#I imagine this to take place early on so Neon J is not used to being called that

[carrinth]

One of the funniest things about joining the NSR fandom is learning the fandom names of 1010. To be honest, I still have mixed feelings about it. 😅On one hand, it sounds kinda... silly? But on the other, it also sounds exactly like the kind of names a robot attempting to sneak into human society would come up with.🤭

Bonus pic:

I actually drew this awhile back but only posting it now because I got distracted by Christmas Reindeer 1010 shenanigans oops.

[babyloposts]

RoseBud

My Hero Academia Gang AU

Pairing(s): Sero Hanta x fem!reader

Warnings: language, drug use, explicit content, sexual themes, gang imagery, violence

Summary: a simple crush on a guy quickly turns south as you become wrapped up in an unsafe life of lies, drugs, and violence. What happens when you become a key player in a war between to rival gangs and have to deal with a complicated love life all at the same time.

—————————————————

0.4

The tattoo shop was small and almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the glowing neon sign in the window that read “Fuck Off!”. That sure is welcoming. Sero glanced at you, his signature smirk plastered on his face as you approached the shop.

“Tattoo shop?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Figured you should get something you like, and will remember.” Sero chuckled and continued his walk to the back of the shop. It was cozy and surprisingly quiet. Not much business tonight even though it was the start of the weekend. You weren’t complaining though, it’d be nice to get some alone time with Sero.

You both neared a back room that was separated from the rest of the shop by beads that hung from the door frame.

“Is... anybody here?” You asked your guide hesitantly. He smiled at you and winked before going to another door behind the partition and banging on it hard.

“JESUS FUCKING-” You heard a voice yell from behind the door. Startled by the abrupt opening of the door, you stepped back a bit as a pink head popped from behind the wooden door. “Bakugou I swear if-” She began, but was cut off when she saw Sero’s smiling face.

“Not Bakugou. Better.” He chided and she came fully out of the back room. You were able to take in her appearance fully. She had short pink hair pulled up into a messy bun displaying her overgrown undercut. She was wearing a low cut tank top that showed off the top of her lace bra and tattoos that littered her skin underneath. And she was clothed from waist down in comfy oversized sweatpants and Nike slides. Lowkey she had looked like she just woke up or something, but her striking features and pierced skin was a beautiful contrast.

“Hanta? The fuck you doing here without the Creep Squad?” She laughed and pulled him in for a quick hug.

“‘Sup Hatsume. And it’s just me today. I was reprieved from my duties a bit early and decided to stop by. I hope I’m not, uh, bothering you?” He looked her up and down and she placed her hands on her hips and smirked.

“Never. Out of all of the hoodlums I deal with you’re probably my favorite. Well, aside from Izu~” she gushed before finally turning her attention towards you, giving you a once over. “And who’s this?”

“This is y/n. She wants to get a tattoo so I thought I’d bring her to the best damn tattoo artist I know.”

“Hanta please. Don’t flatter me. Especially before you tell me what you want.” Her gaze suddenly turned cold and was staring daggers into the tall man. He put his hands up in protest.

“I promise it’s nothing out of the ordinary, usual stuff. But really, she wants to get inked. You free?”

Mei sighed. “Of course I’m free.” She threw her hands up in the air and stomped off toward the main area of the shop leaving you and Sero a few paces behind her.

“I know how she seems, but don’t worry. I trust Hatsume to do all of my ink even though she is a bit... theatrical. Second only to Mina of course.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah it must be the pink hair or something.” You quip as you make your way to the main area where Mei is already putting on some gloves and prepping her work station.

“So do you know what you want to get done?” Mei raises her brow at you questioningly. In all honesty you hadn’t thought about it. You never explicitly told Sero that you wanted to get a tattoo. He just volunteered you for it, but you weren’t gonna decline. It would be nice to get some ink that you could look at and love.

“I don’t know. I’m still kind of deciding.” You chuckled nervously, embarrassed at the fact that you didn’t have an answer for her. This seemed to annoy Hatsume more than she already was, but she didn’t let it show in her voice.

“Okay...” she trailed off and swiveled in her chair to reach for a photo album tucked beneath her work station. It looked like it had started collecting dust. “Well you can look through my portfolio, let me know if you see something you like. Or you can suggest something and I can freehand.” She smirked suggestively. You hoped that freehand didn’t mean she would do anything obscene.

You flipped through the book looking closely at some of the designs. Hatsume’s work was beautiful, but that was evident from seeing Sero’s tattoos. The designs were all nice, but none of them really spoke to you. You sighed quietly under your breath and paused on a page that had some flower designs on it. Your breath hitched as you felt a presence over your shoulder. Sero was behind you looking at the flower on the page you had stopped on.

“That’s nice.” He smiled, “it wouldn’t suit you though. Roses are definitely your flower.” He suggested and went to sit down at the waiting area towards the front of the shop.

Roses you thought. You already had a rose tattoo, and it’s not like you didn’t like it, but you wish you hadn’t gotten it when you did. Maybe if you got another one now, you could start to appreciate the flower as you once did.

“A rose?” Hatsume smirked at you. “Very romantic flower. I think it’d suit you.” She looked hopeful and you nodded. She smiled to herself and began to sketch out an idea.

“Ooh!” She squealed. “And I have the perfect idea. Do you know where you want your tattoo to go?” You shook your head solemnly. Again, you hadn’t really thought about it. You thought Hatsume would have been annoyed, but she looked ecstatic. “Perfect I know just the place. I’ve always wanted to do a cutesy underboob tattoo.”

Underboob? That seemed a little out of your comfort zone, but to be fair this whole situation was out of your comfort zone. You out with a guy? Unheard of to the masses.

Reluctantly you agreed and Hatsume took you back behind the beaded-off area.

“You can take your top off back here and go in that room. I’ll go get my stuff, okay?” She happily skipped back out to retrieve her tattoo gun and you followed her instructions to strip.

The room was small and the warm toned walls were barren yet inviting. You got up on the table that you vaguely remember laying on a few years back and positioned yourself so Mei had easy access to stick you.

Hatsume barged into the small room, startling you. Quickly you scrambled to use your hands to cover yourself, but clearly she had already seen.

“Girl, don’t be shy. Just think of me as your doctor. It’s a no judgement zone in here.” She reassured you and you calmed down from the mini heart attack you just had. “Plus your boobs are super nice. My A Cups could never.” She whined eliciting a laugh from you. Hatsume turned out to be pretty cool.

Once she was all set up and you were numb and had the design was applied your anxiety was quelled by the overwhelming feeling of pain that you almost forgot.

“Damn I forgot how much this shit hurt.” You laughed in an effort to not tear up. “Makes sense that I was black out drunk the last time.” Hatsume laughed as she continued the process trying to be as gentle as she possibly could (not much change was made, but it’s the thought that counts).

Hatsume had begun the finishing touches and clean up details when you started to hear a bit of commotion outside. You could hear two distinct voices aside from Sero’s coming from the front of the store. It sounded like yelling and it quickly approached you. Hatsume seemed unbothered by it until an angry figure popped its head into the doorway of the “private” room.

“Hatsume!” A buff blond guy yelled as he entered. It took everything in Mei to not accidentally stick you with the gun.

“Bakugou what the fuck!?” Hatsume yelled and whipped her head around. “Do you not understand the concept of a private room?”

“Hatsume I’m not in the mood. I just spent the last half hour getting yelled at for Sero up and leaving without telling anyone and I have to do his little chores now. So give me what Hawks wants so I can get the fuck out of here.” The blond man rants and raves all the while you’re just kind of sitting there trying to cover your tits from the glaring eyes of the crabby intruder.

When his gaze met yours his eyes went wide. You didn’t know what he was expecting to find Hatsume doing back here, but tattooing a half naked girl probably wasn’t it. His eyes snapped back to Hatsume and the malicious glare came back as if he wasn’t phased at all.

“Don’t come in here fucking yelling at me to get you something. One I’m with a client and two I’m doing Hawks favor with all this so don’t demand shit from me. You’ll get it when I’m done.” She seethed, her words laced with venom. She was clearly not a fan of Blondie over here.

At the commotion you heard another set of footsteps approaching quickly. Just great.

“Bakugou calm down.” A taller redhead popped into your view trying to get the angry man from berating the woman who was supposed to be dressing your wound. When he made eye contact with you his whole face lit up red as hell and he quickly turned away to spare you whatever dignity you had left. “Uh... j-just let her finish man.”

“No fucking way. I wasn’t even supposed to be working today, but fucking IcyHot bailed and I just had to chase Tape Face around the whole fucking world. I’m ready to get my shit and go.”

“You do know that this is my business, right? I have an obligation to my clients. Not Hawks, you, or any other goons that try and threaten me. So you will wait.” Hatsume seethed. This set Bakugou off. His large hand came down to grip Mei’s upper arm and pull her in close. His eyes spoke only violence and Hatsume’s an intense fear. This guy was not to be played with. If he was this bad you couldn’t imagine what this Hawks guy was like.

Bakugou was fixing his mouth to spew out another threat, but before he could finish you were already interjecting. “I can wait!” You catch everyone’s attention again; although rather embarrassing.

“What?” Bakugou glares now at you, his stare burning into your skin.

“I said I can wait. Go ahead and do what you need to do Hatsume. No need to cause trouble.” Hatsume’s eyes soften and she shakes out of Bakugou’s death grip.

“Fine.” She sighs and stalks off to the back room she had started in earlier that night. “Bring the car around back. I got everything ready for you.”

Bakugou nodded and he and Red exited out the way they had came in.

Finally you felt like you could breath again. There were no longer so many eyes on you and the tension within the room finally dissipated. This definitely wasn’t how you expected your first date with Sero to go.

A/N: I’m backkk. Had a bit of writers block and I was away visiting family last weekend but I had a free day today and got lots of good ideas about the story while writing this. So yeah ALSO I know in the show Hatsume has big boobs, but everyone has big boobs in My Hero so lemme change it up a bit 😩😩 anyways I hope you guys enjoyed and uploads should start becoming more frequent (I hope :))

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Masterlist

[harleyquinnamiright]

Crossroad High - Chapter One

also on Wattpad and AO3 Ships: (Eventual) Analogical, Royality, and Dukeceit/Demus Triggers: None that I can think of, please tell me if you’d like me to tag anything!

a/n: I don't know a lot about cheerleading and most of what I'm taking for Patton's cheerleading stuff is my fencing experience. Since it's a winter sport I didn't think it'd be fitting of Patton so. sorry for messing anything up there.

Remus Sanders is not a happy camper. After spending the entire summer at his Aunt and Uncle's house where all he could do was chores and school work, he gets one day to be at home. One day off before school starts again with the exact same day to day schedule as his so-called vacation. It would be bad enough having to do chores, having to do them while your guardians sit around and just tell you to be a different person is horrendous.

“HONEY! I’M HOME!” He chirped loudly the second he slammed opened the door, successfully scaring someone if the sound of something crashing had anything to say about it. He smirked to himself as he grabbed the door, seeing no dent in the wall, and kicking it back into place. His camo duffel bag that was slung across his shoulder was the only thing that he went to his Uncle’s house that he came back with, so he felt very smug waltzing into his kitchen. Even his wardrobe he wasn’t able to keep completely, though he was still wearing an outfit he had been able to hide by burying it. It was covered in dirt, but that never mattered to him. It was a black Billie Eilish shirt of her with her green hair, a pair of dark purple fishnets, and black ripped baggy jeans.

“You’re home.” Remus’ mother said with a sarcastic smile as she watched Remus walk into the kitchen. She was leant over the sink, a broken plate clearly having been just broken below her. Remus mentally high-fived himself. “You’re still doing makeup.” She said after a moment of silence, not trying to hide her disgust. Remus’ smirk turned into a smile as he remembered the loud purple eyeshadow and cat-eye he put on this morning.

“I am here. And yes, makeup is still on my face.” Remus smiled brightly, leaving the two standing in silence. “Welp. Bye!” He screamed the last word just to see if he could shock her again. It didn’t work, but it was worth a try. Walking to and up the stairs, it wasn’t surprising nothing changed. Whenever he left something seemed to change so it was a bit refreshing to see that the decor had left the same. No one else seemed to be in the house, which was a bit strange, but he didn’t note anything as he was glad to be home.

He almost screamed the second he opened his bedroom door. He didn’t actually scream, but he goddamn he wanted to. Everything that made his room his was gone. There wasn’t even a dresser anymore. His clothes he left were folded neatly on a silver shelving unit that looked like it belonged in a cafeteria, and there was no longer a mirror or desk. Half of the clothes there weren’t even his, or weren’t when he left, and he could tell that from the doorway. There wasn’t a trace of makeup and the walls had gone from his favorite neon green to a hospital white.

Not screaming, not thinking, he threw his bag at the bed that now had a sporty blue bedding instead of the green and purple octopus quilt he had specially commissioned, and climbed out his window. The roof below his room wasn't very strong but he walked on it enough to know where to step to get to the lattice and climb down relatively safely. He still wasn’t really thinking, but he got to his family's garage pretty easily.

Before he knew what he was doing he was holding a baseball bat above his mother’s favorite car. The only thing that made him stop and start to think was the garage opening to show his Dad's car. Knowing he wasn’t visible yet, he threw the bat half-hazerdly towards the corner and left the room garage towards the door facing his backyard, not really rushing, but still very much fuming.

—-

Seeing someone climb down the side of what seems to be their own house is not an everyday occurrence. Though, being in Roseville is not an everyday occurence for Janus Glass, so it’s not like he can actually speak about it. He couldn’t stop staring as he watched the interesting boy across the street climbing, but it was clear the other didn’t notice him. From what Janus could make out the other boy had white hair or white in his hair and was wearing clothes very different then from what Janus knew.

“Jay!” Janus heard, turning to see his Dad waving excitedly from the new house. It was a two bedroom house that was way bigger than it should have been, but the fact they could now afford it was amazing, and something neither of them had considered before.

J walked up to his front door and looked around, his dad running up the porch stairs excitedly. Neither of them had much time considering the fact that J had to get to the school soon for a tour, but it was nice to look around a house you never thought you’d actually get.

“What time was your school thingy again?” His dad shouted, now far inside the house.

“2:23,” J lied, wanting to be at the school early and liking the way the time sounded better. He looked around the living room which was connected to the front door briefly for a clock, coming up empty, but already spotting where one could go.

“So 2:30 or 3:00?” His dad responded, knowing his son's language.

“Former.” J responded, trying to visualize the rest of the room and decorations, a lot of which he and his father had already agreed on, but imaging again with different decor was nice.

“We, my boy, are going to be late.” His father said running down the stairs, walking quickly back into the car.

“What?” J asked deadpan as he followed him.

The two got into the car in silence, Janus half worrying about being late, half trying to imagine what the school would look like. Both thoughts got cut off by his Dad's car stopping shortly in front of a boy with sunglasses and a brown leather jacket. The boy looked up from his phone, gave the both of them a half dirty look before backing out of the way of the car. The two drove away with nothing but a look at each other. The rest of the car ride didn’t leave a lot of room for thought, being filled with Queen. Janus and his dad only got through two songs before arriving at the bland looking building that tomorrow would officially be Janus’s new school. The back of the building was boring at least, a solid wall of grey brick. The front had more sectioning off and was painted different quotes and pictures representing pride in the school and town, though not distracting from the statue in the middle of the front courtyard.

“Well look at that! This place looks fun! Am I dropping you off or should I know where your classes are? What are we doing?” Janu’s dad asked excitedly, clapping loudly once.

Janus totally didn’t flinch. He didn’t. Chad still looked apologetic. “You’re just dropping me off, Dad.” Janus replied, nodding to himself. The word dad made Chad light up as he unlocked the car. Despite the fact that Janus had gotten comfortable calling Chad Dad long ago, the fact he did made the other very happy.

“Text me when the tour is over! I’ll see what we can do about milkshakes afterwards, yeah?” Chad continued to smile brightly, not matching Janus’ low energy at all.

“Sure. Bye.” Janus was once again deadpan though trying not to be rude as he turned away from his father and towards the front entrance of Crossroad High. This was going to be a fun year.

—-

Roman should not have shown up 15 minutes early. It wasn’t a good idea when he left the house for the 10 minute drive, and it wasn’t a good idea when he got to the building. The front door was open by the time he got there, but there were no people around for what seemed like miles. The back parking lot full of cars, but it always was, and there never seemed to be any people.

The fifteen minutes wasn’t hard to fill when there was finally silence to think. In a house filled with the fights about Remus coming soon or Logan just needing people to know they were wrong, it was very hard to think. Sitting on the floor was also very nice. The silence was nice until there was a random voice behind him.

“Hey.” The voice was quiet, but it was still there.

“Hi.” Roman responded, turning around, instantly glad he spoke before looking as he looked at the others face. He seemed to have heterochromia of the eyes, one being almost yellow, the other a tawny brown. Also, half his face was covered in burns that looked so organized it looked like a waffle iron was pressed to his face.

“So. I, um, I assumed you were, a, my tour guide? If not, sorry for bothering you?” The other said cautiously, his voice rasping slightly, dragging out his s’s, going from somewhat deadpan to panicked in his time talking.

“Oh, yeah, no, yeah! I’m your tour guide! I’m Roman! Hello!” Roman said with a princely flourish as he stood up from his place on the floor, wiping his hips slightly.

“Greeeaaaaaat.” Janus nodded slowly as he drew out the word. “I’m Janus, with a u-s. Did you want the schedule I had or are we going around the whole school? or..?”

“We could do either! I wasn’t given a lot of strict instruction so I think we can do whatever. I was told you and I had the exact same classes, hence why I’m the one showing you around, so. Yeah.” Roman explained, smiling awkwardly. “That’s the front door.” He said after a second of Janus just staring at him.

“Math.” Janus seemed to force the word from his throat, for some reason not being able to speak. His face also had a slight tinge to his face that could have been blushing, from his burn scars, or because of the school lighting.

“Math. Yes. We have Algebra first. That starts upstairs. We go from here, down all the way to the middle school blocks, then use the left staircase, go all the way up, and the second door is the Algebra room. It sounds a little more complicated than it is.” Roman explained, pointing at the path he was talking about as he started walking.

“Middle school blocks?” Janus said a little easier as it was clear Roman would be able to hold most of the conversation for the day.

“Yes, the middle school isn’t really connected but it used to be. The 9th graders have to sometimes come here for elective classes because sometimes. I took a theater class that could only be held in this auditorium so me and my class walked here everyday from the upper lot.” Roman explained, smiling accomplished while talking about theater, obviously passionate about the subject.

“Oh, so you’re also a freshman?” Janus asked, surprised, his face turning confused again in the middle of his sentence.

“Yes, I have an older brother and again, theater class, so I am quite acquainted with the building.” Roman once again explained, turning to open the door but searching Janus’ face for reactions. There wasn’t much of any.

Janus nodded when he realized Roman was expecting someone and continued nodding throughout the rest of the tour. The school was broken up into wings so it was pretty easy to navigate. By 3:30 there was only one place left for Roman to show Janus.

—-

Cheerleading practice was rewarding but it was hard. A lot of people seemed to think it was easy, Patton at first included, but wow was it hard work. Not even mentioning the exercise before and after actually practicing things specifically for cheerleaders.

“Pat! We were all going to the movies later today, wondering if you’d like to come?” Regina, the head cheerleader, asked him cheerily.

“I’d love to! Should we meet in your locker room or mine?” Patton asked, already knowing the invitation was going to be revoked.

“Oh. Um. We kind of have to leave now.” Regina smiled apologetically, though she started tensing a tad.

“Oh, alright, then I guess I’ll see you next time!” Patton waves as he was the first one walking away, not pointing out several of the girls preferred to change too, and that many probably invited were already walking towards the school. Or that it was the fourth time they had invited him only to not revoke that when he reminded them he used a different dressing room.

It’s not like he was the only male cheerleader, he was just the only one who didn’t try out and get in in kindergarten. He joined in first grade, never thinking he was out of the loop. He didn’t even realize he was until 6th grade, when he and the three other male cheerleaders were chosen for the main twelve cheerers who were picked for competitions.

Suffice to say, thinking you’re alone in the locker room then hearing voices is pretty scary.

“And this is our last stop of the day! These are the locker roooo--- HI PATTON.” Roman, a boy Patton knew from theater class announced loudly upon seeing Patton. Patton laughed slightly, unsure of the loud reaction seeing as he was still fully in uniform and wasn’t doing anything he thought would cause such a thing.

The boy next to him waved slightly after a sec, looking at Roman strangely.

“Heyyy, Rodrick?” Patton asked unsurely, smiling brightly.

“Ro, uh, Roman.” Roman answered, though his tone was very questioning.

“Alright, hi Roman! And hi, you! I’m not sure we’ve ever met before! I’m Patton!” Patton waved more enthusiastically.

“Janus. With an u-n. It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” Janus nodded, smirking slightly on the side of his face that wasn’t burned. Patton was unsure if he wanted to ask but he was sure he wanted to know whatever or whoever was behind that sooner or later.

“Well. This seems a little awkward.” Patton said, closing his locker, deciding not to change out of uniform today. “I know why I’m here. Can I ask why you two are here?”

“I’m starting this school tomorrow and I needed a tour around.” Janus explained easily, drawing out the s, though his voice seemed like an emotion Patton couldn’t place.

“Oh. That’s fun. When walking in I think I heard you,” He paused and pointed softly at Roman, “say that this was the last stop? If that’s true, would you guys want to hang out? I’m a bit bored.” He finished, smiling and scrunching his nose, hoping it didn’t sound like he wanted to take over their day.

“That’d be nice. I’m also new to town so finding where to hang out would be, well, nice. Heh.” Janus answered after it was clear Roman was going to do no such thing. He stood there smiling like a polite cat, nodding continuously.

“Awesome! Let’s go!” Patton turned around, giving Roman a polite smile as to ask if he was coming. Roman just kept nodding. “Alright.” Patton shrugged, and started walking out the field to the back parking lot.

—-

Logan knew, for sure, that school didn’t start until tomorrow. He did. Then again, his brain never officially decided school was over, therefore he was in the clear of deciding he was overworking himself. It wasn’t like he was starting freshman year over again, he was going to school as a sophomore. He didn’t know why, but it seemed like this year was going to be important. Or dangerous. It’s school, who knows.

He was startled out of his thoughts about scheduling when his phone started playing Fergalicous. “Babes, you better not be hunched over your desk.” Logan’s friend, Remy, said after Logan answered the phone.

“I’m not hunching.” Logan answered honestly, pressing up his glasses.

“Working counts as hunching hun.” Remy paused to slurp his coffee, “Also I’m at your front door.” Remy said, sipping again.

“Of course you are.” Logan rolled his eyes fondly as he walked downstairs. He had earlier heard a crash of some kind of already figured his younger brother had been home and had probably left by now. Logan didn’t support what his parents had done to Remus’ room but since he didn’t stop anything he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Remus yet.

“Why was your brother climbing down the side of your house?” Remy asked as soon as Logan opened the door, confirming his suspicions of Remus being gone. His mother was now also nowhere to be found but she typically didn’t mind Remy being over.

“Probably because our parents completely cleared out his room after sending them to our Uncles.” Logan answered, walking upstairs, trusting Remy to shut the door and follow him up the stairs.

“That a quote?” Remy asked scandalously, obviously wanting more information.

“Not directly. Here’s what was said,” Logan started as soon as he closed his bedroom door. Talking with Remy was always fun, he was trustworthy, and truly the only one who appreciated gossip as much as Logan.

The fact that Remy was only not in Roseville for a week did not stop him from having a world of new information from where he was and Roseville. Logan didn’t have as much info as the other but he had plenty and he had plenty of new information on people to walk into sophomore year. —-

When Virgil got home, he genuinely did not know what day it was or when it was. He knew it was dark. It’s not like he was gone for long but when the sky gets dark around 6:00 you can lose track of how long you’re outside. The only reason he left in the first place was because his mother's boyfriend Derrick was coming over and Derrick didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t ask him to leave but while he was there it was clear he didn’t want Virgil there. In his own home. Virgil didn’t mean to fall asleep in a public park and get driven home by a cop with no clock in the car whatsoever.

“Honey! Oh my gosh I was so worried!” His mother said, hugging him tightly the second she opened the door. He tensed and squirmed but she didn’t care. Despite the fact they were still semi outside, Virgil knew Derrick wasn’t home based on his mother's closeness.

When she finally let him go, before he was able to say anything, she glanced at something and suddenly got a hard look in her eye. “Sweety, you have school in two hours. None of your chores are done. I’ll let you know when you have time to change.” She was swaying slightly and her eyes showed she clearly wasn’t all there, but when was she ever.

Virgil just nodded, not like his mother was in front of him anymore. She was probably going back to sleep herself, but Vee couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t know how long he slept and still doesn’t know an exact time, but he just plugged his phone in before getting to work on chores. He had no idea why he needed to change but then again his mother did care about what others thought about him. In public at least.

His mother never called him to get changed but luckily he set an alarm his phone was loud enough to alert him of. He didn’t really have time to fully change what he was wearing so he just grabbed the first sweater he saw and the backpack with all his summer work in it. He was dressed fine, an intentionally ripped dark purple shirt and distressed black jeans, the sweater being a favorite and one he worked to fix when broken many times. He heard the bus coming before he saw it and he didn’t get a second to breathe until he was sitting in the seat directly behind the driver. He realized he left his headphones home way too late, but tried to comfort himself by knowing there wouldn’t be time throughout the day to listen to them. It was the first day of freshman year, after all.

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @fandomfan315 @dragon-hair @a-long-suffering-artist @aleiimm @sadgayisme @falsehoodx @jessibbb @notveryglittery @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @izzyfandoms

[starrybouquet]

it’s quiet uptown

So...I did not mean to start writing fanfic, and I never imagined I’d write enough to need multiple chapters. It just sort of...happened.

This fic started off as a what-if story for season 6's Redemption, based on one simple question: what if they hadn’t spotted Jack’s parachute in Redemption Pt. 2?

But as time went on, it grew into a love letter to Stargate fandom and the SJ fandom in particular. Hopefully, you'll catch the traditional references to canon throwaway lines, the traditional fanon, and references to many a tumblr thread. I'd love to know what you all recognize. :D

Read on AO3 (you’ll need to be signed in) or under the cut below.

chapter 1: there are moments that the words don't reach

“This is Observer One. Visual confirmation. The X-302 has entered the hyperspace window.”

Sam reached for her headset. “Colonel? Colonel? Do you read?” She was aware of everyone’s eyes on her, and hoped to God that her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she thought it did.

The neon green countdown blazed on, even as all other motion in the room seemed to come to a stop. The milliseconds flashed by. Sam bit her lip as the countdown halted at 00:00:00.00. 

“This is Observer One…there is no sign of a chute. There is, however, a light show going on up here.” In the silence of the observation room, the crackle of the speaker made the words sound callous, mechanical.

“It worked! Deep Space is estimating that the Gate detonated over 3 million miles from Earth,” Walter reported, excitement muted by the uncertainty of Colonel O’Neill’s fate. Sam barely registered the sentence. She closed her eyes, willing the chute to appear. Please, please, please…

“This is Observer Two. Still no sign of a chute. I repeat, no sign of a chute. Mission command, there’s nothing up here.”

The sound of the speaker pierced the tension like a needle popping a balloon. The uncertain, unspoken hope seemed to seep out of the room, leaving only sorrow in its wake.

Slowly, voices broke the silence. Tentative search and rescue plans were suggested, calls to the President and the Pentagon made. The scientists tried in vain to figure out if Colonel O’Neill could have been knocked off course if he’d been too close to the hyperspace window, but the satellites still showed nothing. The truth was there was an overwhelming possibility he simply hadn’t managed to get out of the X-302 in time. 

Sam lasted an hour. She managed to escape the room of exhausted, relieved, mournful lab coats with only a short nod to General Hammond, who looked at her with sympathy and told her to go get some rest. She barely held it together as she stopped by her locker to grab her keys, not bothering to change into civvies and trying not to see Daniel and Teal'c and the Colonel's lockers, sitting there as if nothing had changed. 

She thought she'd be able to let it out once she got home, but the same desperate emptiness continued. It was better than being on base with all eyes on her, but the desperation and terror followed her, as if she wasn't allowed to feel here either. The silence was oppressive, everything too immaculate, too quiet.

She knew where she wanted to go. She could almost feel a physical pull towards the place, the solid house with its yellow kitchen and backyard forest and comfortable, slightly haphazard sofas. Instinctively, she stiffened against the idea, knowing how it would look, not wanting to admit to herself why she wasn’t comfortable in her own home. But the tug persisted.

Finally, Sam gave in. He's dead, three million miles away. The Stargate is gone anyway. Nobody will care. Not bothering to collect her cell phone or pager from the counter, she drove to Jack's house on autopilot, hastily unlocked the door with the key marked J on her keyring, and stepped inside.

The aroma of the house hit her like a physical blow--pine and sandalwood and a hint of Jack's cologne--the kind he wore Earthside. Sam closed the front door and leaned against it, and the tears came. She slid down the door until she was curled against it as her body was wracked with sobs. 

She cried not for her team, but for her family, because that was what SG-1 had become over the past five-odd years. For Daniel, closer to her than her own brother, her partner-in-crime in all things academic and the most open-hearted, curious person she'd ever known. Technically Ascended, but as good as dead to his friends--he couldn't work through the night with her, couldn't secretly stuff his extra coffee supply in their packs, couldn't give an impromptu lecture on some obscure ancient mythology and its connection to the Goa'uld. 

For Teal'c, who without a Stargate could never return to Earth. Whose wife was dying. Dead? She'd never know, Sam realized. She'd never see him again either, her wise, thoughtful, loyal friend, who conveyed far more with a single word than most did with a hundred.

For Jack, the only man she'd ever really been in love with, who had been through so much, given so much, and continually believed he deserved so little. Who’d made her laugh, made her think, given her confidence. The intrepid leader of their little family, the heart and soul and deep down inside the most optimistic of all of them, even if he’d never admit it.

And Sam cried for herself, too. The one left behind.

The sobs quieted and then there were only tears streaming down her cheeks, ones she couldn't stop, and then her eyes ran out of tears and her cheeks dried a bit, until they felt sticky rather than wet. Sam sat like that for a while, staring sightlessly into the house, back still pressed rather uncomfortably against the door.

When it was too painful to sit curled up on the floor any longer, she stood stiffly, went to the kitchen, and got a glass of water.

Sam didn't remember moving there, but she ended up in Jack's bedroom. She'd only been in there a few times before--a few times when Jack was injured and Janet kicked him out of the infirmary, and SG-1 was taking turns caring for him, and one team night where Teal'c had gone to kel'no'reem a bit too early and her, Jack, and Daniel had gotten rather drunk and decided it would be much better to watch TV in Jack's bedroom, all three adults squished on the bed. Generally, for obvious reasons, she'd tried to avoid the room, but she found herself sliding between the covers, burying her face in the Jack-scented pillows, hiding from the sun and the day in general in a very un-Carter-like manner. She loved him, she missed him, and she'd never see him again. There hadn't been a parachute. Funny how all those things she never allowed herself to think about came to the surface, now when it didn't matter anymore. Everyone who mattered had known for years.

The tears came again, and she cried herself to sleep.

***

That was how Janet found her, having begged General Hammond to let her off a few hours early. He'd acquiesced fairly quickly, obviously concerned for Sam as well, though neither mentioned her by name. When Sam hadn't answered her phone or pager, Janet had driven to her house, then to Daniel's apartment (not yet cleaned out), and finally to Jack's house.

"Oh, Sam, honey," she murmured, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Motherly instincts taking over, Janet pulled the blankets over her sleeping friend, tucking her in like she used to tuck in Cassie.

Then, she headed down to the kitchen to cook dinner. Sam could use some comfort food when she woke up, and god knew she couldn’t cook it herself.

***

Thirty miles above Colorado Springs, unbeknownst to the SGC, four Jaffa manhandled an unconscious Jack O’Neill into a holding cell, then clunked away.

[your-high-lady]

Realisation

Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn’t as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5   Chapter 6  Chapter 7

Chapter 8  Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own of the characters as they all belong to Sarah J Mass, the person who created them. The only thing I own is the plot.

Chapter 13: Tensions are high

Our last day at Disneyland was the best in my opinion. We were all together and did the Tea Cup ride on Cassian's insistence and I watched and laughed as Rhys and Cassian flew past us, spinning as fast as they could on the cups and just overall screaming and annoying everyone. What made it even more humorous was when they tried annoying Azriel with their antics but he just stared at them with the most straight face I'd ever seen. It annoyed the heck out of them.

The next day Amren, Mor and I were out early morning. We had breakfast at iHop and then went to a nearby mall. We spent the day shopping, eating and just pampering ourselves. I ended up getting a small hair trim that was barely noticeable, and all of us got a full body wax—though I bailed out on the bikini part—, our eyebrows threaded and fake nails. After that, we went to the movies and watched a Rom-Com that was honestly one of the dumbest movies ever. I had a blast, despite my feet that had started groaning in pain two or three hours into our shopping spree. They both clearly had a lot of money and weren't afraid to spend it. One of our last stores was H&M and we ended up getting a dress each for tonight. Mor's was a fun thing, a black sparkly dress coming down to her mid-thigh. But what made it fun was the strings that hung down in layers across the whole dress which swung around every time she shook her hips. It was a bit showy for my taste but it suited her body so well that I couldn't help but think that she would most probably get laid today if she wanted. She really was very pretty and confident in her body. I was happy that she had that for herself.

Amren's dress was dark blue that resembled the blue theme the boys seemed to have going on with their tattoos and features. It was also a bit more plain than Mor's. It suited her and her personality. The straps were spaghetti and the neck was a straight line across her chest. A slit ran up her leg coming to a stop a little above her mid-thigh. It hugged her curves and made her seem a little taller. Also a little showy but perfect for Amren who also happened to have a spectacular body.

My dress was the most conservative: A purple velvet textured dress that came down to my feet though there was a slit running up my leg. The straps were halter-like and wrapped around my shoulders in a way that my dress wouldn't allow any accidents but showed off my bareback. And as a small addition, the dress had an oval-shaped cut out showing a little cut-out off my chest of too.

I was nervous. The dress made me nervous. It was one of the most glam things I'd worn since that day so long ago now, and I couldn't help but remember Officer Smith's words. He had told me that my dress was one of the many reasons, I couldn't file a case against Tamlin or Dagdan. It made me scared. Mor noticed that while we were trying our outfits on in the changing room and she very subtly sent Amren out of earshot for some time, during which she told me that she would give me a choice. She would let me choose whether or not I wanted to do this. If I chose not to go, she would fully support my decision and stay in the hotel room with me. And if I chose to go? Then she would be by my side the whole time and would keep me safe. She would be there for me, whenever I needed her. It helped. I decided to go. Partly because I also wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, that I was healing. I needed to keep my promise to myself of not letting Tamlin take over my life.

I would go.

—

We came home soon after that and Mor helped me do my makeup and hair as she did her own. Amren was in her own room getting ready. I was really happy with the results when I looked at myself in the mirror and thanked her for all her effort.

Now we walked down to the reception where we would meet the Amren, Varian and the boys. Boys. Rhys.

I couldn't but think about how he would react. Would he think I'm ugly, or pretty, or showing off too much skin and be disgusted?

Would he still stare at me, like he always does?

I forced the thoughts out of my head with a blink and directed my attention to Mor, who was squealing with excitement.

Walking backwards, ahead of me, she jumped up and down and then came back to me, linking her arm through mine, and squealed even more before saying, "Feyre! Aren't you excited!?" She practically screamed in my ears. I tried to resist the smile growing on my face but failed. It was impossible to not smile when Mor was screaming and jumping up and down in her delight. It was impossible not to join in.

We reached the lobby, and found that the Varian and Amren were already there but not the boys. We sat down to wait and Mor immediately started up a conversation with Amren about how excited she was to get drunk. We didn't have to wait for very long, as the boys strolled in only a minute later. And then there he was. Rhys was wearing a light-weight grey sweater over a collared, striped peachy shirt with black jeans that were a bit worn out. He looked spectacular. My mouth watered at the sight of him and I had to swallow as well as subtly rub my thighs together to relieve a little of the pressure that had instantly grown in between. Rhys's eyes moved to look at me and I jerked my eyes to move away from him and on to Cassian and Azriel. They had also gone for a casual look: Cassian wear a bomber jacket over a white t-shirt and blue tight jeans with rips running up and down both his legs, and Azriel was wearing a white sweater over blue jeans that he had rolled up to show a bit of his ankles. He was wearing white converse to match the shirt.

God really had put a lot of effort into all of the Inner Circle. And then here I was, with my plain brown hair that had some gold in it and blue eyes that were dulled by the grey in them. Ah well, there was so many of them, maybe I wouldn't be noticed. God, wouldn't that be a relief.

I noticed then, the eyes I could feel raising the hair on the back of my neck. I turned to see that Rhys was indeed still staring at not me but somewhere below. I wanted to look away because this wasn't anything different than what he usually did in my presence, but then I noticed the gleam in his eyes. It looked as if the silver in his eyes was sparkling with delight and a special desire for something. What could he possibly desire looking at me? I frowned a little which brought Rhys's attention to me. He blinked and I watched as the sparkle vanished from his eyes and his lips curled back into a cheeky smirk. My frown turned into a narrowing of the eyes but then I just sighed, tired of his games, before looking away, and felt the connection that had been forming break.

Soon we were in the car, and off to the club.

—

It was too much like the place Tamlin had taken me. Everywhere I looked it reminded me of something about that night. The neon lights were so much like the ones that had been at the Ale House. The dark corners were just as dark as the alleyway where it had all gone down.

Feeling my eyes starting to water up, I blinked the tears away and moved close enough to Mor that I could feel the tiny hairs on her arm. I needed her warmth, her protective aura to get rid of the icky feeling that had started to cover me, the feeling of Dagdan's sticky leer on my skin. Sensing me, she turned to look at me and smiled. I gave her a shaky smile back and she linked her arm through mine. I sighed in relief, glad that I had Mor and that she knew exactly what was going through my head and what I needed.

Bringing my attention back to my surroundings, I realised that we had reached a private corner. Rhys asked us what drinks we wanted and everyone told him their drinks, with me just wanting water, and went to get them.

After that, the night is more a blur than anything. It takes a while for Mor and Cassian to convince me to get on the dance floor and even then I wasn't really into it. I was back at the couch in fifteen minutes, Mor doesn't push me; she knew that I just needed some time to get fully rid of the memories the bar had stirred up. Rhys had given me a questioning look but I just ignored him.

By midnight all of them had had at least seven or eights drinks.

Mor had started with a single shot but then as the night progressed they just kept coming and she just kept drinking. Honestly, I was surprised she even lasted on her feet past midnight. I had expected her to fall on her face hours ago. But there she was dancing on the floor in her sexy dress causing the men around her to have their mouths gaping open, their tongues practically hanging out. Cassian was also much the same as Mor, as she and he were apparently drinking buddies tonight. Together they just kept on chugging and chugging and chugging into the night. Amren, however, was a totally different story. Two shots in, Mor dared Amren. Amren, being one not to back down from a dare, took the shot. And then another one. And another. Five shots in and she was swaying on her feet and then puking her guts out. Seconds later, she passed out and Varian took her home, as he was still mostly sober, using a cab. Cassian and Mor continued their drinking, and I watched as Azriel did the complete opposite and instead kept giving the others their drinks. It seemed that Azriel was the one who never got drunk and instead got the others drunk.

And then lastly Rhys. I tried to keep my attention away from him most of the time and I was able to except for those times when he was inches away from other women's bodies. By midnight he was pretty drunk too and wasn't hold back in his dancing. He was touching other women and letting them reciprocate. It disgusted me for some reason I couldn't for the life of me figure out why but every time I happened to turn to look at him, he was there with another person. Though something I found strange was that he didn't let anyone kiss him or get too touchy with him, and he didn't do the same to others either. He was beautiful and he knew that as well as the people around him. They threw themselves at him and he let them come but when they got touchy, he moved on. It was simple as that for him and he was aware of where he was the whole night despite being so drunk.

And through all that, I stayed sober and in the dark alone. People came to me, but I didn't let them stay. I wasn't in the mood. I was too busy trying to keep my thoughts and emotions at bay. I'd known this would happen, the torrent of memories, both sweet and cruel. They threatened to crush me and break me, but I held strong, even as I was pushed back the smallest millimetre each time something about the place we were in triggered a memory. My resilience threatened to snap every second I spent in that place, but I held strong through it all. I had to. Otherwise, the night wouldn't have progressed.

—

It was around 1:30 in the morning by the time we left. Azriel helped me get Mor and Cassian into the car, while Rhys was able to stumble his way forward on his own.

Azriel drove the car to our hotel and then we were going to drag them up to their rooms when suddenly Rhys started giving orders to us, even in his drunken state. "Az, why don't you take Cass up to our room. I'll help Feyre take Mor." His words were slurred and Azriel's frown told me that he seriously doubted Rhys would be able to help me. But he was already moving. I scrambled to get an arm of Mor's over my neck while Rhys did the same with her other arm. I shrugged at Azriel, who's mouth was gaping open in a rare display of shock and directed Rhys as he helped me. It was a little awkward because of the difference in our heights but eventually, we reached our suite. Rhys took all of Mor's weight while I quickly opened the door and got back in position, helping him drag Mor's ass to her bed. She fell with a thud but didn't even moan. She was fast asleep. I was in the middle of taking Mor's shoes off and covering her with the blanket when I heard a loud thud behind me. I spun around to find Rhys splayed across the floor. My eyes widened and I crouched down, bringing my hand to his cheek. "Rhys. Rhys?" I tried to get him to wake up, but he was already snoring away. I exhaled loudly before deciding to just let him sleep on my bed. I couldn't take him all the way to his room; he was too heavy. I was grunting and struggling to get Rhys into my bed when I heard him. I felt a little of the weight leave my shoulders as Rhys come back to relative consciousness before I felt his husky breath in my ear. "Feyre," He drawled. His voice was more gravely than usual. Heat shot through my body at my name on his lips and came to rest in between my legs. "You're so beautiful." He said as I kept pushing him towards my bed. "So beautiful you make me want to cry. You're pure and smart and breath-taking. I might like you Feyre, even love you." I gulped, not willing to believe him. I kept telling myself, He's drunk, he's drunk, he's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying. As I let him fall into my bed, his arm falling away from around my shoulder causing my back to immediately go ice-cold, he carried on, oblivious to my thoughts. "You're nothing like her, you know. She was beautiful too, but in a different way. Her beauty was a malicious kind, the type that slowly kills you. And I made the mistake of loving her. And then she destroyed me." I was struggling now to keep myself moving but I did it. Slowly I took his shoes and socks off, covered him with the blanket. "She ripped me apart. She killed them. They both did." I was stunned into silence at his words and I couldn't do anything as tears dripped out of the sides of his eyes. And then all of sudden, he was snoring again, fast asleep. It was like nothing had ever happened. It was like he hadn't just told me the very reason he was so broken. Because I knew whatever the women and the other person had done to whoever Rhys had been referring to as "them"—I assumed they were some type of family member of Rhys's—it had been bad. Bad enough that Rhys was who he was today. Hurt and broken. Just like me.

I moved away from the bed, only to be tugged back by his hand which was tightly gripping mine even though he was sleeping. I gently unwrapped his fingers from around mine before slipping out of my clothes, putting on a loose shirt and sweatpants and hopped into bed with Mor.

It felt like only seconds later when I was woken up. It was still dark out and I felt a little disoriented before I realised what had woken me up. "No, no, please no." Rhys. "Leave them alone please." He was murmuring in his sleep. As I rushed over towards him he got louder. "No. No! Let them go!" Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put a hand over his cheek, feeling the sweat on his skin and wetness from his tears, and tried to wake him. "Rhys. Rhys, wake up." I said waking him up but when he didn't, I got a bit louder. "Rhys! Rhys, you're dreaming, wake up!" And then finally his eyes blinked open, his hot breath hitting my face as he gasped. He stared at me for a couple of seconds before coming up and wrapping me tightly in his arms. I grunted from the force, before hesitantly bringing my arms up to wrap around his hard, muscled body which I could feel through his clothes. He was still breathing a bit unevenly in my ear, so I calmed him down with words, "It's okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream." And slowly I felt his breath even out before his arms dropped from around me. I watched as he slowly leaned away from me, his head hung low, his shoulders slumping. I didn't know what to do or say so I just stared at him, waiting, but thankfully he filled the silence seconds later. "I'm sorry," He said looking back up at me. "I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't mean to." He frowned, clearly disappointed with himself.

"It's alright. No one can control their dreams. It's not your fault." I hesitated before saying. "Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head, glancing back down where he was wringing his hands together in his lap, and I nodded in understanding before getting back on my feet. "I should probably go back," I said pointing back at Mor's bed. He looked up at me and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but ended up not replying. I was about halfway across the room before I heard him call my name softly but loudly enough that I heard it. I turned to find him looking at me, a strange expression on his face. He stared at me for a second before pushing the comforter away and padding across the room until he was inches away from me and with his height he had to look down at me. I gulped, watched as he slowly, hesitantly brought a hand up to cover my cheek. I sucked in a breath as I felt his body-heat course through my veins. His eyes drifted down to my lips before coming back up to look into my eyes. There was a question in them, and I knew what it was but I couldn't believe that this was what he wanted. But then he spoke the words and I was forced to believe him. "Feyre. Can I kiss you? I've wanted to kiss you since the day I first saw you." I stared at him for a second but then I nodded, and he brought his lips to mine. I couldn't help but gasp as I felt his lips join with mine, pleasure shooting from the ends of my hair to the tip of my toes before coming back up and resting right there, in my core. My hands came up to weave themselves in his hair which was tousled from sleep and soft to the touch. The kiss was slow, Rhys letting me take control. It was soft and sensual and blissful.

I broke apart from our kiss, breathless and stared at him. I could see more questions in his eyes: Did you like it? Can I do it again? I didn't answer him and instead thought about how my lips felt. How completely comfortable and happy and safe I felt with him. Kissing Tamlin had never been like that. Never, not once. Not once did he ask me first before kissing. Not once did he make me want to melt from the raw emotion I felt in our kisses. There never was any emotion. He was kissing me for the sake of it and himself, and I was kissing him back because I felt obliged to. That's what partners do, right? Kiss each other. So I kissed Tamlin but it was never as exhilarating as the kiss I'd just shared with Rhys.

Rhys.

He had kissed me. He had actually kissed me. I looked up into his eyes. And saw that he wanted to kiss me again. Very badly. Immediately I pulled on his shirt, jerking him forward, and joined my lips to his again. His hand came up to caress my cheek and my knees buckled beneath but before I could fall, Rhys's hands came and caught me. With a jerk of his arms, he hitched me up and I wrapped my legs around his hips, my dress riding up my thighs.

"Feyre. Feyre." I heard him groan, breathlessly, around my lips. I kissed him even harder. I felt his tongue poke around my mouth looking for my tongue. I moaned as they touched, and I lost myself in the wonderful kiss we were sharing.

And then I felt his thumb come around my throat. My body involuntarily locked up, my bones going rigid with fear. Tamlin. Tamlin used to do that. Rhys broke the kiss, his face mere inches away from mine, and frowned. Before he could speak I pushed on his shoulders and he dropped me to my feet. On my feet, I took multiple steps away from Rhys, until the back of my legs connected with the bed Mor was lying on and I fell on my backside. My breathing was deep and irregular and I could see Rhys in front of me, worry and confusion in his beautiful night-sky eyes. He took a step toward me and I choked out, "Please leave. Please." He paused looking at me for a second before dropping his eyes and nodding. He looked up at me once again, and in his eyes, I saw so much emotion. I knew he liked me. Maybe even more. Our kiss had told me that much. But I couldn't reciprocate right now. Not with Tamlin at the front of my thoughts. I watched as Rhys turned on his heel, and walked out of the room. I stared at the door for a couple of seconds. I regretted telling him to leave now but I knew it had to be done. Sighing, I got on my feet and walked into the bathroom.

And once again, I found myself looking at myself in the mirror after such an unusual night. Rhys's kiss and the memory of Tamlin choking me warred for attention in my mind.

Tamlin won.

It had happened a few times and every time I'd just brushed it off, thinking he must've gotten lost in our kisses and didn't realise where his fingers were going.

Tamlin moaned as we kissed and pushed me further into the wall behind me. I had been walking to the cafeteria but on the way, I'd been pulled into janitor's closet. I'd let out a mini shriek before I saw who exactly had pulled me into the closet and by then he was kissing me. I'd tried to push him off at first but then his lips had moved down to my throat finding one my sensitive spots and I'd lost my train of thought. Which brought us to now. I felt Tamlin's teeth bite down on my skin softly before moving on to my jawline. I pushed my head back, giving him further access. I felt one of his hands come up from where it had been resting on my behind, and first, squeeze my breast and travel further up before reaching my throat. His fingers squeezed enough that it was a bit uncomfortable but since he wasn't choking me, I didn't say anything. His lips moved around my face, going up to bite an earlobe before moving to suck on my other one. Both us kept swapping with the dominance, wanting to please the other person.

He was on my lips, sucking them hard enough to bruise when it happened. I felt his thumb come over my windpipe, applying at little pressure at first but then increasing. I waited a couple of seconds waiting for him to realise what exactly his fingers were doing to me, but when he didn't, I pulled away from the kiss, bring my hand up to take his fingers off my throat. "You nearly choked me there," I nervously half-chuckled. His frown smoothed as his brows rose before he softly said, "Sorry," and then went back to kissing me, making sure to keep his fingers away from my throat.

That was the first time he did something like that, but not the last. Now I wondered how I could have been so stupid to just tolerate everything he did to me while we were together and only opened my eyes when he let Dagdan rape me. When it was too late.

I brought a hand up to softly touch my swollen lips. They looked bright pink and plump. My whole face was red. Flushed. Rhys'd done that to me. He made me nervous in a good way if that was even possible. I backed up a couple of steps. When I felt the door behind me, I let myself slide down, bringing my knees up to my chest as I wrapped my arms around them tightly and tilted my head so that it was resting on my knees. As I stared at nothing, I sorted through the thoughts zooming around in my head.

I liked Rhys. I knew that. Despite the way he'd acted towards me, I wanted him. I wanted him to want me. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to go on dates and go to the movies and study together and draw him. I wanted to do everything with him.

I wanted him to love me.

Rhys was so, so beautiful. He took my breath away with his raw beauty. I knew that, and I knew that he knew that too. But so had Tamlin. They were both beautiful in their own ways, but still, both were two very, very different people.

Rhys, though arrogant and sassy, was loving and kind and caring.

Tamlin was just plain looks and greed and obnoxiousness.

I'd been blind to all those qualities before that night, but after what had happened to me, I refused to continue being blind. I wouldn't let myself be trampled under anyone. I was still healing, still, in the process of gaining the self-confidence, I knew I would need if I ever found myself facing someone like him again, or worse, Tamlin himself. But I was getting there, slowly but surely.

And I knew Rhys was making the same journey. Though he hadn't told me, it was clear on his face when he looked at me. The way he looked at me tonight—he looked so vulnerable and raw as if he had, just for a moment, not filtered his emotions before letting them show on his face. He did that for me. And today hadn't been the first time. He'd been laid out in front of me right from the beginning when we first shook hands. Unknowingly maybe, but we had both laid ourselves bare in front of the other in that first meeting and all the ones afterwards.

With haste, I pushed myself up onto my feet and speed-walked back to my bed and picked up my phone. I scrolled through my texts looking for Rhys's name and once found him, I texted him: Can we talk? Tomorrow? Please? I stared at the phone for a couple of seconds before dropping the phone back onto the bed and went back into the bathroom and got ready for bed. I didn't check my phone before closing my eyes.

AN: Phew! That was a long chapter. I really need to work on my consistency. But anyways. Did you like it? They kissed! Was it right? Did you swoon? Did I do it right? Tell me everything! I love hearing from you guys. XOXO

[fyeah-bangtan7]

The Greatest Showmen: An exclusive look inside the world of BTS

Maybe you saw them piled on the klieg-lit couches of Ellen DeGeneres and Jimmy Fallon, trading light bilingual banter with their starstruck hosts. Maybe it was when they spoke solemnly on mental health and self-love at the United Nations General Assembly last September, or when a wall of dolphin-like screams greeted them as they rolled into February’s Grammy Awards in trim matching tuxedos, their hair tinted various shades of pastel macaron.

Or maybe the cover of this magazine is the first time you’ve truly noticed BTS. (Stranger things have happened in 2019.) But it seems indisputable to say that sometime over the past two years, the septet have taken over the world: two No. 1 albums on the Billboard chart in the span of three months; more than 5 billion streams combined on Apple Music and Spotify; a string of sold-out concert dates from the Staples Center in Los Angeles to London’s famed Wembley Stadium.

That hardly makes them the first boy band to dominate a cultural moment, but the fact that they are all Korean-born and -raised, singing Korean-language songs only occasionally sprinkled with English, feels like something brand-new. And it speaks to an unprecedented kind of global currency — one where pop music moves without barriers or borders, even as geopolitics seem to retreat further behind hard lines and high walls.

On a blindingly bright March day in Seoul five weeks before the release of their upcoming sixth EP, Map of the Soul: Persona, the band is holed up at their record label Big Hit Entertainment, preparing. Buildings like this are where much of the magic of the phenomenon known as K-pop happens, though Big Hit’s headquarters on a quiet side street in the city’s Gangnam district (yes, the same one Psy sang about in his 2012 smash “Gangnam Style”) look a lot like any other tech office: sleek poured-cement corridors and glass-box conference rooms scattered with well-stocked mini-fridges, plush toys, and the occasional beanbag chair. Only a display case stacked with a truly staggering number of sales plaques and statuettes, and a glossy large-scale photo print of BTS at their sold-out concert at New York’s Citi Field last October, give away the business they do here.

Down a long hallway, all seven members lounge in various states of readiness as they gear up to pretape a thank-you video for an iHeartRadio award they won’t be able to accept in person. Jimin, bleached blond and pillow-lipped, is having his hair carefully flat-ironed in a wardrobe room filled with racks of coordinated denim and neon streetwear. Dozens of pairs of pristine Nikes and Converse are piled in a corner; a lone fun-fur jacket the color of strawberry ice cream slumps on a hanger behind him, like a neglected Fraggle.

Jung Kook, the baby of the band at 21, sits obediently in a folding chair in the dance studio, also having his hair tended to; J-Hope strides by in a white dress shirt emblazoned with an over-size silk-screen of Bart Simpson, then grins and disappears. Suga, V, and Jin huddle together on low sofas next door, scrolling through their phones and occasionally singing fragments of American R&B star Khalid’s “My Bad.” Twenty-four-year-old RM, the group’s de facto leader and lone fluent English speaker, is the last to arrive.

They run through their speech for a camera crew and do maybe four or five takes until the director is satisfied. Then they settle in for a conversation in an airy break room upstairs, accompanied by their longtime translator, a large, amiable bald man in a business suit named John. (Unless noted, the answers of all members other than RM come through him.) Several weeks after returning from their first Grammys, they’re still riding high off the experience: presenting the award to H.E.R. for Best R&B Album; chatting with Shawn Mendes in the men’s room — “I was like, ‘Do I need to tell him who I am?’ ” Jimin remembers, “but then he said hello first, which was really nice” — and being seated only a sequin’s throw from Dolly Parton. (“She was right there in front of us!” marvels Jung Kook. “Amazing.”)

As happily dazzled as they still seem to be by other celebrities, seeing BTS in the flesh triggers the same disorienting but not unpleasant sense of unreality. On screen, the band can look disconcertingly pretty; avatars of a sort of poreless, almost postgender beauty who seem to exist inside their own real-life Snapchat filters. In person they’re still ridiculously good-looking, but in a much more relatable, boyish way: bangs mussed, even the occasional chapped lip or small (okay, minuscule) blemish. Take away their Balenciaga high-tops and the discreet double Cs of Chanel jewelry, and they could almost be the cute college guy next to you at the coffee shop or on the train.

Except riding public transportation or casually dropping into a Starbucks stopped being an option for BTS a long time ago. In Seoul, their faces are plastered across makeup kiosks and street signs and the sides of buses — even on massive digital billboards that are bought and paid for by private citizens to acknowledge a beloved member’s birthday, or just because. In cities like São Paulo and Tokyo and Paris, fans camp out days in advance for concerts and public appearances, obsessively trading trivia and rumored sightings. When the band posted their takethis link opens in a new tab on Drake’s #InMyFeelingsChallenge, it became the most liked tweet of 2018; this summer, Mattel will release an official line of BTS dolls.

In the still center of this bizarre fame hurricane, the boys have managed to find a few pockets of normalcy. Jimin wistfully recalls a time in Chicago when they were able to slip out of their hotel rooms undetected “late at night, just to get some fresh air.” But most places, he admits, “that’s really out of the question” unless they split into smaller groups. “I mean, look at us,” RM adds with a laugh, running a hand through his own silver-nickel bangs. “Seven boys with dyed hair! It’s really too much.”

Instead, they focus on the things they can do, like sneaking out to the movies (“Always the latest or earliest show,” says RM, if they want to stay unseen), shopping online (V loves eBay, especially for clothes), going fishing, playing StarCraft at home. Group housing is actually common for K-pop stars, and BTS seem to appreciate the shared stability: “We’ve been living together for a while now, almost eight, nine years,” says Jimin. “So in the beginning we had a lot of arguments and conflicts. But we’ve reached the point where we can communicate wordlessly, basically just by watching each other and reading the expressions.”

Though they’re unfailingly polite and attentive in interviews, there’s a certain amount of contained chaos when they’re all together — a sort of tumbling-puppy cyclone of playful shoves, back slaps, and complicated handshakes — but also a surprising, endearing sweetness to the way they treat one another in quieter moments. When a question is posed to the group, they work hard to make sure each one of them is heard, and if someone is struggling to find a word, they’ll quickly reach out for a reassuring knee pat or side hug.

Even with the language barrier of speaking to an American reporter, though, their individual personalities quickly start to emerge: Asked to name their earliest pop memories, the answers land all over the map. “I loved Pussycat Dolls’ ‘Stickwitu,’ ’’ says J-Hope, the group’s most accomplished dancer, snapping his fingers and cooing the chorus. For RM, who started out in Seoul’s underground rap scene, it’s Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” (“I think that’s, like, a life pick for so many people around the world,” he admits, “but I can’t forget when I first watched 8 Mile and heard the guitars. That was my turning point.”) For Jung Kook, who has released covers of Justin Bieber and Troye Sivan songs, it was Richard Marx’s deathless lite-FM ballad “Now and Forever.”

The soft-spoken Suga cites John Lennon’s “Imagine” as “the first song I fell in love with,” which feels like a fitting gateway to ask where BTS see themselves in the pantheon of musical heartthrobs that the Fab Four essentially invented. “Sometimes it feels really embarrassing when someone calls us a 21st-century Beatles or something like that,” RM concedes. “But if they want to call us a boy band, then we’re a boy band. If they want to call us a boy group, we’re a boy group. If they want to call us K-pop, then we’re cool with K-pop.”

Ah, K-pop. In South Korea, where the genre has become not just a prime cultural commodity but a multibillion-dollar export, the players, known as “idols,” go through rigorous Fame-style schooling in song and dance and media training that often goes on for years before they’re considered ready for the spotlight. And it’s paid off: Business has been booming since the early ’90s, with stars from Girls’ Generation to G-Dragoncrossing over to various markets across Asia, Europe, and the Americas. But while the sound has remained fairly consistent — a canny mix of club-ready beats, hyper-sweetened choruses, and the more urban inflections of Western hip-hop and R&B — it’s never before landed with the lightning-bolt impact of BTS.

Bang Si-Hyuk, the CEO and founder of Big Hit, began putting the band together in 2010, when all the members were in their tweens or teens: RM and Suga were coming up on the local rap scene; Jimin and J-Hope studied dance at performing-arts schools; V, who focused on singing early on, joined officially in 2013. Jin was an aspiring actor recruited off the street for his striking looks; Jung Kook, now the group’s main vocalist, joined while he was still in junior high.

Though fansites tend to lean on their extracurricular differences (Jung Kook is a Virgo who loves pizza! V collects ties and clenches his teeth in his sleep!), each member genuinely does hold a unique space in the group’s process, whether it’s leaning more toward production, lyrics, or the supersize hooks the songs rest on. “With seven members we have seven different tastes, of course,” says RM. “So when it comes to songwriting, it’s like a big competition.” Occasionally, adds J-Hope, “we’ll write a lyric and decide, ‘This sort of reflects me [more], who I am and my own color,’ so we’ll want to keep that for a solo song.”

Because Big Hit doesn’t restrict their right to funnel some ideas into side projects — and because the appetite for more BTS-sourced material online is seemingly unquenchable — members regularly release solo work through EPs, SoundCloud, and mixtapes. But the primary impact still comes through the official album releases, and the particularly weighty subjects those songs take on — a notable departure from the narrow, often strenuously upbeat topics other K-pop artists typically cover.

“I promised the members from the very beginning that BTS’ music must come from their own stories,” says Bang; their subsequent openness about their own struggles with depression, self-doubt, and the pressure to conform took them all the way to the U.N. last fall, where RM addressed the band’s Love Myself campaign and #ENDviolence youth partnership with UNICEF.

“They stand out,” says Japanese-American DJ and producer Steve Aoki, a top-selling global dance artist who has also collaborated with the band on several tracks. “And I’m not just talking about K-pop. They add so much of their personality to the music and into their stories and how they present themselves. And the world has fallen in love with them because they are showing that vulnerable side that everyone wants to see.”

It helps, too, that the group’s more pointed messages are often slipped into the sticky aural peanut butter of anthems like “No More Dream,” “Dope,” and “Am I Wrong.” But they always appreciate the chance, Suga says, to get “a little more raw, a little more open.” RM elaborates: “I think it’s an endless dilemma for every artist, how much we should be frank and honest. But we try to reveal ourselves as much as we can.”

Honesty has its limits, of course, when you’re the biggest band in the world. Asked to describe the new album, due April 12 (at press time, it had already hit over 2.5 million in preorders), members offer up cryptic but enthusiastic koans like “therapeutic” and “refreshing crispness.” To be fair, they can’t say much in part because the new album’s track list isn’t actually finalized yet — late decisions being a luxury of in-house production — though they do agree to play one song, a propulsive rap-heavy banger called “Intro: Persona.” (It was released as a teaser March 27; you can watch the video herethis link opens in a new tab.)

When it comes to more personal questions about the challenges of dating or the goals they might want to pursue post-BTS, they pivot so gracefully to evasive, nonspecific answers, you almost can’t help but be impressed; it’s like watching a diplomat ice-dance. They want you to know that they are incredibly grateful for the devotion of their fans, and so blessed to be exactly where they are; that they really don’t think in terms of five- or 10-year plans. But they turn reflective when the subject of American pop’s holy grail, the Hot 100 singles chart, is raised. They cracked the top 10 last year with “Fake Love” but have yet to reach a higher spot, largely because mainstream radio airplay—a huge component of Hot 100 domination—still eludes them Stateside.

“It will have to be a great song,” Suga acknowledges, “but also there’s a whole strategy that’s associated with getting all the way up. And then there has to be a measure of luck, obviously. So what’s important for us is just to make good music and good performances and have those elements come together.” Does a Spanish-language smash like 2017’s “Despacito” — which spent a record 16 weeks at No. 1 — make them more optimistic about their own odds? “You know, Latin pop has its own Grammys in America, and it’s quite different,” RM says thoughtfully. “I don’t want to compare, but I think it’s even harder as an Asian group. A Hot 100 and a Grammy nomination, these are our goals. But they’re just goals — we don’t want to change our identity or our genuineness to get the number one. Like if we sing suddenly in full English, and change all these other things, then that’s not BTS. We’ll do everything, we’ll try. But if we couldn’t get number one or number five, that’s okay.”

Aoki, for one, has faith they’ll get there. “I think it’s 100 percent possible that a song sung entirely in Korean could crack the top of the Hot 100. I firmly believe that, and I really firmly believe that BTS can be the group that can do that. It’s going to pave the way for a lot of other groups, which they’ve already been doing—and when that happens, we’re all gonna celebrate.”

Back at Big Hit, though, the band has more immediate work to do. RM offers a quick tour of his production room (each member has his own dedicated space on site). The door outside is guarded by a quirky assemblage of figurines by the renowned street artist Kaws, but inside feels, incongruously, like stepping into a tiny, luxurious Sundance lodge that also just happens to have a soundboard: There’s a beautiful coffee table made from a single piece of black walnut; Navajo-style rugs; tasteful art on the walls. RM talks easily about his admiration for producers like Zedd and the Neptunes (“Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo were my true idols in 2006, 2007. Pharrell’s voice! It’s so sexy, how he sings”), and plays down his own skills (“As a beatmaker, Suga is way better than me. I don’t even know how to play the piano — I just do the chords like this,” he insists, miming keyboard Muppet hands).

Then it’s back to the dance studio, where they’ve changed into track pants and T-shirts to run through new steps with a choreographer. It starts with a rough triangle formation, and an elaborate hip-swivel-into-pelvic-thrust/crotch-grab combo that actually plays much more innocently than it sounds, mostly because they keep stopping to crack each other up. Soon, though, they drill down — repeating the moves until they seem crisp but easy, almost an afterthought. It feels like time to leave them; the boys wave happily, shouting out a rowdy chorus of goodbyes. Then they turn back to the mirror, and keep dancing.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

How about a late night stream-of-consciousness chatfic from last night?

me: reg text

@icosahedonist: bold

There’s a particular path Sid likes to take in the mornings to jog with his dog. It’s quiet and barely used.  And it’s pretty. He likes to go as often as he can, to clear his head. Even in winter. 

... I think Sid is a..............how about a kid's hockey coach? It's not well paid, and there are rumors his program might be cut, and he'd be out of a job. He's stressed out about it.

Geno is a KHL star who retired early. He's got a lot of money but no idea how to have an actual life outside of playing hockey.

He's ended up in wherever-the-fuck Canada because..............

uuhhhhhh

maybe there's some kind of rich people ski resort.

But he's brooding so he ends up walking this trail that ends up winding through a local park.

He need to walk as part of his knee rehab maybe.

He notices the dog first. It's this squat little pitbull mix, goofy looking and cute, and always looking thrilled with life.

One time it lunges for him, tail whipping wildly and tongue lolling, trying to make friends. "Come on, Peanut," the owner chides. "Leave him alone." Geno has to laugh to himself. Peanut. What a name. (If only he knew that the dog's full name was Peanut Butter, and that he'd been named by one of Flower's daughters).

(because he's a brown dog and Uncle Sid likes PB & J, of course!)

And one day he hears the same guy calling and calling his dog, but this time it's loud and anxious, interspersed with piercing whistles and beseeching "Here, boy!"s

oh no

He jogs a little, turns a corner and there's the guy, hands cupped to his mouth, calling.

"Lose dog?" Geno offers. the guy turns to him, frantic. "Yeah, there was a squirrel, and we've been working on this in obedience class?? But he bolted, and I--" the man's breath hitches. Geno is quick to offer to head the other direction down the trail and help look.

He's a ways down the trail when he practically runs into Peanut, who is jogging down the trail looking bewildered because his dad? was just right there? but now he's not??? !!!!!!!!

Geno calls his name and Peanut happily lollops up to him, grinning and excited.

(a friend!)

He grabs him by the collar and quickly walks him down the trail towards Sid. It's hell on his back, Peanut is kind of low to the ground, and he eventually decides to just pick him up, sturdy as he is. Peanut just puts his paws up on Geno's shoulder and peers happily around from his new vantage point, tail bap-bapping violently against Geno's middle.

"Fuck, Peanut, you stupid dog!" Sid cries as Peanut practically mauls Geno as he flails to get back down on the ground and oh boy! Kiss his dad all over! His dad! That's his FAVORITE person!!!!!!!! Geno has to laugh. Sid's scolding is obviously totally out of fearful relief. His (pretty, hazel, luminous, oh no) eyes are red-rimmed and too bright as he clips a leash on his dog and thanks Geno profusely.

Geno really takes a moment to look at Sid for the first time. oh. no. He's....he's got black hair curling out from under a lumpy knitted toque (it was a gift "for Coach," from one of his peewee girls, in their team colors)

knitted with love, no doubt

so much. Coach Crosby is adored.

Anyway this guy has pretty eyes and a prettier mouth and a cute hat and a cute dog and Geno can just feel the flock of butterflies take up residence in his stomach.

he walks back with Sid to his car, even though the park's parking lot is in the complete opposite direction of the resort. His knee is beginning to ache a bit and he knows the slog back will be murder, but. Sid.

He's asking Sid about himself, trying to remember how to be charming, how he chatted up beautiful people all the time in clubs and bars before he got hurt. Before he left Russia and the KHL behind.

Meanwhile Sid is about 70% sheer relief that Peanut has been corralled and about 30% oh wow TALL, and oh wow ACCENT.

he noticed Geno wince when he stumbles over a ridge of compacted snow at the edge of the parking lot and it triggers his Coach Senses. Is Geno hurt, what hurts, how long has it been hurting etc etc

Geno is shamefacedly forced to admit that he's rehabbing his knee and he maaaaybe overdid it. this will obviously Not Do as far as Sid is concerned and before he quite knows what happened, Geno is sitting in Sid's beat-up truck, Peanut ensconced between them (thrilled that there's TWO people, his favorite things, in the car, his favorite place, oh boy)

Sid apologizes if the trucks a little funky, he hauls around a lot of hockey gear as well as a wet dog. Oh no, Geno thinks. Hockey. He had really wanted to stay away from hockey.

(why did you go to fucking Canada then, Geno?)

(HMMMM)

oh no, cute guy with cute dog who loves hockey... whatever will geno do???

And he finds out Sid is a hockey COACH, even. Sid gets talking about his kids on the way up, and even though Geno hadn't wanted to hear any hockey talk, the love of the game and his charges just kind of, radiates from Sid. Geno can tell this guy loves what he does. So damn much, He's.....probably amazing with kids.

(fuck)

the answer seems to be fall in love

A couple days later, Geno kind of Accidentally Ends up at the community rink. It's part nervous hope he'll see Sid again, it's partly that the yearning to put on skates and just, fly, never really left him.

He's been okayed for skating months ago. But he hasn't felt ready to face a rink again until now.

The rink is run down, but clearly busy and loved. There are little teeny kiddos with brightly colored figure skating bags in the foyer, putting neon fuzzy soakers on their blades after their lessons. God, their skates are so tiny.

There's a lot of happy yelling coming from the ice, and when he walks through the doors to the rink, after he's recovered from the emotional hit that is the sting of cooled air, the smell of the ice, the rubber flooring, he sees a hockey practice is happening on the ice.

He's not been around little hockey players in a while. He's forgotten how funny tiny kids look in gear. Especially the goalies like little robots in all their pads. And there is Sid on the ice, somehow making a set of trackies look good, gliding gracefully between his miniature players as they wobble through their drills.

Geno climbs into the stands to watch and wait for the public rec session after this. There are a smattering of parents watching.

A nice mom greets him. "Which one's yours?" she asks, and his heart does a funny thing in his chest.

*lies face down*

"Uh, none," he has to admit. "I come for public skate but I come too early." He waggles his beat up pair of rental hockey skates.

The nice mom continues to chat with him, telling him how WONderful Coach Crosby is with the kids, how they just ADORE him.

Geno makes faint noises of acknowledgment and tries not to let both his crush and his dormant love of hockey unfold any further.

she has an active ear, geno gonna get sid's entire life story and every scrap of gossip by the time the kiddos are done

Then, the mom sadly adds, "But, this is probably the last winter we'll have this, you know?"

And then Geno gets to hear that the rink is in disrepair and the town can't afford to repair it to code. It's going to be shut down at the end of the season, with no timeline for it to reopen.

uh oh

Sid's going to lose his job, he realizes. He looks at where he can see Sid as he carefully helps a kid back upright, pulling a kleenex out of his pocket to wipe their tears and snotty nose as he makes sure they're okay, just a little scared from the tumble they took.

He thinks about his untouched millions in the bank. How bleak he'd felt, with nothing to work towards and no need to strive for anything anymore.

Well. This he can do. This is easy.

"Who in charge?" he asks the mom. "Where can I find?"  She blinks but tells him the board of trustees is having a meeting next week.

What a helpful lady.

the helpfulest!

Geno already has his phone out, and is already busy canceling his flight home in two days. He's going to be here a while longer, he thinks.

And scene.

(you can imagine the rest: geno saves the rink, but like, secretly, and he gets to know sid better, and they fall in love, Geno skates again, and finds out how good it feels to get back on the ice. He meets Sid's beer league friends. They definitely at one point kiss in Sid's questionable old truck. Peanut anoints him Best Person Ever After Dad.)

(eventually somehow Sid finds out, there's a dramatic conversation, maybe with snow swirling around them, etc. It's a little angsty but things get resolved and theres a Big Damn Cinematic Kiss.)

hmmmmm but... what if sid knows who geno is, and it doesn't take too much figuring out to know who had the cash to save the rink, and he never says anything bc geno never says anything, and it doesn't seem like he did it just to get into sid's pants (altho that is a bonus for sure)

that too

he just waits for Geno to tell him when he's ready.

Couple years down the line, they're 1. Moved into the gorgeous lodge-style house Geno buys. 2. Engaged, with plans for a December wedding. 3. Looking into adoption.

when geno tells sid about his past, and all the money that geno just "mysteriously" has, it's anticlimatic. sid may be a hockey coach in nowhere, canada, but he's heard of evgeni malkin

He gently kisses Geno's forehead. "I know, babe. It wasn't hard to figure out. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready."

and anyway, he didn't fall in love with geno bc of his money. when geno asks what it was, then, sid smiles beautifically and says, "your ass."

AHAHA yess

(but it was actually his heart, of course)

(bc he's too fond of chirping to let an opportunity go by!)

Geno: "Hm, smart, is best ass."

"Need to lock up." "Lock down?" "Yes, that."

[bestleftnameless]

Untitled (continued) 2

I woke up in a bright room. I must have made too much noise while falling down the stairs because they had taken me. Once again I was infuriated for I had made another terrible mistake. It turned out I hadn't broken my neck falling down the stairs, it had really been broken from the force of them grabbing and pulling me so quickly, though I was grateful they prevented me from falling and breaking my neck. I stood up slowly picking my hat up from the ground. I realized it wasn't my hat at all, in fact, it wasn't a hat at all, in fact, there was nothing there at all. I then saw my hat a foot away and leaned over grabbing it. As I extended myself to full height I realized I wasn't the only one with a grip on the fedora. The other man looked at me with what I imagined to be as equal a look of confusion as my own. It quickly turned to anger as he snatched the hat and walked away with an angry snort. As I was about to take it back I noticed another on the ground not too far away. I decided it was too far away and gave up on it altogether.

I looked around and saw that I was in some kind of waiting room. There was a man sitting on a bench filling out paperwork using his leg propped up over the other as a makeshift table. He didn't fool me but apparently fooled himself as he stuck the gum he was chewing underneath. I turned and saw a secretary sitting at her desk. I asked her how to get out of this place and without looking up she tapped the top of her desk pointing at a blank piece of paper laminated to the desk, apparently trying to make herself feel important. I ripped the paper off the desk, spat in it, crumpled it up and threw it at her face. She reached into a file cabinet and pulled out another sheet of paper then slowly and angrily slid it across the top of the desk towards me. I grabbed the paper then sat next to the table legged man and looked it over. It was a sheet with a list of reasons I should be allowed to leave having boxes to check next to each one. Also at the bottom was a larger box with lines in it for me to write some sort of essay on why I should be let out. Not really being a big fan of essays I walked out of the door marked exit.

I looked back at the building once far enough away and saw an old neon sign reading "death" with a flickering "j". I turned around leaving the building to the left of me and continued on my way. I walked by a man that was standing tall, asserting that where he stood was his territory. Though I tried to stay out of his imaginary circle, I must've stepped on the edge for he took a step toward me and puffed out his chest. Not one to back down from a challenge I ran away but when he chased me he forfeited the rights to his circle and so I took it as my own. It didn't fit in my pocket though, so I left it where it was, hoping it would provide a small meal for some rats. I first made it clear to them, however, that the rent was due on the first as to avoid any future conflicts.

Before the rats, I had another patron. He was wearing a black cloak and wore it wrapped completely around himself including the head. He held it closed with his hand which was all I could see of his body. I noticed his hand was missing a finger and it reminded me of the time I lost one of mine. A long time ago I had a fight with "the great ruler of the land", Lord BomVoZwich (pronounced prudence). I was a swordsman at the time and defender of a nation after taking a 6 hour course. He personally challenged me to combat face to face by sending one of his minions to formally invite me to a battle. Never one to refuse a fight I said no. I knew how high the stakes were but accepted anyway because this was only a twice in a lifetime opportunity and if I didn't do it now I would never have a sicond chance, because sicond isn't a word.

I arrived at his castle and took a number at the front desk then sat waiting. I was number 37 and the current number on the projector was 36 1/2. I refused to wait for such a ridiculously long period of time and called for him to come out of hiding and fight me. He refused and so I had to reschedule the appointment. The next day when I returned to the castle he stood there waiting for me, him being the doorman waiting to let me in. I tipped 15% and ran up a spiral staircase to face off against his majesty but had arrived early so I instead waited there leaning on my sword. When Lord BomVoZwich finally arrived he explained that he had trouble with the doorman not letting him in because he wasn't on the list. He apologized for the inconvenience then switched to his battle position. Neither of us wanted to attack first because the person that did would get suspended from school a day longer than the other and I couldn't risk it. He taunted me by saying how he was going to get my lock mandarin pie recipe and I taunted him by calling him by his first name, "Bernard". Neither of us got very worked up but eventually I initiated the fight by complimenting his hair.

 We began swinging at each other. I wondered why my attacks were so ineffective until I realized I wasn't using my sword. I grabbed it just in time to turn around and slice his head clean off, him being one of Bernard's minions. I was distraught because we had a poker game planned that weekend and now I had nothing to do. Bernard took advantage of my distraction and leapt at me. I was barely able to dodge in time but had my pinky finger cut off. He stumbled upon landing, then while catching himself slipped on my finger and impaled himself on his blade. From that day on I gave up on being a swordsman and promised myself I would never fight again. Though I knew I was lying because I refused to look myself in the eye so I gave up on giving up.

 After successfully pawning the circle for much less than it was worth I continued on my journey. I suddenly felt a burst of energy which most likely resulted from the coffee I had declined to drink earlier that day and began sprinting at 3 miles an hour. Feeling half priced as a bird I lost focus and walked a red light, which was the smart thing to do as the bases were loaded and he was a homerun hitter. Normally I would go back and apologize to his mother only for her to tell me she's not the one I need to apologize to, but I'm not normal so I continued running until colliding with a man in slow motion which triggered an altercation. After the camera circled us twice and a disembodied voice yelled ‘Go!’ as his words flashed across the screen, I was disheartened to see I was starting the fight with only half of my health bar remaining.

 I wondered what I could have done recently to lose half a health bar then remembered the bathroom break earlier in which there was much toilet roll squeezing and wall slapping resulting in me getting punched 20 feet for watching a man go about his business. While I was spaced out, the opponent had already attacked me leaving me with only a sliver of health left while in his bar you could still see his entire name. After seeing his name I laughed because he had the weirdest name imaginable, "John". He quit the match because apparently I hurt his little girl feelings, no offense to little girls out there (as if saying that makes a difference). No offense to anyone for that matter, except for wasps. Nobody likes wasps.

 As I watched the man leave with such speed smoke trailed off the ground behind him I thought to myself that this man is horrible for the environment, and did nothing about it. I did however, go to the local diner and order the first woman I saw to make me a sandwich. I wouldn't call me a sexist pig just yet as I only did because the lady was a waitress. Please, I was raised better than that, and after all I am a lady. At least I would hope so, after all, the rest rooms I use do only have stalls, but I am often kicked out and called a pervert.

 On the way I ran into a man named unbinchin. He didn't seem like a bad guy but once again I felt there was something off about him just like the man before, my worst fears were confirmed when I saw his jacket lying on the ground. I would have helped him pick it up but this isn't a charity. Upon having this thought, I realized that nearby there was a charity for rolling children down stairs in folded up boxes. Unsurprisingly they had a huge 2 stair out front and also a ramp. I ran up the stairs 4 at a time until clipping the front of one of my shoes near the top causing me to fall professionally. I base that description off of what I overheard one man say shortly afterward to his friend when he stated that I fell like it was my job. Excited at the thought of a promising new career I ran off to apply.

[travelcenter-uk]

Travel Talk: The Most Beautiful Places in the World

Time for you to dust off that passport & put that savings account to good use! (don’t worry, it’s not that expensive, I just didn’t know what else to say). Here are the 05 most beautiful places in the world.

1) The Tunnel of Love, Klevan, Ukraine

Nature lovers really won with this one (and every other place on this list, to be honest). The tunnel of love in Ukraine is a punch in the gut to everyone who says “nature isn’t exciting.” That’s right; I’m looking at you adrenaline junkies.

This Klevan highlight is a tangle of emerald perfection, and a sight for every eye to admire. There’s no doubt that it deserves a spot in the “most beautiful places in the world” list. Getting lost in its seasonal splendour is everything you could have ever wanted and more.

Can I go on holiday to Ukraine?

As of the last official update by the UK government, there will be certain restrictions when entering the country. The UK is currently in the “red zone”, which means there will be a 14-day self-isolation upon arrival. For more information, click here.

2) The Mendenhall Ice Caves, Alaska, United States

You don’t see water run under frozen walls every day, which is precisely what makes the Mendenhall ice caves in Alaska so unique. The shimmering electric blue glacier is one of a kind & that’s enough for it to be on our list of the most beautiful places in the world.

The icy labyrinth is hidden under the glacier’s surface, and guided tours are a regular occurrence. Unfortunately, this attraction may not have much time left due to climate change – so, if you’re interested in visiting, you better do it quick.

Can I go on holiday to the United States?

Unfortunately, as of the last official update (December 01st), British citizens cannot enter the USA and its territories if they have been in the UK, Ireland, Schengen zone, Iran, Brazil or China within the previous 14 days.

3) The Antelope Canyon, Arizona, United States

I remember little ol’ me using my computer for the first time, and this was the background on my desktop. Back then, I thought “ooh colours”; now, I know better (not really). It’s much more than piercing shades of sheer vibrance.

The probability of these tall twisting lanes being on almost every traveller’s bucket list isn’t far-fetched. This summer-lit wonder is what a wave of bliss would look like, so I thought if I was ticking out the most beautiful places in the world, there was no reason for me to miss this piece of perfection.

Can I go on holiday to the United States?

Was it necessary that I included this part again? No, not at all. But I did. Why? Because I love writing (but also, the word count on this piece isn’t cutting it, so I’m taking every chance I get). Ahem! Anyways, as previously mentioned, British citizens cannot enter the USA and its territories if they have been in the UK, Ireland, Schengen zone, Iran, Brazil or China within the previous 14 days. But hey, if you’re aiming for 2022 travel or a holiday later this holiday – you (might) have a good chance.

4) The Gloworm Caves, Waitomo, New Zealand

YAY wOrMs, rIgHt? Just kidding. It’s not exactly the kind of worms you don’t like. These glow worms have a thing for shining bright & minding their own business. Now, if it was something to do with the regular kind of worms, then trust me, this wouldn’t be the on a list titled “the most beautiful places in the world”.

This neon blue dreamscape looks like a scene ripped right out of the movie “Journey to the Center of the Earth”, and nobody’s complaining about it. Plus, by visiting this highlight, you get to be a part of 125 years of cultural & natural history.

Can I go on holiday to New Zealand?

Unfortunately, entry to New Zealand is closed to almost all arrivals. However, the government is actively trying to implement new & improved measures to help tourism recover while people remain safe.

5) The Wisteria Flower Tunnel, Japan

You can’t write an article about the most beautiful places in the world and not include the wisteria flower tunnel in it, that’s what you call sacrilege.

Now, imagine walking through a pastel passageway of cascading wisteria, pushing aside curtains of purple-hued flowers, and feeling the tranquillity enclose around you. Sounds riveting, doesn’t it?

But yeah, no it couldn’t be me – I usually just choke on the smell of flowers. But some people are different. So, if you happen to be enamoured by this highlight, just make sure to visit in late April or early May, during the “Fuji Matsuri,” or “Wisteria Festival,” when the magical tunnel is in full bloom.

Also, you’re not the only one trying to visit – so better book in advance.

Can I go on holiday to Japan?

No. Not for travel at least. If you have any other legally permitted reasons to visit the country, then you might find more information here!

6) Trolltunga, Norway

Bet you saw this one coming, I mean, who wouldn’t?

You see, as far as cliffs go, I can guarantee that Trolltunga is one of Norway’s most awe-inspiring sights you’ll ever see. Who wouldn’t want to see the world-famous ridge hover 700 metres above a sun-drenched lake that glistens enough to make it look magical? (That was rhetoric, in case you were wondering)

But hey, that’s not the only dish of idealism it serves! Along the way to Trolltunga, you’ll get to see nature at its best – featuring dramatic scenery, small peaks dusted with snow, and the mind-rejuvenating vibe of the surrounding.

So, be sure to appreciate the way you got to the highlight, just like the highlight itself. Plus, do you want to know the best part? Those are only a few of the many reasons Trolltunga deserves to be on our list of the most beautiful places in the world.

Can I go on holiday to Norway?

After the last official update, it seems that entry to Norway depends on your country. However, there’s no doubt that all travellers will need to meet strict rules. If you wish to learn more, click right here!

7) Victoria Falls, Zambia

You didn’t think I’d leave one of the world’s largest waterfalls out of this list, did you?

Victoria Falls, also known as one of the world’s grandest spectacles is a tourist magnet (surprising nobody). The on the edge of the world kind of vibe this masterpiece radiates is show-stopping. But it’s not just the main element that makes it a natural wonder; it’s also everything that surrounds it. It exceeds every other waterfall I know, and personally – if I had to grade these divine forces of nature, Victoria Falls would be getting a fat A* from me.

Can I go on holiday to Zambia?

If you’re planning travel to Zambia, find out what you need to know about the coronavirus and the recent updates on travel from the UK here.

8) Pamukkale, Turkey

Believe me; it was a real struggle trying to decide which place from Turkey. I was going to dub as one of the most beautiful places in the world. Not that my validation means anything, but after a brutal fight with all the voices in my head, I decided it was going to be Pamukkale.

From the photogenic atmosphere of the whole place to the otherworldly sunset splendour it offers visitors, there’s nothing you won’t want to miss. I mean, yeah, most people visit to wander around for a while and get a great picture, but when you stay overnight – that’s when you get to see it all.

Can I go on holiday to Turkey?

All arrivals in Turkey will be subject to evaluation for symptoms of COVID-19, which you can read more about here.

9) Rakotzbrücke, Germany

Of course, an attraction from Germany is going to make it on my list for the most beautiful places in the world. It’s GERMANY!

Anyways, I think that Rakotzbrücke is the kind of place you need to visit if you want a minute to yourself. In total serenity & seclusion, you can let your thoughts wander. Untouched by your daily struggles, you’ll be able to rejuvenate your headspace with the faint rustling of trees and chirping of birds. Plus, Rakotzbrücke looks ethereal during sunset – so good luck handling all that beauty without having a travelgasm.

Can I go on holiday to Germany?

Okay, so we have good news and bad news (kind of). Good news is, there’s no outright ban on visiting Germany.

10) Salar De Uyuni, South Bolivia

If you hate yourself, then stay away from this place. In addition to being the largest salt flat in the world, Salar De Uyuni is also a giant mirror. It’s breath-taking, sure – but if you’re like me and have low self-esteem about how you look – a salty mirror isn’t going to help you. Also, I think that’s a very toxic mentality, and I’m not sure why I’m talking about this, but I’ll stop.

Coming away from…whatever that was, I think it’s safe to say that this Bolivian masterpiece deserves to be dubbed as one of the most beautiful places in the world. From seeing the sky under your feet, to the wind that coos a chill down your spine, everything about this place feels right.

Can I go on holiday to Bolivia?

As of the last update, UK citizens will not be allowed to enter on a tourist visa if you have been in Europe in the last 14 days. The government has also announced that flights from Europe will now be suspended until 15 February 2021. For more information on the issue, please click here.

Well, there you have it! We aren’t even close to covering all of the places on this list, but it’s a start. If you liked one of the places on my list of “the most beautiful places in the world” let me know in the comments below & I’ll tell you mine. That’s it for now. Stay safe and happy holidays!

Read More:- Travel Talk: The Most Beautiful Places in the World

This Article, Information & Images Source (copyright) :- Travel Center UK Blog

[scottgalina]

Every Kellyoke So Far, Ranked

My morning routine at work has become thus: First, I enjoy the greatest iced coffee with skim milk and sugar that New York City has to offer, courtesy of Bashir on the northwest corner of 43rd and Broadway. Second, I do whatever work things I have to do that are none of your business (unless you’re someone I work with in which case I prioritize your things). Third--and at this point it’s around 10:45a/11:00a--I open YouTube and click my first recommended video and laugh. You see, every weekday morning, without fail, in the top left corner of my YouTube homepage is the day’s Kellyoke. If for some reason you’re reading this and don’t know what Kellyoke is, allow me to educate you. Kellyoke is the way Kelly Clarkson opens every episode of The Kelly Clarkson Show. But more than that, it is, quite simply, a way of life.

Born from Kelly’s extensive history of #KCRequests on tour (fans request songs on Twitter, she covers them) Kellyokes are approximately two minute covers of popular songs--usually a verse, chorus, bridge, culminating with Kelly simply vocalizing at the end. This is where I laugh. I laugh because not since Jessie J was on that Chinese reality show has there been such a consistent stream of covers sung so exquisitely and captured with such perfect audio.

And I laugh because Kelly Clarkson’s voice is not to be believed. I know everyone “knows” what a good singer she is, but I’m not sure that people have fully come around to the cold, hard fact that she’s one of the greatest vocalists of all time. Certainly that she’s the greatest singer of her generation. 

Each Kellyoke begins with a “Woo!” or “How y’all doing?” or some other burst of excitement from our fearless leader. Then she launches into the cover of the day. Sometimes (mostly upbeat songs) she’ll travel through the audience, traversing down and up stairs and dancing through the rows. Other times she stays stationary at a mic stand either by her band, or somewhere else in the studio surrounded by fans. (This super informative, though nowhere near long enough (nothing could be, really), Vulture piece sheds a little more light onto what goes into these decisions.) Most end with Kelly at “home base” in front of the couches she interviews guests on, which is captured by a weird camera that seems like it’s a GoPro and is stationary so never has her perfectly framed, and always seems lower quality than the other cameras. Kelly concludes each song with another “Woo!” or “Hey!” and always gestures to her band, usually accompanied by her saying “Give it up for my band, y’all!” She’s a class act! (If you’re used to watching Kellyokes on YouTube, then you’re used to them immediately being followed by the official Kelly Clarkson Show bumper which begins with Kelly saying “I will not stop talking.” I learned how to use GarageBand so I could edit that out from the mp3s I make of each Kellyoke. It’s a sad life, what can I say!)

As God decided was my duty (I was bored and, again, sad life!), I recently rewatched all of the Kellyokes that have aired to this date (I mean, you can imagine, it wasn't a hardship.) and below have “ranked” them. But I use the term very loosely. Because how can you rank perfection? Even the “worst” (and I use it even looser this time) Kellyoke is still at least a minute and a half of KELLY CLARKSON SINGING. Which is better than anything else on the planet. It’s better than mango even. So please take the “ranking” aspect lightly.

A brief housekeeping note: I have omitted both the first Kellyoke, “9 to 5”, because it was the first and there was a pre-taped component to it, and the medley of her own songs she performed on November 1st, because I wanted the list to only be covers. “Can’t Stop the Feeling” was performed on November 6th but seems to have been scrubbed from the internet. I remember it being perfectly fine, but didn’t include it because I can’t prove it. I’ve also not counted the November 21st “Neon Moon” cover because it was performed with Gwen Stefani, Blake Shelton, and John Legend, and November 25th’s “Ain’t Going Down (Til the Sun Comes Up)” because it was a duet with Garth Brooks. This is about KELLY and KELLY ONLY.

With all that out of the way, please find every Kellyoke so far ranked.

53. Express Yourself - 9/20/19 Okay, this one is really scary. On paper all the pieces are there: Kelly Clarkson, looking amazing, singing one of Madonna’s most famous songs, working her way through her audience. The catch is that the audience in this instance has been replaced by soulless facsimiles of human beings that seem to have been directed to tune out the music they can hear and instead focus on a song in their head (keeping what it is to themselves) and engage with Kelly as though that’s what she’s singing. It’s horrifying to watch as no one sings along with her and everyone claps to a different beat. Even when she gets to two seemingly gay men, they don’t sing along! Were they told not to? It’s almost like when you watch a party scene in a movie or TV show and you know they either played elevator music or were dancing in complete silence because they didn’t know what song they were going to dub it in later. This is a good excuse to make something the worst and not have it be Kelly’s fault, because she’s perfect.

A quick note on the audiences of The Kelly Clarkson Show before we go any further. It’s unclear what they’re told before each taping. A lot of times it seems as though they’re instructed to clap any which way but on the beat. Almost like the warm-up person says to everyone “Forget anything you’ve heard or instinctively felt about clapping!” It’s very strange. It’s also very strange to watch the way they interact with Kelly Clarkson who is singing sometimes inches from their faces. I know you can’t judge someone until you walk a mile in their shoes, but I am VERY confident in saying that if Kelly Clarkson was singing anywhere CLOSE to my body, I would be neither calm nor collected. I might be shocked. I might be stunned. I might faint. But in no way would I be able to carry on normally. More of all this throughout the list!

52. Believer - 9/19/19 This is a totally solid entry that suffers only because it aired back-to-back with the “Express Yourself” episode and I resent how into this song the audience here is; the total opposite of the other one. Everyone should know “Express Yourself”! I don’t think that’s too much to ask! 

51. Come and Get It - 11/8/19 This is ranked low mostly because I’ve always had an issue with a song that’s opening lyric is a young woman singing to a man “You ain’t gotta worry, it’s an open invitation,” so this choice bummed me out. Kelly sounds great, but we’ll keep moving! 

50. Cake By the Ocean - 11/13/19 A pretty straightforward rendition of a song that doesn’t allow many vocal pyrotechnics. That’s okay. It’s still early.

49. Blow Your Mind 10/8/19 The least-known song Kelly’s covered so far (I think? Right?) leads to some pretty low energy from the audience. Kelly sounds really good, but the whole thing just kind of...happens.

48. Happy - 11/22/19 This is about exactly what you’d expect, which is not a bad thing. Kelly Clarkson singing can never be a bad thing! 

47. Wrecking Ball - 10/15/19 An understated opening with a bit of a funereal vibe, if we’re being honest. This one finds Kelly starting planted in the middle of the audience with a few terribly uncomfortable looking people right in her shot. She plays with the melody which we love, and things get better once she starts walking, but all in all this isn’t one that moves the needle.

46. Delicate - 11/5/19 Some confusing excitement at the top as we try to figure out where Kelly is and what’s going on and then it’s like...Oh! She’s there and that’s what’s going on! We almost do really well with a song that feels like it’s fool-proof in terms of clapping on the beat, but our friend in white and our other friend in yellow prove that’s not quite the case! It really takes all kinds!

45. Sucker - 9/10/19 The second Kellyoke, and first proper one, is perfectly solid. The faster parts trip her up on the words a little, but her voice sounds impeccable on the chorus.

44. You Look Good - 11/11/19 My biggest takeaway from this perfectly lovely Kellyoke is that Kelly’s pocket is literally...every note ever written. It’s a common theme that will come up over and over on this list, but it never ceases to amaze me how flawlessly she sings. Even watching all of these videos back to back, it doesn’t get old! She is the greatest singer in the world! 

43. Juice - 9/30/19 She’s looking great and having fun here! If I could complain, it would be about Kelly not singing enough, which reminds me of a story MIA told after she worked on Christina Aguilera’s album Bionic. MIA was excited to write songs to show off Christina’s insane range and Christina was excited to make mellow, less-showy songs in MIA’s style that didn’t require her to belt the way she usually does. It seems their time together was...fraught. 

42. Jealous - 10/16/19 Kelly’s at home, both in leopard print and staying in one place at a mic stand in the band area. It seems pretty obvious that it’s because she really does not know the words to this one, and to make her navigate the stair-business along with the cue-card-business would be totally unfair. We have many more exciting entries on this list, but then she does....that at the end and you wonder why anyone else bothers singing ever!

41. What Makes You Beautiful - 10/10/19 This is fun for everyone, and the arm swaying alleviates all the clapping mishegoss so the audience looks good too. Nothing of it is too consequential, but her alternatives to the melody at the end are great!

40. Independence Day - 10/23/19 If this entry is a tad underwhelming, it’s only because it’s so in Kelly’s wheelhouse. But what a wheelhouse to be in! 

39. Ain't No Other Man - 9/16/19 A lot of YouTube comments on this video (Yes, I read the comments. Have I not been completely transparent about how miserable I am??) suggest that Kelly was holding back vocally on this one which feels true. Is it because she’s not fully confident on the choppy arrangement? Is it because Christina was a guest that day? Is it because she wasn’t feeling well? Who could ever know. Regardless, she still sounds better than literally every other singer on their very best day so who cares?  My only true “note”: It would’ve been nice to hear the “D-do your thang, honey,” right?

38. Any Man of Mine - 10/18/19 Another song that Kelly seems to love singing. I know I’m wrong, but the violin player doesn’t necessarily feel like he’s not chasing her throughout this whole thing. This is also, by my calculations, the first ever Kellyoke to feature a key change. We love to see it! (Am I using that right?)

37. Let Me Blow Ya Mind (10/9/19) The strangest thing about this Kellyoke entry is that every which way its listed on YouTube only credits Eve, leaving out Gwen Stefani, which I can’t figure out. The title is “Let Me Blow Ya Mind (Eve Cover) By Kelly Clarkson | Kellyoke” and the description is “Kelly Clarkson covers Eve's 2001 single, "Let Me Blow Ya Mind" for a live audience.” What gives? This one really makes the case for Kelly making every single song sound, not necessarily better, but like a song that was written for her. Maybe there are songs she wouldn’t sound good singing. If there are, she’s smart enough to not try!

36. Roar - 10/11/19 Kelly’s “Woo” at the beginning is maybe the most excited one in the Kellyoke canon. She looks great in purple (even if the sleeves are a little funky) and the vocal run on the final “roar” is breathtaking. A real motley crew of audience members here!

35. What About Us - 11/4/19 A slightly wonky arrangement that Kelly can’t seem to get in the groove of, but it’s Her singing P!nk, so it’s hard to complain. Kelly and P!nk should co-headline a stadium tour together. I think everyone would love that. Thank you in advance!

34. Shut Up and Dance - 9/23/19 This is all good and fun, but I’m most fascinated by the two women at the 26 second mark, one of whom seems to be hugging herself in order to reach her hands back to her wife, girlfriend, friend, or stranger behind her. It’s a really sweet moment that’s only marred when Kelly gets closer and the woman releases her hands to reveal that she, like the vast majority of The Kelly Clarkson Show audience members, hasn’t yet mastered the basic human function that is clapping.

33. Wild One - 10/17/19 Kelly enters through a new side door for this one, bypassing using the stairs at all. This one is great because Kelly seems to really genuinely love the song. 

32. Straight Up - 11/18/19 This one is fun both because it’s unlike most of the other songs on this list and because Paula Abdul was the guest that day (along with Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson, and Justin Guarini.) The lyric flub during the first chorus is a little vexing, but for the most part it’s all just a joy, with everyone firing on all cylinders. 

31. Love Me Like You Do - 10/7/19 This song feels a tiny bit like you can hear her say “Oh, I know that one. Let’s just do that.” right before she goes on. The high pony seems like it was styled by God and the option-up at 1:01 garners a rare reaction (from the girl on the aisle and her, seemingly, sister) that acknowledges that the people in the audience are MERE FEET from Kelly Clarkson while she sings like THAT. Kelly’s vocals at the end are gorgeous.

30. Sugar - 10/29/19 This is the perfect example of a song that Kelly sings and instantly makes feel like her latest single. Her voice just elevates everything! There is nothing she can’t sing! I hope I’ve made that clear at this point! The audience loves this one and how cute is Jessi with her beret and tambourine? Give it up for Jessi, y’all! 

29. Mine - 10/28/19 Kelly looks and sounds amazing here and the audience crowded around her are all doing their best impressions of human beings having a good time and enjoying live music.

28. Can't Feel My Face - 10/14/19 A fabulous horn-centric arrangement lets Kelly’s voice really soar. One of the best audiences, clapping-wise, that we’ve seen.

27. Ride - 11/14/19 Obviously the stars of this entry are Kelly’s dress and hair and the queen in the audience who knows all the words. We get the octave jump earlier than usual which is exciting.

26. Feel It Still - 11/20/19 I’m wondering how many of the artists whose work is represented on this list have heard these covers. Do you think they lose their minds? Are they so honored? Does it make them crazy to know that they will ever be able to sing as well as her? Do they reach out to her privately? Or can they not stand the thought of speaking to someone so talented?

25. Til the World Ends - 9/26/19 When I first saw that she was singing this, I was thrilled because, along with “I Will Wait”, “Crazy For You”, “Go Rest High on That Mountain”, and “My Man”, her 2012 cover of the full version is one of my favorite #KCRequests of all time. (If she ever does “I Will Wait” for Kellyoke I will cease to exist. Know that.) This arrangement is a little different and a little slow to my ear, but still...what a song! 

24. Miss Me More - 9/17/19 Kelly’s having a great time with this one in spite of an audience full of people who are dressed like they didn’t know they’d be on national TV, not only that day but in this lifetime, nor are capable of acknowledging that Kelly Clarkson is singing like that a few feet from their stupid faces. Bonus points for the logo colors. Pink goes good with green.

23. Lips Are Movin' - 10/30/19 We still don’t know why this had one of the most dramatic entrances in Kellyoke history (I can only assume it’s because they taped it the same day as the Halloween episode and wanted to take advantage of Bridget being at the studio? Can anyone reading this even begin to imagine how terrible it is in my head?) but it turns into a perfectly lovely rendition.

22. Never Be Like You - 11/7/19 What could it possibly feel like to sing like this? Do us mere mortals have a point of reference? Is it similar to the way we walk or sleep because it’s so easy for her? Or is it something she has to work towards and feels accomplished after completing like me jogging for one city block or completing a customer service phone call?

21. If It Makes You Happy - 9/25/19 A little low energy and doesn’t lend itself totally to the walking around (she almost doesn’t it make it to where she needs to be at the end!), but again, her voice is so unreal that it doesn’t really matter. I wonder why she chose to do the second verse (“I still get stoned” isn’t totally her brand) and it’s nuts to me that the verse is literally low for her but...whatever! HPA (high pony alert) as well! 

20. Uptown Funk - 11/18/19 First of all, how great is this entire look? This made me smile because when it started I thought, “Oh sure, we know how this will go.” And then I thought a little ahead through the rest of the song and was like “Oh shit, she’s really going to tear into all the ‘Don’t believe me just watch’ business isn’t she?” And, reader, she does! And the vocalizing at the end is just gravy. 

19. Better Now - 11/12/19 I know everyone has different tastes and it takes all kinds, but this is just factually better than the original, right?

18. Chandelier - 9/13/19 A more somber mood to close out Kelly’s first full week of shows, and the audience doesn’t quite know how to be. But GOD, does that dress move well! The words get botched a bit but the voice makes up for it. I know it goes without saying (and yet I still keep saying it!) but, Kelly Clarkson’s voice is ABSOLUTELY INSANE. If you listen to nothing else on this list (WHY???) at least listen to this one. 

17. I Love Rock ‘N Roll - 10/4/19 Kelly’s right at home here rocking out in her signature leopard. The audience is eating it up--they know this one and it seems like they’re actually listening to it in the room! Kelly screams and growls and sounds amazing. The high pony really solidifies this entry’s status.

16. Before He Cheats - 10/2/19 This doesn’t even sound like a cover. It literally just sounds like her song. 

15. Stay With Me - 11/27/19 Choirs make me cry so I’m a big fan of this. It’s another one that makes you laugh when you remember there’s a literal daytime talk show that unfolds over the 58 minutes that follow it. But then makes you emotional from the beauty of God’s voice. Lots of emotions in one minute and 40 seconds!

14. The Story - 11/19/19 This is absolutely beautiful. Doesn’t feel like there’s much more to say, right? 

13. If I Could Turn Back Time - 10/22/19 Four days after the first Kellyoke key change comes this one that almost doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen! By the time she gets to the mainstage it seems like she’s getting ready to wrap things up, but it’s just a fake out. The key changes and it’s insanity. As much fun as the audience seems to be having here, it does make me think that once a week there should be a taping that is solely attended by gay men. I think it would be just an insane Kellyoke to start, then a Q and A with Kelly and the audience for the rest. I’m not positive what it would mean for the ratings, but that’s not my job! 

12. Bitter Sweet Symphony - 11/26/19 My first thought during this one is that I couldn’t believe that there was more to the show after this. This IS a show! This should have played on a loop for the rest of the hour and everyone else should have gone home. I mean, is this the most gorgeous or WHAT?? An unexpected song, a beautiful arrangement, the voice of an angel. Instantly legendary. Few Kellyokes have begged for an expanded, complete version the way this one does.

11. Why Haven't I Heard From You - 9/27/19 Reminder that Kelly Clarkson is as famous as she is in spite of never releasing a country album. Would she be more famous if she’d only released country music? Or even just one country album? Listen to how at home she is on this song! And look at how much loves Reba! You can just tell! I don’t want to be too presumptuous, but I do feel like the pants here aren’t a coincidence. Feels to me like there might have been a discussion about mobility and how into the song she’d get at the end. And she does! That last line! A true legend! 

10. I Put a Spell on You - 10/31/19 We love a production and this is one, honey! I’ll pay this Kellyoke the highest compliment I can which is that it’s the closest we’re going to come to recreating The Rosie O’Donnell Show in this year of our lord 2019. (That would be assuming, of course, Rosie O’Donnell was the greatest singer in the history of the world.) There’s some questionable back-up dancer business around the one-minute-mark (Was she supposed to be alone? Was she actually supposed to touch Kelly??), but that’s the only thing that’s not absolutely perfect about this. 

9. I Like It, I Love It - 10/25/19 It probably won’t surprise anyone reading this to find out that I wasn’t particularly familiar with this song before hearing Kelly’s version (unless there’s an emergency, I try to make sure the only male singers in my iTunes library are Harry Styles and Steven Pasquale), but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to Kelly’s version. What really struck me is that she didn’t change the pronouns which...well, it made me cry at my desk. It was a long week, okay?

8. Walking on Broken Glass - 10/1/19 Animal print? Check! Iconic song? Check! And buy me that skirt! The real killer here is Kelly’s bridge, which she chooses to FULL THROAT BELT (she knows no other way, really) instead of following Annie Lennox’s falsetto-ed lead. We still get a glimpse of Kelly’s head voice (if not whistle tone) at the end. Kelly’s happy, the audience is into it, this is a good one!

7. Think - 9/12/19 This was only the third episode of the show, so it was easy to think that it might never get better than this. And the truth is, it rarely does! What makes this even more unbelievable than the sheer power of her voice, is that she does this all while going up and down two sets of stairs! Who can do that?! I’ve been known to stop conversations getting on the escalators going up from the Q train just to be able to really focus on what I’m doing, and she’s singing and wearing heels and doing it all at once like it’s no big deal??

6. If I Can't Have You - 10/3/19 This one starts out as a little bit of a bummer because on paper it looks like it may be track seven of her album All I Ever Wanted. (Two quick things here. First, if you ever want me to get light-headed from talking too much and too quickly, ask me about my theory that the best song on any album is track seven. Second, if you don’t know “If I Can’t Have You” get the fuck on it! And then listen to the Smoakstack Sessions acoustic version. And then listen to the live version mashed up with “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” that she only performed a few times in Australia. And then you may marry me.) Anyway, once you get over that initial disappointment, this is a near perfect Kellyoke. If there’s anything else wrong with it (and I know she can’t control the title of the song), it’s only that her whole look is reminiscent of a middle schooler who is playing Smitty in How to Succeed and had to provide her own costume. BUT! Don’t let that take away from everything else to feast on during this one minute and 55 second masterpiece.

5. Alone - 10/21/19 “Anyone here like Heart?” is a clunky opening to what will go down as one of the all-time great Kellyokes, but by the time we get to the “Y’all ready?” we’re off to the races. Because we’re NOT ready! We think we are, but how could we be? I mean, it’s Kelly Clarkson singing “Alone” and somehow it’s even better than you could ever possibly imagine?? Even the audience engagement here doesn’t bother me as much as it usually does. Maybe because I would watch a documentary mini-series about that group of friends, especially the woman in the denim jacket who plays the air drums after Kelly walks away. I feel like she has a gay son. She better work. 

4. Bad Romance - 9/11/19 This one ranks high on both personal and technical levels. Personally, this is certainly something I feel responsible for conjuring through sheer force of will and witchcraft. I don’t want to be buried (“Jesus, I thought this was a silly list of Kelly Clarkson covers!” -you) but if I did, I’d feel comfortable putting here in writing that I’d like “Kelly Clarkson sings a powerful rendition of Lady Gaga's 2009 single ‘Bad Romance’ #KellyClarksonShow #LadyGaga” engraved on my gravestone or the door to my mausoleum or whatever. Technically, again, not much to say beyond “Well, listen to it.” Taking the second verse up an octave is inspired and the ad libs are divine. The flubbed lyrics are a plant to make us think she’s human.

3. Only Girl in the World - 11/15/19 I said “Oh shit” out loud at my desk when I saw the song title, leopard print, and high ponytail all in one Kellyoke. What a trifecta. And what a performance! Let’s be real, this one boils down to the 55 second mark when you and Kelly start a will she/won’t she dance as the bridge crescendos. And like, OF COURSE SHE WILL. SHE’S KELLY MOTHERFUCKING BRIANNA CLARKSON. YOU THINK SHE’S NOT GONNA BELT THAT NOTE YOU WORTHLESS SWINE? I’m no Mister Golightly so I don’t know how to read music that well, but this seems to be the highest belted note in a Kellyoke up to this point. (And PLEASE correct me if I’m wrong. Feels like it’s important for me to know.) Her kids at the end are sweet, but this one became top ten long before they ran out onstage.

2. Let's Go Crazy - 9/24/19 The “Dearly Beloved” probably sounded better in theory, but what otherwise sinks this totally perfect vocal performance is an audience full of goons who deserve to be incarcerated or, at the very least, fined. Did I take for granted that everyone knows how to clap on the beat? Even if EVERYONE doesn’t, the odds don’t seem to lend themselves to how many people in this audience have no idea how to clap. Was there an a support group meeting for the rhythmically impaired that morning somewhere near the Universal lot? Do you think they were laughing in the control room? Also, doesn’t it feel strange that the below people could be in the same room and making those faces at the same time? Surely someone’s should be different. And I know which one I think!

1. I Wanna Dance With Somebody- 10/24/19 This is the Kellyoke motherlode. It may never get better than this. Every choice Kelly makes is the one you want her to. This one has it all: full-throated belting, whistle tone, iconic song, iconic outfit, option-ups left and right. The brief moment of audience participation lets us know that Kelly wants you to think this is for everyone, but it’s really just her taking the opportunity to go fucking wild. It’s what we and, more importantly, she deserve.

[lukebennett]

Week 4- Activate the Collection

This week was quite productive in terms of confirming my projects and helping define the directions of these projects and the formation of some ideas which could lead to more finished work. 

My first achievement was securing a project working on a game. I was sent an email from Phoebe, Janifer and Emily, telling me about their game project and their aesthetics and game mechanics and asking if id like to get on board. The game is first person bank heist game with a futuristic feel and hyper stylised/neon colours and art style, in terms of sound design this describes an aesthetic which fits with a lot the work i already do. I have had a discussion with the group about how to implement sounds within the game and also what they are after from a sound perspective. For this project it will be a combination of sound design and music. The game is in early stages and they are still designing the map layout and a lot of the character features and equipment that will be making sounds in the environment are yet to be designed, so given that i have made a start on some music which fits with the theme. 

The only issue that has arisen is that the team at this stage hasn't given much thought to what music and where it’s going to be used (understandably). So it’s hard at this stage to write according to what role the music plays. so i have made a start compiling all the themes and aspects of what the game identity is and tried to represent that though music as best i can in the form of a ‘theme’ as at this stage i want to make a start but haven't got a lot of direction. I think for music for the game i will end up writing as much music as possible for all different intensities of what scenarios i could imagine the character to be in and just pick which ones work in the end (almost like writing an album), once I have a clear direction of what i want the music to sound like. 

I have been researching Mick Gordon for a presentation In Adam Hunts sound class and in a YouTube live stream (link in refs) he talked about some  approaches to music in games and how he had done it personally, this has given me some good insight into whats required to make something great. 

From a sound design perspective i will need some art design to go off but my plan for each sound, is to design multiple variations for every given space something could be in, such as different reverb tails for different rooms for example. from a sound design perspective, making the sounds will be easy, making them work will be the hard part. 

as the music has proven to be a challenge I have conducted some research into generic musical approaches in games, i have been looking at books such as

-   Music in Video Games : Studying Play by K. J. Donnelly, , William Gibbons, , and Neil Lerner -   Playing with Sound: A Theory of Interacting with Sound and Music in Video Games by Karen Collins

I have also looked into other ‘heist’ themed games and games that use similar art styles and how sound has worked for them. I have made a list of soundtracks I need to listen to and make notes on what does and doesn't work. games such as Payday 2 (heist game) and Watch dogs (hacking game??) are two which are more realistic bad have the same game dynamics, so looking at the sound in these games is a good place to start i think, but i am also looking at games like cyberpunk which has a futuristic aesthetic and very synth driven musical elements and has some blade runner vibes going on as well. I’m also breaking it down further into what is a ‘heist’ and what colours ‘neon’ mean and how they’re used to generate an aesthetic visually. i think the questions i need to answer is

is the character the villain? (could impact emotional response) how intense is the setting? (is it creepy or high energy)

As for my other project with Oliver, we submitted a short draft to the class which has helped us refine our approach and work flow, I am working on a 1:30 ish length version of the work in progress track that he can work on creating something with the visual assets from chunky move. We have secured permission to use the chunky move material but i have some concerns with the outcome of the project now as chunky move have been very protective of their assets, which is fine, however i need to take in to consideration that if i want this project to be used in my portfolio and potentially distributed to other people, we will need to make something that they approve of.

Refs 2 books 1 video:

https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/rmit/reader.action?docID=1659217

https://ieeexplore-ieee-org.ezproxy.lib.rmit.edu.au/book/6451326

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lQUuXKW4FQ&t=8s

[tripstations]

Japan: the Ultimate Travel Guide

So you’re going to Japan. Cool… take us with you?

At STA Travel, our motto is ‘we know because we go’. Or in my case, we lived there. I’m Jo, and I lived in Japan for just over one year working as an English teacher in a small, mountaintop middle school in Hyogo prefecture. My students and fellow teachers not only taught me how to survive, but also where the best little-known adventure spots were hidden. Now it’s my pleasure to pass on the wisdom so you can be the savviest gaikokujin (foreigner) walking out of the airport.

Besides unwaveringly excellent food, epic history, and colourful traditions, the whole country is practically one giant UNESCO World Heritage Site. As much as we’d love to show you the ropes ourselves, this ultimate travel guide will probably say it better than we can—it’s hard to talk while shovelling tempura into our faces.

  Japan’s highlights

We’d usually give you five here, but we’ve split it out into 25. That’s five for each of the five major tourist spots you can’t miss.

  Tokyo top 5

From forest-enclosed shrines to blaring neon streets, Tokyo has everything. EVERYTHING. Like…

Akihabara – If you’re a total otaku (nerd), the Akihabara district is the biggest anime hub in the world and sells every piece of merch you can dream of. Prepare to be converted into a full-on foodie as restaurants and cafes are elaborately themed into whatever you can, or can’t, imagine. The Mori Art Gallery – Still not funky enough? The Mori Art Gallery has enormous, interactive exhibits and, with a ticket, you get to squeak into one of the city’s best viewpoints and score a selfie with the top of Tokyo tower. Harajuku – The epicentre of teen culture, Takeshita street is an explosion of colourful wigs, J-pop merch and syrupy crepes. Walk 15 minutes into the woods across the street and find the Meiji Jingu Shrine. If the Harajuku Girl look isn’t quite you, go shopping on nearby Cat Street for sleek, luxury brands and killer vintage finds. Shibuya – After joining thousands in crossing the world’s most famous (and busiest) intersection, watch the chaos from above in the Starbucks above Tsutaya or head to one of the thousands of nearby bars or izakayas (snack bars) for a night out. If you love dogs, don’t forget pass the Hachiko Memorial Statue and give that pupper a good pat. Ueno Park – As a traveler, the museums in Ueno Park have the finest artifacts and art works to aid in your understanding of the history of Japan. If you’re more into the pop culture side of things, this landmark is heavily featured in books and movies as a place where love and heartbreak happens. Come spring, the rows of cherry blossom trees are good for the ‘gram.

Also don’t miss: Senso-ji temple, wandering down the endless yokochos (narrow alleys) around the city and Tsukiji Fish Market, for all the noms.

  Mount Fuji top 5

Don your goggles and facemask, and venture up Japan’s iconic summit… or just chill at the bottom of it, gazing in awe.

Climbing up – It’s best to kick off your pilgrimage in the early afternoon, bundle up in a hut overnight, and see why Japan is called The Land of the Rising Sun the next morning. Sure, Fuji sounds daunting, but getting up is the easy part—getting down after your adventure and an intoxicating sunrise is where the challenge lies. Lake Kawaguchi – If the two-day journey doesn’t quite peak your interest, view it from one of five lakes surrounding the mountain. Lake Kawaguchi is the most accessible and popular, flaunting onsens, hotels, and the temple-framed views of Fuji pictured above. Lake Motosuko – If you have an appetite for something a little more remote though, Lake Motosuko’s vistas are clear of buildings save a couple of stand-up paddle board rental shops and campsites. Assuming you’re driving from east to west, the drive past the four other lakes is an additional treat as well, and a strong contender for our favourite of the five lakes. Water sports and rollercoasters – If you like queuing up for ages to see great heights, hop on to one of the rollercoasters at Fuji-Q. This popular theme park is home to the Takabisha, which has the steepest drop in the world at 121°. It’s just like climbing Fuji again, but much, much faster on the trip down. Exploring caves – If rock compositions excite you like this geography nerd, you’re in for an education about volcanic magma, limestone caves, and how three of the Fuji five lakes are actually connected by underwater tunnels. Give Bat Cave, Ice Caves and Wind Cave a go.

  Kyoto top 5

Nearly every Instagram you’ve seen of Japan was probably taken here. Does bamboo forests and rows of bright orange torii gates ring a bell?

Gion – Consider Kyoto the cultural capital, sprawling with kimono-clad visitors scuttling past in the historic alleys of Gion. Your only indication that you weren’t transported to the Edo period will be the dozens of other camera-wielding travelers, all hoping for a glimpse of a  real-life geisha. Fushimi Inari Shrine – You can pose with your back to the camera as you walk through the hundreds of torii gates near the bottom of the mountain, but a complete pilgrimage means slowly winding all the way up the mountain to the final shrine and a wide vista over the whole city. You can even see Osaka from up there on a clear day. Arashiyama – This corner of Kyoto is home to the famous bamboo grove, a monkey park, and pretty incredible gardens. The best teahouses are found at the temples here, though be sure to ask for a chair if sitting on your knees is a challenge. Golden Temple – There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of temples. If you stop to visit every single one you pass, you seriously won’t get very far! Even if it means tying horse blinders to your face, you need to make it to Kinkaku-ji, aka the Golden Temple, at the northern end of Kyoto. It’s the birthplace of so much art and cultural history, and it sparkles brilliantly in the sun. Ryoan-ji’s rock garden – The Ryoan-ji temple neighbours the Golden Temple, but is much more niche. The dry landscape garden here is thought to been built in the late 15th century and no one knows its original creator. Fifteen rocks sit in a position that makes it impossible to view them all from any perspective. Contemplate the implied existential meaning of your existence as you sit quietly on the viewing platform.

  Osaka top 5

There’s no better medicine for getting a little templed out in Kyoto than diving head-first into the neon sprawl of Osaka.

America Mura – This village is a divine mix of chic and bizarre. A rooftop Statue of Liberty will watch over you as you wander from sleek cocktail bars to funky restaurants. The most wholesome delight is hearing people sing their hearts out to karaoke at 7am as you walk back to your hotel after a long night out. Dotonburi – Speaking of a night out, one is incomplete without posing with the Glico man in Dōtonburi—just don’t get too excited and fall into the river. Feel free to pose with the massive dragon, crab, and fish robots that sit above shop doors. To burn off some extra energy, check out Round1/Spocha in the Namba area. This 24-hour sports centre has hundreds of arcade and sports games including a mechanical bull, a roller rink, and those inflatable bubble things you can play human football in. Spa World – Foreigners who live Japan share whispers among themselves of this fantasy waterpark for adults. It’s a hotel with its most attractive features being multiple onsens, waterslides, stone spa and restaurants. You don’t have to stay overnight to bask in Spa World’s relaxing waters. Did we mention it’s open 24-hours? Baseball Game – Here, the locals are known for being a bit more boisterous than their Tokyo counterparts. The best way to witness this is at a Hanshin Tigers baseball game. The team is doing better these days, but there was once believed to be a curse on the team due to a lost statue of the KFC mascot, Colonel Sanders, that was throw into a river. It’s pretty hilarious and you won’t regret looking it up. Stay in a Love Hotel — Japanese people usually live with their family until marriage. So love hotels make big business on couples who are still in the dating stage of things. Even though they charge by the hour, they are still often cheaper than an ordinary hotel. They’re SUPER clean, give you free condoms, have karaoke and video games, and are a general great place to catch an afternoon nap when it’s a long walk back to your hostel.

  Hiroshima

This is a place of peace and mournful tranquility. It’s well worth paying your respects and educating yourself about Japan’s devastating war history.

Peace Memorial Park – This curved monument is engraved with all the names of the known victims of the 1945 atomic bomb. Burning in the pond is the Flame of Peace, which will only be extinguished once all of the nuclear weapons on earth have been destroyed. Atomic Bomb Dome – This building used to be the Industrial Promotion Hall until the bomb exploded directly above it. It was one of very few buildings left standing in the epicentre, and serves as a reminder of the damage that was caused. Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum – Learn about Hiroshima’s ongoing legacy for peace in this expansive museum. Inside features items found in the aftermath of the bomb, first-person accounts shown on video and a range of photographs. It’s upsetting, but an absolute must-see in Hiroshima. All sites are translated into English and other languages for maximum accessibility. Shukkei-en – This garden was created in 1620, and the buildings were largely destroyed when the bomb fell. However, many trees survived and bloomed the next season. The rest of the garden has long since been restored and is calming to stroll through. Orizuru Tower – This is boasted as the best viewpoint in Hiroshima. It oversees the Peace Memorial Park, the Atomic Bomb Dome as well as the rest of the city and the mountains beyond. It’s a great place to take a break and contemplate everything you’ve learned about Hiroshima.

  Getting around Japan

The JR pass is perhaps the second most important thing you’ll want to bring when going to Japan (your passport obviously being the first). There are some exceptions when it comes to unlimited rail travel, but unless you’re headed to very niche areas of Japan, you should be able to get to every adventure on your list. You can choose to live life on the tracks with one-, two-, or three-week pass options at prices that would drive locals to jealousy:

7 days — ¥29,110/ £212 14 days — ¥46,390/ £338 21 days — ¥59,350/ £433

Fikri Rasyid, Unsplash

You’ll need to buy your pass online BEFORE arriving in Japan. When you purchase your pass online, you may to arrange your exchange order to be delivered to either your home or your hotel in Japan. An exchange order is not your JR pass though! You must then go to any JR Exchange Office in Japan with your exchange order to finally possess your coveted pass.

Guard you JR pass with your life — it’s irreplaceable, so you’re out of luck if you lose it. To arrange your actual train journeys, visit the JR offices at each major station as you go along your trip. You should generally be fine to simply show up to the station on the day you want to travel, but you should probably book at least a few days ahead if you’re traveling during hanami (cherry blossom season) or Golden Week. Seriously, Japanese people book their travel about six months in advance for these times.

An IC card (also known as the Suica card inside Tokyo) is going to be your best friend when gallivanting within the cities. You simply tap on and off the metro and busses like you would an Oyster card. Each region has its own adorable IC card name and mascot. Can you catch them all?

Move over CityMapper, and hello HyperDia. This goddess of an app comes in English and has the latest train times, prices, connections, and platform numbers of each journey. You’ll never be late or get lost if you pledge your undying love for HyperDia. Seriously though, Google Maps is drunk in Japan. Don’t trust it.

  Accommodation in Japan and how to book

Hotels and hostels can be perused and booked online as you would in any other country – start searching now. Whether you’re up for flopping on a futon or crave the comforts of home with a western-style bed, you’ll find a huge variety of rooms that will match your style and budget. Such as…

Capsule hotels – These efficient little pods are made for you to rock up and flop inside, and are a classic ‘Japan’ experience for a lot of travelers. Often the most budget friendly, they offer shared showering facilities and individual phone chargers, radios and mini TVs in each capsule. Every place you’ll stay is almost guaranteed to be extremely clean, even if it’s not rated 10/10.

Ryokan are traditional Japanese inns that are usually run by families. Lounge in a yukata robe and, soak each evening in a traditional onsen (hot tub), and be sure to opt for a traditional evening meal or breakfast cooked by the ryokan’s chef. After your knees are sore from kneeling on the tatami floor, slip under the warm sheets of a futon. These indie spots used to be tricky to find if you didn’t speak Japanese, but fear not! We’ve got you covered with our booking page right here.

Love hotels, most commonly found in the Roppongi and Shinjuku areas of Tokyo, are… well, exactly what they say on the tin, so you might want to approach with care. Japanese couples can pay by the hour to use their facilities, making for their seedy reputation. But if you do your research, you can find thoroughly clean and amazing-value rooms, filled with everything from revolving beds, to karaoke machines and futuristic-themed hot tubs. F-U-N.

We hate to break it to you, but Airbnb is unfortunately not your friend in Japan. Due to new regulations being enforced in the last few years, the number of Airbnbs listings have dramatically dropped. Some can still be booked, but your host will likely give you instructions to not tell their neighbours you are guests from the site. It’s okay though—our lips are sealed.

  How much should I budget?

Depending on how much yen you have in your coin purse, your typical night in Japan will probably look like one of these.

On the cheap: Start the night by bagging a selection of ready-to-eat yakitori, croquettes, or sushi from a convenience store such as Lawson, FamilyMart or 7-Eleven (¥600/$5.50). While at said store, stock up on the miracle elixir known as Strong Zero (¥160/$1.25!) — careful though… don’t take that 9% alcohol lightly. Finish up the evening in a hostel (¥3,000/$26) that looks just like a European hostel, only it’s ridiculously tidy.

Like a local: Pop into the local izakaya (a Japanese pub) and order a pint of Asahi beer (¥300/$2.50) and munch on an insane variety of vegetables and fried meats also known as kushi katsu. (¥1,500/ £11). You can opt for an ordinary hotel, (¥5,000/$46) or you can discover first-hand that love hotels are surprisingly cheaper and much more entertaining (¥3,500/$30).

Luxury: Indulge on the finer things in life and incite wild envy in your Instagram followers. Take more time photographing your multi-course artisanal dinner than actually eating it (¥4,000/$37), and ask the server what sake pairs best (¥900/$8). Prance off to your ryokan to retire, and make sure you pick one with an onsen (¥8,000/$75).

  Top 10 Japanese phrases you need to learn

Do you speak English?: Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?

Sorry, I don’t understand: Gomenasai! Wakarimasen.

Good morning ��� Good day: Ohayo Gozaimasu — Konnichi wa.

Excuse me/Sorry: Sumimasen.

Where is the washroom?: Toire wa doko desu ka?

I would like that one please: Kore wa kudasai. (Be sure to point to something when you say this!)

Is this/are you okay?: Daijoubu desu ka?

It’s okay (useful when declining things/No thank you): Daijoubu desu.

Is there a bin I can use?: Gomi ga arimasu ka?

Thank you!: Arigato gozaimasu.

  Food

You’ll never have a bad meal in Japan. People here never half-ass anything, and it shows in their painstakingly perfected food creations.

In big cities, you’ll be able to find an array of international cuisine that has affectionately been transformed with a Japanese twist (for example, pizza with corn as a topping). Western-style vegetarian and vegan eateries can also be found if you know where to go. Outside of big cities, you’ll find six Japanese staples reign supreme: Sushi, Japanese Italian, Japanese curry, okonomiyaki, yakitori (grilled chicken), and ramen.

Be sure to also check out a convenience store and suss out the seasonal flavours of KitKats and other sweets. While your friends and fam are pretty much expecting you to bring them back a handful of matcha-flavoured Kit Kats, also try out the crème brulee, chocobanana, blueberry cheese cake and… baked potato(??!) flavoured ones.

  Can you taste Tokyo in your mouth yet?! Check out our Japan destination hub, where you can find flights and heaps of adventure tours.

The post Japan: the Ultimate Travel Guide appeared first on Tripstations.

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New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/a-brief-comedy-history-of-the-beastie-boys/

A Brief Comedy History of the Beastie Boys

Photo: Paul Natkin/WireImage

“Our main goal was really just to crack each other up,” Mike “Mike D” Diamond writes in the new Beastie Boys Book, the massive memoir-cum-mixtape that’s bursting with seemingly every anecdote, photograph, paean, and, well, mixtape he and bandmate Adam “Ad-Rock” Horovitz could fit into its nearly 600 pages, alongside a miniature cookbook, an oral history of a fictional alien made out of ice cream, and a letter from Sasquatch. Diamond is referring specifically to the lyrics on Licensed to Ill, but he may as well have been talking about the Beastie Boys’ entire career — more than 30 years that Diamond, Horovitz, and the late Adam “MCA” Yauch spent goofing on each other, and generally behaving like the smart-assed punks they were. Comedy was always crucial to the Beastie Boys’ success, of course, as essential as their race; as novelist Jonathan Lethem articulates in one of many guest essays, it was comedy that allowed three nice Jewish boys to posture as rhyming-and-stealing street toughs, holding hip-hop at an ironic distance in a way that played off “the special cognitive dissonance of the white boy possessed by culture not possessible to him.” The Beastie Boys debuted at a time when hip-hop was already being dismissed as a fad, evident in the contemporary flurry of novelty rap singles. (Remember “Rappin’ Duke” — duh-ha, duh-ha? “Rappin’ Rodney”? Mel Brooks’s “The Hitler Rap”?) In this case, the Beasties were the novelty. They styled themselves as dopes pretending to be rock stars, which absolved them from so, so much. Comedy allowed them to sneak in the side entrance, bum-rush the whole show.

That said, the Beastie Boys weren’t really a comedy act — at least, not in the sense of someone like Weird Al, or “nerdcore” rappers like MC Chris. They wrote a lot of funny lines, but they mostly fall under the rubric of daffy wordplay over straight-up zingers. And while they were masters of the studio goof-around like “Netty’s Girl” and “Heart Attack Man,” it was usually a lot funnier to just imagine the addled, 4 a.m. context of their creation than to listen to their actual content. (Although, “Boomin’ Granny” is just funny.) Rather, where Beastie Boys intersected with comedy — the source of their quick rise to fame and their continued vitality — lives in that private space of the laugh shared between childhood pals: “We assume they’re joking, and many of us feel let in on the joke,” author Ada Calhoun writes, much more succinctly. Here are some of the most notable times they let us in.

“Cooky Puss” (1983)

The Beastie Boys officially transitioned from hardcore punks into hip-hop pranksters with this single built around a ramshackle dance beat and some rudimentary scratching — although it doesn’t feature much in the way of actual rapping. The vocals, such as they are, consist of a series of obscene prank calls placed to a local Carvel Ice Cream, with Horovitz demanding, with increasing hostility, to talk to Cookie Puss, the chain’s popular alien ice-cream character. As Horovitz explains in the book, “Cooky Puss” was conceived as a parody of Malcolm McLaren’s rap-and-punk-fusing “Buffalo Gals,” a song the group genuinely loved and therefore had to mock, as is the way of the New York hipster. Like “Buffalo Gals,” it became an underground club favorite, too, encouraging the Beastie Boys to pursue hip-hop full-time. But while “Cooky Puss” barely hints at the Beasties’ musical future, it does contain an embryonic form of the band’s doofus savant approach, not to mention kicking off the band’s venerable tradition of telephone skits and stand-up comedy samples. (That’s Steve Martin’s “Wild And Crazy Guy” getting shredded on the turntables). It was a juvenile way of getting noticed, but it worked — though Horovitz now says he feels bad about harassing that poor underpaid Carvel employee who unwittingly became part of hip-hop history, “we thought it was funny at the time”

“(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)” (1986)

“We thought it was funny at the time” ends up being a common refrain in the book, especially when it comes to the song — and video — that broke the band wide. “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)” was conceived as a parody of “party” songs, part of the group’s general mocking of knucklehead culture. But whatever irony was lost on the listener was completely flushed with the clip, a punk slapstick masterpiece that only crystallized the group’s image as beer-swilling, porno-loving dirtbags. It’s a spoof of “cheesy pop-metal videos (Motley Crue, etc.), with a healthy dose of Blackboard Jungle,” Diamond writes, beginning with two nerds who decide to throw a get-together while their parents are gone, only to have the Beasties crash it with a gaggle of “bad people” (including producer Rick Rubin, young LL Cool J, and a pre-fame Tabitha Soren). The clip played incessantly on MTV, and while Diamond writes that “obviously, us being white had a ton to do with that,” it also helped that it was wacky and louche in all the right ways, a Three Stooges short as filtered through Porky’s. Unfortunately, its massive success meant the Beasties had to play up those stereotypes to a live audience that was increasingly filled with the kind of assholes they were mocking. Eventually the group lost sight of the irony themselves, right around when they started closing every show by inflating a giant, hydraulic dick. (Again, “it seemed funny at the time,” Horovitz writes.) It was a gag they’d spend decades trying to distance themselves from.

The Late Show Starring Joan Rivers (1987)

Although the Licensed to Ill–era Beastie Boys were stomach-scratching caricatures, they still boasted some pretty quick wits. You can see that dichotomy on this legendary appearance on the Joan Rivers–hosted Late Show, which begins with Rivers introducing them by mangling the title as Licensed to Kill, then — upon being corrected — sarcastically shooting back, “That’s a stupid name for an album!” But any potentially awkward trainwreck became accidental TV magic as soon as the trio sloppily draped themselves across Rivers’s set, taking her snarky questions in stride (“How’d you all three get together — Juilliard?”) and playing dutiful, if feisty foils, with Yauch donning Rivers’s glasses and providing snappy retorts about his age (“I’m 12”), and Horovitz insisting he’s actually Frank Zappa’s son (“It’s Dweezil, Moon Unit, and me”). Not all their jokes land, and they probably didn’t do much to dissuade audiences who saw them, to quote Rivers’s intro, as “loudmouth brats,” but it was just an early glimpse of their improv skills, which led to a long, storied tradition of the Beastie Boys hilariously fucking with interviewers.

“Hey Ladies” (1989)

“Sabotage” gets all the attention, but “Hey Ladies” was really where the Beastie Boys’ whole ’70s fetishism began — and arguably, that of the entire 1990s. Like “Sabotage,” the clip’s comedy is largely steeped in costume design, with the Beasties donning wide lapels, garish-print polyesters, neon-yellow pimp suits, and a giant fake butt to strut around a disco floor, Saturday Night Fever–style. But the laughs also come from some surreal sight gags (Vincent van Gogh sitting at the bar; a deadpan mariachi band doing the cowbell break), as well as the group’s unwavering commitment to their characters. That’s particularly true of the blowdryer-toting Horovitz, who tries out his best Travolta with the line, “I’d really love to do your hair sometime.” Cementing the comedy bona fides, “Hey Ladies” was directed by Adam Bernstein, who went on to do the pilots for 30 Rock, Scrubs, and Strangers With Candy, and who directed the similarly funny, fake-butt-adorned video for Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

Roadside Prophets (1992)

Horovitz’s acting ambitions weren’t limited to just Tony Manero impressions. The same year “Hey Ladies” was released, Horovitz landed the lead in Lost Angels, playing a soulful teen delinquent whom Donald Sutherland tries to rescue. Two years later, he briefly turned up in the neo-noir A Kiss Before Dying, playing a drifter who picks up Matt Dillon. He also had an episode of The Equalizer under his belt. The book barely mentions Horovitz’s acting career, even his more recent, more dignified turns in indies like Noah Baumbach’s While We’re Young. (Of Lost Angels, he says only, “Please, if you care about me, do not look it up.”) Meanwhile, it completely ignores his foray into movie comedies, 1992’s Roadside Prophets, a relentlessly quirky, record-geek spin on Easy Rider (crossed with Straight to Hell) that finds Horowitz and X front man John Doe riding motorcycles around the desert, witnessing eccentric cameos from the likes of John Cusack, David Carradine, Timothy Leary, and Don Cheadle. It’s not a great movie; less funny ha-ha, more funny ha-Hey, is that Flea? Still, Horowitz is funny in a squirrelly sort of way — and as in his dramatic turns, Horovitz has a certain likable, sensitive stoner magnetism. Who knows? In an alternate universe, Horovitz might have been chosen to be Keanu Reeves, and Dogstar would have become huge instead of the Beasties.

“Sabotage” (1994)

As Amy Poehler writes of Spike Jonze’s addictive 1994 clip for the Ill Communication standout, “I truly believe there would be no Anchorman, no Wes Anderson, no Lonely Island videos, and no channel called Adult Swim if this video did not exist.” She may be overstating it a tad, but you can see where she’s coming from. There is a shared metamodernist streak, one that film scholar James MacDowell once identified as “a tightrope between a cynically ‘detached’ irony and an emotionally ‘engaged’ sincerity” — something that certainly describes the Beastie Boys paying loving yet ludicrous homage to 1970s cop shows. Plus, as in Anchorman, “Sabotage” gets a whole lot of comic mileage out of bad hair and silly clothes. (“Once we discovered wigs and mustaches, we just couldn’t stop, and would go out in disguises every night,” Jonze writes.) One thing it definitely did do was make Jonze’s bones, paving the way for a foray into movies that walked a similar edge between aloofness and vulnerability. “Sabotage” also significantly raised the bar for all future Beastie Boys videos, which would go on to riff similarly on kaiju (“Intergalactic”) and ’60s spy films (“Body Movin’”). But regardless of whether you consider “Sabotage” some Rosetta stone for millennial humor, it still remains as funny and badass the 1,000th time as it was the first (a hypothesis MTV certainly put to the test).

Nathanial Hörnblowér (1994)

Most of the world first met Nathanial Hörnblowér in 1994, when he stormed the stage at the 1994 Video Music Awards. Taking some much-needed piss out of R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” beating “Sabotage” for Best Direction, Hörnblowér — dressed in lederhosen and carting an enormous pipe — railed against the entire “farce” while a baffled Michael Stipe looked on, blurting out, “I had all the ideas for Star Wars!” in his cartoonish Swiss accent before security finally carted him off. But Beastie Boys obsessives and a few unsuspecting journalists were already well familiar with Yauch’s yodeler-auteur alter ego, a filmmaker and renaissance man (he was said to have “pretty much invented snowboarding” and “built his own helicopter out of wood”) who also happened to be Yauch’s uncle. Hörnblowér was credited with directing nearly a dozen of the group’s videos as well as the artwork on Paul’s Boutique, but his greatest contribution to the Beastie Boys was as Yauch’s Tony Clifton–esque escape valve, a mythic personality he could escape into to say the most bizarre shit he could spin — like that time he wrote a letter to New York Times critic Stephanie Zacharek over her negative review of the “Ch-Check It Out” video, demanding she send him a goat. Yauch kept the joke running for years, even directing a 2006 short, A Day in the Life of Nathanial Hörnblowér, in which David Cross assumes the role to cross-country ski across Manhattan and play chess with a dog.

The Hello Nasty Infomercial (1998)

Released into the bowels of basic cable in 1998 (and today rescued on YouTube), the late-night infomercial created to promote the release of Hello Nasty took the group’s zeal for character work and bad wigs in an especially surreal direction. Tamra Davis, who’s helmed comedies like CB4 and Billy Madison (and is married to Diamond), stitched together this parody of low-rent miracle-product pitches, with each member taking a turn in the spotlight: Horovitz as an audience member freaking out over a juicer that plays Beastie Boys songs; Diamond, barely keeping it together as a braying fitness guru; Yauch as a Don Lapre–esque, get-rich-quick schemer. Although the infomercial was a joke, offering things like the all-in-one shampoo, cleaner, and spermicide called Sure Shine, viewers really could order the album via the 1-888 number on the screen, which also directed them to the just-launched website for the band’s Grand Royal record label. All in all, it was a brilliantly ahead-of-the-curve marketing scheme, one couched in a form of anti-comedy whose deadpan non sequiturs, deliberate shoddiness, and butt-ugly sweaters predated Tim and Eric Awesome Show by nearly a decade. So maybe Amy Poehler is onto something.

Futurama (1999)

Joining an esteemed list that includes Leonard Nimoy, Conan O’Brien, and Beck(’s disembodied heads), the Beastie Boys guest star as themselves in the first-season Futurama episode “Hell Is Other Robots,” still headlining arenas in the 31st century — and still doing “Intergalactic” — despite being craniums in jars. The group does a corny a cappella rendition of “Sabotage,” gamely plays along with cracks about the long wait between records (Fry: “Back in the 20th century, I had all five of your albums!” Ad-Rock: “That was a thousand years ago. Now we got seven”), and even turns up in Robot Hell, tormenting Bender with a little rap about the eternal punishment awaiting music bootleggers. The cameo reportedly came about because the Beasties were big fans of creator Matt Groening — “particularly Adam Yauch,” according to their publicist. Unfortunately, conflicts with the recording schedule meant that Yauch had to bow out; that’s Horovitz doing his best MCA impression instead.

“Triple Trouble” (2004)

In the book, Horovitz is a little down on To the 5 Boroughs, saying that the pall cast by September 11 inspired an album where “the serious ones feel a little forced, and the funny ones are a little flat” — an embodiment of a panicked and melancholy time when everyone, quite understandably, got in their own heads. Still, you’d never know it from watching the video for “Triple Trouble,” another Hörnblowér special that finds the group donning outlandish, Dave Navarro–meets–‘N Sync costumes to strut the red carpet and talk shit about Sasquatch, who then kidnaps the Beasties and forces them to play Pong and participate in a drum circle in his cave. As video concepts go, it’s kinda just one long pothead reverie, but it still gets in some decent jokes about celebrity culture and MapQuest — and at a time when dumb shit was more than welcome. Not to mention, it gave us 15 of the greatest seconds ever committed to video: Kanye West learns about Sasquatches.

30 Rock (2009)

The year 2009 was a dark one for the Beastie Boys. While readying an album and another major headlining tour, the group was forced to put everything on hold after Yauch was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on his salivary gland. Yauch’s illness also meant that he had to sit out on this guest appearance on 30 Rock, where the group was meant to be part of a star-studded, “We Are the World”–style benefit song being put together by Alec Baldwin’s Jack Donaghy, solely to find his ailing father a kidney. Instead, Talib Kweli subbed in, joining Horovitz and Diamond — as well as Elvis Costello, Sheryl Crow, Adam Levine, Norah Jones, and too many others to name — as they rapped about how sometimes it’s better to just have one of something: heads, dogs attacking you (“There, we’ve proved our point!”). The episode ended up airing just a month before the Beastie Boys would play their final live show, a context that makes the otherwise very funny moment feel bittersweet.

Fight for Your Right Revisited (2011)

The same could be said of Yauch’s final video for the group, which brought everything full circle — its dizzying assemblage of celebrity cameos paying testament to the incredible influence the Beastie Boys had, across so many spheres, while also going back to where it literally all began. Picking up where “(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)” leaves off, the short finds Mike D, MCA, and Ad-Rock — now played by Seth Rogen, Danny McBride, and Elijah Wood — continuing to wreak drunken havoc across town, having run-ins with so many more famous people that it would be far more efficient to say who isn’t in it. (Okay, here’s a sampling anyway: Amy Poehler. Ted Danson. Rashida Jones. Steve Buscemi. Susan Sarandon. Robert Downey Jr. Maya Rudolph. Dan Aykroyd. Alicia Silverstone. Stanley Tucci. Kirsten Dunst. You get the idea.) Finally, the young Beasties come face to face with none other than their older, time-traveling selves played by Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, and Jack Black. The generational friction culminates in a dance contest, ending in everyone peeing on each other before they’re arrested by the cops (played by the actual Beastie Boys). It’s crude and sweet, ironically self-aware yet still deeply sentimental, painfully hip but also absurdly dumb — much like the Beastie Boys themselves. All in all, a fitting capper to such an accidental legacy, one created by three dudes who were always just out to make each other laugh.

Source: http://www.vulture.com/2018/11/a-brief-comedy-history-of-the-beastie-boys.html

[attractionjapan]

The Birth of Japan Game: Episode 4: The Exile

The Birth of Japan Game is a chronicle in ten parts, recounting the early years of Dorian Gray’s journey along the path. The narrative begins some time in 2006 and concludes in early 2012. Names have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike. Previous episode here.

After my year as an exchange student finished, I returned to Australia a mess. My emotions were all over the place from Maya and Momoka, and the thought that I’d been uprooted just as I was starting to get a handle on Japan. Preoccupied with girls, I’d ended up doing very little actual study, barely managing to scrape through with a pass. But it was all for nothing anyway, as my university was in the process of downsizing the Japanese program, and there were no longer any classes in which to put my sharpened language skills to use.

Over the course of the year I’d become a different person. Friends and family alike noticed the change: I was wearing Japanese clothes and my skinny-to-start-with frame had become even more angular through the barely-there serving sizes of a Japanese diet. I’d brought strange books, magazines and CDs back with me. Everyone around me seemed louder and larger than I remembered. Reverse culture shock was hitting me hard; for weeks I wandered around in a daze. The university campus seemed like something from a past life. I felt like a ghost.

All I could think of was getting back to Japan. I’d glimpsed a new and hypnotic world and knew that it was where I belonged. J-pop songs were blasting in my head all day; the futuristic rush of Hikaru Utada’s “Traveling” with its psychedelic music video seemed to encompass everything I felt. In contrast, Australian life seemed provincial and irrelevant. I drifted into the orbit of the city’s Japanese scene – a loose conglomeration of exchange students, permanent residents and those on working holiday – and even had a few girlfriends, but none of it seemed to matter. I was adrift, dreaming of sleepless neon cities across the ocean.

The only thing to do was plan my return to Japan. I set about applying for the Japanese government’s JET scheme, which sponsors foreign workers as teachers and town council employees. Still fairly prestigious despite years of cutbacks, it seemed like the best bet for housing and a reliable paycheck, especially since I still wasn’t confident enough in my Japanese language skills to consider simply travelling over on a tourist visa and applying for company jobs.

Just as it had with the exchange program, my academic record and period as the Japanese Society president served me well, and I turned in what I felt to be a compelling application. The process was long – nearly half a year – and each step of the way filled me with maddening anxiety. First my application was accepted, then I had to attend an interview in person. I felt that my entire future hung in the balance, and some nights I could barely sleep.

On the application I was asked to put down where I wanted to work. I filled in the most urban locations I could think of: Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and a few smaller-but-still-close-to-cities areas such as Chiba just in case.

Finally an offer came.

It was an island in the Seto Inland Sea.

I jumped onto Google and immediately searched for it.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

I flipped back to the email and read a message from my predecessor describing his life. The picture he painted wasn’t simply rural, it was another world altogether that seemed utterly disconnected from the Japan I knew. He described fishing trips, deserted fields and simple country people. Under “things to do in the area” he had written “quiet walks in the dark.”

I’d heard about such cruel placements, but surely the strength of my application and the preferences I’d put down would have counted in my favor?

Reading the fine print, I saw that there was really no choice: the placement offer was take-it-or-leave-it, and if I left it, I’d have wasted six months on the application. There weren’t many other options: for the past six months I’d been working at a hardware store, and the thought of another year or more of redirecting surly Australians to the hammer section filled me with despair. After punching the wall a few times and cursing the authorities, I wrote back confirming my acceptance.

My mood improved somewhat on the flight over, and during my orientation in Tokyo, which still seemed like home. But when I eventually flew out to western Japan and caught the long bus and then ferry that would take me to the island, I felt my confidence slipping. Instead of attractive young women, I was surrounded by aged farmers and other toothless geriatrics. I tried to make small talk with my coworkers, who had come out to meet me, but didn’t get very far. One of them asked me about my interests.

“Clubbing, fashion, music,” I said. “And you?”

“Fishing. And, smoking.”

The types living in my apartment complex seemed barely more exciting. As I lugged my suitcases up the hill, I saw that a number of the residents were outside having a barbecue. The men were mostly tanned, pot-bellied and barefoot, while the women had missing teeth and blonde dye-jobs that had been left too long without maintenance, resulting in an abrupt black-and-yellow streaked look (the Japanese refer to this as “pudding” hair). There were a few local gangster types who seemed more out of shape than threatening, and a scattering of Chinese and Brazilians who had come over to work on the ships. I tried talking to everyone, but heard mostly complaints about the island’s monotony, and incredulity that I had actually agreed to come here. The island didn’t even have a convenience store, just a market. There seemed to be nothing to do but get wasted and go fishing. Apart from that, the height of excitement was an establishment just across the water that was well-stocked with Filipina hookers.

“I’ll take you there some time,” a young man told me. “The girls are kind of busted up, but their bodies are okay. Better than my wife, at least.”

His wife was seated next to him. Her expression conveyed less anger than total, paralytic weariness.

I settled into my apartment, which looked as if it had last been renovated fifty years earlier: tatami mats, low ceiling beams, no air conditioning and a toilet that backed up constantly. Still, I tried to make the best of things. My work in the town hall was a joke; most of the office workers were incompetent at best, barely able to perform their meagre administrative duties, but at least they left me to my own devices. Helping out in the island’s schools was equally undemanding, and from time to time I taught English to an assortment of elderly pensioners who seemed more interested in drinking than talking.

And, of course, all I could think about was girls.

Utterly fixated on my goals, I went about building my “urban lifestyle” even in the midst of this absurd situation. My determination to inhabit my dream life was nearly quixotic. I walked along the island’s dirt roads in flashy clothes while humpbacked old women passed me carrying vegetables. The spectacular scenery of the Inland Sea was lost on me. Lush forests, misty mountains and traditional architecture? What? I wanted to be attending parties and hanging out in clubs all night. I worked out early on how to catch a ferry to the mainland and then take a bus into central Hiroshima, which I proceeded to do without fail nearly every weekend for the next two years. These weekend trips were my life: even now I think of this period as “the Hiroshima years,” and few of the monotonous weekdays on the island have left any lasting impression.

Slowly, against all odds, my dream life came into being. Hiroshima was a small city, but it was a city nonetheless, an urban center with shops, bars and clubs. Commuting there every weekend and staying for two nights was expensive, but what else was there for me to spend my government salary on? The island’s cost of living was nonexistent; my subsidized rent and utilities were all but free and my neighbors left me fresh vegetables and often bought me lunch during work hours, so that I hardly spent anything on food. The prospect of living frugally and simply saving the money – as my predecessor claimed to have done – never occurred to me. I wanted to live.

During my first weekend in the city, I managed to find the Nagarekawa nightlife district – a shadow compared to those in Tokyo, but still packed with tons of bars and clubs to explore. I struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders and was soon introduced to a group of young Japanese men who offered to take me out drinking with them. I would end up hanging out with this same group for most of the next two years. They would go on to show me the ins and outs of the small but surprisingly active Hiroshima club scene.

I was still eager to make more Japanese friends, spurred on by my memories of those I’d met in Tokyo. In my mind, Hiroyuki, Rintaro, Ryu and the rest had grown into idealized heroes. I was determined to follow in the footsteps of these nanpa geniuses and start tearing up the streets. The thought that I could simply approach the girls I wanted anywhere and at any time filled me with an almost unbearable excitement.

Somewhat eccentrically, I’d started to think of nanpa as an actual art, something requiring as much discipline, training and contemplation as martial arts or a foreign language. I felt as if I were investigating Japanese tradition as much as anyone researching the country’s literature or learning its tea ceremony. I was deep in the nightside of the culture, a latter day disciple of that mythical “soft bunch,” those fin de siècle Meiji and Taisho era decadents who had, I imagined, lived only for women, shrugging off the harsh heritage of Bushido in favor of a floating world of ethereal beauty and slick, perfumed flesh. I was a deracinated foreigner in the middle of nowhere, an anonymous kid on the street talking to strangers, but in my head I was an initiate, a young monk sworn to the hunt. Thinking only of girls every day and every night, I attained an almost mystical level of concentration and felt an attendant joy. Little by little I cast off my weaknesses and aspired to the level of absolute indifference to rejection that I’d observed in Hiroyuki.

The process was painful, though, and through it I became well acquainted with my own petty weaknesses and entitlements. The first three months I spent mostly on my own, trying desperately to pull girls from bars, clubs and train stations and striking out more often than not. I was still reactive and inexperienced, and it showed. I knew that I’d have to “level up” everything about myself if I wanted to succeed.

I thought long and hard about the kind of man I wanted to be. I would have to be daring, but also discreet: Japan was a land where surfaces counted. If I was seen as a loud, obnoxious foreigner, the social circles I wanted access to would be closed to me forever. I would have to be stylish: this was a fashionable country where looks mattered.

And so I hit the gym to stack some muscle onto my slender frame. I dyed my hair from light brown to a striking blonde and got a haircut from a Japanese hairdresser. “Kakkoyoku kitte,” I told her: “Cut it cool.” I read magazines like Joker and Men’s Egg and copied the male models I saw in them. I was tall and wiry enough to get away with the often punishing clothing sizes, not made for thick Western frames. I can see now that my efforts were superficial imitations, but at the time they were what I needed. I felt like a different person: the mental changes I’d initiated were now radiating outwards.

The other key change was the result of a gradual process that was now paying off: my Japanese language ability. Over the years I’d whittled this initially blunt instrument down to something closer to what the poet GZA of the Wu-Tang Clan referred to as a liquid sword. During my year in Tokyo I’d spent enough time in bars, izakayas, karaoke booths and, perhaps most importantly, sitting on the couch of the dormitory living room watching hour after hour of formulaic, implausible, poorly-filmed and edited but still somehow compelling Japanese soap operas that I’d actually reached something like near-native conversational fluency. And the hours spent in classes and studying textbooks added the final grammatical finish. I could talk.

Incredibly, when I approached girls with my new clothes and language skills, I was sometimes mistaken for a half or even full-blooded Japanese. This seemed absurd beyond words, but it told me something about the power of suggestion. Wasn’t race, after all, just another fiction? I had no desire to actually be Japanese, but I saw now that even in this most rigid and racially conscious society, the boundaries were flexible. Performance was everything. And hadn’t it always been this way? Hadn’t the onnagata, the female impersonators in kabuki theatre, been considered more feminine than actual women? Why couldn’t a foreigner fully integrate himself into Japanese society, provided he acted the part and, more importantly, understood the mindset of those around him? He would still be a foreigner, of course, and seen as such, but over time he might become something more; might become, simply, a person.

But I was still looking at the process through the rose-colored lens of idealism. True integration doesn’t just mean skimming the cream off the top of a society, it means duty, hardship and, inevitably, heartache. When people start to see you as a person, I learned, they start to expect things from you. And nowhere is this more apparent than in relationships – not the fast, anonymous one-night hookups of the party scene, but lasting relationships where the girl invests in you, imagining your shared future and discussing you with her friends.

Back then, most of this was still beyond me, but now, almost ten years later, I can see that my intuition about language, at least, was correct. I’ve met hundreds of Japanese-illiterate foreigners in Japan – some of whom have lived here for decades – and they’ve always seemed curiously divorced from their adopted home. Many of them fall into routines of dependency, relying on wives or girlfriends to take care of everyday tasks, everything from paying bills to doing taxes to ordering in a restaurant. But I have no desire to be a child again. And even as a student I knew that in the real world, language, culture and psychology are largely inseparable.

Now, when someone asks me how they can hook up with the Japanese girls of their dreams, I always ask them how good their Japanese is. If it’s not at least conversational, I tell them to go back and hit the books. I don’t believe that language skills are utterly necessary – if your confidence is rock-solid and your charisma world-class, you can get by. But why not give yourself the advantage? Even a few phrases will put people at ease. The fresh-off-the-boat act is no draw for the nation’s most beautiful and desired women, if it ever was. Too many foreigners here limit themselves to internationalized, English-speaking girls when they could be going for the top beauties. This “international party” scene can become a trap: not only are you likely to be competing against scores of other foreigners there under the pretext of “language exchange,” but the limited pool of girls is nothing compared to the endless variety on parade in the streets.

On that note, it’s worth mentioning the kind of girls I was interested in. Along with the previously mentioned stereotypes about Japanese men, there’s still what might be called the Madame Butterfly archetype – the idea of a Japanese woman willing to endure endless privations for her errant lover, selflessly devoting herself to an imagined future and all but wasting away in the process. Perfectly feminine, perfectly submissive, perfectly forgiving.

Perfectly boring.

More recently, this stereotype has had something of a resurgence in the context of dismissing Western women as less feminine and desirable. It’s a frequent theme in expat bars: Western women – presumably because of their historically recent social and economic equality – have lost their charm, and so it’s time to turn East in search of “unspoiled” and “natural” girls. Needless to mention, Western women themselves are rarely present when this unconvincing theme gets trotted out.

All this was anathema to me. I still loved Western (and African, Latin and Middle Eastern) women, and even in Japan I didn’t want wilting geishas, I wanted strong women with their own drives and desires. I wasn’t looking for a mother or daughter but someone I could look in the face and be proud to call my equal.

And, for the most part, that’s what I got.

Okay – except for the “looking in the face” part. Girls here above 170 cm are still rare.

In general, Japanese women are not at all like the stereotypes. Most of them know exactly what they want and wield considerable social power – and this is doubly true for the more sexually attractive ones. And while economic inequalities persist, often manifesting as glass ceilings at work and the pressure to put marriage and children before career, it would be a mistake to call Japanese women powerless or second class citizens. Neither are they waiting around for a foreign knight to sweep them off their feet: most are perfectly content with the high value Japanese men in their lives.

So despite the considerable time I’d spent studying Japanese language and culture, I still came in with the attitude that I needed to prove myself and wouldn’t be given any free points or passes. I was an outsider, and so I’d have to work twice as hard as the locals to get what I wanted. This attitude served me well when grinding out long hours doing approaches on the streets and in the clubs. But even now I see fresh-off-the-boat foreigners wandering around with a crude sense of entitlement, as if Japan were a third world country or colonial port. Wearing gauche tourist clothes, speaking loud English and staggering around drunk, not realizing how dated and unattractive they seem. Needless to mention, these types are almost never seen with high quality girls.

My ideal was also sexual rather than cute. To put it mildly, I wasn’t turned on by girls who looked and acted like children. I wanted women: powerful women aware of their own allure. I was through with girl next door types like Maya and wanted the girls who turned heads in clubs. Right away this differentiated me from most of the foreigners I met, who seemed content with any girl at all as long as she was Japanese and willing. It’s not my place to judge other people’s tastes, but I saw my share of handsome young men with frumpy middle-aged women and serial foreigner-daters who wanted them more for their ethnicity and fantasy image of Western (almost always meaning American) culture. My black friends attracted a different kind of “gaijin hunter,” and often complained of being stereotyped into a hip-hop role, even if they were more into jazz and house. I learned to avoid these types; they were as bad as their Western equivalents, the fantasists longing for Cho-Cho-San.

Striking out on my own in Hiroshima, though, I quickly realized that Momoka had been a fluke; most of the top level beauties I approached wanted nothing to do with me. High on beginner’s luck, I’d assumed I could easily replicate my earlier successes, but instead I ran headlong into a period of repeated failure. I was being jerked around by my emotions and taking everything too seriously. Worse, I had no one to talk to about any of it. My new Japanese friends in Hiroshima were into partying, but none of them seemed as nanpa-focused as my Tokyo-based friends had been. I needed someone to talk to about the path I was starting down, but I was alone.

Over the past year or so I’d been corresponding online with a man who called himself Nubreed, an American who had spent several years living in Osaka and practicing the art of nanpa. Nubreed was back in the U.S. now, but he still maintained his blog, which had been an invaluable early source of info on the Japanese game scene as it then existed. Unlike the clownish pickup artist types who seemed to think the “Mystery Method” and its derivatives were a good fit for Japan, Nubreed kept a cool head and practiced a more empirical approach. Thoughtful and sensitive, he was attuned to the realities of life in Japan, and took time to learn the language and culture. And just as importantly, he actually seemed to care about the attractiveness of the girls he approached. Indeed, Nubreed’s standards were probably the most punishing I’d ever encountered. According to him, next to no foreigners other than himself had ever really made inroads with truly attractive and popular Japanese girls, who he defined exclusively as the girls most desired by aggressive Japanese gamers: young, slim, tanned and fashionable, the kind of girls who appeared as models in magazines like Egg and Blenda. Over email Nubreed showed me photos of several of his hookups and ex girlfriends, which more or less confirmed what he’d been telling me. Even better, his blog was written in a clear, accessible style that was totally free of unnecessary jargon. I knew that he was the real deal, and only wished that he was still in Japan so we could game together.

In frustration at my recent lack of success, I mailed Nubreed and told him about my solo attempts at street and club game in Hiroshima.

“I’m going hard but just don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“You need a wing, dude,” he told me. “Actually, I think I might know a guy in your area. He’s going up to Osaka for Silver Week and will probably be rampaging around. Why don’t I tell him about you and you could maybe hang out with him? I know he goes into Hiroshima a lot too.”

Nubreed put us in touch over email, and I resolved to head up to Osaka to meet Dylan. I was excited but also exceedingly nervous, as I knew next to nothing about him and had never before met anyone who self-identified as any kind of gamer or pickup artist. I imagined that he would be some kind of aggressive frat type, or else a high-powered businessman down to slam drinks and aggressively pursue girls. I worried that he’d consider me a deadweight newbie.

Amusingly, my fears couldn’t have been more unfounded. Dylan turned out to be a short, mild-mannered, very well-groomed Australian who’d been living in Japan for close to a decade. Even now he remains possibly the most socially-calibrated individual I’ve ever met, and one of the few foreigners to have integrated with absolute smoothness into Japanese life. His spoken and written Japanese were beyond flawless, well up to interpreter level, and his cultural knowledge was vast. He was about six or seven years older than me and currently living in the Shimane region, which meant he could fairly easily take weekend trips to Hiroshima. He was accompanied on the trip by his friend Jared, another Australian with a close-cropped shaved head and a dour expression. Again, neither of them matched my preconception of what a gamer or pickup artist would be like; they were about as far from the douchebro stereotypes I’d read about online as I could imagine.

Catching the shinkansen train up to Osaka alone, I felt the same sense of excitement I had when I’d first visited Tokyo. I’d never been to the Kansai region before and had no idea what to expect from Osaka, a city I’d heard was “dirtier than Tokyo, but more relaxed.” That actually sounded right up my alley, and I imagined there would be certain kinds of girls in Osaka I’d never see in Tokyo or anywhere else. This proved to be correct, in a sense, and the city remains one of my favorites.

I met up with Dylan and Jared outside the capsule hotel we’d all decided to stay at, and that night we attended an international party, then spent the next few days doing street nanpa during the day and going clubbing at night. None of us managed to pull or even did particularly well, and in fact it was difficult for me to tell what “doing well” would even entail. Were we supposed to be shooting for fast sex as soon as possible? This clearly seemed like the best option, given that we’d be leaving Osaka in a few days and wouldn’t really be able to arrange any dates. Even so, we mostly went around collecting contact information, using the then-current sekigaisen or infrared ray exchange function on our old-style clamshell phones. Both Dylan and Jared seemed very polite, not at all close to what I remembered of the street nanpa I’d witnessed from Rintaro and Hiroyuki. Weren’t nanpa dudes supposed to be a bit more thuggish and direct? I tried to adjust my style to come off as more “nanpa,” and Dylan seemed surprised.

“Wow, you’re pretty aggressive…we usually don’t open this much,” he said. “You just shoot right in after anyone with no hesitation. Never seen anyone with this little approach anxiety. I mean, what are you even using as an opener?”

“Um, what is ‘open’?”

“Talk to girls. Like that three set we just did.”

“Sets? What is this, tennis?”

“Set just means a girl or group of girls. Like that static two set over there.”

“Static…what?”

“They’re sitting down in front of Starbucks. Static sets are ones that aren’t moving,” Jared explained.

As became clear over the course of the week, these two had been influenced by the Western “seduction community,” which I was still pretty much entirely oblivious to. I’d never read Neil Strauss’s book The Game and didn’t have much idea what the Mystery Method or anything else was. I’d heard about this scene online, but it didn’t seem to have much to do with Japan or the girls Nubreed and I most wanted to approach. What was the point of making up unnecessary jargon about “sets” and “escalation ladders”? I’d seen successful nanpa in action from my Japanese friends, and it didn’t seem to require any of this kind of terminology.

Dylan and Jared seemed impressed with my approaches and my ability to hold a girl’s attention. Even so, I didn’t feel like I was much good at nanpa yet, and I still wasn’t getting laid. But the novelty of taking so much consistent, concerted action over such a long time period was intoxicating, almost like an altered state of consciousness. This was something I’d never really done before at such length, and certainly not with like-minded people who were totally on the same page. I couldn’t imagine my old university friends being up for it.

“You’re going to put that much time and effort into just talking to girls?” I could imagine them saying. I’d always felt that my deep-rooted desire to get better with women and engage with more of them was somehow abnormal, stronger than most people’s, but the presence of Dylan and Jared normalized it. We were all on the same page, and we soon became fast friends.

While I was driven by raw libidinal fire and obsession, Dylan treated nanpa as an amusing diversion. He even claimed not to particularly care whether his encounters with girls ended in sex or not. Looking back on it now, his attitude was clearly healthier than mine, but at the time it was difficult for me to understand his detachment. Over the next two years he would act as a calming influence, helping me keep perspective in the face of what often seemed to me like devastating upsets and failures. It was exactly what I needed: encouragement leavened by a sense of proportion. In other words he was exactly the kind of “big brother” figure I needed at the time. Dylan also introduced me to the Japan Lair forum, which was where he had met Nubreed, and which proved to be an invaluable resource. On a whim I chose the screen name “Dorian Gray,” as I was a big fan of the Wilde novel and related to the hero’s theme of carrying on a double life under a mask of respectability.

I returned from the Osaka trip galvanized, utterly certain that I was on the correct path. My life fell into a predictable routine: sleepwalk through working life on the weekdays and head up to Hiroshima on the weekends for street game with Dylan and Jared. We soon learned the layout of the city, and came to concentrate our nanpa efforts on the area around the long, crowded Hondori street of shops that led down to the Parco department store. The Nagarekawa nightlife district was only a few streets away. Hiroshima was no Tokyo, but there was no shortage of beautiful girls, and we almost always returned home on Sunday with our phones full of new numbers. We made friends in the Hiroshima night life scene too, and one young Japanese man, who I’ll call DJ Zero, turned out to be a reliable guide to the bars and clubs.

One night I arrived in the city on Saturday for a date with a girl I’d approached outside the Aeon Mall a few weeks back. This girl turned out to be half-Korean, tall, decent body and face, good hairstyle. During the initial conversation she’d mentioned being a fan of the author Eimi Yamada, whose books mostly concern Japanese women having sex with foreigners. This would seem like a good sign, but it would turn out later to have unexpected consequences.

We met up about 9:30 outside Parco and I took her to an Irish-themed pub called Molly Malone’s. Over mail I’d asked her if I could borrow one of her Yamada books, since I wanted to try reading it in Japanese. She brought it along and I flipped through it a bit while we were ordering drinks. The date proceeded reasonably smoothly; she mentioned wanting to go overseas and seemed generally interested in foreign culture. The conversation was going well and all seemed on board for bringing her back to my hotel afterwards. Everything was going well…but then at one point she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and on the way back she went up to a tall man standing by the bar and started talking to him. I was a bit pissed off at her approaching someone else right in front of me, but I assumed it was someone she knew. Eventually she came back over and sat down.

“Is that your friend?” I asked.

“No, it’s my husband,” she said, with no hesitation.

I looked at her in incomprehension.

“Actually, he’s my ex-husband…” she continued. “We’re divorced, but I’m still living with him. He’s from Nigeria and wants to stay in Japan, but he can’t find a job. Actually, I’m still in love with him.”

“Well…maybe you should get back together with him then?” I said with an icy tone.

I looked up and saw that the Nigerian ex-husband at the bar was giving me his own frosty gaze.

“I want to, but he doesn’t want to get back together with me,” the girl said.

“Why not?”

“I have too many friends…he became jealous. It’s difficult.”

At this point I was still on board for taking her back to my hotel, but during the course of the evening she kept excusing herself and going over to talk to the ex-husband for ten minutes at a time. As a result, I rapidly lost interest, and actually felt bad for the Nigerian ex-husband, who looked increasingly angrier each time she went over to talk to him. This culminated when we got up to leave, and instead of coming up to pay half the bill she ran off and started talking to him, then disappeared, leaving me with the bill. I paid it all, then sent her a message telling her to come back. Half an hour later she reappeared.

“I’m really sorry…things are difficult,” she said.

“I understand…anyway please pay your half of the bill.”

She looked down. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any money at all.”

“Nothing in there?”

I pointed at her bag, where I could see the Eimi Yamada book. On a whim I reached over and took the book out. It was hardcover and looked fairly new; it would have been at least the price of what she owed me.

“Well, I guess I’ll borrow this at least,” I said.

“But I think you don’t want to see me again, right? When are you going to return it?”

“Not sure. Maybe after I’ve read it.”

“Sorry…you can’t have it.”

I held up the book and walked away from her. “Thanks…maybe I’ll see you around,” I said.

Dejected from the encounter, I went to McDonald’s and tried reading the book for a while, but eventually became disgusted with Yamada’s weak prose style and threw it in the trash. After that, still drunk and somewhat hyped-up, I wandered alone over to Nagarekawa and entered the club called Mugen. I went up to the second floor and saw that they were having some kind of reggae event; it was fairly crowded and there were several attractive girls, although most of them were with guys. I introduced myself to a bunch of people and danced for a few hours. At around 4 AM I tried pulling one girl out of the club and got her as far as the door before she insisted on waiting for her friends. I left and started walking back to my hotel.

As I came within less than a minute’s walk of the entrance, I noticed a young girl wheeling her bicycle along the sidewalk. She stopped to check her phone, and on impulse I went over and started talking to her.

“Are you grounded in the Enlightenment?” I asked her in English. Recently Dylan and I had been experimenting with exactly this kind of nonsensical “opener.” I half-suspected that the content of any opening line made no difference whatsoever, and this experiment seemed to prove it, as the girl suddenly stopped and took off her headphones.

“What?”

“I like your bike,” I said. “What did you do tonight?”

The conversation progressed over the next ten minutes. She was a short girl, twenty-two years old, and I noticed her extraordinarily thin legs, displayed by black mini shorts. She was generally very pretty. I learned that she had never left Hiroshima, spoke no English and had no interest in foreign countries or culture. Her name was Miya.

“What are you doing now?” I asked her.

“I was going to go to a bar run by my friend, but it was closed so I’m going home now.”

“Let’s have one drink together,” I suggested.

“Huh? Where?”

I pointed to the nearby Lawson convenience store. We went and got drinks, and then very naturally, with no hesitation I led her back across the street to my hotel. Once inside my room, we popped open our drinks and talked for a while longer. It turned out Miya was a dancer and was taking some kind of Hawaiian dance class. I got her to do a demonstration, then started giving her a massage, which somehow transitioned into a make-out. Before long we were naked and going at it with furious energy. Her body was slim and tight, and she apologized for “looking like a shougakusei (school student),” but for me it was unforgettable.

After only an hour of sleep, Miya awoke and excused herself with a final kiss, then headed out to catch the first train of the morning. I went straight back to sleep and awoke at noon, unsure of what had just happened. My night had gone from terrible to amazing with no warning. Had I really just slept with a girl not even twenty minutes after meeting her for the first time? A girl I had approached alone on the street in the middle of the night? In spite of all I had learned about nanpa so far, in spite of all the time I’d put into street approaches over the past few months, next to everything in my background screamed at me that this shouldn’t have worked, couldn’t possibly be real, in fact might even have been some creepy form of harassment or coercion! And yet Miya had been ecstatic. What had I gotten myself into?

The post The Birth of Japan Game: Episode 4: The Exile appeared first on Attraction Japan.

from Attraction Japan http://attractionjapan.com/birth-japan-game-episode-4-exile/

[firstjustgoin]

An (About to be) Overheard Conversation

4. Start with a conversation. One you’ve overheard, or at least pretended you have (you’re always doing that). Start with a sentence that can never be taken back or a l’esprit de l’escalier moment or whatever.

By the time I leave work the rain is coming down hard –– one of those mid-August deluges that makes New York seem small and humble, at the mercy of water that might just wipe it off to sea. I don’t mind when it rains like this usually because the restaurant gets slow, only a few huddles of folks ordering another glass to wait out the rain, and it takes half the time to close as usual.

Juan pretends to look away and polish the glasses along the bar while I turn the sign to Closed 15 minutes early. It’s a game we play, he and I. He might be running the joint now, but I know I can push him because I remember when he was just a kid bar backing after class. He’s grown now with kids of his own but we’re both still here, closing up on rainy August nights while the lights off Canal bounce across puddles and women in high-heeled boots skate along, giggling and screaming.

I like New York in the rain, but I’m never prepared for it. It’s been weeks of the sky holding its breath, the clouds heavy with moisture but stealing themselves against release. This heat has gotta break eventually, I hear moms whisper to each other on street corners, their faces full of the same kind of desperation I imagine on moms in cities ravaged by war. In the city of Broadway and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, it’s no surprise that we’ve got a penchant for the dramatic. Even the rain here wants to be immortalized in the neon signs above the Majestic.

After I say goodnight to Juan, I open the door with an extra force as if I’m pushing back a hurricane. In moments like these, I always wonder why I refuse to read weather reports. Daniel hated this about me, he always hated women who didn’t take care of themselves but then complained about the results. If I got Freudian on him, I’d try to make it about his mom, but he hated when I got philosophical too. Those were the days when I read Camus and Heidegger and quoted them in dark corners of the Brooklyn loft parties I never get invited to anymore.

Everything begins with consciousness and nothing is worth anything except through it. A truly New York philosophy. All of the struggle, everything Woody Allen romanticized –– the fifteen strange hands gripping the same sticky pole on the subway, the thick smoke of garbage that settled along every street during the summer, the fifteen dollar cocktails and twenty dollar hamburgers, the grime that lived between everyone’s toes no matter how much you isolated yourself on the fiftieth floor of a Central Park West co-op building –– this was the pain we had to work through to get real satisfaction from life. My friends who have long since abandoned the signal problems in the tunnels below the East River for sunnier, more temperate climates don’t ascribe to this philosophy anymore –– Why not just be happy? Couldn’t that be satisfying too?

All this to say, I find myself more often than not fast walking to the subway from the restaurant, as if I could outrun the pellets of water speeding down 1000 times a millisecond. So here I am, careening through the cobblestoned sidewalks, holding my apron above me like it can protect me from anything more than flour stains on my pants.

I don’t quote the Myth of Sisyphus too much anymore. After I dropped off the Master’s track and stayed working at Galli for eight years too long, thinking about why people don’t just kill themselves in the face of a cruel and unrelenting world hasn’t kept up the same appeal as it once did. None of it has really. The books and articles I was going to write, all of the shitty plans Daniel and I made to learn German and move abroad, bicycling around Brooklyn late at night in search of the perfect slice. I’m lactose intolerant now, like everyone who lives south of Greenpoint and north of Park Slope. I wonder what Sisyphus would think about higher consciousness if he was rolling his boulder towards a pizza parlor he couldn’t eat at.

It’s less than four blocks to the Canal Street station from the restaurant, and after almost a decade of taking those steps to the station, I don’t need any road markers to find my way there, even in a flash flood. It’s barely 11 and Mercer’s dead, which is eerie on a Friday but it makes me feel like I’m in a Murakami novel –– alone in a crowded city, a bubble of quiet amidst the clamor. I transitioned from existentialism smoothly into surrealist fiction for awhile, but I’d be lying if I said I’d read a book in the last 16 months. I keep them around me for show, of course, in case I get a visitor who asks me what I’ve been up to, I can just gesture to my dusty friends. The kinds of visitors I get these days don’t usually ask that many follow-up questions. It’s hard to pin down the irony of life as an adult in New York –– the same kinds of people who as kids teased me about being a book nerd grew up to be snobs who can’t wait to get their manicured nails on the latest Zadie Smith.

After I swipe myself through the turnstyle, I can feel the rumbling underbelly of the subway station as the J train spits its way away from the platform. It’s late enough that I’m certain another won’t be coming for at least fifteen minutes, so I prepare to settle in against a pole in this sauna. I’ve spent enough time leaning against this pole late into the night, I feel like I should get a plaque to commemorate its allegiance to me.

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been living here, you’ve got to take the small things that you can feel ownership over, since most of this city feels like it could crumble through your fingers at any moment. When I first moved to New York in a fit of passion and wide-eyed idealism only possible in the first couple months after college graduation, I saw New York as a grand stepping stone. This was not a place you could get mired in. As soon as it no longer held any value for you, you could springboard out towards a million new points of light. Daniel used to say that he loved that about me –– how I mirrored the city’s frenetic energy with my own, desperate to see more, do more, be more than I had been the day before, how I wanted to be constantly reincarnated without having to die.

My world is much smaller than it was ten years ago and even five. My world is the 600 steps from my apartment to the subway and the 400 steps from the subway to the restaurant. It is the 10,000 steps I run twice a week going nowhere, overlooking a rare parking lot in Bushwick. The 500 steps from the gym to the grocery store where I walk a couple hundred steps in circles looking for the best price on whole grain bread and oranges and penne noodles. Even the worlds I live in while I’m sleeping are smaller than they used to be. I’ll be replaying the same conversation I had with the Italian family who are visiting New York only to eat at an Italian restaurant, helping them decide the best wine for the fish, except the children will be wearing matching light blue frilly frocks and pink bows tied around the middle instead of whatever sparkly I heart New York crap they actually wore the previous afternoon. I’ll wake up and remind myself to stop watching The Shining before bed, but at least it helped me decipher my dreamworld from reality.

I lean forward off the platform in search of a light. Sometimes I feel a great sense of adrenaline from this act –– shuffling the tips of my toes towards the past the cautionary yellow line, craning my neck over the edge so my head balances magically over the tracks a few feet below. It would be so easy to just fall, for a rushed stranger to bump my side or a gush of wind from a train on the adjacent track and then to become a member of a statistic displayed on every subway car.

In 2015, 476 People –– including A 32-year-old Woman Who Didn’t Really Mean To Fall, But Also Didn’t Really Try to Stop Herself From Falling –– Were Hit By Subway Cars.

I see the light growing from the cavern, coming into focus as it nears the station. I step back from the yellow line and wait like the good socialized New Yorker that I am for the train to come to a full stop before the crowding the door to scan for open seats. The train car that pulls up in front of me is nearly empty, which usually is the sign of a broken air conditioning system or the smell of death, but I step in anyways. Cold air and a neutral subway scent greet me. There’s only one other person in the car, sitting a couple sections away. As the subway doors close and I settle into my plastic bench, I hear a quiet muttering that first sounds like gibberish but I begin to pull out full sentences.

“To love, to life, to your happily ever after…”