shirt go. "I will take you there once I'm done with your shoulder and leave you to rest, unless you've changed your mind about dinner. Would you prefer a room with the windows facing the garden or the forest?"

Geralt wants to say that he's going to be happy with anything he's given but Julian looks at him expectantly and that makes him feel like that answer will not be considered enough. Perhaps even impolite.

"The forest," he makes himself say.

And then, after a moment:

"Do you live here alone?"

It's not that he necessarily wants to talk but he doesn't want to sit in silence, either. It feels strange not to say anything. Rude, even.

Julian shrugs with one shoulder, flicking his eyes up for just a second to look at the witcher.

"Depends on how you look at it," he says, setting the blood-stained towel aside and reaching for the needle and thread. "My majordomo lives here, in the mansion, and a little further into the garden, there is a house where the gardeners, the housekeepers and everyone else that works for me resides. So technically, no, I don't live here alone. But if you mean family, then yes."

Geralt winces when the needle pierces his skin for the first time but the warmth of Julian's fingers almost makes up for it.

"Hm," he grunts, non-committal.

He almost wants to ask why, ask how does he even live in a place this big with only the servants and the dogs to keep him company but once again, he bites his tongue.

"It's not as lonely as it seems," Julian says after a moment, like he'd read his thoughts. "I have quite a lot of guests. Some of them are friends, some of them are just wayfarers, like you. You're the second witcher that I've had here."

Geralt perks up at that without even realising.

"It was a couple of years ago," Julian goes on, the interest on the witcher face clearly not hidden well enough. "He'd been hunting a griffin and, sadly, lost his horse in the process. As you know, the nearest town big enough to sell horses is hours away from here, and though he knew the general direction of it, making that way on foot wasn't something that could be done in one day, especially with a griffin head strapped to you. So when he stumbled across the mansion late at night - just like you - what could I do but let him in?"

Geralt chuckles, low in his throat.

"It's not very wise to let strangers into your home like this," he says because he cannot help himself. "Especially at night. And especially witchers."

The younger man just waves at him dismissively, a smile softening the features of his face.

"Yes, well-" he says, flicking his eyes up once more before going back to his stitches. "I'm still alive, am I not? And currently helping you stay that way, as well."

His warm fingers ghost over Geralt's skin as he tightens the last stitch and sets the needle aside, studying his work critically.

"Besides," he adds, bringing the towel to the witcher's shoulder once again to wipe off thin trails of blood before reaching for the bandages. "He was very nice. Named Aiden. He was the one who taught me to stitch wounds."

The name doesn't ring a bell, so Geralt takes a guess:

"A Griffin?"

Julian chuckles and shakes his head, wrapping the bandages around Geralt's shoulder with admirable precision. The voluminous sleeves of his chemise keep getting in the way but he doesn't roll them up. Geralt chooses not to mention it.

"A Cat," the younger man says. "I know, I know, I had the same reaction when I saw the medallion."

He tucks the ends of the bandage under one of the layers and pats Geralt on the arm, reaching for the towel to wipe the blood off his hands.

"There you go," he says, getting up. "Good as new."

Geralt rolls his shoulders and, to his delight, the bandages stay just as they are. He gets up, reaching for his shirt, ignoring the blood and the tears on the sleeve.

"Thank you."

Julian's eyes flick over him just once, from the waist of his trousers and all the way to his shoulders, and then he's averting his eyes with a warm smile.

"Of course."

It's getting very late, probably closer to dawn than it is to midnight and when Geralt think that he could've still been on the road at this time, there is a little shiver that runs up his spine.

"Are you sure I can't offer you something to eat?" Julian asks, blinking a little owlishly.

He's clearly only half-awake now that he's done with Geralt's shoulder and so is the witcher, so even though some food would've been nice, he still shakes his head.

"Alright," the younger man agrees, though he doesn't seem particularly thrilled about it. "In the morning, then."

***

Julian takes him through the long hallways of the mansion, illuminating the way with a flickering light of a candle, Lucio following him closely, his white fur brushing against Julian's thigh.

When they get to the wide staircase, Asra appears from behind it and joins them.

"Do they follow you everywhere?" Geralt asks, because in the silence, he feels like the mansion is never going to end.

"Oh?" the younger man breathes, turning to look at the witcher. "Oh, the dogs? Yeah, they're always somewhere close."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Geralt thinks that those dogs are probably worth hundreds of crowns each, maybe even thousands. When the cold moonlight touches their fur, they don't even look real.

In some strange way, the entire mansion feels that way.

But Geralt tells himself that he's just tired and in the morning, it's going to feel different. New places always seems strange the first night, he'd spent enough years on the Path to know that.

They make it up the stairs onto the third floor and turn into the West wing, walking down yet another endless hallway until they get to the very end of it, where Julian stops and opens a door to the right, inviting Geralt inside with a move of his hand.

"I do hope you find this room comfortable," he says, staying in the hallway and keeping the dogs at his side. "Join me for breakfast in the morning?"

Geralt knows that he should leave as soon as he can, knows that this is already so much more than he'd initially asked for but before he can stop himself, he already agrees.

"Would love to."

Julian shines with a smile and somehow, he almost looks relieved.

"Alright," he nods, handing Geralt the burning candle and turning to leave. "Goodnight then, Geralt."

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt of rivia #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

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alistairmoonshine · 4 years

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The witcher and the incubus

TITLE: The witcher and the incubus

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @alistairmoonshine

PROMPT DAY #: #2 monster hunt

SUMMARY: Geralt shows up in a small town looking for a quick and easy contract. They come to him about what seems to be a succubus that is lurking and killing men for pleasure. Geralt hunts down said succubus only to encounter an equally vengeful and horny incubus. Geralt must kill or seduce said incubus to get him to stop killing.

WORD COUNT (if applicable): 5900 words

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix show/game/my own liberties

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: None

RATING: Explicit lots of sex

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Written for @geraskierweek

Geralt could feel the pangs of hunger as he lead Roach up the small path to the run down village in the north part of Redania. He hadn't been to this village in a few years and hoped that maybe something was there he could get rid of. Roach nudged his back and whinnied as he sighed quietly, “yes I know you want some oats. I am working on it girl,” he soothed as he headbutted the horse back affectionately.

Thankfully, the first inn he found had a small board on the outside. Geralt dropped the reigns of Roach and she stood in her spot trained to not move unless told to or when Geralt had the reigns. Geralt looked through the board and most was for killing humans for petty things. One stole someone's wife, another wanted the cuckold killed (probably the one who ran off with his wife), another wanted to someone to burn farm land they felt they were owed for an unpaid dowry. He growled as he tore each page off and tossed them.

Witchers did not kill and get involved in human's petty squabbles. No, he wanted something to put food in his and Roaches stomachs that was all he wanted. He sighed and turned to the horse as he stroked her nose and picked up the reigns, “I will go inside and see what they may have,” he stated calmly and lead Roach to a small yard for visiting horses. He entered the rowdy inn, but it quieted the minute people saw who he was. Geralt let his hood of the cloak fall and he slowly walked to the man at the bar,

“I am looking for work,” he murmured, not sitting as he stood rather stiffly, “is there an alderman I could speak with?” He asked as he crossed his arms. The man cleared his throat and nodded,

“A-aye... If you leave the inn and go up the road its the fourth house on the right,” the man stammered as he pointed and Geralt smiled and set down a coin,

“thank you, it isn't much. May I leave my horse in your yard?” The man nodded and Geralt left swiftly without another word. Once he shut the door, the crowd went back to the yelling, singing and drinking. It seemed there was a woman singing as well and he rolled his eyes. “Stay Roach,” he called over his shoulder as the horse neighed at him but didn't leave the yard as he walked up the hill and to the fourth house on the right. Geralt knocked three times loudly and waited until a small girl opened the door.

Her eyes went wide and she nearly screamed as Geralt tried to smile but it came out as a grimace as he showed teeth and looked down at her, “is your daddy home?” He asked curiously and she jumped back and turned to run,

“daddy! Daddy! A big scary man is at the door!” The girl hollered,

“what is it? Calm down!” The alderman said to the young girl and his eyes went wide and he smiled, “Geralt? Geralt its been years!” He laughed softly and shook Geralt's hand. Geralt smiled a bit,

“Alderman Bartek. Yes, it has been a few years. I heard you may have work?” Geralt asked and gestured to the house. The alderman gladly let Geralt in and shut the door,

“come, come lets get you a hot meal.” He said and called for his wife who came in to start on something as Geralt settled at the small table. The small girl watched curiously from the door and Geralt tried to smile at her again. She squeaked and hid more but then poked her head out again as her father settled across from Geralt,

“So, we have been having issues with people having very sexual dreams. They have them for days but then after a few days they end up dead.” He murmured as he furrowed his brow as he shook his head, “the thing is it is only men! Sometimes their throats ripped sometimes their heart! It is a beast! Only happens at night. We try to make people heed a curfew but you know how people are they don't always listen. A few went to where they thought the beast was but no one returned,” he murmured and sighed a bit, “any ideas Geralt?”

Geralt hummed as he thought a bit, “only going after men and they have dreams of sexual nature before death? I have a few ideas. Though, what I am thinking they don't normally kill there has to be a reason.” He murmured softly, “are these men on the up and up? Are they good natured?” He asked curiously and Bartek thought it over and shrugged,

“some, some are not. A few were thugs we couldn't catch in the act but knew were terrorizing others.” He stated softly, “what ya think Geralt?” Geralt didn't say anything as a bowl of broth and hard crusty bread was set in front of him. He thanked the woman and dipped the bread before taking one bite. It was bland but he was just thankful for something to eat other than whatever game he caught and berries.

“A succubus,” Geralt said around bites. “Normally they enter men's dreams and they end up rather sexual. See, succubi they like to take their energy and feedings from the sexual energy of men. Now, normally a succubus will not kill unless something has provoked it, taunted it or if the man they took the energy was bad in some way. A lot of times its inherit. They don't have to be consciously bad after all.” He said and sighed a bit as he finished the bread and slowly dipped a spoon in to drink up the salty broth.

“Ah, yes well I don't know why it came here. It's only been here for 6 months. At first there was a man having these dreams every night then it was multiple. After a few weeks those men were dead... Then it became one or two men a week after and now its only once a week but everyone is terrified. It doesn't seem if they go out at night or not. They wake up dead in their bed. Their wives wake without a knowing until they look over and their husband's necks are slashed. Quite an uproar. We tried to take care of it but it killed our men.” He grumbled a bit and shook his head, “you think you can do it? What's your askin price? I think I can just about give you anything at this rate,” he grumbled and Geralt snorted,

“hm, 1500 orens. I don't take payment until after the creature is dealt with. I will bring it's head to you. Is that good enough?” The alderman nodded happily and stood to clap the witcher on his back a few rough times,

“you wanna go for this in the morning? I can get you a room ready upstairs.” Geralt nodded,

“aye, but my horse do you know where I could house her? She's outside the inn right now,” Bartek quickly got a piece of paper and wrote down for him to take the horse to the stables and it would be paid for by Bartek himself and Geralt would owe nothing. Geralt thanked him and lead Roach to the stables, handing the stable hand the note. The man eyed it a bit suspiciously but took it begrudgingly and Geralt stroked Roach's nose gently before he left her in their capable hands and went back to the alderman's home to rest in a real bed for the night.

~ ~ ~

Geralt woke to the feeling of eyes on him. It was just past dawn and he sat straight up his golden eyes glancing as he went for his dagger under his pillow. Though, he stopped when he saw that young girl again who looked terrified as she squealed and ran from the room. She did poke her head back in and cleared her throat, “ma made breakfast. Sh-she asked me to wake you mister witcher sir.” She mumbled shyly and Geralt gave a nod and sighed a bit as he growled a quiet 'fuck' under his breath and got from the bed.

“Thank you, I will be down shortly,” he was rough but that meant the girl didn't stick around to watch him get ready for the day. He was thankful of the warm basin of water she had left for him and the clean towels as he cleaned the sweat and dirt from his brow and hair. It would be good enough until he could find a bath house or an inn with a decent tub.

Geralt pulled on armor, swords, his crossbow, and his dagger as well as his packs full of potions and oils. Geralt made sure he had Hybrid oil to put on his sword. Succubi were known to be fierce and he would not have any easy time. Granted, he would much rather talk the succubus down and maybe get her to flee, but at the same time she was killing and that was a no go for Geralt. So, a battle may ensue. He hoped it would be quick and in his favor.

Geralt finished his clothes and went downstairs to the table where a platter of eggs, streaky bacon, and grits waited. He thanked the tired looking woman as he ate in silence. Bartek was already gone for the day. That same small girl was watching ever so quietly from the corner her eyes wide and curious. He watched her eyes as he took a slice of bacon. She licked her lips and he sighed as he held it out, “do you want this?” He asked roughly and her eyes lit up as she ran to him and grabbed the piece of bacon and quickly stuffed it into her mouth with a grin,

“she loves bacon, you just made a friend dear witcher,” the woman said as the girl scrambled into Geralt's confused lap as she settled against him. He tensed and did not move as he put a hand on her lower back to steady her. He gave her his three pieces of bacon and he finished the rest as well as the watered down ale he was given. When he finished, he prodded her off and stood slowly,

“I will be on my way. Thank you for the meal. Tell Bartek I should be back by night fall. Did he tell you where the succubus might be?” She nodded and cleared her throat as she shooed the small girl off of Geralt's sleeve.

“Yes, Sir Witcher if you go out and travel up the road,” she pointed, “there is an abandoned farm. It seems the beast has taken residence up in the old house. It hasn't actually made any appearance that anyone has seen besides the people who have died,” she explained quietly and frowned, “will you take care of it?” She asked and Geralt nodded,

“if I don't then I die, but my plan is to rid you of the succubus. Thank you,” Geralt looked down at the girl and bent his knees to meet her eye to eye. She didn't seem too scared of those golden eyes anymore, “take care of your ma and da alright?” The girl grinned and nodded happily as she giggled. He ruffled thick brown hair before he made his way, tossing his swords over his shoulder and strapped them in.

Geralt made his way with purpose up the hill and up the road towards the old farm house. He could almost see it among the tree lines. There it seemed the barn had burnt as well as some of the house. The smell of ash was still in the air. Geralt wondered how long said home had burnt ago but that was unimportant.

When Geralt finally made his way up and past the open gate he saw a figure in the yard. It looked to be a young man who was it seemed to be picking flowers... That made him blink and he shook his head as he sighed as he entered the yard. It took a minute but the rather handsome man noticed and slowly jumped as he turned around and dropped the flowers,

“oh you gave me a fright! What are you doing can I help you?” He asked. The young man was all grins as he walked towards Geralt. Geralt tensed slightly and smelt the air. The air smelt of oranges and honeysuckle. It was a beautiful scent and made his nostrils flare. His golden eyes looked over the man in front of him. He wore an overly large linen shirt. The ties were loosened to show tufts of dark fuzz all along his chest. His pants were high waisted and tight. They were blue and matched the gorgeous eyes staring at him curiously,

“did you know there is a succubus about? What are you doing up here?” Geralt growled quietly as he grabbed the man on the arm, “you should leave before it kills you!” He hissed and the man pulled away a bit taken a back,

“succubus? Oh no there are no succubi up here!” He laughed quietly as he gave him another knowing grin. Geralt felt his eyes widen as he pulled back and saw the form shift. Mousey colored hair soon had horns that curled down like ram's horns formed. A tail sprouted from his back end that seemed to twitch and thrash with the way the incubus talked and walked. Blue eyes shifted to an even deeper azul and they seemed to move and flow as if there was water within his irises. He didn't grow any taller but his muscles seemed to grow ever so slightly and his shirt was magically gone to show his furry chest. Geralt's eyes moved down to see the fur traveled into the waist of his pants. He licked his lips nervously,

“an incubus that only goes after men?” He asked curiously, “you don't find that very often,”

“no, no you don't.” The incubus purred quietly as he easily stepped and covered the distance between Geralt and himself, “and they decided to send a witcher of all things for me. I am guessing you were expecting some beautiful feminine creature. Were you going to seduce me? Or are you going to try to kill me? I see the swords on your back and the crossbow at your hip. I am guessing you are hiding a dagger or two on that beautiful body as well.” He stated as he smelt Geralt and gave a light moan, “oh you are aroused aren't you? Or is that fear? Sometimes its hard to tell. But, do witchers actually feel?” He cooed softly, “I have heard quite the contrary!” Geralt took a step back as he showed his teeth slightly at the incubus,

“you need to stop killing those men! You have no right!” He growled softly as the incubus laughed again, once again covered distance as if it was nothing,

“why? I have no right? I have every right! What do you know?” He hissed, “men,” the incubus spat and glared at Geralt as he showed his own teeth, though his teeth were pointed and looked quite sharp. “Those men burnt my home. They raped me and tortured me,” he said softly, “why should I let up when they didn't let up on me?” Geralt almost felt pity and slowly put a hand on the naked shoulder as the incubus ripped away, “and here you are probably to rape me to so I will leave! This was my home before anyone here.”

“The farm was yours?”

“No you dolt, not the farm! At least not this house. I lived in the forests behind this wretched little town. Some men started burning to clear it for homes. I decided to burn this place to get back at them.” He stated and shrugged, “a few men found me at my weakest. They took their turns... Taking their pleasure in my body and I could not stop them. They all need to pay,” the incubus bared white fangs again at Geralt, “there is nothing you can do to stop me. I will kill each and every one of those men in that village! Until there are no more and I will then do it again to the women,” he hissed softly and Geralt sighed softly.

“No, you can't. You have scared them and they will behave I can assure you,” he said as he tried to talk the incubus, “do you have a name? I would love to know it,” Geralt said as gently as he could and the incubus thrashed his tail roughly,

“Jaskier,” he stated roughly,

“that means buttercup doesn't it? Thats a beautiful name for such a.. a beautiful creature,” Geralt murmured as he reached again for the incubus, for Jaskier. Jaskier seemed to enjoy the praise and his tail seemed to settle as he smiled. Those beautiful and flowing eyes gazed at Geralt curiously,

“I don't want to hurt you. In fact, I would rather do anything but hurt you,” he murmured and Geralt sighed softly,

“will you leave and promise to stop killing men? I can't have you doing that. If you don't, I will be forced to kill you or at least try. I don't want to hurt you either. I know incubi and succubi aren't inherently bad. You had a rough start and I am very sorry for that. So, please will you give this up?” Geralt questioned softly.

“Maybe...” The tail flicked curiously as the incubus made his way around Geralt, eyeing him as if he was a prized pig for the butcher. Geralt didn't like the looks but could not do anything but stand still as he was touched, rubbed and groped by Jaskier. Though, he had to admit that these touches were slightly turning him on. That wasn't exactly something he would admit out loud but it seemed that Jaskier already knew. A grin was on Jaskier's face as he made his stop right in front of Geralt again, “I want you to fuck me,” Jaskier finally announced, “hard, fast, strong. I can take so much more than a human and you can give so much more than a human. I think you can finally satisfy me.” Geralt felt his cock jump and throb in his now too tight pants and he cleared his throat. Well, this was not going as he wanted but why would he deny this?

“Will you leave these people alone, Jaskier?” He asked and Jaskier nodded,

“oh if you give as good as I think you will I will most definitely leave here. “

“and what about my 1500 orens?” Jaskier laughed a soft, melodic sound flowing through beautifully full lips,

“don't worry dear witcher. I will give you more than 1500 orens for your trouble.” That made Geralt tense, “what you don't like the idea of being paid to have sex with me?”

“I am no common whore,” Geralt rasped out,

“oh, of course not but you are to be paid for slaying the beast yes? Well, in this case the slaying is going to be a lay instead. There is nothing wrong with taking payment for this now is there? I am doing what you intended, yes? I will be leaving the people alone.” Geralt made a noise as Jaskier shimmied up closer and leaned against Geralt, “oh what a strong man you are... I can't wait,” Jaskier giggled in a giddy way as he grinned up at Geralt who made a small 'fuck' sound. “Oh yes fuck, fuck hard,” Jaskier laughed outwardly now as he tugged on Geralt's hand.

Geralt acquiesced to the tugs and followed Jaskier into the slightly burnt farm home. It smelt of honeysuckle just as Jaskier's flesh did. The scent was full of arousal as well and he cleared his throat as he felt it constrict. Oh this was going to be quite an interesting time. There had been many occurrences of witchers using sex to get a succubus or incubus to move along and leave a town alone. Geralt had just never been one of them and now here he was with this almost ethereal creature who was tugging him towards a bedroom silently, tail flicking rather happily about. Geralt eyed the tail and moved his unoccupied hand to tug at it very gently.

Jaskier stopped in the hall rather suddenly and squeaked as he felt the grab and turned to lightly smack at Geralt's hand, “no touching! Very sensitive that is!” He growled and Geralt grinned happy to find something but he put up his other hand so to show he was not going to be grabbing the tail again. Jaskier was pleased and turned to tug Geralt back down the hall and into the rather large master bedroom. The bed looked to be twice the size of a normal bed. The sheets were actually clean and seemed to be of silk or a very high quality cotton.

There were candles burning lowly and placed about the room. This room smelt even more of the honeysuckle and orange and Geralt felt it attack all of his senses. He rubbed his nose faintly and shook his head. It was almost intoxicating. Jaskier saw this and giggled as he put his arms around Geralt and leaned close to him, “do you like that? It is almost like an aphrodisiac. I didn't know if it would affect you or not. I am glad to see that it has!” he licked his lips and grinned as Geralt groaned faintly, feeling himself harden even more in his pants.

“Are you drugging me Jaskier?” Geralt gritted out and Jaskier laughed loudly as he shook his head, tail flicking happily,

“oh no not at all! This is my normal scent. I just... upped the smell a bit. I wanted to see what would happen. I heard that witchers had stronger constitutions than normal humans. If you were a normal human you would be on the floor in agony of horniness. I am actually almost disappointed!”

“Damn you, Jaskier,” Geralt growled out his eyes blown. The gold almost gone as he turned and almost picked up the incubus and tossed him onto the big bed. Jaskier made a loud yelp of surprise and was about to protest but Geralt was stripping his armor off with ease. The buckles coming loose one at a time and soon the whole piece just fell with a clang of weapons, pouches, and leather armor.

“Oh, oh my. I wasn't expecting this reaction!” He grinned as Jaskier himself started to strip his pants off with one easy go and kicking them to the side with underwear. He also tugged the linen shirt off and threw it down as well. As he was doing this, the rather horny witcher was pulling his own tunic shirt off and undoing the tight leather pants he wore. Jaskier groaned as the witcher pulled them off. He easily kicked those and his boots off showing his underclothes tented with his erection.

Jaskier got on his knees and shuffled his way to the edge of the bed as he helped Geralt strip the underclothes down his body and off as Geralt shamelessly kicked them to the side as well. “Oh this is gonna be fun!” Jaskier said giddily as he was pushed back down and Geralt was on top of him. Their bodies meshed well together as Geralt rolled his hips as he ground both his and the incubus' hard cocks together as Geralt captured him into a rough and needy kiss.

Jaskier moaned and happily rolled his hips to meet him as Jaskier opened his mouth quite happily as Geralt shoved his tongue deep. Geralt groaned at the taste. The taste was the same honeysuckle but maybe a touch of buttercup flowers as well? He wasn't totally sure but he loved it. Jaskier happily lapped back at Geralt's tongue with just as much need before he pulled away, “Geralt, please I need you fuck me god!” Jaskier groaned as Geralt started to roughly bite and kiss the incubus' throat with even more vigor. Geralt growled in acknowledgment and pulled away as he flung himself almost off the bed and fumbled for the pouch with his salves. Once it was found, he threw himself back on top of Jaskier and opened the jar clumsily.

His eyes were still wide, nostrils flared as he slicked up his fingers. Jaskier was opening his legs as Geralt used one finger to poke and prod at his hole. Jaskier relaxed with all his years of experience and waited as Geralt pressed the finger in gently. Jaskier gasped and arched up against that finger as Geralt easily started to push it in and out slowly, coating the insides of him. When Geralt felt it was enough, he pressed in his third finger in. Geralt used his own skill and pressed up. Geralt hit that spot and Jaskier cried out as he arched as Geralt pressed against that spot inside of him. “oh yes, yes more!” He cried happily as he rocked back, “I need you. Put that giant cock in me god Geralt!” Jaskier moaned as Geralt happily pulled his fingers out.

Geralt used the last of the salve onto his cock and gave himself two or three quick strokes before he was lining himself easily and pressing forward. It took every being of willpower to not just shove in and go to town. Granted, this man... No this... beast? No not beast either. Either way, Jaskier could take a lot more than a normal human.

Strong legs wrapped around his hips as Geralt bottomed out and groaned as he leaned down so his and Jaskier's foreheads were touching as he started to thrust. Jaskier lifted his hips and easily pushed back thrust for thrust as Geralt started a hard and brutal pace that would have hurt any normal human.

Jaskier couldn't stop his praises and moans as Geralt fucked him hard and fast. Geralt lifted himself up so he was on his knees and pulling Jaskier's legs up so he was almost bent in half as he thrust down groaning. Jaskier whimpered and moved to snake a hand in between their crunched bodies and started to stroke his own cock with each and every thrust.

It didn't take long before Jaskier felt his hand falter and he tightened as he cried his release and came across his hand, stomach and even up onto his furred chest. Geralt growled happily at the tightening around his cock and another three thrusts and he was emptying himself deep within Jaskier's body as he groaned and dropped Jaskier's legs as he laid upon the still twitching Incubus.

Geralt laid there, still reveling in his and Jaskier's orgasm but soon felt himself come from the haze as Jaskier started to push on the strong muscled shoulders, “You're heavy get off please?” He groaned and Geralt did just that, feeling his slightly softer cock out of Jaskier's arse. Jaskier groaned, “you are oozing from me. It is such an odd feeling I love it,” he murmured and sighed as he turned to look at Geralt who seemed to be falling asleep,

“Oh come on! You can't tell me a man of your stamina is done after one hard fuck? Where is the man who can go hours against a monster!?”

“Hnnn... give me ten minutes,” Geralt smirked as his body relaxed. Jaskier groaned but nodded as he laid back down on the bed waiting for Geralt to recoup from their romp.

It was almost exactly ten minutes when Geralt opened golden eyes and looked over at Jaskier. “Ready for round two?” Jaskier sat up and grinned a bit as he nodded happily,

“Oh most definitely.” Jaskier said happily as Geralt rolled onto his back, stroking himself slowly back to hardness. Jaskier took this opportunity to grab Geralt's cock and started to suck on the thick cock. Geralt let go and let Jaskier take over as Jaskier moaned and started to bob his head. Geralt grabbed a hold of the ram's horns and started to guide Jaskier up and down before he held tight and thrust up just to see if Jaskier could take it.

Jaskier felt his throat tighten and he gagged slightly as he grabbed at Geralt's hips and groaned as he coughed. Geralt did not let off as he held his cock down Jaskier's throats reveling in the quivering of the incubus' throat. When Jaskier finally calmed down, he let go and let Jaskier take over again. Jaskier pulled off and coughed a few times but then went right back to sucking and bobbing his head over the thick cock. Geralt groaned softly as he let Jaskier do his magic with his mouth and he was soon feeling his release tighten in his stomach again,

“Jask if you don't stop I am going to spill in your mouth,” he warned and Jaskier just moaned and kept going as Geralt grabbed the horns again and rolled his hips up and soon moaned his release as he came into Jaskier's mouth. Jaskier happily drank down every bit of the rather acid tasting cum and pulled off with a loud pop as Geralt relaxed and sighed softly,

“you taste so amazing,” Jaskier murmured softly and smiled as he leaned up to kiss Geralt on the lips softly who happily kissed back and stroked down to grab the tail and tug ever so gently. Jaskier tensed and rolled his hips with a moan as Geralt started to stroke his tail slowly,

“I see you like your tail played with,” Geralt purred as Jaskier nodded and moaned,

“oh yes almost as much as my cock, oh gods!” He groaned, “can you get it up again? I want to ride you!”

“Mm, I think so,” Geralt murmured softly as Jaskier started to stroke his cock again. He was a tad sensitive but did not try and pull away from Jaskier's ministrations as Jaskier stroked him to hardness again. “I am out of salve...” Geralt warned as Jaskier happily settled on top of Geralt and shrugged,

“my ass is still pretty loose. I think I will be fine, hold still.” Jaskier murmured and slowly lined himself up and teased the head of Geralt's cock at his hole as it relaxed and he slid down ever so slowly until he was sitting hip to hip with the witcher who grasped the incubus' hips gently.

Geralt gave Jaskier time to get his bearings straight and soon he was holding onto the shoulders of the witcher and starting to ride up and down slowly. Geralt happily held onto Jaskier's hips to give him a bit more steadiness but Jaskier gasped softly, “Geralt, give me your hands...” He murmured and Geralt held up his hands as Jaskier took those hands and used them as leverage.

Once Jaskier was steady, he sat up fully and used his feet and Geralt's hands and used that to start a fast and hard bounce as he cried out in excitement. Geralt groaned happily at the feeling and rolled his hips to meet up every time Jaskier bounced down and they met with a thick 'slap' sound as Jaskier bounced.

It wasn't long before Jaskier felt his hips give out as he had to stop bouncing. Geralt used this time to grasp Jaskier's hips again, “hold onto my shoulders you are going for another ride,” Geralt murmured up through the haze of sexual excitement. Jaskier did just this, as Geralt bent his knees up so his feet were flat on the bed. Jaskier held on for dear life as Geralt started another brutal round of thrusting as Jaskier moaned holding on for the ride.

Geralt didn't slow down and it was apparent that Jaskier would have to hold on tight. “Geralt! Geralt!” He cried and Geralt slowed,

“hmmm?” He asked with a grunt as Jaskier slowly slipped off and fell face down on the bed, his knees drawn over with tail hiked up to show his abused arse. Geralt grinned at the display of submissiveness and enjoyed looking as he rubbed Jaskier's hip and slowly settled between the legs again before he thrust right back in, deep.

Jaskier cried out happily as he was being fucked into the mattress again. His head was pressed into the pillows of the bed and he was scooted to almost pressing and banging his head against the headboard as Geralt went all out. Jaskier had to move his hand down and soon was stroking his cock again with the time of the thrusts.

Another few minutes and Jaskier was crying out his second release into the room as Geralt groaned his hips stuttering as he too came for the third time. Golden eyes closed as he almost howled to the ceiling as he emptied himself for probably the last time deep into the incubus.

When he was done cumming, Geralt pulled out and laid back down next to Jaskier as Jaskier flopped on the bed, on his stomach as he sighed happily. “Oh, I think you filled me up and satisfied me for at least a month!” Jaskier laughed softly as Geralt lay on his back staring at the ceiling,

“you will leave these people alone and stop killing?” Geralt asked roughly as he looked to Jaskier who pouted and sighed,

“yes I will leave these people alone and stop killing,” Jaskier agreed and flopped back onto his back with a sigh as well, “you know, witcher. I think you need a companion. How about I come with you?” He asked as Geralt groaned,

“how about not?”

“Then how will you know if I stopped killing people? Only you can really truly satisfy my needs!”

“I am not going to have an incubus following me. You know how bad of a reputation that would be for a witcher to have you following me?”

“Oh come off it! I can hide my horns and tail and no one will know I am an incubus but you,” Jaskier purred lightly and turned on his side as a hand went to Geralt's arm, “I will be your... Bard! I will sing your praises and help the world see you in a better light!” Geralt almost laughed out loud and shook his head,

“I rather you not,” He grumbled and Jaskier grinned,

“great when do we leave!?” He asked and Geralt groaned again,

“I need to return to the people of the village but without your head I won't get paid. There goes 1500 oren down the drain,”

“how about instead of taking my head I give you 3000 orens?” Jaskier asked happily and Geralt eyed him but gave a nod as he stood and started to dress.

“Get dressed, we need a reason on why I am bringing you back,”

“you rescued me from the big bad evil succubus who was going to kill me, a simple bard who was traveling to this lowly town! You scared her off and she ran and now they are saved!” He flourished a hand as the horns and tail disappeared. Even the flowing blue eyes turned to a normal cornflower blue as he started to pull on his clothes humming to himself.

Geralt sighed as he stood and dressed as deftly as he stripped and pulled on his boots last, “come on, Bard,” Geralt smirked at that and they made their way from the ruined farm house for a new and exciting adventure.

#geraskier week #geralt/jaskier #geralt #jaskier #incubus jaskier #lots of sex #AO3 works as well

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anotherdayinchuckletown · 4 years

Text

They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 1

Hey, guys! How’s it going? I’ve been writing for about ten years now, but this is only the second ever fic I’ve shared anywhere, so I’m super nervous!!!

This is basically my take on a Harley Quinn origin story tailored to the universe of Joker (2019). It’s going to be Harley like we’ve never seen her before, with lots of Arthur, lots of Sophie, lots of original characters, and lots of twists and turns.

I’m SO beyond excited to finally share this with you guys, and I hope you all enjoy! Please like, comment, reblog if you do so that I know if you guys love reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it! This fic is also posted to my AO3 account (https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve), so you can also read it there if you’d like!

Without further ado, heeeere we go!!

Chapter 1

The apartment building at Eleven-Forty Anderson Avenue is an eyesore situated in the midst of a likewise ugly city called Gotham. A pimple on a face only a mother could love. A pariah among pariahs.

Management has long since stopped caring about its maintenance, leaving it a patchwork of leaking ceilings, cracking foundations, and broken windows haphazardly boarded shut. Even the most seasoned resident of Gotham City would quicken his pace when passing the telltale archways which separate the apartments from the rest of the city.

Sophie Dumond is currently doing her best to avoid saying any of that out loud.

“It’s really not that bad,” she lies. “Definitely a far cry from where you’re living now, but once you get used to it, it’s not the worst.” Although she is on the phone, she looks down at her shoes anyway, so as not to look her guilt in the face. A crack in the tile beneath her feet stares back accusingly.

“Really? My brother told me his appliances never work, and the maintenance crew is impossible to reach,” the voice on the other line replies skeptically. It belongs to another young woman by the name of Emma Boulanger – Emma Scott, actually, ever since her marriage – who has been Sophie’s best friend since the two of them met in elementary school. She is also the godmother of Sophie’s five-year-old daughter, which was an unpopular decision she had been made to justify more times than she would have liked (honestly, though, her sister could call her if she ever became less of a pretentious bitch).

This phone call marks the first time Sophie has heard from her in one month, two weeks, and six days. Not that she’s been counting or anything.

It’s just strange not to talk to her, as she’s always the first to know of any big changes in her friend’s life. Emma is certainly the first to know about changes in Sophie’s life as well. She’s there when they both open up their letters of acceptance into Gotham University, whooping and cheering and dreaming of finally, finally leaving this shithole, getting glamorous jobs in the big city. She’s there when Sophie is curled up on her bathroom floor, crying and clutching a positive pregnancy test, wanting the best for the child growing inside of her, yet fearing she would never be able to provide it.

That’s why it’s so odd when Emma’s twin brother is the one to mention in the hallway one day that his sister has filed for divorce. And furthermore, that she’s returning to Gotham to live with him until she gets back on her feet.

“Like I said, Emma, it’s not perfect,” she relents. “But hey, at least it’ll be nice to hang out again. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, it really has! I moved, what, almost two years ago?” Emma’s voice brightens marginally, and Sophie can nearly see the lopsided grin spreading across her face, so familiar is she with every tic, every tell, every minuscule inflection to her words. “Metropolis is boring as hell, by the way. I almost miss Gotham - call me crazy.”

Sophie huffs, knowing full well that Emma is playing it cool - trying not to let on how much she dreads moving back to a city she called a living, breathing prison for so many years. Best to keep things lighthearted then. Empathize with her, acknowledge her feelings, but never, never pity her. “You’re definitely crazy, Em,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly does it for you, the enormous rats or the graffiti dicks?”

An almost imperceptible chuckle filters through the receiver. “Well, no one ever really escapes Gotham, do they? I figure I might as well develop a little Stockholm Syndrome.”

Sophie doesn’t immediately respond to the bleak sentiment. It’s simply a joke, of course, and as a matter of fact, very on-brand. But there’s enough truth to it to cause a momentary lapse in the lightness of their conversation.

Sophie has found gradually that Emma was right growing up. Gotham truly seems less like a place and more like an entity. It has a certain way of taking, taking, taking from a person, and when that person has nothing left to give, taking just a little bit more. The citizens meander like restless spirits, doomed to wander to and from their low-wage jobs for eternity. The air is heavier out there, tugging their faces down into sour expressions, aging them prematurely. A reflection of their surroundings.

Sophie often wonders if she looks the way they do.

If Emma notices the shift – which she certainly does, she always does – she politely ignores it. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers… It was nice of Eddie to let me stay with him on such short notice.” Fondly, she adds, “He may be a bit of a shithead, but he’s a good brother.”

Before Sophie can stop herself, she laughs aloud. “No comment. We do live on the same floor, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Do you two ever hang out?”

“Not particularly.” Sophie doesn’t dislike Eddie – quite the opposite, in fact. She always chalks up her lack of chemistry with him to simply having nothing in common. He and Emma share nothing but a birthday, a head of golden hair, and a pair of striking ice-blue eyes.

Rapid footsteps make their way into the foyer, breaking Sophie out of her reverie. “Mommy, look what I drew!”

Muttering a quick “hang on a second” into the receiver, she turns toward the source of the sound, and a sheet of paper is practically shoved in her face from below. She is met with a mish-mosh of various shapes and colors, one large brown figure taking precedence in the middle of the page.

She smiles warmly. “Wow, that’s very good, Gigi! What’s that a picture of?”

The artist beams with pride. “It’s the roach you killed in the bathroom yesterday!”

Son of a bitch.

“Can we put it on the fridge, Mommy?”

Blinking owlishly, Sophie scrambles for a response. They really don’t teach her this shit in those parenting books she sometimes finds at Gotham Central Library.

She settles on, “Honey, you already have so many nice ones up there, I just can’t decide which ones to keep! Let’s put this one away for now, and I’ll think about it, okay?” She offers her free hand to take the drawing so that she can accidentally misplace it later.

It does the trick. “Okay!” her daughter chirps, proudly handing over her portrait. Encourage, then swiftly change the subject – a motherly sort of manipulation that works in everyone’s favor.

“Holy shit, I haven’t even asked about Gigi yet!” Emma exclaims. “God, she must be getting so big! She starts Kindergarten this year, right?”

“Yeah, in the fall. And she comes all the way up to my waist now, isn’t that insane?” Unmistakable pride colors Sophie’s response.

“That’s so awesome! Did she miss me at all?” comes over the receiver as Gigi simultaneously begins an onslaught of “who’s that, Mommy, who’s that?”

“Miss you? Are you kidding? Listen to this.” Sophie crouches next to her daughter, holding the phone away from her ear, but nearby so that Emma can hear. “Gigi, your Aunt Emma’s on the phone. She’s coming to live here again soon, isn’t that great?”

The resounding shriek is a good indicator that she agrees. And that Sophie is going to have to bring the neighbors another gift basket so they don’t complain about her to the landlord.

“Can I talk to Aunt Emma, Mommy? Can I, can I, please, please, please?” Tiny, impatient hands grapple for the phone as laughter pours in from the other line.

“Come on, if I let you talk to her now, we’ll be stuck here forever.” A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearing eight o'clock. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed soon?”

Gigi wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Sophie cuts her off before the complaints can begin. “No arguments, Gigi. Go start your bath – I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She receives a defiant huff; nevertheless, Gigi stomps her way to the bathroom, and Sophie waits for the sound of running water before she returns to the previous conversation.

“So anyway, Eddie tells me you’re holed up in a hotel room until the weekend. I’m guessing that Daniel didn’t take the…the breakup news very well?” she asks, somewhat cautiously. Talking about Emma’s husband – now ex-husband – is a mixed bag, even back when they were dating.

“You could say that,” Emma responds sheepishly. “It wasn’t pretty, let’s leave it at that. I thought it would be best for me to get out of the house right away, give him some time to himself.”

It makes Sophie nervous that she is skirting the question, but then again, Emma’s in a vulnerable position at the moment. And she’s rarely one to talk at length about her own emotions in the first place – she’s much more of a listener.

Sophie would like to ask what she means by “it wasn’t pretty”, but decides against prying. She would also like to ask why she ever married that jackass in the first place, since their relationship had been obviously strained from day one. It was always as if the two of them were tightrope walking over a volcano – bubbling quietly, boiling and threatening to swallow them both whole. The smallest change in the wind, the most harmless comment about Daniel not picking his towel up off the floor could send them tumbling into the inferno. She supposes one of them finally fell.

Something about that man has always creeped her out, but she gave up voicing her discontent with him after about the thirtieth time Emma brushed her off. She won’t say “I told you so”, since she wouldn’t want to belittle whatever pain Emma is going through. Still, she can’t help but feel a little relief – that doesn’t make her a terrible friend, right?

All of this can wait, though. It can wait until they’re seeing each other face-to-face again. Until Sophie isn’t on a strict time limit. She needs to wrap up the current conversation quickly because if she doesn’t, she could possibly be dealing with a flooded bathroom shortly. Five-year-olds do not generally care about the cost of repairing water damage if it seeps into the downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, with…you know…everything.”

“Of course!” Emma reassures her. “I’m perfectly fine. Like I said, I’m looking forward to being home. Honestly.”

Sophie is not convinced, and frankly, it sounds like Emma is not either. She wonders if her friend has been checking in on the worsening condition of their hometown from Metropolis. The homeless population is growing by the day, and the working class is becoming more and more restless due to low wages and poor working conditions in the inner city. Rumor has it that sanitation workers are chief among the dissatisfied, and a garbage strike is all but guaranteed by winter.

So much she wants to say. So much she can’t say. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

_______________________________________________________________

Emma remembers around this time last year taking a trip to Paris, France. She saw the premiere of a musical there called Les Misérables – it was based off of her favorite book by Victor Hugo, so naturally, she begged and begged to go.

And what a payoff! The show was spectacular, from the costumes to the stage design to the music. Oh, the music! Despite being there with her then-husband, she had the most fun she’d had in years, letting the melancholy chords turn her as light as the air and the lyrics carry her far, far away in the wind.

Even more than the music, she was captivated by the plot. She could practically feel the plight of the poverty-stricken citizens. One of the opening scenes depicted the starving masses singing of their grief over the way they were snubbed by the wealthy, left to rot in the streets.

That is the scene Emma finds herself stepping into today. Only this time, she is not a passive observer, watching the events unfold without being affected. From today on, she is one of the characters.

From the moment she arrives in downtown Gotham City by taxi, the tension claws at her with icy hands. It digs into her ribcage with each glare aimed her way, even in the mild September breeze. She knows she sticks out like a preacher at a Pride parade in her obviously expensive skirt and heels. It’s not like she had time to go digging around her closet for something more appropriate that night she left her house.

Handsomely tipping her driver, she climbs out of the car and rushes underneath a set of archways and inside the apartment building where she’ll be living for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t look very closely at it from the outside, so desperate is she to get off the street and away from whatever the hell that smell is.

Emma uses the opportunity to finally look around a bit, taking her surroundings in with narrowed eyes. The lobby is dimly-lit, with no color to it whatsoever. The walls are painted a chipped-up brownish yellow, which could have been white many years ago. It reeks of mold, to the point where the smell outside might be the lesser of the two evils.

Leaning carefully against the nearest wall, she mutters, “Not that bad, my ass.” From her purse, she retrieves her recently-purchased copy of a new novel titled Jumanji, and she waits.

And waits.

…

Emma’s eyes snap open - she hadn’t consciously closed them to begin with. She realizes with embarrassment that she almost fell asleep standing up. God, she’s more exhausted than she thought. How long has she been standing down here anyway?

“I’ll be home from work around four; I just need a little time to tidy up before you head over,” Eddie had said on the phone the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby and walk you up at six, okay?”

“That works,” Emma had replied. “As long as you’re actually there at six.”

“Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never exactly had a reputation for being punctual.”

“Jesus, Em. You think I’m gonna leave you hanging out down there alone?”

“We’ll see.”

Shutting her book, Emma checks her watch.

Six forty-five. That fucking flake forgot.

She groans, pushing herself languidly off the wall and scanning the room for assistance. No one at the front desk - in fact, there hasn’t been anyone there since she arrived, making her wonder briefly if she’s even in the right building.

Her eyes next land on the myriad of mailboxes against the opposite wall, closed off from the rest of the lobby by rusted wrought-iron bars, most likely to protect the postman. She walks through the open gate tentatively, and upon closer inspection, each mailbox has a sticker labeling the residents by apartment number. Bingo!

It doesn’t take long to find what she’s looking for. On the eighth floor, perfectly spelled out for her, she sees both S. Dumond in 8B and E. Boulanger in 8H. Why not visit the one who didn’t leave her stranded for an hour first? She could always call Eddie on Sophie’s phone anyway - the asshole probably smoked a joint as soon as he got home and passed out on the couch watching Magnum, P.I.

She heads for the elevator and presses the call button. As it whines slowly and almost menacingly down the shaft, she hears someone softly trudging along behind her, the very first sign of another life in here. As she enters the elevator, she politely holds the door open, and makes room for the clown getting on after her.

No, not a silly person. An actual clown. Painted face, red nose, neon green hair and all.

Of all the weird people she might expect to see in a place like this… Not even two hours in Gotham, and the evening is already shaping up to be quite the roller coaster.

Emma can’t help but stare as the doors shut and the clown punches the button for, coincidentally, the eighth floor. She settles into the far corner as she discreetly analyzes him. His posture, his defeated gait, the pitiful expression underneath his painted-on smile… His aura permeates the entire space, seemingly enough to weigh them both down, causing the elevator to drag slowly up the shaft like molasses, screeching all the way.

This is without a doubt the saddest clown Emma has ever seen. And she’s seen Pagliacci.

Around the third floor, there’s one long, particularly loud screech. Emma’s heart leaps to her throat as their ascent suddenly comes to a complete halt, and the lights in the tiny elevator space flicker on and off once. Is a three-story drop enough to kill a person her size? She prays that this isn’t how it ends - in this dingy elevator, terrified, with no one but a fucking clown. A clown who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time.

Thankfully, after a few seconds that seem to drag on for a lifetime, they start to slowly crawl up the shaft once more. Emma breathes an audible sigh of relief, and the clown seems to finally notice her, tossing a quick look of sympathy in her general direction.

Once she’s certain she can speak without her voice quivering, she does so. “Does…that happen often?”

Her voice really gets his attention. He whips his head around so fast she almost worries his little hat will come flying off like a frisbee. He blinks at her once, then twice, as if processing the fact that she is addressing him. For a split second, it looks like he’s going to say something.

Then, remembering himself, he simply shrugs bashfully. Emma lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

She notices the decorative red flower adorning his lapel, one of those prop flowers that’s actually a tiny water gun. Smiling in a way that she hopes is charming instead of ill-at-ease, she points to it. “I, uh…I like your flower. It’s very pretty.”

The clown tilts his head curiously. After a beat, he wordlessly reaches up and into his bright plaid coat, holding said flower slightly out toward her. Offering for her to come closer, to lean in and smell it.

Emboldened, she grins, shaking her head at him. “No way, mister. I know how that trick ends.” She’s kidding around with him, but she really can’t afford to get her clothes wet right now; she only has the ones on her back, after all.

Still, his lips at last curl upward, a real smile that reaches the lights of his eyes. And it’s then that Emma can see the color in them, an enchanting seafoam green that inexplicably draws her in, pulling her away from the corner and toward his side. He watches her carefully and intensely with an expression she can’t quite read. When he turns to face the doors once more, it’s not without keeping her settled in his periphery.

Most people would probably be a bit nervous being…examined so thoroughly. However, Emma finds his mannerisms endearing in an odd way. She’s never cared much for clowns before, but this one doesn’t seem so bad.

They ride in comfortable silence for another few moments. When they reach their destination, Emma is the first to exit.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely taking the stairs from now on,” she says.

The clown nods in response as he exits behind her, giant red and blue shoes flopping comically over the threshold.

The hallway is a bit noisy, voices of the residents drifting through the paper-thin walls like a mist, creating a fine haze over everything. The walls are just a touch too close together, making Emma claustrophobic and urging her to get to 8B as quickly as possible.

Not wanting to come off as rude, she introduces herself. “I’m new to the building, by the way - my name’s Emma. It’s a pleasure.” She extends a hand to shake.

The clown does return the gesture, but not before staring her hand down for an abnormally long period of time. And his grip through the rough material of his gloves is so soft and careful, it’s as if it’s barely there.

She’d honestly like to chat with this fascinating new neighbor of hers a bit longer, but instead, she pulls her hand away, settling for a polite nod and a cheerful “good night”.

She does not look back to see that the clown’s unwavering gaze follows her all the way down the hall.

#joker 2019 #Joker (2019)#joker #arthur fleck #sophie dumond #harley quinn #my fic #joaquin phoenix joker

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serverstuck · 5 years

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Come join SERVERSTUCK, a Fantroll RP server for anyone from Homestuck Veterans to complete newbies to Trolls! Pester your chums and make new friends!! With over 300 players, a whole year of service, a custom TTRPG system called SUBGRUBS AND SNAZZARDS (Powered by the Apocalypse, which you may have seen in Monster of the Week and TAZ: Amnesty!), Lore Events that range from Robot Invasions to Murder Trials and a super fun and friendly community to either roleplay with or just hang out with, we’re the best of what Homestuck has to offer in 2019! We even had James Roach visit us for a day for an exclusive AMA with him!

Now’s the prime time to join, as we start our week long Dancestor Event where we travel to Beforus and see what life on a peaceful sister planet might be like! To get an invite, just like or reblog this post or shoot us an ask!

FAQ under the cut!

Q: So what kind of roleplay is gonna happen in this server?

A: Serverstuck is more of a casual type RP than a plot based one. Nobody will be entering SGRUB, but other mishaps and mayhem are definitely on the table in the form of events that the admins will run!

Q: I don’t know much about trolls, I only played Hiveswap- will that be okay?

A: Absolutely! I went through all of the wiki, the comic and game, and now the Friendsim, and made a few educated guesses based on the Trollcall, and compiled all the info on trolls I could into a handy bullet point guide that can easily be glanced over in 10 minutes! You could even join with zero experience with trolls!

Q: I’m not very good at script RP… I prefer to Text in character. Is this the server for me?

A: You know it! Along with channels for locations trolls might chill around, we have multiple social media channels, from Chittr to Mirthful Mingle, for all your script RP needs!

Q: What kind of players can we expect to see?

A: The mod team wants a friendly atmosphere, and as such, we hope to recruit friendly members! People looking for drama, arguments or debate would probably be better off in other servers since this one is meant to be pretty peaceful!

Q: Hey, I submitted an ask, or reblogged an old ad, and I never got accepted! What gives?

A: I am so fucking sorry. listen for a while i was the only dude running the blog and giving out 1k invites was hell. However, our whole mod team is on board now, so you should get invites faster than ever!

Q: It’s 2019. Why are you still doing this?

A: O-our lusii say we’re valid…

Q: How many trolls can I play?

A: We each start with one troll, but as time progresses, you’ll have a shittonne more! INFINITE TROLLS, BABEY

Q: Is murder legal?

A: Absolutely, once you have consent and have discussed with both the other party and a mod!

Q: Have you any rules that we should know about first?

A: The most common ones are 1) we don’t allow Fuschia or Lime trolls and The reason is that there’s only one living Fuschia troll on Alternia at any given time, and they’re extremely powerful, and Lime trolls are all extinct.

Q: What will I do with my Fuschia or Lime trolls?

A: You can still have em! They can easily be revamped to be either Olive or Violet, depending!

Q: I take a long time to make stuff, and I don’t RP often. Can I still join?

A: Uh-huh! We’re cool with you coming in and just hanging out with other fans in the general chat!

Q: Are there any organized events we can take part in?

A: You know it! We have events every few weeks! The assassination of the Heiress! A brainstealing robot invasion! The Grinch stole 12th Perigee’s Eve! And a tonne of other stuff, too!

Q: Tell me about the TTRPG system you mentioned!

A: Subgrubs and Snazzards is a mod of Apocalypse World, just like Monster of the Week, which you may know from The Adventure Zone Amnesty! It’s simple, to the point, and a hundred percent customisable!

Q: What does this server have over other fantroll servers?

A: Well, we’re managed with a fully functional mod team who all take equal part in running the server, tend to players needs on a moments notice, have a years worth of experience under our wings, and will actively avoid encouraging drama. Trust us- there’s a few copycat servers out there, we know, but we’re the OG, and we won’t crumble under pressure! ;D

Q: 300 players sounds like it’ll be overwhelming…

A: Not to worry! Not all of our players are active daily! Consider it more like a hotel, where many people just check in and out, with a few residents living there on a permanent basis! Either way, you’ll never run out of people to thread with!

Q: I have a question that isn’t on this list.

A: Then shoot me an ask, bud! I’ll help you out in no time!

ART IS BY @swirlygerm-art ! Go follow em, you fucklenut, they’re one of Serverstuck’s beloved mods and our iconic artist!

#homestuck #hiveswap #vast error #fantroll #friendsim

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instantpaintertidalwavegaming · 4 years

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Why Do We Play Texas hold'em?

Why do we endured the lengthy hrs and also the losing touches, the negative beats, the software program dropping its internet link or the live suppliers dropping their cards? Are our lives absolutely so empty that our single outlet for home entertainment entails sitting at a table with eight or 9 various other masochists or looking at a computer screen and also howling at the brightly-colored phosphors when they don't turn our way? Are casino poker gamers actually that ill? In a word, yes. In even more words, yes, yet not for the factors many individuals may believe. So, why do we do it?

The Money. One of the main factors that occur to lots of people is, certainly, cash. Nearly all amateur gamers have that dream of winning the big TV tournament and bring in that million-dollar prize. Nevertheless, the epic Doyle Brunson, the guy promoted as "The Babe Ruth of poker", has been quoted as saying, "to be an effective (player) you need to have a full disregard for cash". Psychological of the daily Joe or Jane, money represents an action of the exchange of value for products as well as services-- if you have sufficient cash, you can buy a Big Mac, a winter season coat, an automobile or a residence. To the casino poker player, cash is just a means of tallying the score-- am I up or down for this session or month or year? Any kind of money an online poker gamer victories can be used as a measure of success, yet it is neither the only one nor also one of the most essential one. We can look here for further details: http://www.euwinsg.com/web/home.aspx

The Popularity. If you have viewed any supposed "truth TELEVISION" shows, you'll know that some individuals will certainly do anything to see their faces on television. For those not going to invest weeks at a time on a deserted island or eat real-time roaches, TV texas hold'em events provide an alternative that is similarly as interesting and also far more comfy. A win at a major TV texas hold'em event now brings not only a huge prize money as well as a lovely trophy; it can additionally gain that lucky gamer a recommendation contract with an online poker site, magazine interviews, publication agreements and also various other TV appearances. Some gamers additionally get invitations to star casino poker occasions, giving them a chance to fulfill, hang out with as well as play against their preferred movie celebrity, ballplayer or artist!

The Psychological Difficulty. Certainly, one factor that attracts a lot of smart and also accomplished people to the video game is the psychological obstacle associated with every hand, every session and every event. A number of the present celebrities of the game, consisting of Brunson, Chris Ferguson as well as Andy Bloch, all hold advanced degrees. Players that have actually gained distinctions in other games, consisting of Howard Lederer (chess), Gus Hansen (backgammon) and also David Williams (Magic: The Celebration) have switched over to poker for the extra mental stimulation it brings (see my casino poker geeks write-up). Actors, professional athletes and rock celebrities have gathered to competitions to locate that online poker absolutely is a game that takes "a min to learn, however a life time to master".

The Emotional Control. An obstacle that may be even more tough to get rid of than the mental facet of the game is the psychological roller coaster that occurs when competition stacks as well as money degrees swing from one extreme to an additional. Even a number of the wonderful players (Ulliott, Matusow, Hellmuth) have problems with handling their feelings at the table. The outcome these ups as well as downs can be the mood known as "tilt", where rage and aggravation can cause players either to move too strongly or to retreat right into a shell. According to Dr. Alan Schoonmaker's book, Your Worst Poker Adversary, some of the reasons for permitting emotions to acquire control of a game include impractical expectations, underestimating an opponent's skill level and also old-fashioned machismo. Any kind of player that can get rid of (or a minimum of decrease) the emotional swings will certainly also lessen their monetary ones too.

The Danger. For the same factor that amusement parks, skydiving educators and bungee jump flights stay in business, some players take pleasure in the adventure that originates from the unpredictability of online poker. Where a much more conventional texas hold'em gamer would certainly wish to keep their bankroll fluctuations to a minimum, some adventurers appreciate tossing chips in a pot without regard for their hand, their challenger's hand or their chances of winning. A gamer with these propensities enjoys the test of nerves that comes from a heads-up fight. Such a gamer also prospers on looking down a challenger, reviewing his expressions as well as "checking out his spirit". This type of thrill-seeker enjoys to bet huge, win larger, talk loud and also laugh also louder.

The Competitors. A number of the best gamers in the video game also have experience in affordable sporting activities. T.J. Cloutier played limited end in the Canadian Football League. Doyle Brunson was gone to pro basketball before he suffered a badly damaged leg. World Casino poker Tour final table gamer Greg "FBT" Mueller played specialist ice hockey in Germany. Lee Watkinson, Card Player Magazine's Gamer of the Year for 2004, was a collegiate wrestler. Every one of these gamers, along with lots of others, have actually learned to channel their affordable drive via online poker. Lots of existing as well as previous athletes from all levels of competition appreciate taking part in the huge buy-in events as well as developing their skills versus the most effective casino poker players worldwide.

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massivebelievercloudgaming · 4 years

Text

Why Do We Play Texas hold'em?

Why do we put up with the long hrs and the shedding streaks, the bad beats, the software program dropping its web link or the online dealerships dropping their cards? Are our lives absolutely so vacant that our single electrical outlet for home entertainment involves resting at a table with eight or nine various other masochists or staring at a computer display and shrieking at the brightly-colored phosphors when they do not turn our method? Are casino poker gamers really that unwell? In brief, yes. In more words, yes, however not for the factors lots of people might think. So, why do we do it?

The Money. Among the primary reasons that occur to most individuals is, certainly, cash. Nearly all amateur players have that desire for winning the big TELEVISION event as well as raking in that million-dollar reward. However, the fabulous Doyle Brunson, the man proclaimed as "The Infant Ruth of online poker", has actually been quoted as saying, "to be an effective (player) you have to have a total negligence for money". Psychological of the daily Joe or Jane, money represents a measure of the exchange of worth for items and solutions-- if you have adequate money, you can buy a Large Mac, a wintertime layer, an auto or a residence. To the online poker gamer, cash is merely a means of tallying ball game-- am I up or down for this session or month or year? Any cash a poker gamer success can be made use of as a procedure of success, however it is neither the only one neither also the most essential one.

The Fame. If you have actually enjoyed any so-called "truth TELEVISION" shows, you'll recognize that some individuals will do anything to see their faces on television. For those not going to spend weeks each time on a deserted island or consume real-time roaches, TELEVISION poker competitions supply a choice that is similarly as interesting and also much more comfy. A win at a major TELEVISION poker occasion currently brings not only a huge prize money and a lovely trophy; it can additionally earn that lucky player a recommendation agreement with an on the internet poker site, publication interviews, publication contracts and also various other TELEVISION appearances. Some players additionally get invitations to celeb texas hold'em events, giving them an opportunity to meet, associate and also bet their favored flick celebrity, ballplayer or artist! For further details, we can check it out here: http://www.euwincasino.com/web/

The Mental Challenge. Certainly, one aspect that brings in numerous smart as well as established individuals to the video game is the psychological difficulty involved in every hand, every session as well as every tournament. Most of the current celebrities of the video game, including Brunson, Chris Ferguson as well as Andy Bloch, all hold postgraduate degrees. Gamers who have earned awards in various other games, consisting of Howard Lederer (chess), Gus Hansen (backgammon) and David Williams (Magic: The Event) have actually switched to texas hold'em for the added mental excitement it brings (see my poker geeks write-up). Stars, athletes and rock stars have actually flocked to events to locate that online poker truly is a game that takes "a minute to learn, however a lifetime to master".

The Emotional Control. A challenge that may be even more difficult to conquer than the mental element of the game is the emotional roller rollercoaster that happens when event heaps and bankroll degrees turn from one extreme to an additional. Even most of the wonderful gamers (Ulliott, Matusow, Hellmuth) have issues with managing their emotions at the table. The result these ups and downs can be the emotional state called "tilt", where temper and also disappointment can cause gamers either to relocate as well strongly or to pull back right into a shell. According to Dr. Alan Schoonmaker's publication, Your Worst Poker Adversary, several of the reasons for permitting emotions to gain control of a game include unrealistic assumptions, underestimating an opponent's ability degree and antique macho. Any type of gamer that can remove (or at the very least reduce) the psychological swings will likewise decrease their economic ones as well.

The Danger. For the exact same reason that amusement parks, skydiving instructors and also bungee jump trips stay in service, some players appreciate the adventure that comes from the unpredictability of online poker. Where a much more conservative online poker gamer would certainly intend to maintain their bankroll fluctuations to a minimum, some risk-takers enjoy tossing chips in a pot without respect for their hand, their opponent's hand or their chances of winning. A player with these propensities appreciates the examination of nerves that comes from a heads-up conflict. Such a player likewise thrives on looking down a challenger, reading his expressions and "exploring his heart". This type of thrill-seeker enjoys to wager large, win larger, talk loud and laugh also louder.

The Competitors. A lot of the strongest players in the game likewise have experience in competitive sporting activities. T.J. Cloutier played tight end in the Canadian Football Organization. Doyle Brunson was headed for pro basketball prior to he experienced a severely busted leg. World Poker Tour final table player Greg "FBT" Mueller played expert ice hockey in Germany. Lee Watkinson, Card Player Publication's Gamer of the Year for 2004, was a collegiate wrestler. All of these players, along with several others, have actually learned to funnel their affordable drive through texas hold'em. Several current as well as former athletes from all degrees of competition take pleasure in participating in the large buy-in tournaments and also honing their abilities against the very best poker gamers worldwide.

0 notes

buttonholedlife · 4 years

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Coronavirus acts like a 'Excavator' in the music business|Techno Setting

Coronavirus acts like a 'Excavator' in the popular music industry

A number of full weeks ago my journeying for job between Leipzig and also Berlin ceased as a result of this coronavirus outbreak. I have actually given that then understood I have actually been actually totally eaten through work the final although and haven't been taking note of worldly affairs. I totally overlooked acting on the information coverage on covid19. Like the rest of us, I have never ever seen this kind of scenario where a global virus burst out so quickly around the globe.

Purportedly the constantly harmful and also aged that are actually thought about the absolute most at risk in our society currently over time are actually the absolute most in jeopardy, however there have been actually bunches of newspaper article from all over the world about folks under the age of fifty that are actually being actually laid up in Intensive Treatment.

Along with what believes that a comprehensive lockdown in result throughout the globe, to sway this infection which our company at this minute don't understand just how much it will definitely take our company in Corona's cooling rollercoaster. A considerable amount of individuals from throughout the world are really straining, the music business is actually enduring financially now over time, from group managers, PR organizations as well as the DJs. While all of us are being actually informed that social distancing is actually a must, purportedly any type of social get in touch with may create the matters worse.

Must our team comply with the policies of each of our federal governments and remain at our homes or should we say fuck the globe and be defiant and also keep going crazy whatever?

To become truthful, I am actually still quite a lot in shock about just how the world has totally shutdown but also for fundamental essential needs. Every little thing appears inverted, it is actually a little creepy, it seems that one thing thus little such as a microorganism can essentially handle traveling, globe markets, as well as authorities, an infection that's still in its own infancy participating in mayhem outside and in. Last night I went purchasing for groceries and also any of the grocery stores I went to all had operated out of fresh fruit and vegetables, dairy, eggs, bread, spaghetti all the everyday based was actually fully gone.

Let's continue track and also discuss the songs industry, where nightclubs like the epic Berghain and Berlin's finest Tresor among various other clubs almost everywhere are defending their presence. DJs are immediately certainly not being actually scheduled or every one of their approaching jobs for the following pair of months being terminated and God knows for how much time. The cycle of the songs field is actually being damaged presently. This is actually why I had an interest in exactly how DJs coming from various spots around the entire world & & exactly how it's impacted them as well as just how they are actually coping with it today.

We asked numerous individuals coming from the songs industry; How possesses the 'LOCKDOWN' condition impacted you individually as well as how are your household taking care of the disruption as well as perhaps very most importantly, just how is it impacting you fiscally?

DAVE CLARKE

"The important things concerning this lockdown is actually just how you discover exactly how it is actually affecting each and every individual, the anxiety, the worry of does a sneezing indicate merely a cold or "The Infection"? It is more vital than ever to connect and also mention hi digitally to every person you care approximately, to pay attention, to learn (I was actually talking with a friend in China to attempt and learn ideas for instance) to sustain, to acquire help, to try as well as be actually amusing and have submissiveness. Easy things like losing the drone of the urban area seems for me has actually been actually quite disturbing, you really feel alone, the managing your food items source like a stockroom for efficiency (which tbh need to possess consistently held true, yet an unacceptable apple believes that a crime currently) understanding individuals may certainly not pay for food items, the stress they possess.

The loss of all the liberties we considered given, in retrospection the pointless stupidity of business community. Walking the roads to acquire food experiences like Sundays made use of to be actually, every little thing now is actually full-on sell sell, probably closing the outlets down for a time a week will definitely help the mind, the loved ones, the private inhale far better. Oh, and the social networking sites birthed DJ's, possibly a lot better for me not to claim just about anything regarding that shitshow of arrogance. Allow's survive this find out, grieve, be actually better individuals, oh and really love even more honestly."

SANTONIO ECHOLS

"For me, It is actually beginning to get actual for our team in Michigan. My partner as well as I chose to stockpile on some things 3 weeks ago for the residence (food-wise) merely in the event that. I personally assume it is going to get a lot worse just before it gets better. After chatting with my booking organization My jobs were actually terminated or on grip for the month of May. Monetarily it is actually not affecting our team my better half is actually working from house and we possess a couple of dollars do away with for a stormy time. Companies are actually hurting a little, I'm hoping that this will definitely be actually short phrase. Effective my moms and dads and my spouse's parents to remain within was the tough part. Finding exactly how it is actually influencing seniors differently ... Let's keep prayerful!"

ORLANDO VOORN

"Most of us recognize that Coronavirus is actually a major concern for any individual around immediately, but as for feeling the economic grief on my edge and likely for a lot of underground songs producers, this performs not modify a lot given that our company have been paralyzed through this new system of greed as well as no drug age. Many of us discovered currently other means to keep afloat. I make popular music for over three decades and also ain't going no place.

I wish all my actual popular music manufacturers and also lovers to keep tough and strive and smart to maintain doing you for US. Nevertheless, the "elite" Non-producer DJ along with a million fans are currently weakened through this virus and can not go fist-pumping or even whatever else unawareness they may consider to supply the audience. Can not create that 50k a program anymore, I would certainly must claim along with satisfaction in my vocal. Fate involved you incognito as well as her name is Circle. Feel free to do not be sobbing online over how poor you possess it and also begging for donations given that you can not hand push any sort of longer. Because of the brand-new corrupt unit of Fans the whole scene how it got created has actually obtained raped from its own source by the greed of the corporates alleged advocates of the Techno as well as residence scene but definitely are out commercial just. Do not care about the top quality of the popular music. Those events that do treatment are actually rare. Below ground for life little one our experts such as roaches, certainly never dying always living As well as along with that being pointed out Let's return to the course!"

STATIC OBSTRUCTION

"This coronavirus pandemic carries 2 major risks to individual suffering, a wellness danger which is without a doubt the best essential but stone's throw behind is the financial risk. This 2nd one can easily trigger human suffering on a much bigger scale, unemployment, bankruptcy, making fear. Its own a cause and effect and a symptom of the capitalist device that is actually dated and also extreme. Our financial system might be established up in a manner elevating everyone from hardship, certainly not only the abundant, but also for the absolute most part, it loads scientific research as well as advancement. In my viewpoint, our federal governments need to have to carry out a global simple earnings for all, so people do not suffer needlessly, our company do not need additional mayhem bordering this problems, we require actual management and a planning of action to reduce the quantity of interruption presently happening.

All artists/DJs/graphic designers/promoters are influenced through this current state of affairs. Over the final 10 years, our team have actually viewed the amount of amount of money our company bring in coming from generating music decrease due to the onset of streaming web sites. In 2015 was awful in mind available because I started releasing popular music in 2005 and also but my songs was actually streamed over 500,000 opportunities on a variety of different internet sites. Along with most countries entering into lockdown, I am now not needed to create leaflets or banners as all events have been called off. I'm additionally certainly not able to DJ anywhere, each of this will possess a knock-on impact of eating into our financial savings. Currently, I don't understand anyone with the virus, each of my friends and family are actually taking safety measures along with social distancing, but it's having an extensive impact on every person. Coming from my viewpoint, It presents exactly how delicate our society is actually and also partly how unproductive a considerable amount of our work are actually."

DJ SURGELES

"The 'Lock-Down' has actually delivered our company considerably. I find it in the people around me, that are currently pretty panicky and also question where this will definitely lead. My efficiencies have actually been called off up until the end of April. The only positive factor I observe right now is that individuals are actually cooperating more to try to quell the huge complication and also for example in Wuhan there is again sunlight and crystal clear skies which has certainly not taken place for many years because of the smogginess, Venice has actually also taken a positive turn, the water is very clear once again while it was polluted. Perhaps it is actually Mama Attribute that offers a warning to humanity. From an economic standpoint, I will, obviously, step, yet that doesn't matter, our company need to make an effort to obtain the Infection in control!"

ADAM HELDER

"A lot of our clients are expert DJs, as well as occasions are suspended around the planet currently. Most of all of them are facing a come by their profit and it is actually mirroring also on our job. On yet another palm it is actually a good moment for that desires to advertise a brand-new launch, there's a ton of musicians spending more opportunity on podcasts and also stay streaming DJ collections, so they're seeking brand new songs, and at Grasp Coupon we'll release soon a charity initiative entailing our most prominent services, to help the performers certainly not to lose their upcoming releases and also give a contribution, in our little bit of, to keep the underground Techno as well as Property setting running in the course of this tough instant.

The Planet is actually dealing with a significant challenge along with the COVID19 infection. Every one of you artists, keep risk-free, devote the upcoming weeks with your household and let your creative thinking flow, now especially we require your contribution, for our thoughts and also spirit. Our personnel at Reach Coupon will be operating, as standard, to support musical tasks during these tough days, waiting on the instant we will certainly be clubbing once more together, bound as being one."

Ecilo is actually popular for his partner with Detroit inventor Thomas Barnett (Rhythim is actually Rhythim w/ Derrick May), we inquired him just how the situation is at this second in Jakarta (Indonesia).

"Our team are certainly not actually on Lockdown, our condition at the moment is the Authorities notifies everyone to operate from their homes plus all the schools are closed. As for me individually, it definitely influences me since I'm a citizen at Club Kilo Jakarta (Indonesia) and also it's immediately is unfilled and also a few individuals involve the celebration every night. Hey, I completely know it, It's technique too self-centered for me to think business-wise about the money aspect. Crucial for everyone is actually to remain paid attention to their health and wellness as well as be in addition to their family members in these weird opportunities where a virus is keeping getting control of the planet. For all promoters, it is actually time for them to perform investigation that the real skills are actually so our experts can easily possess typically one thing brand new hereafter pandemic. I wish all my close friends throughout the globe, and I truly think our company can encounter it all together."-- Ecilo Jones

For additional information on coronavirus see

To maintain to meeting along with more of our news/articles associate with our team on social networks:

Look into our month to month podcast on di.fm, pay attention to past program listed here: https://technoscene.eu/on-air/

This content was originally published here.

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michaelfftv · 7 years

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I had an idea last year that I would begin documenting America every 4th of July. I’d take a cultural snapshot, of the country, from the road, as it were. As I wrote last year, “..the idea for a project came to me a couple of days, or even just the day before the Fourth of July. As photography projects go, the idea was a simple one. I’d simply drive a predetermined route through America, on the Fourth, and document the state of our country on that day”

Last year, I wound through the heart of the Appalachians on what proved to be a cool and dreary, and at times, rain drenched initial adventure. You can read of my honest- and less than bombastic results- here.

The intervening year crept up on me. Obligations were long and cash was short, where should I go to chronicle the state of our country? I didn’t want to skip the piece but going out on an extended trip was out of the question.

Where, I thought, in these insane times can I go, within my temporal and economic budgets to showcase the howling madness that is America under the Trump circus?

It then occurred to me that there are few places as conflicted historically and presently as my home town. And why leave town especially on the Fourth of July if I could find what I needed right in my own hometown. Remember L Frank Baum’s words at the end of the Wizard of Oz? ““If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard…..”

And wasn’t the Wizard of Oz after all, a political allegory and didn’t my home town know a good political allegory when it saw one. Yep, it was right here in the big nasty that G.W. Bush, in a nationally televised speech, sold the lie that was the Second Gulf War which ultimately killed hundred’s of thousands. Baum sold the vision of a paradise over the rainbow; W sold the image of mushroom clouds…

Right here in my home town, Bush knowingly lied by telling the nation that, “The threat comes from Iraq. It arises directly from the Iraqi regime’s own actions — [t]e Iraqi regime has violated all of [its] obligations. It possesses and produces chemical and biological weapons…… .”

Those words could arguably be seen as the downfall of the American Republic. For in knowingly lying to the American people, and sanctifying the greed and bloodshed which flowed from those lies, Bush, and his handlers, made it possible for the rise of the current Trump kakistocracy.

Trump’s Presidency, of course, makes the Bush’s administration lies and deceit look like a suburban Kool Aid stand in comparison. He came here selling snake oil, a perfect reincarnation of your average 19th century huckster, setting up a Nazi circus, spreading his poison, preaching his own virulent and ignorant brand of misogyny, racism and homophobia.

Speaking to a crowd of rabid white trash, in my home town, Trump promised that once he was elected that he would, “ask my Attorney General to appoint a special prosecutor to look into her (Hillary Clinton’s crimes, because what she did is a disgrace to the country…” Of course, as of this date, Poor Donny’s a little too busy to persecute Hillary, what with both he and his AG being on the run, trying to avoid impeachment and/or arrest and/or jail…. (And as of this date, Trump has also, predictably, turned on his AG saying, “he wished he never hired him,”).

And this is just the recent past. The truth is that this town has always been the whipping post for the Republican party. In this town rose the Mapplethorpe charade. Our history is littered with an endless parade of self styled bad ass Sheriffs and rosecutors- most notably Simon Leis and Joey TV Deters- who have beaten this town, over the decades, like an abused housewife. The list of petty little men who have beat their chest and made political hay by pissing on everyone who wasn’t white and republican is long and plenary.

Most recently Joey (TV) Deters declined to retry Ray Tensing, the UC cop who gunned down Cincinnati resident Sam DuBois. Tensing was white and DuBois was black.

Tensing had, in the past written 84% of his traffic tickets to minorities and was wearing a confederate flag T shirt under his uniform when he gunned down DuBois-really. I’m not making that up. Deters, who originally feigned outrage, then subjected the cop to a long slow half-assed prosecution which all but guaranteed Tensing’s freedom.

Deters, meanwhile went back to his full-time law practice while still collecting full pay from the Prosecutor’s office. Which only makes sense, justice in this town has always been a part time deal anyway. Besides, he earned his pay, it’s not easy to always say one thing and then do the other that’s sort of like two jobs anyway right?

Joey TV ultimately justified his decision by saying that Tensing remains subject to Federal prosecution. Federal as in tried by the Feds who are run by Donnie (grab her pussy) Trump and his his AG Jeff (“I thought those guys [the Ku Klux Klan] were OK until I learned they smoked pot).” Sessions.

I wonder if the fact that Tensing, Trump and Sessions all buy their white robes from the same retailer constitutes a conflict of Justice. Or maybe I heard that part wrong…..probably not.

And I won’t even start on the kangaroo courts in this town………except to say that as a third generation Attorney in this town, I walked these courthouse halls for fifteen years, watching people being bought and sold by the corporations which run this town……

My point being, that for far too long, this town has been- from my point of view -home to people with giant mouths and little brains. It’s been the nation’s living room for those who love to preach responsibility for others and greed for themselves.

Cincinnati has been a town that for hundreds of years has served as a mouthpiece for all that is crude and narrow-minded and uneducated about our country. As with most of Ohio, our favorite game has long been blame the victim.

For as long as I can recall- some fifty years- this town has lived under a dark cloud of racial oppression and monogamy. For as long as I can remember, this town has reveled being the home of The Man.

From 1995 to 2001 at least 15 black men were shot and killed under increasingly suspicious circumstances by police. By 2001, when Officer Roach killed an unarmed minor named Timothy Thomas, the city had had enough and a four-day riot arose. Eventually the city was placed under Martial Law. As if we were Berlin.

In the decade that followed, my home town very much became a ghost town.

Fortunately, my hometown is now – ever so slowly- turning the tide against such bigotry and ignorance.

Which brings us to Northside. Northside is a an urban neighborhood five miles due north of downtown. For a very long time it has been the perpetual island of misfit toys. A former industrial center along the Mill Creek- a tepid wastewater ditch that bisects the city’s north/south band of industrial production and which runs from north of town, some 30 miles south to just west of downtown . The Mill Creek has been variously claimed and named to be the most endangered river in North America and “a great open city sewer.”

It can be hard to remember, but Cincinnati was, in its day, as blue collar a town as Cleveland and Pittsburgh. Most of the factories which made this city were located along the Mill Creek. Powell Valve, Juergon’s, P&G and countless meat packing plants.

Many of the people who worked and lived in these factories and plants lived in Northside and its surrounding neighborhoods. In very unlike Cincinnati form, there were black and white, Appalachian,- and in time- Africans and Gays also called this neighborhood home.

They lived together in relative peace, though crime was always a problem. No one belonged to a country club. The racial tolerance which existed was not built so much on any high-minded idealism so much as it was cemented in poverty and safety. Everyone, or damn near, everyone was poor or scared. Northside became Cincinnati’s first urban gay enclave because gay residents needed a place to band together for safety.

Thus because they did not have a choice minorities in Northside- with many notable exceptions-learned to lived together. White and black alike ate in the cheap diners that lined Hamilton Ave. Places like Park Chili and the Blue Jay were not so much restaurants, but community living rooms. Everyone knew not just every’s name, but every’s business.

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Diane Coffee- Northside Fourth Of July Festival.

The houses were urban and modest and the traffic was loud and constant. The main street-Hamilton Ave- led to Pill Hill where the city’s hospitals are located, thus ambulance traffic and sirens were frequent.

In time the neighborhood changed. Artists came calling because old industrial space could be had cheap and converted to studios. Maureen Wood, more than anyone else initally made such space available to not just musicians but photographers, painters and writers, such as myself.

Shop by shop, stores opened. Stores which catered to the new customers from outside the neighborhood. Record stores, like Shake It Records, hair salons like Pinokio’s, cheap restaurants and, in time, several bars that featured local music, normally free, almost every night of the week.

The first of these places being The Comet- which served burritos as big as puppies- and the second being The Northside Tavern. Both have phenomenal juke boxes and helped Northside to developed a reputation for being a center for all arts and a rare island in the city. Am island which demonstrated racial and lifestyle tolerance. For many of us, Northside was the pacemaker which allowed us to live in this city of cynicism.

Restaurants like Slims, Bocca and others helped to bring cash from outside Northside into Northside while providing jobs and training not normally found in the neighborhood.

These NST and the Comet not only became important to the local scene, but served as incubators which gave rise to bands and a sound which spread nationally. Bands of every flavor have played , if not lived, in Northside and went on to achieve national renown, if not fame. The Afghan Whigs broke through signing with Sub Pop. The Ass Ponys followed. There have also been Over The Rhine, the Tigerlillies, The Greenhornes and The Heartless Bastards. More recently have been Wussy, The National and Walk The Moon. This is a very partial list.

I have not even touched upon the fact that Cincinnati is one of the founding city’s of rock and roll, nor the importance of King Records and of Herzog Recording studios to Cincinnati as a whole.

Slowly this town has crawled from its grave and opened it’s mind-mostly.

Over the years, artists and musicians have ceased migrating from Cincinnati, at the first sign of success, and now play and work here. Our music scene can hold its own with all but a very few cities in this country. Northside itself is in the midst of gentrification. Properties are selling like wildfire even as rents rise. But that’s another story for another day.

No, I realized that there wasn’t any reason to drive hundred’s of miles to explore the soul of America in 2017. I wouldn’t even need a car as the neighborhood of Northside is barely a mile and half, from the Comet at the top of the hill, passing NST, to Knowlton’s Corner where the main streets of Northside star cross just before crossing over the Mill Creek.

Which is also pretty much the route traced by one of the happiest and funkiest Fourth of July parades in America.

The upshot of the parade is that there is a community Fourth of July parade which kicks off at noon, on the Fourth, and which travels down Hamilton Ave from basically the Comet toJacob Hoffner Park- Northside’s primary park- located just south of Northside Tavern (NST). The parade also coincides with a very great three day music festival at the park.

The Parade is pretty much anything goes and anyone is welcome. In addition, therefore, to the usual politicians and marching bands, there are also various absurdist acts such as a men’s drill team which marches with- yes, you guessed it, power tools.

There are also free form surreal self contained universes sponsored by local stores. A There is a post 40 ‘s women’s drill team which marches and dances in sharp choreography, with lawn chairs. There are drag queens and children with puppies and floats advertising various small businesses. There was a single member of the Northside Air Guitar Society. There are processions of antique cars, there are firetrucks and people who walk with flags and marchers who wish to make a political statement.

This year one of the largest, vocal, and most diverse crowds- and most well received groups- was the Justice For Sam DuBois.

The largest float, ultimately, came last. A man and his wife and girlfriend drove a Tacoma pickup down the street.. They sat alone, save for a dog that sat between them. In the back was a generator, a sound board, a couple of loudspeakers and two guys with a mac book.

From my vantage point, at the bottom of the hill, about halfway down the festival route, it appeared that something strange was going on at the end of the parade. As the parade drew near it was possible to see that people who had been living the parade route, were coming off the sidewalk, on onto the street where they began to dance behind and around the truck.

By the time the truck reached my position, there were thousands of people dancing in the streets in a spontaneous free form rave to the sounds of REM, Marvin Gaye, U2 and the like. It was also clear from looking at people expressions, and their dancing, that people were seriously moved. They did not stop to consider that they had been sitting in the hot sun for over two hours, no they simply rose and joined, en mass, without thinking.

I joined in photographing the dancers. Black and gay; white and Latino; old and young: all were joining in equally. Dancers swarmed around the truck dancing hard to Marvin Gaye in the hot summer air. By the time that the truck reached the lower end of the parade five thousand people were dancing in the street. The people on the sidewalk looked on, not certain as to how to react. This sort of thing does not happen, on large public scale, in my conservative town. Especially during these dark days of Trump.

And more than anything, suddenly, and without warning, happiness was in the air. There was the feeling of being let outside on a warm spring day after a very brutal winter. There was a feeling of being 12 and let out of school for the year, there was a feeling of being let out of one’s cage.

There was a an inexplicable feeling which added up to something akin to freedom. Without anyone saying a word, it seemed as though five thousand people came to collectively recall that they need not suffer needlessly. It seemed, as if, people were recalling that freedom was possible. One hoped that this was the being of something. Something new. One had just a brief, but real vision and hope that collective love could vanquish mass ignorance and that love could dispel hatred.

Maybe if it only took one drunk hanging from a tank, with a bottle of vodka in his hand, to vanquish the USSR; then maybe it only takes one young happy couple, a dog, and a pair of large loudspeakers to push back the miasma of gloom which has fallen on this town.

As the truck reached the end of the parade route, Jimi Hendrick’s Star Spangled Banner cut through the afternoon.

I had the thought that what we needed was not a million people marching on Washington, but millions of people dancing upon the capital.

We need to drape the Mall with loudspeakers and fill the air with the best American music ever written-Louis, Ella, Petty and CCR and The Band. We need to drowned out our fake government with songs of courage and faith and protest: Who’ll Stop The Rain, Gypsy Biker and Strange Fruit. On Sunday, after we sleep in the mall, we’ll play A Love Supreme, from Vinyl on a turntable placed in the Lincoln Monument.

The current regime, may just have enough support and weapons to withstand wide scale marches, they don’t have a prayer against all of us united in love and the music of Coltrane and Miles. They can’t stop us from fucking dancing.

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And if we could manage such a thing, how appropriate if it would start here. How good it would be.

And so it was this Fourth, a klusterfuck of sorrow, though, at the end of the day, there was a gleam of hope, enough to force a smile.

We move forward from here.

A new Post from The Illustrated Essay: I had an idea last year that I would begin documenting America every 4th of July. I'd take a cultural snapshot, of the country, from the road, as it were.

#Fourth July America Backroads Travel North Carolina Kentucky Tennessee Kentucky Ohio race poverty police cops killings project #Holiday

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floodinginthegarden · 4 years

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What I try to do to decolonise and diversify classical music.

In November 2018 I experienced one of the most negative reactions to my work . As you may know, I am the director of Forest Collective, a new music collective dedicated to diversity, unorthodox performance practice and bespoke performance experiences that bring new and old music together to make experiences you may not thought would have been possible. Part of our vision is to not program music by dead white men. This article with CutCommon was released on their Facebook page, and it was the first time I had really experienced such a negative reaction from what I believe were older, white men. Comments were made on the post like “we don’t want your hands on our masterpieces” and “what's wrong with Beethoven and Mozart anyway?” I felt that many of these commenters hadn’t read the article and seen that I take no issue with the cannon, just that the same operating space that Forest Collective has is as diverse as possible.

Disclaimer: I was approached by CutCommon’s editor who supported me through the immediate option to remove the story. But I chose to keep it published despite the comments. CutCommon does not support prejudice or discrimination of any kind, and comments were closely monitored by the editor, in addition to communication being open between us at all times.

As a cis, white man myself, perhaps I had been sheltered from this sort of commentary in the past. But this experience really opened my eyes to the fact that some people cannot accept change, progress or an attempt to call out injustice. If you read the article you’ll see there really isn’t anything to defamatory about it. I simply say that for the small position that I and Forest Collective hold will be as diverse as possible.

In the current climate of George Floyd, BLM, Harvey Weinstein, Trump, #MeToo, the fight for LBGTQIA+ rights and the rights of first nations peoples, I wanted to write an article about how, in my own very small way, I try to diversify and decolonise art music.

I would like to note that my work is primarily in the independent, new music scene in Melbourne. Luckily this small but rich scene of “new” classical music practitioners is generally based on a passion for innovation, diversity and progress. One could argue in opposition to the mainstream classical music world, which is slower to the diversity narrative. With this in mind, I can’t really speak for other artistic or social areas, and that the idea of decolonisation and diversity has a lot to do with representation of not only people of colour and first nations people, but also female identifying, LGBTQIA+ and people living with disability audience members and artists. Many organisations that fall under the Major Performing Arts Group (the big companies with Federal Government funding) are in my opinion and experience very White-Settler Australian focused, slow to innovation and change and who market mostly to a post war baby-boomer generation.

In this article I want to talk about a few of the roadblocks I’ve run into as a composer, conductor and curator of new art music, solutions I’ve tried to implement and consult on, and just general trends I’ve noticed in the industry.

I should probably add some personal definition here, because it can get confusing and I often use both terms interchangeably. I generally use Art Music to refer to music that isn’t in mainstream pop - so this covers a whole range of stylistic practice and genre. I feel the term classical music doesn’t really cover what I and Forest Collective do.

Female identifying

Probably the most noticeable force for change within art music and classical music in recent years has been a push for greater representation of female identifying composers. I have noticed a growth in a lot more composition competitions and fellowships for just female identifying artists, and there are many ensembles and artists, especially in the USA, that champion, almost exclusively the music of female identifying artists. Some great resources I’ve come across are Sarah Hetrick’s Works for Saxophone by Women composers, the Boulanger Initiative and Women In music.

In recent times in Australian we have seen more larger commissions going to female artists then in the past. Within Forest Collective we have a decent representation, however one trend I have noticed in programming our concerts collectively is that when the groups suggests works to perform inevitably many are by men. As a new music ensemble we often want to tackle the important works in the new music cannon. Examples being Pierrot Lunaire by Arnold Schoenberg, Folk Songs by Luciano Berio or the Chamber Concerto by Gyorg Ligetti. These are amazing works that are cornerstones for a new music ensemble. Often suggestions like these come from both male and female members of the ensemble. One can argue that we’re simply interested in programming “quality” pieces, but as I’ll talk about later this is a kind of backward cop out. So, when I do do a call out to the ensemble I will outwardly say don’t forget about women. Generally it doesn’t matter because there are alway suggestions of works by female composers, but it’s worth just taking a moment to look at a compiled list and just acknowledge the level of representation there and to try and find the most balanced outcome.

A further discussion on this can be found in this podcast we did from 2018.

There are many interesting initiatives I’ve seen implemented by different companies around the world such as female composer festivals and publicly advertised quotas for work by female composers. However I think the most successful programming comes when it’s not yelled from the rooftop or used as a marketing ploy. When concert programs are simply made to be as equal as possible. The argument that there are only a handful of female composers pre 1910 that have enough “quality” works to be programmed is rubbish. Another trend seems to say the cannon is so rich with works by white cis men that we have to keep that programming pillar intact and that in the fringes of a companies program, like a commission or a collaboration, organisations can look at enacting more diversity. I reject this. There are plenty of female composers, from all periods, who wrote good, bad, crappy and extraordinary music, it’s just generally they aren’t the ones who get the 10 page analysis in Groves or who feature on the top 20 lists of audience favourite. I am not blaming the audience here, but rather I would like to see more risks taken by the larger companies.

I have a passion for buying crappy old dusty music history books from second hand book shops, and it’s always interesting to see in a publication that might be 50+ years old how many words are dedicated to female composers (if any…). In Eric Blom’s Everyman’s Dictionary of music first published in 1947 Claudio Monteverdi is given half a page, with a lengthy list of works. His contemporary Francesca Caccini is given basically no biographical information, except to say her father is a well known musician himself (the next entry in the book dedicated to him, with double the information printed) and a piddly list of works. Of course Monteverdi is often cited as being one of the inventors of opera, and so deserves some extra air time. His works are cornerstones of the cannon, and are musically and culturally significant to the development of art. However surely so is a woman contemporary to Claudio, creating work that many leading musicologists now would argue made just as influential contribution to the development of the art form and perhaps never had it’s place in the sun due to Caccini’s gender. I would be very curious to see the attention put on Francesca in more contemporary publications. This sort of systemic misogyny seems to still hold sway over the opinions of many programmers and audiences around the world. In my experience of the works by female identifying composers are new or living composers. Some research and revision into older work would be fantastic to see across all areas of the industry.

First nations

In my growth as a curator of music I have worked hard to better myself with programming and knowing music by women. I have yet to really push myself into broadening my experience programming art music by first nations people. Some excellent initiatives I’ve researched include Ensemble Offspring’s Indigenous Composer in Residence series, Seattle Opera’s focus on First Nations opera artists and Industry Operas fascinating production Sweet Land.

My experience in Australia is that Indigenous music has often been quoted and/or appropriated by white composers. Many early, 19th century colonial works include titles like Corroboree and references to the sort of noble savage idea. Peter Sculthorpe and the “new” Australian sound that arose around him, Richard Meale and others in the late 1960s and 70s seems to have embraced indigenous culture in a way that seems less tokenistic and more authentic to its significance. However I feel that it’s only been since the 1980s where more authentic representation of Australian Indigenous music creation within the Art music concert platform has occurred. This has been spearheaded by composers such as Debrorah Cheetham and William Barton, and the fantastic collaborations such as the last album of Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu with the Australian Chamber Orchestra and Sydney Symphony Orchestra, and Archie Roach and Ruby Hunter with the Australian Art Orchestra.

People of colour

Similar to the above, my work around inclusion of composers of communities other than white and english speaking has been slower than my focus on female identifying composers.

When one focuses on new art music you do get more of a cross section of composers from varying ancestries then you would within the traditional classical music cannon. This year in Forest Collective I approached the amazing Ali Fyffe who lived and worked in South East Asia to put together a program of works that focused on composers of underrepresented Asian nations in Australia. Often you can find works by Chinese, Japanese and Korean composers which are given reasonable air time, but the music of the middle east, south, central and south-east Asia is often less heard on the concert platform in Australia. It was a great gateway into discovering some unique and vibrant music communities with activities worthy of focus. I do also feel that with Chinese, Japanese and South Asian communities being some of the biggest non-European communities in Australia, art music producers have an obligation to create and curate work that reaches out to these communities. Classical music seems to froth over trying to get the 18-30 year old demographic, but I actually think trying to include immigrant, culturally and linguistically diverse communities would be more substantial for the growth and success of art music in Australia.

As I mentioned above when speaking about revision of the presence and contribution of female identifying composers in classical music cannon, there is also a lot of work to be done around the revision of people of colour, first nations peoples and basically non-European contributions to the development of Western Art Music.

A composer that really touches on some really fascinating intersectionality around art music and it’s appropriation of other cultures is Osvaldo Golijov. Golijov is an Argentinian composer, with influences from klezmer music, tango all the way through to middle eastern and african sounds. The work often has political and social influences, and uses this sort of quotation technique to highlight varying political ideas. The above linked work Azul brings the traditional 18th and 19th century concerto form, south american culture, folk and pop suggestions with contemporary music making together into a fascinating and really beautiful musical experience. Another work that does this is the fantastic Ayre, a sort of Berio’s Folk Songs for the early 21st century. Some fascinating extra reading for this piece here.

My experience with the African and African American art music cultures is very limited, outside of Jazz. There are certainly composers and works I adore such as Winnie: the Opera by South African composer Bongani Ndodana-Breen, anything by Julius Eastman, Champion by Terrance Blanchard and so many more jazz and jazz-art music collaborations. However, it is a narrative we don’t seem to see a lot of in Australia, and I would be fascinated to explore more music from the African or African American experience in Australia.

For some extra reading on the African and African American experience I would look no further then the work of Naomi Andre, especially the book Black Opera: History, Power, Engagement.

Disability access

Once again I need to admit that this isn’t an area I am at all an expert in. From my research, Australia seems to be a real leader in disability access to the arts, more generally, with great work being done by Arts Access Australia & Victoria, amazing work produced by Rawcus Theatre Company (often collaborating with live musicians) and some really well thought through funding pathways from the large funding bodies, like Australia Council for the Arts and Creative Victoria, amongst others.

Classical Music holds a lot of barriers for people living with disabilities. From my research a lot of the work around physical access and needs for audience members living with a disability are generally done by venues, rather than the presenting companies.

Many companies have implemented the standard experiences, such as tactile tours, audio description and relaxed performances. However, there does seem to be a lack of innovation and originality in this area which I feel has a lot of growth in creative bespoke experiences for those living with disability. Once again, I’m not saying I’m an expert or a leader in this field, but I feel that more dynamic options could be made to give audiences with varying access more access to new music. One simple and often overlooked aspect is for a concert to be Auslan interpreted. Interpretation can describe the feeling and mood of music, and is a remarkable way to give those who use Auslan access to an art form that is commonly thought of as inaccessible to them.

Second to this is a discussion around artists living with a disability working within new music. Pathways are few and far between. However, there are some fledgling projects that are creating some amazing work around access to performances for artists living with a disability. One such program is the National Open Youth Orchestra in the UK. However, many barriers are still in place for access to education opportunities and professional performance opportunities.

I would like to further explore these challenges within Forest Collective, and hopefully create a more open environment to artists living with a disability. Some members of our ensemble are from that community, so we have started some small steps in that direction, but further thought and innovation around access to new music for such communities is still new for us.

LGBTQIA+

Aside from the work I’ve done around programming more female composers, working with Queer artists and artists from the LGBTQIA+ community is probably the area I’ve worked hardest and in which I’m most proud of. Forest Collective has now presented a number of events for Melbourne Queer Cultural festival Midsumma that have included many artists from varying sexualities and gender experiences. I myself identity as queer, cis-man and so this does inform my practice as both composer, conductor and curator. It inevitably brings up a question, as it does for all other areas of diversity, around identity in the music, the program and how important is that in the narrative of the event. I will talk about this more in the below section on messaging, but it’s a tricky line to walk, and you need to really think about how the event is messaged. Do you present Tchaikovsky as a potential queer artists? Most musicologists (certainly outside of Russia) will say that he had same sex relationships and would be more fluid in sexuality then once previously thought. However, Tchiak was not “out,” and so does “outing” them and plonking them amongst other queer composers or apart of some celebration of queer-ness in music become a moral dilemma? Similar to my last thought around programming women composers, I think it’s about acknowledgment. In some instances it’s necessary, some instances it’s not. What is the performance about, what is the meaning of it’s focus. Works can have a distinctly queer tone and yet not be by a member of that community or vise versa. Is the event inherently queer, or is it simply presented by queers?

Some great work in this area is being done by Miranda Hill with 3ShadesBlack and the ever growing music program of Midsumma Festival.

Trauma and who can tell the story

Thinking further on the idea of when you want to be explicit about a programming angle, such as women composers or black composers, how do you tell these stories? How can these stories be told by a predominantly white ensemble, presumably for a predominantly white audience? A work like Porgy and Bess for instance is about the black experience in America but was created by a team of white men. Often, in my experience, works carry trauma by their creators around their lived experience. And so there is a delicate path that needs to be taken when bringing such works to an ensemble of musicians and then an audience. Forest Collective aims to be as inclusive as possible for both audience and performer, however the experience of being an independent art music ensemble has seen that our audiences are generally in the expected “classical” music mould. That is, white, middle aged and upwardly mobile. Is putting works that explore extraordinary trauma a process of empowerment and education to such an audience, confronting and perhaps sparking guilt and new thoughts, or again is it more morally bankrupt? I think it comes down to acknowledgement and clarity around the content. This is what we are presenting, this is what it is about and this is who is doing it.

A work I cannot recommend highly enough that touches on trauma, it’s communication and its intergenerational effect is P R I S M by Ellen Reid.

Emerging artists

Central to Forest Collective’s programming aims is to represent early career artists. I myself have recently made the awkward transition from “emerging” to “established.” What does that even mean? Well, it’s a prerequisite for some competitions and grants - up to 10 years out of your degree, you’re still emerging. Beyond that mark you’re obviously well established and inching yourself closer to the grave.

When FC was founded we were all emerging. Now we have a wonderful mix of early career, emerging and established artists and it makes for wonderful rehearsals, with a whole mix of experiences in the room. It brings a focus and freshness. The exchange of ideas between different career experiences is really cool to see, but it’s especially cool to see from composers. We often commission composers where the project is their first largish commission and so finally have achieved a canvas to paint something big on. Or composers who come from a totally different musical world, like folk or pop who have a whole new canvas open to them for the first time. This exchange of experience and world view keeps us on our toes and really inspires me to remind myself about the passion and view of the world held by those younger then me.

Interdisciplinary and “unorthodox” work

This is a key part to Forest Collectives work. How do we take art music and make it new, cool, memorable. Aside from the actual sounds being created, its a conversation around the venue, the style of the performance, seating, running a bar, pre or post show show music (DJs, guest etc) and then more wilder ideas such as performing across multiple rooms, interactive musical works and collaborations with other art forms.

This sort of work is a real passion of mine because it’s like gifting the well oiled machine that is an ensemble of musicians, trained to their highest point and giving it over to a choreographer, or a visual artists, or an improviser or a pop musician and saying here is this group of experts who can do pretty much anything sonically. How does this collaboration inform us, the performance style and from there a positive audience's experience? The latter is so important to me. We’ve been lucky enough to pull this off a number of times, and people leave FC gigs saying they have experienced something they will never forget, never expected or never knew would work with traditional instruments.

I think this is a really important factor to creating new spaces audiences can be brought into, feeling safe and secure and providing them with memorable experiences. There will always be a place for proscenium arch opera, concert halls for orchestras and recitals but I think the future of growing audiences for new and old music is bringing about innovative ways of how to present and collaborate with the music.

Finally, the internet is such a new and all pervasive force that art music doesn’t really know how to adapt to yet. Live streaming is sort of a thing, and Covid19 has pushed some interesting innovations for art music organisations to better engage online, but I feel that many of these companies are stuck in such backward, reverse innovative and white colonised spaces that they seem so impenetrable to the audiences they so hunger to engage to. Messaging and how the story of the company and the work is told is so crucial to this, and I will talk further about this below. I want to see more innovative work online by the legacy music organisations.

A recent work I’ve experienced online is an amazing work from The Hunt, Quarry: a story about grief.

Quotas, “affirmative action” & “good” or “diverse” programming

I often have these discussions within the FC team or to myself around quotas and if implementing that sort of thinking will be positive when programming. Or if the “just program what you think is good” path is better. Again, as I keep saying I think it’s about acknowledging what it is you want to do and what it is you’ve done. For example, by programming Pierrot Lunaire we’re not breaking down many barriers in terms of women composers, people of colour etc. However, how we present it and (this is so often not thought about) who is presenting it is crucially important. How does a south asian choreographer and a queer cis female musical director come together to forge a new angle on a seminal work? To me that is getting closer to some sort of “good programming.” Again, you end up talking to yourself about what it is you’re trying to say and what is important. Is it important that a female identifying musical director is creating the vision for Pierrot Lunaire? Perhaps not. Is it important that this musician isn’t from the western cannon and comes to the music from a Jazz perspective? Maybe, yes. Or is the South Asian choreographer bringing a style or reference to the work that is non-European? Then yes I would say it’s important to highlight this and to message your event around this path less trodden.

Messaging, who and how you engage audiences and how you tell the story

At the crux of all this thinking, you need to tell people what you’re doing, why you’re doing it and how. As I’ve touched on, how you acknowledge what you’re doing and the why and the how is so important. The narrative you set for your messaging is just as important as the curatorial vision. Often in art music, especially when we spend so much time frothing over the cannon, it’s often lost as to why we’re doing a work outside of it being just really cool to play or sing. Symbols have meaning. Words have meaning. The image used for promotion has meaning. The byline for an event is key to achieving the vision of a memorable, integrated event. And I think this is so important if you are interested in representing and engaging in non-Anglo white-settler communities in Australia. The large Government funded cultural organisations are symbols of colonisation, and still have a lot of work to do to be spaces that welcome and celebrate the broader community. I have never experienced being afraid of these companies and spaces. I have never felt at all reluctant to walk into the Arts Centre or the National Gallery to experience art. But I have learnt that for so many it is an oppressive place, full of stolen art, on stolen lands, representing white, European, settle art for predominantly white, settler people. I still have a lot to learn about how I try and make FC more warm and welcoming and it’s a good challenge to see how you can program and message your vision to be a space for all.

In preparing to write this post I had a glance over some of the books I adore, that talk about new music and 20th century music. They are listed below. I was disappointed but not shocked that out of the range of books published in the last 20-30 years only one had more then one or two references to female composers, most works are by European or Americans, very little touch on the LGBTQIA+ experience explicitly and I would say that pretty much none would have anything directly talking to inclusive experiences for those living with a disability. Very little is written on or reflects people of colour, colonialism, the civil rights movement or the challenges faced by composers of colour or from first nations.

However, as frustrating as this is, I am galvanised by the challenge it highlights. It’s pushed me to always remind myself to create and curate great work for all, by all. This was my thought when I foolishly started to read the comments on that CutCommon post. As taken-aback as I was with their reaction, I am inspired to meet the challenge of ignorance head-on.

My reading list for this article

Black Opera: History, Power, Engagement by Naomi Andre

The Cambridge Companion to Twentieth Century Opera Edited by Mervyn Cooke

The Rest Is Noise by Alex Ross, and also Alex’s excellent Blog

The Classical Music Book Project editor Sam Kennedy

Everyman’s Dictionary of Music by Eric Bloom

Music After the Fall by Tim Rutherford-Johnson

Leaving Home Michael Hall & Simon Rattle

#ClassicalMusic #NewMusic #contemporary opera #contemporary music #performance #art

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limejuicer1862 · 6 years

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger. The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

James Dennis Casey IV

James D. Casey IV is a southern poet with roots in Louisiana & Mississippi. He currently resides in Illinois with his Beautiful Muse, their retarded dog, and two black cats. Mr. Casey has authored five books of poetry, and his most recent title is Isomorphic released September 24, 2018, through Cajun Mutt Press. His work has also been published extensively by literary magazines and small press venues including Outlaw Poetry, Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Dope Fiend Daily, Under The Bleachers, Zombie Logic Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, Pink Litter, Spillwords Press, and several others internationally. Mr. Casey mainly spends his days writing poetry, but also enjoys practicing magick, and cooking Cajun cuisine. Links to his books and other projects can be found here: https://cajunpoetjames.wordpress.com/

Drunk on Metaphors cajunpoetjames.wordpress.com

The Interview

What inspired you to write poetry?

It was a few things that happened to me throughout my life, then some things that hit me all in the same year. I started writing at a young age, but I didn’t begin to take it seriously until I broke my neck and back in 2009. Then my Mom passed away of cancer, and a good friend of mine overdosed and died on my living room couch. I had a lot of down time and was severely depressed so I was writing really heavily every day, and I decided to submit some work to a few places. After I had a few publications under my belt I decided to go through all the back-log of poems I had written over the span of 20 years or so and publish a book. Now here we are, five books later, and it’s the love of my life. If I didn’t have writing I don’t know where I’d be today, probably dead.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

It was something I kind of stumbled upon on my own. My Mom was an avid reader, but she wasn’t really into poetry, though she used to take me to the local library with her when I was young. I remember running across a book by Robert Frost, and that sparked my interest. As I got older I started reading a lot of the beatnik generation poetry, and that’s what really made me want to become a writer. I love Bukowski, Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs, but especially Buk. His work just resonated with me on a level nothing else could.

3. What was it about Frost that sparked your interest?

I’d never read poetry before his work, and I fell in love with it. I even wrote one titled Fire & Ice not too long ago that was a nod to his poem with the same title. He was the first rhyming poet I remember reading, and it was so musical to me, that’s what drew me in. Since then I’ve steered away from the rhyming end of the spectrum when it comes to writing, and it’s still something I enjoy now and then, but I’m not a big fan of it like I was in my youth. After reading more free verse and other unstructured styles of writing that’s where I found my true love for the craft. But it was Frost’s musical way with words that sparked my interest.

4. How would you describe the level at which Buk resonates with you?

He has a way of slipping in between sleaze and beauty with an ease and style all his own that I’ve never seen anyone else able to achieve quite like he does. I dig that. He can speak to me on so many different levels. My favorite poems by him are from two completely opposite ends of beauty and sleaze as well. One is The Roach Hotel and the other is The Laughing Heart. It’s incredible the amount of ability he has to write in such a no filter way. He can express human emotion like no other writer I’ve read, and I love him for it.

5. What is your daily writing routine?

I have two different routines when it comes to writing. Sometimes I’ll wake up early, make some coffee, put on some tunes and have a mellow day just pecking out a few poems. Other times I’ll wake up late, start drinking booze, and chain smoke while I’m violently clacking away at the keys for hours without a single break. But both methods usually produce several poems, and I do write every single day. Even on days where I feel a bit mentally blocked I’ll force myself to sit down and write. It may not be any good, but I do it just so my head doesn’t explode. There’s always so much going on up in my grey matter that it feels like it will sometimes anyway. Writing has always been a therapeutic tool for me.

6. Is therapy the only motivation to write?

No, I write for several different reasons. If I need to get something off my chest, express myself in various ways, for creative or artistic purposes, personal goals, love, hate, all forms of passion whether it’s good or bad, and I find that most times writing is the only way I can say some of the things I need or want to say in the way I intend them to be said. Poetry is language in its most distilled form, and it’s easier for me to communicate that way most of the time.

7. What Is your work ethic?

Well I do admit, writing is definitely a full-time job for me, even though not a very profitable one. Especially doing it all on my own. Self promotion can be a bitch sometimes, but I put 100% of myself into everything I do. I also run Cajun Mutt Press, initially I started it to publish my own books, and now I’m publishing other writer’s work. I put 100% into that as well, and I love doing it. We have 5 titles published so far, two of which are mine, and we just started in early August.

8. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I feel like I’m part of the old Beatnik Poetry scene, even though it’s in the past and there’s a new generation of poets at the helm. They still influence me now that I’m older. Sometimes I feel like I was born into the wrong generation because it’s so different and more complicated now. Even poetry, you can read from the old greats and see that things were different – better in a way – and now things are on a totally different level. There’s still some of the same stuff going on in poetry, but it’s magnified into a whole new creature. The writers I read in my youth, and still to this day, influenced me to concentrate on simpler things in life. I try not to get caught up in the hype of today’s bullshit and just live in the now of my own reality, because everyone’s reality is subjective. That is how they influence me today.

9. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

There are a lot of great writers out there today, and I’m a big fan of a lot of the stuff I’ve been seeing on Facebook and other social media platforms. If I was to name them all the list would be ten feet long, but there are a few I can name from the top of my list of poets/writers that I admire. Ron Whitehead, I love his style of Kentucky Gonzo Poetry. John Patrick Robbins, not only a great outlaw writer but also a dedicated Mad Editor to more than one venue – The Rye Whiskey Review being my favorite. Ryan Quinn Flanagan, that man is one of the most prolific poets I’ve ever had the pleasure of running across. K.W. Peery, I love how he integrates blues and outlaw history into his work. There are several more, but like I said the list is ten feet long. These are just a handful of my favorite current writers that also happen to be friends of mine.

10. Why do you write?

I don’t really have a choice in the matter. I’m a writer, that’s what we do, we write. If I didn’t write every day I think my head would explode, it’s as simple yet complicated as that.

11. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

I think you know if you’re a writer, I’ve always known. No matter how many degrees you earn or brevity you claim, good writing isn’t something you can teach. It has to be learned by personal experience. I’ve been writing for many years, but I’m no master of the craft by any means, and it gets to me when people say they are. Especially young writers with a degree from somewhere and a cocky attitude about it. Some of the best writers I know weren’t taught, they learned on their own. So to “become” a writer I guess you kind of need to already be one, and know it, in the first place.

12. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I have several irons in the fire right now. Also, I just published a book that will be the first in a series I plan on doing titled Owls in Hot Rods with Pink Elephants and Dead Bats. That one came out on August 2nd, and I just published another book of poetry September 24th titled Isomorphic. They’re both through my own publishing company, Cajun Mutt Press. I’ve also published a few other writers’ work, and have a couple of books in progress from myself and various others. So I’ve been pretty busy in that department, but I love doing it. We also have a featured writer spot we do twice a week on Wednesday and Friday. If anyone reading this is interested they can look us up on Facebook for details.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: James Dennis Casey IV Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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