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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Dust Volume 7, Number 3

Black Country, New Road

One of the funniest parts of Martin Amis’ Inside Story concerns an up-and-coming novelist, constantly asked at literary festivals to differentiate between his short stories and novels and just as consistently coming up with new ways to say that the short stories are, well, shorter. Same deal with Dust. These abbreviated reviews are, indeed, shorter than the full-lengths, but otherwise well worth reading. And, hoo boy, are there a lot of them this time. Contributors include Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Patrick Masterson, Arthur Krumins, Eric McDowell, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Jonathan Shaw and Bryon Hayes.

Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl — Eating Rose Petals (Projekt: Archive)

Eating Rose Petals by Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl

Aarktica’s Jon DeRosa and Black Tape for a Blue Girl’s Sam Rosenthal have known each other for a long time, but this release is the first time they’ve actually worked together. Rosenthal was so struck by the title song, one of the few from Aarktica’s 2019 release Mareación to feature DeRosa’s vocals, that with the latter’s permission and participation he created the almost 19-minute “Fleeting Rose Petals”, which features the original track backwards with wordless additional vocals from DeRosa, plus additional material by Rosenthal before and after it. The original (also included here, along with the closing “Valley of the Roses” which features Rosenthal further reworking the additional material from “Fleeting Rose Petals”) already felt like a single lambent moment in time suspended and held, and by reworking and reconfiguring that material over a full 37-minute span that effect is only intensified.

Ian Mathers

Altaat & Euter — Split (Ikuisuus)

split by Altaat / Euter

Two experimental drone outfits from Finland play extended abstract compositions on this split LP. Altaat’s sidelong “Palava Palaava” sounds like an orchestra tuning up in a wind tunnel as it splices long bowed tones with the rush and whir of large machinery. But however, chaotic that may sound, the actual effect is quite serene, the om of dissonant overtones melting into a white noise background of rattling, humming, whooshing mechanical sounds. Altaat’s Niko Karlsson and Miki Brunou, along with Jari Koho, subsume the noisy clatter of the post-industrial era into a dream-like, beckoning hiss. Euter, also a duo but not willing to give up personal names, works a less organically grounded sound, filling an expansive, echoey space with chortling, wobbling synth cadences, metallic clangs and staticky, between-stations blare. The long “Slowly Underwater,” unfolds in chilly surreality. You get the sense of vast metal furnaces blowing out corrosive chemical clouds, of mechanical sensors picking up and sending signals and of chittering, hurrying life amid ruins. (No, I’m not hearing anything especially watery.) “Magnetic Mammals,” which follows, is similarly machine-like and ominous, picking up vast, sirening sounds as if from a distance with bubbling bursts of radio interference in the foreground. Altaat’s side is certainly closer to conventional Western classical music, but Euter finds some intriguing, disquieting spaces. Makes you wonder what they’re putting in the water up there in reindeer land.

Jennifer Kelly

Rrill Bell — Ballad of the External Life (Elevator Bath)

ballad of the external life by Rrill Bell ////// aka The Preterite

One of the challenges of early electronic music was its labor intensity; it could take months of recording, processing, card-punching and pondering to come up with a few minutes of music. But tools change, and with them, opportunities for access open up. The music of Rrill Bell, a German-based American musician, makes that lengthy process shake hands with instant performance. Originally trained as a percussionist, he works mainly with tapes, which he records, uses in performance, and in the course of performance, records over and re-uses again. But in concert, he tends to improvise with these materials, making split-second decisions that occasionally get preserved for potential re-visiting.

If that sounds like a recipe for frenetic sonic action, it’s not. Mr. Bell’s tastes in original sounds tend towards bells and environmental captures, and he rarely crowds the mix. Tones squiggle and unspool, unidentifiable bumps appear and disappear, and birds chirp at the periphery. It’s easy to characterize this as ambient music, since a low-volume listen is pleasant but undemanding. But keep in mind that successful ambient music must be interesting as well as ignorable, and the dream-like sound walk of Ballad of the External Life still delivers.

Bill Meyer

Black Country, New Road — For the First Time (Ninja Tune)

For the first time by Black Country, New Road

“Sunglasses” erupts out of a blare of feedback, a roar of guitar noise that splinters and disintegrates as you trace its melody. Synths sound like police sirens. It’s all very slow and ominous, and for a minute, all those Slint comparisons make sense. And then it resolves into something like an indie rock song, spoke-sung over thunderous drums by one Isaac Wood, he of the tremulous voice and the unreliable narrative, whose art song proclivities may bring bands like Wild Beasts to mind, though without the fey falsetto. The song is a marvel of bravado and doubt, working the soft seam between ordinary male adolescence and mental illness, and the sunglasses play a key part. Says Wood, “I am looking at you with my best eyes and I wish you could tell/I wish all my kids would stop dressing up like Richard Hell/I am locked away in a high-tech/Wraparound, translucent, blue-tinted fortress/And you cannot touch me.” (Also, later, “I am more than adequate/Leave Kanye out of it,” which strikes me as brilliant for reasons I can’t fathom.) The point is that there are startling, riveting lyrics here, of the sort that you could make a case for leaving it unadorned, but Black Country, New Road is not interested in simplicity. The rather large ensemble includes not just the regular rock instruments but saxophone, violin and synths, all knotted up in proggy complexities and paced by a drummer (Charlie Wayne) good enough to give Black Midi’s Morgan Simpson a run for his money (the two bands are aligned and friends and Black Midi gets a name check in one of the songs). Indeed, the opening track of this six-cut collection is aptly titled “Instrumental,” a whirling gypsy klezmer cubist fantasy that is, if anything, nervier and more complicated than the vocal tracks. This is exciting, volatile stuff that could go anywhere from here.

Jennifer Kelly

Deniz Cuylan — No Such Thing As Free Will (Hush Hush)

No Such Thing As Free Will by Deniz Cuylan

Everything about Deniz Cuylan’s solo debut is understated. Six instrumental tracks running to just 27 minutes, released on the fittingly named Hush Hush Records, No Such Thing As Free Will seeks to evoke something subtle and universal out of minimal ingredients. There’s a robust architecture to this music, generating a sober, contemplative mood. Arpeggios on nylon-string classical guitar cycle around in precise arcs, gently bolstered by piano, clarinet and cello. The space in opener “Clearing” shyly invites the listener in; the record reaches a modest peak in the bright harmonics of “She Was Always Here” and the almost joyful elegance of “Flaneurs in Hakone”; then the music recedes into a melancholic fog on the closing title track. It’s telling, therefore, that Cuylan has worked as a soundtrack composer — his music feels complementary, receding modestly into life’s scenery rather than commanding the spotlight.

Tim Clarke

Arnold de Boer — Minimal Guitar (Makkum)

MINIMAL GUITAR by arnolddeboer

Somedays you just don’t do what you’re supposed to do. At the end of the last summer, Arnold de Boer decided to extend his holiday by a day and take a walk around town. When he got back home, he sat down, picked up an instrument and listened to the music that came out of his fingers. The music was no more expected than the activity that preceded it. Instead of the rough, voltage-enhanced intricacy of the music he plays with The Ex or his one-man band, Zea, de Boer played a set of acoustic guitar solos. Neither ostentatious nor self-consciously rustic, de Boer’s playing tends to zero in on an idea and see where it wants to go. Each rhythmic pattern, decaying harmonic, or rap on the body proposes an idea, which de Boer either explores or restates with minimal variation. Ah, there’s that word. This isn’t a study in minimalism, but an appreciation of how little you need to do if the original idea is sound.

Bill Meyer

Dusk + Blackdown — Rinse FM Mix January 28, 2021 (Rinse FM)

Rinse FM · Keysound (100% Keysound Production Mix) - 28 January 2021

I’m not sure there’s a place left on the internet better suited to explaining the rise of grime, dubstep and its attendant mutations than Martin Clark’s aging Blogspot under his Blackdown alias. From ground zero in London, Clark has been documenter, eyewitness and participant alike, a true lifer fully evidenced by his longtime partnership with Dan Frampton, aka Dusk, showcasing new music on their monthly Rinse radio show and Keysound Recordings record label. They’re an essential part of the culture, so it’s especially pleasant when they serve up some of their own riches. After the traditional December year-end roundup show, Dusk and Blackdown came roaring out of the gates in January with an all-Keysound broadcast in the middle of the night that features gobs of unreleased rollage over its two hours. It’s a nice reminder that though time may pass, URLs may cut out and memories may dim, some are still putting in the work one release, one radio show, one listen at a time. The sound is the key is right.

Patrick Masterson

EKG — 200 Years Of Electricals (Bandcamp)

200 Years of Electricals by EKG (Ernst Karel & Kyle Bruckmann)

Most things don’t hold their value. Why should time be any different? So, if Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote 100 Years of Solitude in the 1960s, EKG might as well proclaim 200 Years Of Electricals in 2021. EKG is Kyle Bruckmann (double reeds, analog electronics, organ) and Ernst Karel (analog electronics, microphones). The duo first convened in the mid-1990s, when both men lived in Chicago, and Karel was mainly known as a trumpeter. They’ve carried on in sporadic fashion ever since, playing increasingly rare concerts as each man moved away from his original home base. They’ve turned snippets from these shows into subdued musical constructions, which they’ve issued on a number of compact discs over the years. For their first release in over a decade, the duo, who currently both live in the Bay area, have ditched the trumpet and the physical album format, and incorporated some of the field recordings that have become Karel’s main sound material in his solo work. But in other respects, this effort is every bit as concerned with iteration and inevitability as Marquez’ book. When you flip a switch, something hums. When you layer quiet sounds, they don’t necessarily get louder, but they do exert a stronger magnetism upon your ear. And you when spread your quietness over a vast stretch of silence, efforts to follow the sound inevitably do strange things to your sense of time. Wait, how many years have we been listening to that crackle? Why stop now?

Bill Meyer

Michael Feuerstack — Harmonize the Moon (Forward Music Group)

Harmonize the Moon by Michael Feuerstack

Montreal-based singer-songwriter Michael Feuerstack sweeps aside all extraneous fluff on his new album, Harmonize the Moon, zeroing in on precise finger-picked guitar parts, vivid lyrical imagery and a stark, affecting tone. He has a knack for smuggling blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments of understated wonder into traditional-sounding folk songs you’ll imagine you’ve heard somewhere before. Indeed, he wryly admits to recycling the past in the opening song: “I used to be a singer, bumping around in the astral plane / Picking up astral trash, to polish it up again.” Though the foundation of guitar and vocals carries most of the weight, there’s tasteful reinforcement from vocal harmonies, electric guitar, lap steel, bass and drums. Amid these clean, spare arrangements, some of the lines stop you in your tracks, like the following from “Too Kind”: “The world is broken mirrors, traps and triggers / And cold blood pools in the kindest eyes.” With 10 finely honed songs running to just over half an hour, everything is measured and rather lovely. (Beautiful cover art, too.)

Tim Clarke

Michael and Peter Formanek — Dyads (Out Of Your Head Records)

Dyads by Michael and Peter Formanek

Virtuoso bassist, stalwart sideman, solid bandleader, fearless improviser, intriguing composer — Michael Formanek is all of those things, but he’s also a cool dad. At least that’s what it looks like from the outside. Not only did he include his son, Peter, in his musical activities from an early age, giving the youngster a chance to sit in with the likes of Tim Berne and Jim Black. Upon Peter’s return home from college, he joined him in a working duo. Dyads is their first recording, and it is testimony to the merits of giving the kid first-hand experience in the family business. Peter, who plays tenor saxophone and clarinet, has learned the merits of having a bold tone, a flexible improvisational approach and a way with a tune. Their performances unfold with a combination of patience and pith, which permits the listener to savor the elegance with which each musician supports the other.

Bill Meyer

Chris Forsyth & the Solar Motel Band — Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 (No Quarter)

Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 by Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel Band

Chris Forsyth teams with Sunwatchers Peter Kerlin and Jason Robira at London’s Café OTO for expansive, incendiary jams that will remind you like a physical ache of what you’ve been missing in live music this awful year. “Dream in the Non-Dream” is a wide-horizon, endless vamp, driven ever forward by Kerlin and Robira in lock-sync, while Forsyth ratchets up tension with a car jack, then spins it off in wreckless, fiery abandon. “The First Ten Minutes of Cocksucker Blues” similarly balances rigor and open-ended-ness, marking off the measures with a hammering, repetitive cadence that becomes a mantra over time. There are also two Neil Young covers, both tending towards the electrified, Crazy Horse side of things, a slow by blistering “Don’t Be Denied” and a raucous “Barstool Blues” from Zuma. It’s all great stuff, and it might hold you for a month or two until we can all crowd up to the stage again.

Jennifer Kelly

Alexander Hawkins — Togetherness Music (Intakt)

Togetherness Music by Alexander Hawkins

Whether you listen to him in duos with Evan Parker or Tomeka Reid, small bands like the Chicago/London Underground or Decoy, or leading his own ensembles, English keyboardist Alexander Hawkins accompanies and improvises with an astute perception of the situation’s requirements. The title Togetherness Music can be taken several ways. The six-part suite combines parts from two different commissioned pieces, and it brings together elements of free and conducted improvisation, scored chamber music, and some discrete electronic interventions. Passages showcasing Evan Parker’s intricate soprano saxophone lines and Mark Sanders’ kinetic percussion contrast and coexist with rich and patiently evolving string passages executed by the Riot Ensemble. This music feels less like a sum of differing approaches than the expression of a cohesive in which all Hawkins’ good ideas fit together.

Bill Meyer

Russell Hoke — The Melancholy Traveller (Round Bale Recordings)

The Melancholy Traveler by Russell Hoke

This release follows up on the archival compilation A Voice From the Lonesome Playground from 2016 of Hoke’s material from small run releases of the 1980’s. With the new material here, Hoke delves into the unadulterated sound of voice and guitar or banjo, with mainly his own songs of loneliness and also the singularly bittersweet moments of existing as yourself, free and detached from society. Also covering two beautiful takes on Sandy Denny songs, which fit into the UK/US traditional direction of the rest. The album rests in the same delicate territory as other folkies such as Connie Converse, Jackson C. Frank, or even the more sedate songs of Daniel Johnston. What brings the album together is the expressiveness in any given moment of a song. The tact and execution consistently bring the emotion of the songwriting home.

Arthur Krumins

In Layers — Pliable (FMR)

Pliable by In Layers

In Layers puts up a middle finger against anyone who thinks that European unity is a passed fancy. The quartet’s members come from Portugal, Iceland and Holland, and their collective experience encompasses Nordic music theatre, lyric free jazz and the tooth-powderingly loud trio, Cactus Truck. But the music they make doesn’t really sound like any of that. Guitarist Marcelo Dos Reis, drummer Onno Govaert, pianist Kristján Martinsson and trumpeter Luís Vicente improvise music that is spacious enough to frustrate viral transmission, but composed of elements hefty enough to tip a scale. There’s plenty of bravura playing, but the displays are subordinate to the music’s abstract cohesion. You won’t hum it, but you won’t forget it, either.

Bill Meyer

Just For the Record: Conversations With and About “Blue” Gene Tyranny

Composer, writer and pianist Robert Sheff, better known as “Blue” Gene Tyranny, collaborator with everyone from Iggy Pop to Robert Ashley, passed away at the end of 2020. Just before that, David Bernabo’s documentary about Tyranny’s life and work, and more generally about the avant garde world Tyranny was a vital part of, how much of it almost vanished and the ways it continues to be vibrant even today, was released. For a while Just For the Record was available to rent, but this year Bernabo made it available for free on UbuWeb Film. It’s a wonderful watch for anyone who’s a fan of “Blue” Gene’s work, for sure. The conversations with him are near the end of his life, but his evident joy in music and art and people shines through, and the conversations with Joan La Barbara, David Grubbs, Kyle Gann and others cast new light on both his history and work and importance and the group of artists that he worked with and around. There’s so much here you almost wish for a miniseries instead (one episode on reissue labels and blogs, one on Robert Ashley’s operas, one on Tyranny’s time as a Stooge…), but given how overlooked artists like “Blue” Gene Tyranny often are, it still feels like a gift to have what’s here.

Ian Mathers

Kariu Kenji — Sekai (Bruit Direct Disques)

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Sekai is a COVID-era exercise in circumstantial lemonade-making. Kariu Kenji’s band, OWKMJ, executes intricate, quick-changing jazz rock with aplomb. Stuck alone at home, he has made a solo record that never betrays his prodigious dexterity as a guitarist. Instead, Kenji has fashioned an album of low-key, keyboard-heavy bedroom pop. It is low key, almost to a fault, since you could easily miss the subtle fault lines between clean and distorted sounds, let alone the moments when he unobtrusively pulls the rhythmic rug out from under a song. The songs poetically render small memories and quietly absurd scenarios, which are considerately translated for the benefit of people who won’t understand Kenji’s all-Japanese crooning.

Bill Meyer

Kid Congo and the Pink Monkeybirds — Swing from the Sean Delear (In the Red)

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Kid Congo Powers has been in more great bands than anyone I can think of — The Cramps and The Gun Club to start with, but also Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds, Divine Horsemen and, just last year, the Wolfmanhattan Project with Mick Collins and Bob Bert. That’s exalted company all round, and his latest, with Pink Monkeybirds, is no slouch alongside any of them. It begins with a vamping, churning, soul-funk-psychedelic “Sean DeLear,” which commemorates the recently deceased Bay Area punk-fashion icon in exultant, chandelier-swinging style. All three side one cuts are bangers, spinning out Sam & Dave bass-and-drum foundations into dayglow garage extravaganzas, but the 14-minute b-side “He Walked In” takes things in another direction, slowing the pace down and letting the music smoulder, a trippy hippy flute weaving through heat-shimmered desert psychedelia. Like the opener, it’s an elegy, this time to Gun Club front man, Jeffrey Lee Pierce, a haunted surf rock dreamscape where spirits dwell.

Jennifer Kelly

Katy Kirby — Cool Dry Place (Keeled Scales)

Cool Dry Place by Katy Kirby

Katy Kirby makes a stripped down, lofi pop that aspires to bigger things. Even low-key, acoustic strummed, bedroom ballads like “Eyelids” are always on the verge of busting out into flute-y, melismatic diva choruses. Even the tender “Cool Dry Place,” dreams of a big pop payoff and gets there in the end. And the single “Traffic!” is strung through with the tension between its muted, all-natural melody and the crescendoing climax that waits at the end. Here Kirby’s plain, wholesome voice gets threaded with fluttering autotune, not because she can’t hit the notes, but because that’s how big pop songs sound. This is the opposite of Katy Perry doing carpool karaoke. It’s acoustic, unadorned versions of songs that long for mainstream gloss and glamor.

Jennifer Kelly

The Koreatown Oddity — “Breastmilk” b/w “My Name Is Dominique” (Stones Throw)

Breastmilk by The Koreatown Oddity

“I got the hook-up from my baby mama / While you fetish freaks get it off the black market.” If the cover art left any room for doubt, the lyrics soon make it clear that Dominique Purdy’s approach to the subject of his latest single is every bit as literal as it is cartoonish. While albums like last year’s Little Dominiques Nosebleed put the Koreatown Oddity’s powers as a storyteller on full display, the rapper’s rhetorical mode here is ostensibly argumentative, with appeals to the all-naturalness — and deliciousness — of his preferred “regimen”:“You looking at me like I’m a strange human / But you drinking cow’s milk — fuck is you doing?” In the space of just two and a half minutes, he also achieves a hilarious upending of a range of hip-hop tropes, from the objectification of women to the glorification of illicit substances, not to mention MC braggadocio. There may even be a comment on fatherhood in there, too, for anyone who really wants to go looking.

The b-side of the 7” offers something different altogether, a stiff-legged but hypnotic beat beset by periodic electronic splatters and the somewhat manic refrain: “My name is Dominique and I’m a fresh musician.” Indeed.

Eric McDowell

Bobby Lee — Origin Myths (Tompkins Square)

Origin Myths by Bobby Lee

A swamp-gassed shimmer hangs over Bobby Lee’s electric blues, as notes bloom and waver and subside like ghostly lights in a humid dusk. Bobby Lee, the man, lives in Sheffield, England, but his music dwells in some lysergic delta, in the south but not entirely of it or anywhere else. Listen to the way that notes flicker in the steady runs of “Broken Prayer Stick,” a regular cadence of them left to warp and wander in steamy sunshine. Or the way that sustained tones drift like seaweed in “Looking for Pine and Obsidian,” losing themselves in thickets of overtone and echo. Bobby Lee would likely find a kindred spirit in Tarotplane’s PJ Dorsey or in William Tyler in a transcendental mood. Like them, his blues drift towards revelation but very, very slowly.

Jennifer Kelly

Nashville Ambient Ensemble — Cerulean (Centripetal Force)

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Thinking of Nashville doesn't typically bring to mind ambient music, nor does the image of pedal steel guitar typically suggest the work of an electronic composer. Nashville Ambient Ensemble, though, mixes those elements. What makes the group's debut album Cerulean feel special isn't its oddness — other acts, of course, do this sort of dreamy work — but that the Nashville elements remain so present. Pedal steel player Luke Schneider does much of the work to create that feel. The instrument itself has long since moved out of its traditional settings (a quick dip into the music of Susan Alcorn, for example, can prompt a fun rabbit trail of the guitar far removed from Western swing), but composer Michael Hix and this group enjoyably maintain the country signifiers even while moving into far spacier terrain. Some of the album pushes toward psychedelic swirls, but the ensemble restrains these gestures. As they head west out of Nashville, they resist simply playing a given genre with a gimmick. Cerulean isn't spaced out country, and it isn't twanged-up ambient. Instead, the group develops its own curious space.

Justin Cober-Lake

Neutrals — "Personal Computing” b/w “In the Future” (Slumberland)

Personal Computing by neutrals

The clever punk lifers in Neutrals upload two incisive songs about technology here. The a-side, “Personal Technology,” bashes antically through a tale of a young man with an, ahem, very committed relationship with computer paraphernalia, amid crashing, Clash-like chords and rumbling bass and drums. As noted when Neutrals’ 2020 EP Rent/Your House pried Dusted’s Jonathan Shaw away from black metal mid-last year, the front-person Allan McNaughton retains a Glaswegian accent, despite decades stateside, which gives these two cuts a rough Northern post-punk glamor. But the obsession with last year’s state-of-the-art, the excruciating torture of “loading,” is all Silicon Valley, enjoying BDSM with its peripherals. The b-side takes a somewhat more expansive view of technology, asking a la Dan Melchior what happened to the flying cars we were promised. Both are sharp and stinging and utterly catchy. I’d call it old school except for its fascination with the new.

Jennifer Kelly

Nun Gun — Mondo Decay (Algiers Recordings/Witty Books)

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Mondo Decay is the audio component of a recent collaboration between Algiers’ multi-instrumentalist Lee Tesche and visual artist Brad Feuerheim (who drums on four of the tracks). The two bonded over a mutual love of 1970s Italian cannibal zombie films and their soundtracks. Joined by fellow Algiers member Ryan Mahan and a roster of guest vocalists including Mark Stewart (The Pop Group), ONO and Mourning [A] BLKstar, Tesche reconfigures the soundtracks to make explicit the connections between present conditions and the socio-political turmoil that informed the original films. Musically that means claustrophobic dub inflected industrial grind, hip-hop influenced cut-ups, mutant disco and plenty of noirish saxophone. Nun Gun emphasizes atmospheric atrophy and deliberate decay with great and pointed effect to create a terrifically dark soundtrack to accompany the book of Feuerheim’s bleak photographs of post-industrial malaise.

Andrew Forell

Oui Ennui — Virga/Recrudescence (self-released)

Virga/Recrudescence by Oui Ennui

In the words that accompany the release of Jonn Wallen’s second album of 2021, he says that “when rationalizing yet another synthesizer purchase, I've often remarked to myself, ‘Well why wouldn't I want that color? I'll have it.’” It’s that attachment to messing around with new toys, a mass of streaks of rain appearing to hang under a cloud and evaporating before reaching the ground (“Virga”), the recurrence of an undesirable condition (“Recrudescence”), and what seems to be a whole lot of Brian Eno (“Oblique Strategies”) that informs these two extended avant-garde digressions. “Virga” is a roaring 24-minute star birth that veers into plinking helicopter rotaries without warning at one point, while “Recrudescence” covers more ground both literal (it’s 39 minutes) and figurative (woodland creatures, Space Age percolations and various rhythms sprout up throughout). Likely better experienced at high volume in a small club setting, we’ll have to settle instead for our headphones barely handling another intriguing development in the ongoing Oui Ennui experiment. How long before DFA co-founder Jonathan Galkin stops lurking in his Bandcamp buys and starts offering him a deal, I wonder?

Patrick Masterson

Payroll Giovanni \ Cardo — Another Day Another Dollar (BYLUG Entertainment)

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At some point in his career, Payroll Giovanni switched from worker to boss. His new album with the producer Cardo is another chapter in the Boss of All Bosses saga. Songs on the CD approximate the language of business manuals and the cheap sloganeering of workers union reps. Work harder, save more, invest, save again — the usual tips handed down to the unfortunate few who didn’t make it like Payroll did. By the middle of the album, you start to feel like you are at a stakeholders meeting where the CEO went for rapping instead of a PowerPoint presentation. When the rapper fails, it’s hardly the producer’s fault, so Cardo just plays up to Payroll with lazy, muzak-ish beats.

Ray Garraty

Rio da Yung Og \ Nuez — Life of a Yung Og (Southern Giants/Ghetto Boyz)

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Rio da Yung Og has been working with a lot of producers (and quite a few of them later got their fame because of it), but up until now he hasn’t released a collaboration with a single producer. His EP with Nuez came out of nowhere but it is a nice change of beats. Up to now, Rio has mostly recorded his raps with very bassy beats. Nuez provides a Southern vibe, more relaxed and less heavy on the bass, which allows to Rio shine. At this point it’s evident that Rio da Yung Og saves his best lines for his solo work (just compare this EP with simultaneously released Heatcheck EP, a collaborative work with artists of varying degrees of talent). In fact, the whole 21 minutes seem to be recorded in one single sleepless studio session with Rio freestyling his way through under the heavy influence of lean. This is Rio at his most desperate, just before his five-year bid in the federal pen. On “Whatchu Need” and “Last Call” (thanks to Nuez’s production) he sounds close to the early Scarface in a paranoid mode.

Ray Garraty

Ben Roidl-Ward and Zachary Good — arb (Carrier)

arb by Zachary Good and Ben Roidl-Ward

A decade back, bassoonist Ben Roidl-Ward and clarinetist Zachary Good were students at Oberlin College. The two friends formed a duo, The Arboretum, which performed new works. Nowadays they teach and perform separately, but share an apartment in Chicago. When the city got locked down and their gigs dried up, they revived the band, after a fashion. The six pieces on arb (named after that first project), which clocks in at just under half an hour, focus on a single musical phenomenon. Each musician plays sustained multiphonics (a technique whereby a horn player sings or hums a note while playing another) that are pitched close enough that their sounds interfere as well as blend with one another. The interactions can be dramatic; on “Guby,” the clarinet sounds like it is keying morse code into the fabric of the bassoon’s timbres. Listening to this music is a bit like staring at a heat mirage; the harder and longer you focus, the less certain you are of your own perceptions.

Bill Meyer.

Rotura — Estamos Fracasando (Self-released)

Estamos fracasando by Rotura

This new EP of melodic anarcho-punk from Barcelona is deceptively breezy stuff. Rotura’s guitars have some crunch and the rhythm section is tight — think Subhumans c. Rats meets Orange County in 1982. But the alto vocals of Silvia (no last names provided) are clean and tuneful, and there are seductive hooks galore. All the musical excitements and pleasures contrast with the intense reports of misery and struggle in the lyrics. “Pisadas (Confinament)” sounds like a COVID-period song, documenting the sound of footsteps resounding through a network of deserted streets and abandoned shops; “Sobrevivir”engages the manifold alienations and inhumanities that attend the refugee crisis in Europe’s Mediterranean nations. Upbeats subjects, those ain’t. But the music keeps your hips shaking and your head nodding. Rotura constructs lively sonic spaces in which to encounter some sharply political punk discourse. One of the EP’s best songs is “Palabras,” which sets to music a poem included in Svetlana Alexandrovna Alexievich’s The Unwomanly Face of War (1987); like much of that book, “Palabras” speaks in the voice of a female combat veteran of the Soviet Army, one who served in World War II. It’s a terrific song, from a very good punk record.

Jonathan Shaw

Sahara — The Curse (Regain Records)

The Curse by Sahara

Argentine miscreants Sahara bill themselves as a “stoner doom” band, and one wonders why anybody would willingly self-apply a label so surpassingly stupid to music they made and presumably care about. The middle-schooler-with-a-magic-marker degree of technical polish on the art for the cassette’s j-card doubles down on the crispy-fried semiotics — but sort of lovably so. This reviewer was rather charmed. If you can penetrate the choking layers of weed smoke and unironic hesherdom to press play, you may be pleasantly surprised. Sahara’s songs don’t evoke Kyuss or Acid Witch nearly so much as Blue Cheer, and that’s a really good thing. It’s power-trio, bluesy-boogie music, played by dudes who cut their teeth on Master of Reality and No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith (with just a little Physical Graffiti in the mix, for the boogie). While no wheels are being reinvented (or competently balanced, for that matter), there’s a winning rawker quality to the enterprise, kicked up a notch or three by the unambiguously great time these guys are having playing the tunes. It won’t be for everyone: it sounds like it was recorded in someone’s Dad’s garage, and the songs have titles like “Altar of Sacrifice” and “The Curse (instrumental).” But if you love the fact that they included “(instrumental)” in parens, it could be for you. Buyer beware: when listening, you may find yourself suddenly craving a sheet of brownies. The entire sheet.

Jonathan Shaw

Bernard Santacruz / Michael Zerang — Cardinal Point (Fundacja Sluchaj)

Cardinal Point by Bernard Santacruz & Michael Zerang

French bassist Bernard Santacruz and Assyrian-American percussionist Michael Zerang have encountered each other in larger ensembles on either side of the ocean since the turn of the century, but it took them until the autumn of 2019 to record a distillation of their musical concord. Beyond their shared history, they are matched in depth of experience. Both were born in the latter half of the 1950s, and each has passed through a myriad of improvisational settings on their way to developing their respective styles. Santacruz is an economical player with a beautiful, rounded tone. Zerang can supply whatever rhythm you need, but whenever freed from time-keeping requirements, he gravitates to sounds that project the movement and friction required to make them. So, while this is a record made with drums and a double bass, it’s by no means a groove-bound affair; melodic fragments confront seething ruptures, and strings and skins knot together into thickets of texture. Each man maintains his individuality while they jointly solve the problems of collaborative music-making.

Bill Meyer

Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle — ILOG2 (Zarek)

ILOG2 by Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle

These two German gentlemen lay down a bizarre yet intriguing hybrid of free jazz, hip hop and musique concrète on their sophomore effort as a duo. Schick is a serial collaborator who divides his time between turntablism and saxophone skronk. Steidle, on the other hand, is rooted in the free jazz world as a drummer. Together they conjure two distinct modes: ADHD-inspired percussion-and-noise workouts and atmospheric electronics-forward soundscapes. Between these two disparate personalities, the more aggressive one tends to dominate. It’s in this high-energy state that the duo dwells in the worlds of hip hop, jungle and free jazz. Steidle’s drumming is out in front, as he deftly throws himself around the kit with the enthusiasm of Lightning Bolt’s Brian Chippendale. Schick takes an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach to noise-making. His Bomb Squad-meets-Pierre Schaeffer method of weaving snippets of speech, instrumental passages, drones, and blasts of noise is the perfect foil for Steidle’s frenetic skin-pounding. Schick and Steidle tug at the outer limits of beat-making with their unusual blend of electro-acoustic sound, and while they let a slight touch of the ethereal temper their blaze, the sparks still fly.

Bryon Hayes

John Tejada — Year Of The Living Dead (Kompakt)

Year Of The Living Dead by John Tejada

On Year Of The Living Dead, John Tejada chases the human through machines, seeking the traces of connection and shadows of loss blurred by the conditions we continue to live through. His minimal dub-inflected techno is immaculately produced and composed rather than constructed. Suffused with warmth and emotional depth, Tejada employs a sonic palette the elasticity of which makes his music generously expansive and resonant. Melancholy chord progressions, heartbeat percussion, a bottom end in turns ominous and cocooning. The 4X4 structure provides a framework in which Tejada is free to focus on the granular aspects of tone, pitch, ebb and flow so that while on the surface his brand of microhouse may sound “all the same” there is both plenty of interest for home listeners and danceable beats for the more active. There’s no abrasion here, no confrontation, little to challenge but Tejada’s music moves along with the relentless soft power of molten molasses.

Andrew Forell

Tree — Soul Trap (self-released)

SOUL TRAP by TREE

Tremaine Johnson is one of those heads who’s been around the block. He’s gotten that MTV airtime, he’s done records with Chris Crack and Vic Spencer, he’s outlasted a car company that sponsored one of his EPs, he’s performed at Pitchfork. But maybe more than anything, the Chicago rapper and producer wants to make sure he doesn’t forget his roots as the father of “soul trap” — and you don’t, either. Following steadily on from 2020’s abbreviated The Blue Tape and nearly two years on from his last proper full-length We Grown Now, Tree has lost none of his step as he rounds 40 years aboard this tainted orb exuding the confidence of a relaxed auteur rowing through verses and songs at his own pace; his sandpaper vocals sound at ease with his beats as he addresses negotiating parenthood, bills, the creation and maintenance of his art. Though these tracks had reportedly been sitting around for years before Soul Trap’s release, listening to this album only goes to serve the greater point that the man has a style out of step and time with his contemporaries. That’s worth more than remembering; it’s worth celebrating.

Patrick Masterson

Dave Tucker / Pat Thomas / Thurston Moore / Mark Sanders — Educated Guess (577 Records)

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Hale, hearty, and steeped in the lore of a multitude of American underground art movements, Thurston Moore always seemed like a guy who was creatively rooted in his native soil. But he seems to have found solid footing since moving to England. On this record, he fits right into an improvising ensemble that is composed of Café Oto regulars. Keyboardist Pat Thomas, drummer Mark Sanders and guitarist and electronic musician Dave Tucker, who convened the quartet, are all long-standing members of London’s improvised music scene. But Moore, a punk from way back when, was probably quite tickled that Tucker played with the Fall for a brief spell in 1981. The sound they develop over the course of this set is pleasingly unbounded, with fragments of monster movie sound design and some jungle-style drum machine beats that could have been pulled from a pirate radio broadcast in 1994 sharing space with cavernous prepared piano, restless percussive exploration, and Moore sounding just like himself, but respectfully restrained when the moment demands.

Bill Meyer

Karima Walker — Waking the Dreaming Body (Keeled Scales)

Waking the Dreaming Body by Karima Walker

Karima Walker’s second album considers the full-ness of empty space. Her songs, if that’s what they are, arise out of soft, slow drones that fluctuate in a natural way, like tides or winds or aurora borealis. They incorporate natural desert sounds captured from near at hand as she locked down in Arizona, and they unfold in a sublimely gradual way as if, like the growth of plants, the movement of continents, the melting of snow, they cannot be rushed but must proceed on their own terms. She sings, a bit, in brief, dream-haunted phrases that seem as distant and unknowable as the organ tones that swell around her. “Reconstellated” best represents her eerie blend of human and electronic sounds, internal dialogue and the wide spaces of the natural world. She murmurs, “Sonoran sky plays a movie/Draw a line to the stars inside of me/Write it down, tell your friends/I know where I am but I can’t tell where I started,” against a blipping, percolating atmosphere. The title track is, by contrast, several orders folkier and more conventional, a gentle conjunction of acoustic guitar and Walker’s clear, trilling soprano, as she considers the way the ineffable intersects with the mundane. “Seems every morning starts the same way, waking the dreaming body,” she croons in this track near the end of the album, coming up into the daylight after a long nocturnal exploration.

Jennifer Kelly

Whisker — Moon Mood (Husky Pants)

Moon Mood by Whisker

Bassist Andrew Scott Young and multi-instrumentalist Ben Billington are luminaries of Chicago’s experimental jazz and electronic scenes as members of Tiger Hatchery, soloists and collaborators with a range of local groups. In Moon Mood the duo performs two lengthy improvisations for double bass and electronics. Young’s bass is to the fore, and his bow work is particularly expressive as he explores the registers of his instrument. Billington works a number of patches to interpolate all nature of blips and plinks and squelchy runs that respond to and interrogate the bass. The workouts are as much an investigation of sonic limits as a demonstration of the sympathetic interaction between natural and artificial sounds, if that is even a worthwhile dichotomy these days. Moon Mood is a fascinating conversation well worth eavesdropping on.

Andrew Forell

Wode — Burn in Many Mirrors (20 Buck Spin)

Burn In Many Mirrors by Wode

The guys in Manchester-based band Wode play black metal, but they don’t wear corpsepaint or futz around with severed goat’s heads and candelabras. That’s a good thing, because their music has bombast aplenty. Any additional theatrics might send the project over into a species of irritating kitsch. When Wode’s music works — as it does on “Lunar Madness,” the first track on the band’s latest LP, Burn in Many Mirrors — it’s muscular stuff, with terrific momentum and gut-thudding energy. Throughout the song, vocalist Michael Czerwoniuk does his usual stuff, chewing the sonic scenery, plentiful groans and gurgles punctuating all his shouting. Even in the maximalist context of black metal vocals, he’s a handful. But on “Lunar Madness,” there’s enough interest and excitement generated by the rhythms and riffs to offset his histrionics. A couple songs on the record are shaped by oft-handled forms, and rely overmuch on Czerwoniuk’s outsized presence; upon listening to “Fire in the Hills,” you may find yourself flashing on the self-parodic antics of Jim Dandy Mangrum, or on metal heroics that were already tired on records like Bark at the Moon. That’s too bad. When Wode clicks as a unit, they can make compelling sounds. “Sulphuric Glow” moves at a dead run for nearly the entirety of its five minutes, and while Czerwoniuk’s vocal stylings are still a bit much, the riffs are fluid and furious. If he could just dial stuff back to 11, folks might be able hear the rest of the band. They’re pretty good.

Jonathan Shaw

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petri808 · 5 years ago

Text

Precious Occasions

my story for @furubabigbang a Kyoru Family fic. with art by @theredwateringcan LINK TO ART

Summary: Just a few years ago, Kyo and Tohru would never have imagined the way their lives had ended up. They found each other, saved one another, and now they were happily married. Kyo could have gone on forever in this bliss, content with the gift of life that Tohru had given him, but now... She was pregnant with their first child! This should be a time in their lives filled with all of the special moments and wondrous occasions that accompany it, but all he could feel was the churning knots of anxiety.

Follow along with Kyo and Tohru through all the ‘Firsts’ of parenting. This story will feature four seasons, from pregnancy to Hajime’s first day of Kindergarten. *note some of the storyline does not follow either Fruits Basket or FB Another, in this one Arisa and Kureno have a son. 8k words

He stares wide-eyed at the imposing wall before him wondering why, just why was he even standing in this aisle? Except for the cool AC during this August heatwave, being in a bookstore was not where he wanted to be. Maybe he should have taken the store clerks offer of assistance, or ‘maybe I should just google it like everyone else does in this day and age!’ But Tohru wanted a real book of what to expect when you’re expecting. Kyo couldn’t remember if that was the title or just the type of book she wanted. He groans and clenches his fist, ‘there’s just too many to choose from!’ Oh, wait, his eyes land on a spine. ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Tch, figures.’

Last month they’d registered the pregnancy as soon as they found out. The local city hall had provided them the first set of information they needed with the Maternal and Child Health Handbook. It only covered the basics, check-ups, etc, but was necessary in order to get a birth certificate later. The book he walked out of the store with had been recommended by Arisa. She and Kureno already had one son, so aside from Hatori who also has a daughter, they gave the new mother any information that might come in handy. Luckily for Tohru, the morning sickness that had plagued her best friend hasn’t reared its head.

It was too early to tell how things would progress, Tohru being in her third month and barely showing yet. Japan was still coming down from the summer heat wave this September, but the small room air conditioner Kyo installed kept her comfortable. She was so nervous and excited about being a mother, hence the book he’d found for her among other things, but he knows she will be an amazing one. Him on the other hand, as the normally less excitable one was turning into a bit of a worrier. Tohru is on the klutzy side, there’s no way around it, so he focused mainly on her safety and that included no more working as soon as she had started to show. Maybe a bit of overkill, but the dojo was doing well financially and since they could afford it, she would stay home for now. Winter was on its way in a couple of months and the last thing he needed was for her to slip and fall somewhere on ice.

It was amazing how much her belly grew in the short span of months. By November, the bump had been barely noticeable, but now it was the first thing that caught Kyo’s attention- cute and round- like the little spark of life he knew was inside. He couldn’t help but slather her with affection every time he looked at her.

“How’s my beautiful wife feeling?” Kyo cradles Tohru in his arms and runs his hand over her growing belly. “Ready to head to the train? The taxi is here.”

“Yes,” she smiles, “just need my coat.”

“I’ll get it.” He moves around and kneels before her, placing a soft kiss on her stomach, before moving away to grab their coats and gloves.

The commuter train was partially empty during this time of the day, which was well and good. Bumping along in a packed train would be uncomfortable with Tohru’s growing belly. They were nervous and excited for the 5-month check-up, because today they would find out the baby’s sex. Not that they cared either way, boy or girl, this child was going to be loved regardless. All of the misfortunes of their own childhoods made up for in this bundle of joy.

As the train comes to a stop, Tohru pulls her coat tighter around her and adjusts her gloves, Kyo doing the same, double checking his wife’s for good measure. The snows had yet to come, but for November, the air was already growing chilly and sure enough when the doors open, a bluster of icy winds slam up against them. Kyo wraps his arm around her shoulders, guiding her out and past the awaiting travelers, to lend his additional body heat. Tohru lets her hands rest against her belly and allows her husband to lead the way. It was maybe a two-block walk from the station to their obstetrician’s clinic.

After a brief wait, the couple is led into an examination room, where Tohru is prepped for the simple ultrasound procedure. Kyo waits patiently on a seat next to her, holding her hand. He squeezes gently and kisses the back of it. “Are you ready for this?” he smiles at his wife.

“Mmhmm,” she beams back. “Are you?”

“No,” he chuckles, “but I’ll be fine.”

Ten-minutes later, the doctor begins the scan as the couple eagerly watches the monitor. The doctor points and explains images as she goes along, taking measurements, and other needed information for the chart. The fetus was an average size for the 22nd week, growing normally, with no signs of any distress. They coo over the little digits of its fingers and button nose, or how the arms and legs look so strong already. Finally, the moment arrives as the doctor zeroes in. “It’s a boy,” the woman announces. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Sohma, you have a healthy baby boy coming along just perfectly.”

Tohru looks over to her husband at the news, quickly flushed with pride at their creation. Kyo was struggling to contain his elation, but she knew better. She squeezes his hand to gain his attention. “Kyo, it’s okay, you can let it out,” Tohru smiles, knowing he was on the verge of tears. It reminded her of the day she’d learned of his true self, when he’d broken down in her arms. All those emotions of happiness overwhelming him, when he’d realized it was the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, just as this was again. They were bringing a new life into this world, and one that symbolized the very love they felt for one another.

“Thank you,” was all Kyo could manage as the tears broke free and he hugged his wife. She was doing it again. This beautiful soul always managed to take his breath away.

For as hot as August had been, December’s chill was becoming unrelenting and it wasn’t even the coldest month of the year. “Are you warm enough?” Kyo wraps his arms around Tohru as she stirs a pot on the stove, letting his hands rest over the ever-expanding curve of her stomach. “The weather is getting really chilly.”

“Mmhmm, yes,” she smiles, “the heater is holding up, though I heard the snow by the end of this month will be growing heavier.”

“It might be best not to attend the Sohma’s Christmas Eve dinner if it’s too heavy.”

“Aww! But I was looking forward to seeing everyone,” Tohru pouts.

“I know,” he kisses her cheek, “we’ll decide when it’s closer to that date.”

“O-kay.”

He chuckles at her whine. “Why don’t you go rest and warm up under the kotetsu?” Taking the spoon from her hand, “I’ll bring the dinner out.”

“Are you sure? Aren’t you tired from training all day?”

“Nah,” he flexes his biceps with a grin, then shoos her away.

As he plates the dishes and piles them onto a serving tray, Kyo hears the television turn on and the sounds of a variety show spilling out. Tohru rarely watched tv, but those shows were her favorite because they made her laugh. Christmas music, so it’s begun he chuckles. The holiday was still three weeks away but everywhere you turned companies were in full swing taking advantage of the Western tradition.

“Would you like hot tea with dinner?” He asks as he places the first set of dishes onto the table.

“That would be wonderful,” she beams back. “Is the heater sufficient for you, I could turn it up.”

“It’s perfect. I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

Before sliding the door to the kitchen closed, he looks back at his wife and sees her swaying gently to the music. It brings a smile to his face to see her so relaxed and content, but as his eyes glance over to the shifting snows outside the window, he sends out a silent prayer that the weather closer to Christmas clears. His family had a big surprise instore for her and he really didn’t want to dash her hopes of attending the Christmas Eve party. Akito had offered for them to move into one of the houses in the compound, but they’d declined for the time being. He rather enjoyed the freedom of being outside on their own, and besides, this was much closer to his dojo. Maybe one day, but not now.

“Lookie, lookie Kyo!” Tohru waves her husband over to the window. The morning of Christmas Eve was gearing up to be a gorgeous break in the weather. She presses her palms and face against the cool glass taking in the beautiful scene on their front garden. The sculpted trees that were covered in melting frost sparkled brightly against the sun’s rays, and the white snow-covered ground gave up pockets of dormant zoysia grass below. The blue sky above only held pockets of fluffy white clouds to let them know it was weather to last for a while.

It was like a child excited to get their first puppy, the way she was practically bouncing with energy. “Looks like we’re going to the party,” he chuckles. Guess his prayer worked.

That afternoon, they pile luggage and bags with gifts into a taxi and head over to the Sohma compound. Gates that were once kept shut were now open, bringing a dramatic change to the very energy the place gave off. It used to be such a cold and uninviting world that made Kyo’s hair stand on end, but now he could tolerate it. First through the outer compound, the car makes its way towards the inner sanctum where Akito and Shigure lived, and where the banquet hall, turned general party room was located. Kyo checks his watch to see it was just past 5pm; perfect timing.

Dutiful servants meet them at the door and help them with their bags. Because it was an evening party, rooms were already prepared for attending guests who lived outside of the compound to stay overnight. In their case, they had plans to stay through the New Year festivities so Tohru wouldn’t have to travel if the weather turned sour. Luggage is taken to their room, while another servant leads them to the banquet hall.

“Surprise!!!”

“Oh, my goodness!” Tohru jumps back in shock, but having anticipated her reaction, Kyo had been waiting to keep her from stumbling.

The room was filled with the entire family and their closest friends standing in a group holding balloons and spinning party favors, noise makers and other celebratory devices. It may have been a holiday party, with the room decorated with lights and a tree, but mixed in were baby shower themed décor. A large, “It’s a Boy!” banner hung on a wall above a table that held a diaper cake and gifts.

“W-What is this?” Tohru stammers. She had no idea what a baby shower even was.

“It’s the latest trend,” Kyo whispers in her ear.

“Come now, sweet Tohru,” Ayame struts closer with his head held high, “progress is advancing, and this Western tradition is growing here in Japan, which means we must take part in it!”

“He means any opportunity for a party,” Yuki chimes in, causing others to chuckle.

“Oh hush,” Ayame’s wife Mine bounces over and sticks an over-embellished, sparkling blue tiara on top of Tohru’s head. “Nothing wrong with having as many celebrations as possible.”

“Yes,” Ayame brushes up against his brother, “and when will I have the opportunity to lavish my own niece or nephew with gifts?”

Yuki flushes, but keeps his mouth shut and simply slinks away. Yes, he and Machi had been talking about it, but they didn’t need to know that yet.

Once the initial shock was wearing down, others rush up for their opportunity to congratulate the couple properly. The women surround Tohru and usher her over to the gift table, cooing over her belly, and chattering away at how lucky she was. Dinner was yet an hour away, so the room stayed abuzz over the impending pregnancy. Kyo watching from the side as he talks with the other males and leaving his wife in the hands of the women. She was glowing not just from the pregnancy hormones, but pure happiness at being with her friends again.

Typical gifts include items for the baby, clothes, toys, even a beautiful carrying sling, but others were meant to help the parents cope with the stresses once the baby was born. Tohru almost breaks down in tears at some of the gift certificates for housecleaning services and free grocery deliveries because it reminded her that with all the happy parts, there is struggle too. Her friend Arisa hugs her. “You’ll be fine, if I could do it, you can do it too.”

Tohru couldn’t help starting to feel a few pangs of despair. Tonight, was supposed to be a festive night, not a sad one. Even surrounded by people that loved her and accepted her as family, she still wished her mom and dad were still alive to see her child. She grows quiet while keeping a faux smile on her face, half listening to the conversations around her, picking at the dinner that had been served, family buffet style. Why now of all the times for this emotion to surface, was it the hormones? People told her that sometimes pregnant women’s emotions go crazy because of the hormones, happy one minute, sad the next. Maybe the holiday season wasn’t helping either.

“You okay?” Kyo leans over and whispers, “are you getting tired?”

“I’ll be okay,” Tohru smiles at her husband, “just… zoned out for...”

Kyo watches as his wife stops mid-sentence and her hand quickly moves over her stomach. Concerned, “what? Is something wrong?!”

“He kicked!” Tohru gasps. She grabs his hand and covers where she is feeling the movements. “I felt a couple of kicks!”

“Wow!” Kyos eyes light up as he feels the light movements too.

“Is this the first time?” Machi asks.

“Mmhmm,” Tohru smiles.

Those closest to the couple lean over hoping to see something, a few of the women begging to touch her stomach too. What amazing timing, Tohru reasoned in her head. Had the infant known his mom was feeling sad and decided to act in the only way he could to pull her from that mood? Such a sweet idea triggers a big blush and beaming crinkle to her eye, this child really was a gift from the gods.

The rest of the evening went well, her mood brightened once more. After dinner, everyone exchanged gifts and opened them while conversations continued. By 10pm, a few started to leave, by 11 the last guests were saying their final goodbye’s.

In their guest room, Kyo snuggles Tohru to him. “Did you enjoy seeing everyone?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, eyes closing with sleep.

“I’m glad. We’ll be here for a week, so you should spend as much time with everyone as possible.” He kisses her cheek, “goodnight Tohru.”

“I can’t… wait. Goodnight Kyo…”

By February, the snows in their area were starting to melt away. Spring was coming, and with it a reprieve from winter’s grip. Up until January, things had been easy during the pregnancy, but that changed as Tohru’s belly grew. It was all a part of the process their doctor had advised. Her body was preparing for the birth and with that, came discomfort. Her joints ached, the skin of her stomach was tight, muscle pain and fatigue, even shortness of breath. Not to mention she was constantly hungry and needing to pee.

The Braxton-Hicks contractions had started as well, a clear sign, the time would soon be arriving. She had known all about the false contractions through reading about it, but its appearance brought a new wave of anxiety. Kyo made sure to get her bag packed and ready at a moment’s notice, despite there being another month to go.

There were other amusing developments as well which to Tohru’s annoyance, Kyo couldn’t help but take advantage of.

Tohru was developing a waddle when she walked.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles as his wife pouts and stomps her foot. “It’s just adorable the way you walk!”

She didn’t care that this was just another part of the whole ordeal, or that her hips were shifting to accommodate the birth canal. She felt like one of those fat little penguins they saw at the zoo.

“But,” Kyo chuckles and hugs his wife and kisses her forehead, “a cute penguin nonetheless.”

Tohru stays stiff in his arms, mumbling, “It’s still not funny.”

“Of course, it’s not funny,” he kisses her again, “adorable. My little penguin wife.”

“Oof!” she hits his chest a few times. “So, mean!”

That only sends Kyo further into hysterics. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He kisses her hand. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

“But, I’m hungry again.”

“Why am I not surprised. What would you like to eat, I’ll bring it to the room while you get ready for bed?”

“Hmm, something warm, maybe miso soup.”

“I think we have the instant type. I’ll go make you some. Anything else?”

“Some koko?”

Kyo’s nose scrunches, “you want pickled vegetable now?”

Tohru shrugs, “I just feel like something salty.”

“Okay. You go get ready for bed and I’ll bring them in a few minutes.”

“Thank you Kyo.”

“Anything for you,” he kisses her and heads to the kitchen.

Not the weirdest craving he’s heard of women having. Miso soup and pickled vegetables was no different than a traditional breakfast. If he remembered correctly, Kureno mentioned Arisa asking for things like pickled ume plums and sardines or ice cream and dill pickles. What was with the polar opposite type requests? Kyo chuckles to himself as he prepares the soup. Sweet and salty mixtures. He’s also heard some gain cravings for ice or even dirt which is a symptom of lacking a mineral like iron in their body. Thank goodness Tohru wasn’t craving dirt, he chuckles inwardly, that would be too strange.

He finishes the dishes and takes it to their room where he finds Tohru fast asleep. Kyo shakes his head, ‘figures she’d fall asleep.’ But he wasn’t upset and instead packs the items away in the fridge for the morning.

As he lays down beside her, Kyo takes a moment to appreciate all that she was going through. Men had the easy part of this deal, women are the ones that are putting in all the blood, sweat, and tears to bring a baby into this world, and for that, Kyo had no problem doing everything he could to make things as comfortable for Tohru as possible. If she wanted something to eat in the middle of the night, he would get it for her. If she was sore and needed a good massage, he would happily turn into a masseuse. He was lucky in that his wife was healthy and so easy to care for.

He brushes away her bangs and notices a slight dampness on her brow. It seems that her temperature was a little elevated. After doing a simple check by placing the back of his hand over her forehead, Kyo realizes it’s not a fever. More likely, she’s just warmer than normal. ‘Well things aren’t normal at the moment,’ so it was completely understandable. Other than the elevated body temperature she seems fine.

‘We’re almost there.’ Kyo gently slips in under the covers, so as to not wake his wife, closes his eyes, and dreams of the new possibilities.

It was the first time in months that they were finally able to walk outside in comfort. Scatterings of snow still litter the ground, but the concrete sidewalks held no ice that Tohru might slip on. That eased Kyo’s mind when she’d asked to go walking just around the neighborhood. Being cooped up in the house for so long was boring, and it was hard to resist a pretty sunny day.

Kyo held her hand as they walked along the pathway, passing houses, and occasionally waving to neighbors. Tohru was radiant in her ninth month of pregnancy. She almost glowed against the sunlight if that was even possible. It was moments like this one that made him pause and thank the stars that she came into his life.

They were almost home when Tohru pulls Kyo to a sudden stop.

“What’s the matter?”

He follows her gaze as she looks down to see liquid trailing along her legs.

“I think my water just broke, but, there’s no pain,” she looks back up at her husband, “isn’t there supposed to be pain?”

“How should I know! C-Can you still walk?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, let’s get to the house, grab your bag, and get to the hospital.” He’s already on the phone dialing a taxi service as they walk. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.” Kyo sits Tohru down on a bench in front of the house, while he runs in to grab her travel bag.

On the way to the hospital, he text’s Arisa and Saki to let them know Tohru had gone into labor because he knew they were the two people she’d want to be around for her. He also texts Kazuma and asks him to let the rest of the family know.

“How are you doing,” Kyo holds her hand through the car ride.

“I’m…. I’m okay, just scared.”

“I’ll be with you through the whole thing, I promise. And your friends are on their way to the hospital too.”

“Thank you Kyo…” Tohru suddenly hunches over holding to her stomach, “K-Kyo I think…” and her face contorting, “the contractions j-just started.”

He can clearly see his wife grimacing through the pain. Panic sets in and all the lessons they’d learned from Lamaze class fly right out the window. What was the pattern of breathing again?! Deep breaths? “J-Just…. I-I think, okay focus on me Tohru,” he pulls her chin up a little, “inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth, and focus on something other than the pain. Me, focus on me for now and squeeze my hand if the pain is too much.”

She does her best to let Kyo guide her, just like the Lamaze instructor taught them to do. It wasn’t always easy to focus against the pain. It was like getting hit by a freight train. One moment nothing, and the next second, strong pains that came in waves. They could visibly see her stomach tightening and relaxing after a few tense minutes. As soon as they arrive at the hospital, the orderlies bring a wheelchair and admit her to the obstetrics ward. The nurses hook her up to baby and contraction monitors, fluids, and ask if she’d like anything for the pain.

“Yes,” she squeals through another bout of waves. Since the onset of the contractions, the pain had only grown stronger and deeper. Her whole body hurt, her lower back was killing her, and the pressure in her pelvis was completely uncomfortable.

Their doctor arrives just as the nurses prepare and administer an epidural. The doctor checks Tohru’s situation and informs them she is only dilated to 5 centimeters, or that she’s half-way there. The monitors show the baby’s heartbeat as strong.

“It may be a few more hours, Mrs. Sohma. We’ll be checking you periodically to see if you’ve dilated further. In the meantime, the epidural should make things a little more comfortable for you pain-wise.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Tohru ekes out a grimaced smile. She could feel the pain medication starting to take effect.

“Thank you, doctor,” Kyo add in, “is there anything else I can do to make my wife comfortable?”

“If she’s still feeling a lot of muscle ache and pressure after about 20 minutes, and is able to roll onto her side, sometimes massaging her lower back can help with the pressure she’s feeling in the area. Just be careful to work around the epidural tube. She may get thirsty, so you can give her ice chips to help with that.”

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. It took another 4 hours for Tohru to dilate to the full 10 centimeters, before they could start the second delivery stage. To pass the time, Arisa, Saki, and Kyo did their best to comfort and keep Tohru’s mind off the pain. While the epidural was taking most of the contraction edge off, Arisa knew that once the delivery stage began, they would remove the epidural to allow the body greater feeling to help in moving the baby through the birth canal.

It was agonizing for Kyo to watch his wife suffer. She looked so tired, so exhausted with the whole thing and ready to get the baby out of her. He held her hand as the doctors and nurses guided them through the delivery, telling her when to breathe, when to push. And she did. Regardless of how much it hurt, Tohru fought and pushed through it all. Kyo was positively proud of her.

And when they heard the first mewling cries from their son, Tohru and Kyo broke down in tears. Sweat beads still clung over her skin, yet through her exhaustion, she never looked more beautiful to him. Kyo takes a cool, wet towel a nurse hands him and wipes his wife down. “You did wonderful,” he kisses her softly.

“Do we get to see him?” she asks curiously, and dreamily.

Kyo looks over to where the nurses were cleaning up their son, then back to his wife, “soon.”

“Yay…” her eyes crinkle. She was extremely tired but fought to stay awake.

They move her to a fresh bed and after a few minutes, a nurse comes over with their son bundled up in a blanket. With Kyo’s help, Tohru shifts over and turns on her side. Then the nurse places Hajime in Tohru’s arms.

“Hello Hajime,” she beams at the little baby who slept peacefully, placing a little kiss on his forehead. The baby mewls, shifts, but settles again into sleep.

Little Hajime was beautiful. Kyo couldn’t help but marvel at their creation. A tiny tuft of orange hair peeked out from beneath a beanie. His little digits were curled in a fist and every so often the babe would move his lips. Kyo smiles as Tohru also doses off with the child nestled tightly in the crook of her arm. He crawls onto the bed, turning on his side to face his wife and child, then pulls the blankets up around them. It had been a long journey, but this part was now over. Let her sleep tonight, for the morning their new life will begin.

It’s been a month since Tohru and Kyo’s son was born and all the preparation they had done to get ready paid off. Their family and friends were also a true blessing, along with those gift certificates from the baby shower. While Kyo was at work, Tohru became the primary caregiver. Others like Arisa stopped by often to lend a hand as well as experience for the first-time mother since she knew just how difficult it could be. They were lucky that Hajime wasn’t a colicky child and his eating and sleeping patterns fell into a routine fairly quickly. But that still meant feedings every 2-3 hours round the clock, and after a while, the lack of sleep was taxing on Tohru. Again, family stepped in, dropping by during the daytime to give her a chance to catch up on sleep.

The air was crisp and warm on the July afternoon, sun shining but not yet reaching the stifling hot temperature late August will bring. A light breeze kept the midday heat to a minimum, creating just a perfect day for a little picnic at the park. It was within walking distance, so Tohru bundles little Hajime in a sling wrapped to her body along with a small diaper bag. Kyo holds his wife’s hand while carrying a blanket and the food in the other arm as they make the short walk.

Once they arrive, the park held a scattering of other families just like them. Children playing while parents watch from the sides. The Sohma family finds a shady spot under one of the big maples that dot the landscape and spread out their blanket. This was the first time the young family had taken Hajime outside of the house, except for doctor’s visits. Tohru passes their son to Kyo who holds him steady in his lap, as she sets out their bento containers and drinks.

Hajime was doing well holding himself up with help, and so Kyo uses his thigh’s as additional bumper supports while giving the child a bit of freedom to test his developing muscles. “Did you bring a toy for him?” Kyo asks his wife. She nods and pulls one out of her bag, handing it to the child who grasps onto the ringed toy.

She giggles, “he really likes that one.”

“I don’t know why,” Kyo grumps. It was just an orange tabby-shaped plush doll attached to a ring that can be hooked to a stroller. Shigure had said it reminded him of Kyo’s ‘old days’ and couldn’t resist buying it for their son. But aside from the teething ear part, the toy didn’t do anything else. He helps the infant bring it closer to his mouth, and Hajime promptly starts gumming on the toy’s rubber ear. Kyo can’t help but laugh but assumes this was just the onset of the child’s teething phase.

Tohru smiles and shrugs, “it keeps him busy.”

Which was a good thing. As they eat their lunch, the child focuses on his toy all content to turn the fluffy fabric into a soggy mess from his drool. Hajime wasn’t showing any pain or discomfort yet, but according to what she’s read, the beginning stages could just be a strange and new feeling that bothers the child. For the breast-feeding mother, it was exciting and scary to know his teeth would be rearing its head soon enough.

“That was a great lunch as usual Tohru,” Kyo pats his belly and smiles. He moves Hajime from his lap and places the infant on his back onto the blanket, then lies on his side next to him. Tohru stretches her legs, leaning back by supporting herself with her arms counter to Kyo like a yin and yang, to create a channel between them for Hajime. Their son may not be able to crawl yet, but he could hold his head up and was starting to turn over on his own. It was safer this way just in case he decides to pick now to move.

Kyo props his head up with his hand, while his eyes half close. Tohru promptly chides him about falling asleep. “I can’t help it,” he chuckles, “I’m so full I want to take a nap.”

Seeing his father laugh, Hajime tries to lift or turn his head to look at his father. But not satisfied with the angle, the child makes almost a grunting sound of annoyance. This makes Kyo and Tohru chuckle more. They watch as Hajime fusses, then rolls onto his side to face his father. A look of satisfaction washes over the infant as he stares at Kyo.

“See,” Tohru giggles, “Hajime is telling you not to sleep either.”

“Okay, okay,” Kyo sits back up. He picks Hajime up, holding him under the arms and letting him put weight on his legs without bearing the full burden. “You, little man are wide awake, so if daddy wants to nap, that means making you want a nap, huh?” Hajime laughs and blows a small bubble of drool at him which sets Tohru giggling again. “Oh, yeah,” Kyo teases and bounces the child up and down a couple of times gently, making Hajime giggle even more.

The back and forth between father and son continues for several more minutes while Tohru just chuckles and watches, even snapping a picture or two with her cell phone camera. It was one of the best parts of motherhood to watch the two loves of her life enjoying themselves like today, playing and having fun. It made all the stress and worries, the pain and discomfort worth going through again. Someday, when they’re ready for another…

By the ninth month mark, Tohru and Kyo had managed to find a routine that worked for them. They were also a lot more comfortable caring for their son now, with those first month jitters a thing of the past. He was a strong little baby, but not much of a babbler. Hajime was rolling over and half crawling by the 8th month ahead of the typical milestone charts. Tohru loved teasing Kyo about it, saying their son was going to be strong like him. Of course, Kyo would say he wasn’t that strong, but Tohru would politely disagree. Their doctor also assured them that just because he wasn’t making a lot of ‘talking’ sounds, in intellectual milestone tests he scored as average, explaining that some children are just quieter than others. That helped to allay Tohru’s worries.

“Besides,” her friend Arisa teased during a visit, “just wait until he’s walking, you’ll have your hands too full to worry about whether he’s a chatter box!”

Time had slipped past and the weather was growing warmer by the day as winter’s grasp eases into Spring. Tohru dabs the sweat from her brow. With all the activity going on, the dojo had heated up. Most of the room was already set up for the party, thanks to a handful of Kyo’s students helping the mother out. She was delighted that Kazuma had graciously allowed them to use the spare rec area to host Hajime’s first birthday party. Tables and zabuton cushions were placed for guests to sit and eat on. Tables for the food and gifts, along with a small receiving area set up, and all that needed finishing was the decorations. Kyo and Kazuma had left to pick up the catered food and drinks while she worked on the final touches. It would be mostly adult family or close friends in attendance, maybe a handful of children, so Tohru decided games wouldn’t be necessary.

Once, the décor is complete, she opens a sliding door that leads out to a small Zen garden area to allow the room to cool down. It was time to take a break. Tohru sits down, letting her legs hang off the raised walkway that surrounds the room, and closes her eyes for a moment, taking in the sweet smell of nearby cherry blossoms wafting by. She loved seasons, every one of the four having their own melody and rhythm to them. Spring was all about renewal and rebirth after Winter’s fading light. Summer a time of remembering to enjoy life and Fall a reflection of change. But those blossoms. The sweet, sweet scent of the cherry blossoms relaxes her like no other flower.

“We’re back!”

Tohru hears Kyo calling out to her. And just like those blossoms’ short life span, so was her break time. She chuckles and stands up, stretching her back. “Coming!” she calls in through the open doorway.

Kyo and Kazuma bring the boxes filled with catering trays and places them on the serving table, setting out each pan into the warmers. Once that’s done, Kyo kisses Tohru on the cheek. He smiles, “when is Arisa bringing Hajime?”

“Should be soon. They’ll be here before the other guests start arriving.”

“Good,” Kazuma chimes in with a chuckle, “been waiting all day to play with my grandbaby.”

“Hey, no hoarding him all day,” Kyo teases the man. “I think you’re getting too soft in your old age.”

“Old age?!” Kazuma cackles and throws a jab at Kyo, “this old man can still kick your butt!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyo grumps with a smile still plastered on his face, while Tohru laughs. He really didn’t mind, just wanted to tease. Hajime loved the man. The child’s eyes lit up whenever grandpa Kazuma was around and that always brought a smile to Kyo’s face. He remembered being the same way once he’d warmed up to the older mentor. As far as Kyo was concerned, Kazuma was his father, and the grandfather to his son.

Arisa arrives 20 minutes later with Hajime and her own son in tow, and sure enough, Kazuma sweeps the boy up before Kyo or Tohru can get to him. In fact, the only reason they knew their son had arrived, came from the sounds of loud giggles. They see Kazuma throwing the boy gently in the air and catching him to elicit all the laughter. Alright fine, Kyo teases the man from across the room, he was on babysitting duty for the rest of the party. Of course, Kazuma’s response was to grin and walk away with Hajime.

Guests began to arrive shortly after, and soon Kyo and Tohru were busy greeting everyone. Tohru sees Yuki and Machi walk in and immediately squeals. It was the one person she was excited to see today.

“Machi!” Tohru rushes over to say hi. “How are you?!” The woman was 7 months pregnant with her and Yuki’s child, and since the last time they saw her was two months ago at the baby shower, she was excited to see how far along Machi was progressing. She could only imagine after going through this herself how uncomfortable things can become in the third trimester.

Machi Sohma smiles at seeing her friend. “Hi Tohru,” she rests her hands on her stomach, “oh, doing as well as any,” she laughs.

Tohru laughs too and helps the woman to a table while Yuki follows and Kyo stays behind at the door greeting other guests that have arrived. Tohru sits next to Machi. “Have you guys picked out any names yet?” She asks Machi and Yuki.

“Mutsuki,” Machi answers, “for ‘harmonious’.”

“Ehh!” Tohru squeals, “that’s a cute name!”

“Where’s Hajime?” Yuki looks around the room. “Is he here?”

“Yes,” Tohru laughs, “Kazuma is somewhere around here with Hajime.”

For the rest of the day, the former zodiacs spend the time catching up and musing over the latest edition to their growing numbers. They eat and sing and laugh the time away. Some of the guys even start a betting pool on which of the zodiacs would be next to have kids. Hatori had been the first, then Kureno, Kyo, now Yuki. Based on age they decide it had to be between Shigure and Haru. The women focus more on Machi, asking the woman how things are going and if there was anything they could help with. It was a wonderful sight to see everyone coming together to help each other out as a family.

By the end of the party, Tohru and Kyo were exhausted. With the help of some students, they clean up the dojo then head home for the night, while Kazuma babysits a little longer to give the couple a break.

“That was fun,” Tohru snuggles to her husband with a yawn slipping through. “But I’m so tired.”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead, “then go to sleep silly.”

“Hajime is already one…” her eyes slipping closed, “time passes by so quickly….”

In just the one year they’d experienced so many firsts, from an infant that couldn’t move to a child now walking and talking. Kyo remembered the first time his son sat up on his own or crawled. His first steps, or the first times he said mum or da. You could have knocked him over with a feather with how excitedly surprised he had been. Hajime already looked like a miniature version of Kyo, but it was too early to tell what kind of personality he would develop.

“Yes, it does,” he sighs, shifting closer and closing his eyes too. ‘It really does…’ There were so many more first to come as well, from school to eventually other relationships. All he could wish for was that his son would always be happy and healthy no matter the path he chooses.

Tohru questions the kindergarten administrator. “But Hajime is only 2 and half, are you sure it’ll be okay for him to go to the kindergarten class? He’ll be younger than the other students.” This administrator woman herself was a distant Sohma relative and had come to their home by request of Akito now that Hajime had reached a certain age. The school is a private kindergarten that has been used by the Sohma family for many years.

The older woman adjusts her sitting position using the kotetsu table to balance as she shifts her legs. It was uncomfortable at her older age of 60 to sit for long on her knees and shins in the traditional style. “He won’t be an official student until he turns three, but for the Sohma’s we always make an exception. By coming for a few hours, a day, he’ll be able to integrate into the class more smoothly once he does become a student. I wouldn’t say Sohma’s are given special treatment, but because of their generosity over the years, we make exceptions to get them prepared sooner than the average child for school life.”

Tohru turns to Kyo to ask what his opinion is. He’d been quiet through the whole meeting so far, and that was unusual. She sees a look of apprehension, with his brown slightly furrowed and his arms crossed. “Kyo?”

But the man was lost in his own thoughts. He remembered this school alright, even the woman sitting in front of them, though a 20 years younger version, and while he couldn’t say the teachers were bad, the memories of that time were not the greatest. As the cat zodiac, any of the Sohma students there would shun him, which in turn meant other students hoping to gain their favor would follow suit. His years were lonely ones. Of course, that didn’t mean it would be the same for Hajime, in fact he knew logically it wouldn’t be, but that didn’t stop the memories from creeping up.

Tohru taps her husband’s shoulder this time, “Kyo? What do you think? I think it would be good for Hajime to be around other children.” The mother-side of her wasn’t thrilled with seeing her son growing up and starting school, but at the same time she was excited. For the next 6 months, Hajime would only be going from 8 in the morning until 11, and the school welcomed parents to volunteer.

“It’s fine… it is a good school…. I’m sure Hajime will do well there.”

The pause in Kyo’s words causes Tohru to stare deeper at her husband. She knows if she asks if anything is wrong, he won’t speak up with the lady there, so she’ll ask later. Then it dawns on her, Kyo may have attend the school. She knew that his experiences as a child were still a sore spot in his heart, could that be what was troubling him? Tohru places a hand on her husband’s arm and smiles when he turns to her, “Hajime will be fine.”

Kyo places his hand over hers, sighing but smiling back, “I know.” He couldn’t let his fears project onto his son. He’s come a long way since the curse had been broken thanks to Tohru and he never wanted his children to ever have to feel what he had gone through. When the boy is older, they’ll tell him about the Sohma history, but not anytime soon. Right now, he just wanted Hajime to worry about being a kid.

“And to think in another year Mutsuki will be able to join him at the school.”

That makes Kyo chuckle, to think the sons of once two sworn enemies could be friends. The children are still very young, but Hajime and Mutsuki got along since Mutsuki had been born and he hoped it stayed that way. Rin Sohma was still in the first trimester, but they recently learned that she and Haru were expecting twins. Everyone was doing well and really starting to settle down into family lives. He truly hoped their past would stay a distant memory as they all move forward.

The female Principal smiles at the couple, “When you bring Hajime, we’ll get him fitted for the uniforms and introduce him to his class.”

On Monday morning, as Tohru readies Hajime to go to the school, the anxieties creep up from nowhere that, it really was happening, her son was going to school. The days of spending her life revolved around this first-born son will soon become just a memory. Hajime had meant so much to Kyo and her. He was the product of their love, a second chance for the both of them to provide a child with a better life than either of them had ever had. To lavish him with all the love they could give.

Tears gather in her eyes, and she wipes them away before grabbing his outfit from the dresser. Don’t be sad, she chants to herself, it’s all a part of growing up. Was her mother sad when she’d gone to her first day of school? Tohru couldn’t remember something so long ago, but she was sure that her mom had been. Kyoko Honda worked many long hours, especially after her father Katsuya passed away and there were many days when she’d only see her late at night coming home from work. They never had much, but that woman always gave her as much love and affection as she could.

Memories of all the hugs and laughter bring a smile back to Tohru’s face. ‘I hope I’m making you proud mom.’ She was sure her mom was smiling down on her. How could she not be a good mom to her son, she’d had a great teacher.

With Hajime ready and bundled in his jacket, Kyo takes the child’s hand and Tohru the boy’s other hand as they set out from the home. Kyo took the day off because he didn’t want to miss this big moment. It was his son’s first day of school, and he wanted to make sure his son would be okay. Hajime knew where they were going. Frankly, the child seemed excited to be going once they’d mentioned other children. He was a smart, curious child, so the idea of learning new things intrigued him.

The weather was mild for the early Fall season, growing chilly, but the snows were still another month away. It was a beautiful time of the year and one that Tohru delighted in seeing with the color changing leaves. Because it was early enough, most of the leaves had not fallen and were still on the trees. Fiery reds and oranges, dark browns, and bright yellows in a kaleidoscope of color.

It was a short walk from their home to the school, just a handful of blocks away. Cutting through a park would shorten the time, so they chose the scenic route. It was early, so the park didn’t have many people around, except for other commuters like them. As they walk along a path through on their way to the school, they swing the giggling child between them. They’d prepared him as best they could explaining what school was, and that this was the first-time mommy or daddy, or a family member wouldn’t be around for a few hours. At first Hajime was confused, but once they got him to focus on playing with the other kids, it perked him right up.

“Are you excited Hajime?” Kyo asks his son.

“Yeah!” he giggles. “Meet kids today!”

Tohru chuckles, “Yes, meet lots of kids today. Remember, mommy will pick you up after school, so listen to the teachers, and play nicely with the other kids.”

“Mutsu there?” the child questions.

“No, honey, Mutsuki is still too young, but next year he will be at the same school with you.”

“Yay!” Hajime pulls down on their hands again, signaling his for them to swing him more.

Kyo laughs, and he and Tohru oblige. Based on how happy the child seemed, he was starting to think that this new arrangement would be tougher on them than it was for Hajime. He glances over to his wife, who returns it with a knowing look. They’ll get through this just fine, and of course, they could always have another…

#fruits basket #furuba big bang #kyoru #kyoru family fic #Kyo sohma #Tohru honda #Hajime sohma #kyoru fanfiction #kyoru fan art

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blackpinkofficial · 6 years ago

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On a modest stage inside a tent in downtown Los Angeles, the four members of the South Korean girl group Blackpink assume a diamond formation and aim their fingers like guns at the audience as they launch into the chorus of their breakout hit, “Ddu-du Ddu-du”: “Wait till I do what I ... Hit you with that ddu-du ddu-du du!”

It’s the afternoon before the Grammys at Universal Music Group chairman/CEO Lucian Grainge’s annual showcase, where he presents the company’s prospective superstars to a crowd of record executives and industry types. (Past performers have included Ariana Grande, Halsey and Shawn Mendes.) With their intense choreography, dance-heavy beats and Clueless-esque high-fashion looks, the four women offer the kind of bells-and-whistles pop production that makes them an anomaly not just on today’s lineup, where rappers like 2 Chainz and Lil Baby abound, but also on the charts, where women like Grande serve up their divadom with an extra dose of realness.

The showcase marks Blackpink’s first stateside performance, though the band made history long before: “Ddu-du Ddu-du” became the highest-charting single by a Korean girl group on the Billboard Hot 100 when it peaked at No. 55 last June, and this April the act will be the first Korean girl group to play Coachella, before embarking on a North American arena tour. “Ddu-du Ddu-du,” sung mostly in Korean, is a boastful warning to those who underestimate Blackpink, with a hook (meant to imitate the sound of bullets flying) that’s also a canny invitation to non-Korean listeners -- anyone can sing the words. The buttoned-up UMG crowd seems a little unsure, but also intrigued: Just as Blackpink’s Jennie -- soft-spoken in person, but onstage a fierce singer and rapper -- slides into a rat-tat-tat flow in the second verse, more and more audience members whip out their phones to capture video.

There’s no longer any question that K-pop is happening in America. BTS, the seven-member South Korean boy band, scored two No. 1 albums on the Billboard 200 in 2018 and became the first K-pop group to sell out an American stadium when it played New York’s Citi Field in October. Yet despite the group’s visibility here, K-pop remains somewhat detached from the mainstream: It receives relatively little top 40 airplay despite fan-army pressure on radio stations, its artists rarely tour with non-K-pop acts, and outside of its intensely passionate fan groups, K-pop stars hardly drive the wider “conversation” that someone like Grande can dominate with a single tweet.

Blackpink represents Korean music’s latest, greatest hope at breaking out of the American K-pop box. The group believes its multinational identity gives it global appeal: Sweet-voiced Jisoo, 24, is a South Korean native; buoyant rapper Lisa, 21, is from Thailand; guitar-playing Rosé, 22, grew up in Australia; and Jennie, 23, was born in South Korea but spent some formative years in New Zealand. “You don’t have to understand Korean to understand the music, the visuals, the vibe,” says Jisoo, through a translator. (Rosé and Jennie are fluent in English; Lisa alternates between English and Korean during our interview.) “We’ve got so much Korean culture and so much Western culture in us,” adds Rosé, her Australian accent still pronounced.

And though occasional English lyrics already pepper their tracks, Jennie notes that recording all-English songs is something they “definitely want to do” in the future. (They’re focused on making their debut album first.) Even their sound -- an omnivorous fusion of fist-pumping EDM and booming hip-hop beats with flashes of house, ’80s pop and harmonica-driven folk -- seems conceived for the widest possible audience. “I was immediately drawn to their fierce and empowering energy,” says Dua Lipa, who asked the group to guest on last year’s bilingual banger “Kiss and Make Up.” “They are not just giving you hit songs -- they are sending a message that resonates beyond the lyrics.”

Last fall, Blackpink signed to Interscope Records, which will serve as both a creative and business partner to YG Entertainment, the group’s Korean home and one of South Korea’s three main music companies along with SM Entertainment and JYP Entertainment. These companies serve as label, management firm and production studio, controlling almost every aspect of their artists’ careers. Interscope chairman/CEO John Janick says that YG’s leadership -- Hyunsuk “YG” Yang, its founder, and Teddy Park, Blackpink’s main producer and creative director -- “runs the show,” but the relationship is collaborative: Sam Riback, Interscope’s pop-rock A&R head, has made multiple trips to YG’s Seoul headquarters and “has been sending them lots of different ideas,” according to Janick. “Our goal,” he says, “is to amplify what YG has been doing globally.”

If Interscope can help turn Blackpink into a truly global superstar act, the partnership could become a model for other labels looking to invest in K-pop and even pave the way for joint imprints. “This deal could be a benchmark,” says YG’s Joojong “JJ” Joe, who heads the company’s U.S. operations from a small house near Los Angeles’ Echo Park. It will also confirm Interscope’s foresight about K-pop. In 2011, the label signed the group Girls’ Generation during one of the earlier waves of K-pop imports, when artists like BoA and Wonder Girls worked with Western producers and companies.

At the time, those artists barely made a dent on the mainstream charts, and their backers took a hit: Despite high-profile promotional appearances, Girls’ Generation’sThe Boys LP sold only 1,000 copies in the United States during its first week in 2012, according to Nielsen Music. Since then, however, streaming platforms have made it easier for fans to discover and support Korean music, while the growth of social media has also allowed them to forge deep connections with artists everywhere. “In this era, people find their music and their talented artists on the internet,” says Susan Rosenbluth, senior vp at AEG Presents/Goldenvoice, who helped book Blackpink’s North American tour and notes that K-pop’s stateside audience “does not follow along ethnic lines.”

To Janick, the success of Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee’s chart-topping Latin hit, “Despacito,” aided by a Justin Bieber remix, made English-speaking listeners more open-minded in general to music in other languages. “We’re going to have hits from all different territories -- more of them, and more often than we’ve seen in the past,” he says.

But the onus isn’t just on listeners to embrace Korean music -- it’s on industry gatekeepers too. At the UMG showcase, the reaction to Blackpink is enthusiastic, but it feels muted compared with the rousing ovation the crowd gives classic-rock revivalists Greta Van Fleet, whose 2018 debut album was notoriously panned by some critics as derivative. The response to Blackpink’s Interscope deal, however, suggests that attitude could change.

“So many artists on our roster started calling, saying, ‘I want to work with these girls.’ Radio stations were asking when new music was going to be out,” says Interscope executive vp business development Jeremy Erlich, who facilitated early conversations between the label and YG (he and Joe attended business school together). “The industry’s ready. When the music comes out, I don’t think there’s going to be many people saying, ‘This is just a fad.’”

The day before the showcase, the ladies of Blackpink are ensconced in a hotel suite high above downtown L.A. Lisa, dressed in a gray fleece and a checkered coat, spies the Hollywood sign through a corner window and bounds off a couch for a closer look. Her bandmates, cozied up in brightly colored sweatshirts and cardigans, admit they weren’t expecting Los Angeles in February to be so chilly. During some rare downtime the previous day, they went shopping in Santa Monica. “It was supposed to be for fashion,” says Jennie, “but we ended up just grabbing anything that was warm.”

This is Blackpink’s first trip to L.A., but it has been almost a decade in the making. The group’s members came to Seoul from all over the world starting in 2010 to take part in YG’s rigorous recruitment and training process. The company and its competitors hold tryouts both within and far beyond Korea (Rosé traveled to Sydney from her home in Melbourne), seeking recruits who are typically preteens or teens, ethnically Korean and fluent in the language, though these qualities are not mandatory. Lisa, who auditioned in her native Thailand in 2010, didn’t speak any Korean when she began training in Seoul in 2011.

For all four women, joining YG meant enrolling in a kind of full-time pop-star academy that Jennie calls “more strict than school” and that Rosé likens to The X Factor with dorm rooms. For 12 hours a day, seven days a week, the future members of Blackpink -- along with, by Jennie’s estimate, 10-20 other aspiring singers who cycled through the project -- studied singing, dancing and rapping, taking part in monthly tests designed to identify their strengths and weed out subpar trainees. “Somebody would come in with a piece of paper and stick it on a wall, and it would say who did best, who did worst, who’s going home,” recalls Jennie, whom YG initially steered toward rapping because she spoke fluent English. “You get a score -- A, B, C,” Lisa explains. “Lisa would always get A’s for everything,” adds Jennie with a laugh.

The process was lengthy. Before Blackpink debuted in 2016, Jennie spent six years in training, Lisa and Jisoo five and Rosé four. For the members who had left behind life outside South Korea, the pace of training on top of the culture shock was sometimes tough. “I’d call my parents crying,” recalls Rosé. “But as much as it was hard for me to cope with all of that, it made me more hungry. I remember my mom would be like, ‘If it’s so hard for you, just come back home.’ But I’d be like” -- she mimics a surly teen’s glare, much to the others’ amusement -- “‘That’s not what I’m talking about!’” Lisa credits her future bandmates with easing her transition. “Jennie would speak English to me, and Jisoo helped me out with my Korean,” she says. Rosé was the last of the bunch to enter training, but she remembers the four of them bonding during an all-night jam session when she arrived. “We just clicked,” she says.

That’s clearly still the case: Rosé sometimes puts her hand on Lisa’s knee when translating for her, and at one point Jennie and Jisoo huddle close together to silently adjust one of their necklaces, displaying the intimacy of close friends. “We don’t really have a day off,” says Lisa. (Once every two weeks, Rosé clarifies.) And because their families are so far-flung, they often spend their time off with each other anyway. “We’re stuck together,” says Rosé, laughing.

While K-pop companies have a reputation for packaging groups assembly line-style, Blackpink’s members insist they have plenty of creative input, despite having no official writing credits on their tracks. Park plays them music he’s working on and “really tries to put our thoughts into our songs,” says Jennie. “He really gets his inspirations from us.”

“It’s important as recording artists that they actually truly own their songs,” says Park. The women all make suggestions about who should sing what, and if a part doesn’t feel right to someone, he will make adjustments. “He doesn’t just bring us a song, like, ‘Go practice,’” says Rosé.

Besides, the members of Blackpink have another creative outlet: Last fall, YG announced that they would all release solo material, starting with Jennie, whose debut single, “Solo,” topped Billboard’s World Digital Song Sales chart in December. Though the music is still created and put out by YG, the idea that group longevity and solo success aren’t mutually exclusive is a radical development in girl-group history -- one that Janick says only “makes the brand stronger.”

Stars who come through companies like YG are called “idols” in Korea and have historically been expected to maintain a squeaky-clean image. When Blackpink debuted, Jennie says YG was very selective about its promotional appearances: “We were trained to be a little more...” “Closed in?” Rosé suggests.

“Closed in” is exactly what the outspoken women ruling the U.S. charts now, from Grande to Halsey, are not -- they make deeply personal, even raw, music. But while Blackpink may well find success catering to an audience craving its kind of TRL-era pop spectacle -- Interscope’s Erlich calls the group “the modern Spice Girls” -- lately the band has been less concerned with appearing perfect, both onstage and off. “We always wanted to be out there, to be more true to ourselves and a little more free,” says Jennie. “Even we can get things wrong sometimes. We want to just show them the real us.”

Jennie and Lisa do just that when I ask how they expect to be received as rappers in America. Lisa lets out an embarrassed groan, withdrawing into her fleece. She has loved hip-hop since childhood and is obsessed with Tyga (“I love his swag,” she says, blushing). But she and Jennie seem well aware that a group of Asian women adopting a style pioneered by black American artists might be a hard sell for some stateside listeners who are keenly attuned to debates about cultural appropriation.

“Me and Lisa don’t talk about it out loud, but I know we have this big pressure,” says Jennie, who adds that she studied artists like Lauryn Hill and TLC when she first started rapping. She looks across the room at Lisa: “She’s going to kill it.” Lisa just scrunches up her face.

That kind of vulnerability may be what ultimately endears Blackpink to an American pop audience. “The artists that are the most successful in these situations are really authentic with how they can relate to a coming-of-age experience” in their music, says Goldenvoice’s Rosenbluth. “There’s a certain amount of authenticity to Blackpink that I really love. The dedication is heartfelt.”

Back at the showcase, the band finishes its set with the reggaetón-tinged “Forever Young,” featuring an intricately choreographed, hair-flipping dance break. As the beat reaches its booming climax, the bandmembers whip toward each other and strike a statuesque pose with their hands on their hips, just in time for the music to stop. They hold still for a moment as the lights dim, then drop their arms and turn toward each other, catching their breath and grinning like four young women who can’t quite believe they’re here.

#blackpink #ot4 #m:billboard #press #090103

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maiakana · 6 years ago

Text

Accent - Lee Felix

Stray Kids

masterlist

Key: fluff, humor, honestly some ranting haha

Characters: reader x felix

Count: 3.1k words

Part: 1 2 3

Description: who knew a late night run to the grocery store also meant running into a boy with a peculiar voice, literally.

Note: this was my first chapter of a fic I wanted to write but I kinda liked it as a one shot so here we go! I’m still learning so bare with the writing and mistakes! most likely will make a part 2 or 3 but no promises segrtergsefb

GIF Originally Posted by @felixeslee

You tugged your scarf closer to your face as you walked down the streets of Seoul. You were creating a mental map in your head of the area surrounding you.

Although you've been living in Seoul for 3 years already, you haven't quite gotten the hang of going around. Having almost no other connections in the country has also been making it more difficult.

The words were ringing in your ears, the lingering chill that spiked down your spine, as if they were just spoken.

"Y/N I forbid you, I swear you better come back here before you regret it."

Old news you didn’t need to think about, baggage you were still letting go.

It was later in the night, most residents and tourists have retreated into their homes and hotels by now.

However, a good handful of people were still milling about, friends hanging out, adults having late night drinks, or late night shopping. Specifically grocery shopping, which was where you fell in the categories.

The streets were illuminated by golden glows and neon colored signs, advertising hole-in-the-wall restaurants and tourist attractions. Instead, what caught your eye was everyone's fan favorite: the 24 hour convenience store, it indeed deserved that name.

A breeze from outside rushed behind you as you entered the store, your brown hair flew around your face, along with your scarf. You grabbed a basket with one hand as the other is busy trying to tame your airborne hair.

You started down the aisles, picking out the cheapest food items and ingredients you could find. The life of a student.

There was no one else in the store but the cashier, an old man who was busy watching the small TV monitor on the wall and counting money at the register, most likely his earnings from earlier in the day.

You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a long time, living in a small dorm by yourself didn’t really prompt a lot of needs that needed to be replenished often. Not to mention your lack of eating, sometimes remembering mealtimes was easier said than done.

You filled your basket with the last few snacks that your hands could grabbed before striding towards the register. You politely greeted the cashier, reaching into the pocket of your long coat and pulling out a few coupons and cash, ready to hand them over.

While the old man scanned your items, you noticed all the posters and pictures plastered all over the wall behind him.

Idol groups: boys and girls alike, all very beautiful, a little unreal you might add. Many of them were group photo shoots but some had members individual headshots.

You recognized many groups displayed, from the big-shots like BTS, EXO, and Twice. To upcoming phenomenons like NCT's 18 member super group, just to name a few.

A sad smile curved on your lips, you had a push and pull relationship with idol groups, never quite cemented your opinions on them.

You've never had a issues with the idols themselves, in fact you used to be a huge fan, following so many groups, listening to their music, and even learning their fanchants, the whole shabang. That was the pull towards the appeal. Idols used to be your role models for as long as you could remember.

Repeat that: used to be.

The industry that produced Idols was what killed your appeal. That's the push. When you were younger you had no idea what it took to be in the limelight of the idol industry, of the trainee life.

But who could you blame, a majority of the world never knows that it takes to be successful, you were no different.

Over time, the idea of boys and girls your age being subjected to their looks and physical appearance, whether their voices were deemed alright, and collapsing from over exerting their bodies dancing. It was all too much for you, even as someone on the side lines.

Don't even get yourself started on the negatives of the fans and fandoms. However, the only light to shed on this was that at least Kpop isn’t the only industry that had extremes among those that enjoy it. Western music fans that were toxic over there, were just as extreme too.

You knew that most fans were regular people and just enjoy the music and the bands but sometimes the polarizing few become too much. Maybe it's human nature to have bad apples everywhere.

One incident you remembered a few years ago was the Shinee’s Taemin and APink’s Eaeun situation. A perfect example of the viciousness of fans and their hate and outbursts whenever they saw their idols do something they don't like.

They'd stalk, harass, and belittle anyone that was even in a 10 ft vicinity of the star. Following them around saying disgusting insults, hammering the nails even further. You don't think you’ve ever seen two people in such distress before.

It was such a shame really, for all we know Shinee's makane may have really loved her like he said on the show.

Now years later, the two are left to only avoid each other on stages and music shows when their groups cross paths. Minimizing contact at all cost to protect Eaeun from further harassment for just being around him.

And that wasn't even a scandal, some fans just couldn't stand their oppa being potentially happy with another person.

to be honest that whole section was me being emo after I watched so many videos about it and for all i know none of it was true or real or it was real and they were hurt because of it, either way i don’t feel like deleting it so sorry to anyone annoyed by it lmao

Although idols weren’t on your radar anymore, you would always know of them, it's inevitable. You were living in the time where they were growing the most international.

Music has always been a love of yours and that's all you’ve been focusing on ever since you came to Seoul. That's probably the last connection you had to idols, your love for music, your love for what you do.

The old man finished ringing you up, bagging all of your groceries and handing you the receipt.

"Hold on dear," the elder said, as he crouched down and shuffled with something under the desk.

Restlessly, you tapped your fingers against the counter. Looking around at all the idol merchandise, your eyes were drawn on to the TV monitor.

"N E X T W E E K O N M N E T!"

On the TV screen, many different clips of a few boys wearing dark clothes in a dance studio flashed by. There was a voice over, by an older man, explaining the tasks the trainees had to overcome. It was an idol survival show.

In some flashes they were sitting in a half circle talking intensely, in others they were dancing to choreography as one person sat out giving thorough feedback. However, the last clip showed a lot of the boys individually, either writing lyrics or practicing the lines.

You had barely caught the large strikingly red S and K at the end of the clip before the old man bounced up from searching below, stealing your attention again.

"Aha I found it!"

He brought out a small booklet, as if it was a manual you’d get along with a new speaker you'd buy. A manual it was not. You looked at the cover featuring a subtle sky blue with the Hangul lettering in white.

SCOUTING: COMPANY AUDITION & EMPLOYMENT INFORMATION

"You, young lady, look like these idol kids that are hung up on this wall," he gestured behind him while placing the small book into one of the bags. "We're given these little things all the time by a handful of companies to 'scout for rough potential.’ We only give them out during the day but since you're here so late I figured why not give you one eh?"

You stared oddly at the bags full of your food and now with a book that's basically a catalog of idol company hotlines. Looking back and forth between the wall of posters and the old man's kind smile you felt your cheeks blush at the gesture as you hesitantly smiled back.

"Uhh . . . thank you sir you are very generous," you stiffly bow, thanking him for the bags, still slightly baffled by the idol comment.

Ironic. You still remembered being told the same thing once, but that it’d be the only thing you’d be known for.

How superficial.

To save yourself from further embarrassment you briskly headed for the door. The chilly fall air brushed against your cheek, the bags in your hands slightly swaying due to the quick pace. Walking only a few feet away from the convenience store, you looked down at the bags thinking about what the man said.

Yeah right, become an idol your ass.

Before you could look up you felt your right shoulder collide into another figure, earning a loud yelp from the both of you. You dropped your bags as you stumbled slightly losing your balance while the other person, who you realized was a guy, stumbled on his step too.

The guy reached his hands out and gripped your arms on both sides steadying you. Because of the small tug from his motion, you had accidentally taken a step towards him, slightly closing the space between you guys.

"Are you alright?" a deep voice asked, filled with concern. Shocked, our eyes flickered to meet his. English?

He had ebony brown hair parted on the left side of his face. It was a tad longer than most of the men’s hair you see around but the way it flowed just to his eyebrows perfectly framed his sharp pale face.

He was decked in all black clothing, sneakers and all. He was only maybe 3 or 4 inches taller than you yet his dark hoodie and jeans seemed to make his figure tower over you. His jaw was angular, skin a little paler than yours and lightly dusted across his nose and cheeks were freckles.

bahaha apparently he is 5' 7 rn its okay tho because i’m hella short

"Yeah I am," you mumbled back, stunned by his dark eyes staring down at you.

He grinned at you showing of a white smile. He gently let go of your arms and crouched down to pick up the fallen bags. "I think we're both going to run into something worse than each other someday if we don't pay attention to where we're going."

You quirked up an eyebrow. "You speak English?"

"I don’t know, does it sound like I'm speaking Spanish?" he chuckled at his own joke.

His voice was like the ocean itself. A deep flowing tone, miles under sea level, it was a complete contrast from the pretty face it was coming from.

Your ears seemed to ring listening to his voice. An accent of some sort? It wasn't an American accent like your own, nor was it European, it was distinct. You couldn't really put a finger on it.

"Don't take offense to this but are you a foreigner too?" you questioned.

"Hmm I wonder what gave it away," he flashed you an amused look, carefully handing over the bags full of your groceries. "But yes I am, you?"

"I guess we're both in the foreigners club here," you said looking up at him. "I'm from the States."

"Ahh so I got an American on my hands."

You furrowed your eyebrows at him half amused and half curious.

"And what's that supposed to mean huh?" you shot back. He laughed at your counter, the happy sound echoing through the street.

"I knew you couldn't have been another Aussie," he shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head a bit, as if thinking about how he wants to form his next comment. "Your accent made that clear, love."

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, him following suit. So he's Korean Australian, that's new.

You thought it was only the British that said love.

An electronic ding rings out of the boy's jacket. Quickly pulling his hands out of his pocket with a phone in grip, he opened up the device to view a message he just received.

Sighing, he typed a quick reply to the other person on the other end. You noticed the slight bags under his eyes as his faces was illuminated from the phone. His posture was relaxed but slightly rigid in some movements.

He was clearly exhausted.

When he looked back at you, you took a step back putting some distance between each other, bending down and respectfully bowed to him, greeting him in Korean.

He bowed and greeted you back.

"I'm sorry for bumping into you, I didn't realize it was possible to bump into someone in plain sight," he said, shyly scratching the back of his neck.

You waved him off. "It's okay, I should've been watching where I was going but thank you for helping me."

"It's the least I can do after I sent you spiraling," he replied. He flinched as a few more buzzes went of from his phone, clearly whoever was texting him wasn't willing to wait much longer.

Time to go.

"Looks like my fellow foreigner has to go," You said, tilting your head to the side. "Seems urgent."

"Just my hyungs," he sighed, rubbing his eyes a little. "It was my turn to get snacks for home. Didn't realize I was on a time frame though."

"Lose a bet?"

"Something like that," he said. He held a hand out with the same grin on his face from before. "Well Miss America it was nice bumping into you."

You reached out to shake his hand.

His big hand I'm sorry I snorted writing this haha was warm, delicately holding onto your smaller one, they seemed to tingle at the touch. "I could say the same thing too, Aussie."

You let go of each other hands and exchange a small bow again. The brown haired boy started a step towards the convenience store until he paused and turned back to look at you. He seemed to be debating if it was worth to ask you something.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" He asked.

"Haven't even known each other for an hour," you jokingly raised an eyebrow at him. "Straight forward I see."

He laughed while taking off his beanie, running his fingers through his hair a little. He played the edges of his sweatshirt looking a way a bit, fidgeting.

"Well if you aren't doing anything tomorrow night you should come to Sinchon. I heard there's a lot of busking in the streets since it'll be Friday," he rushed.

"And you want me to come watch with you?" you pressed back. It was an interesting hang out choice for sure, but he's sparked your curiosity. You wanted to mess with him a little longer. "How will I find you? Doesn't seem safe to just give my phone number to a stranger I met on the street. I mean come on we haven't even exchanged names."

His face perked up. Clearly surprised that you were playing along with him. "It's Felix, Lee Felix. And what does my favorite foreigner call themselves?

"Ha ha ha you think you're so witty don't you? I'm Min y/n."

His eyes glistened under the city lights, you felt your heart pound faster at the way his face changed into content after learning your name. "So what do you say miss y/n? Care to join a night of fun with your favorite foreigner?"

"Hmm, maybe you'll see me there," you joked sarcastically. "How am I supposed to turn down the offer of a lifetime?"

You weren’t lying to be honest, even though the idea of watching some buskers was interesting, you weren’t completely sure if you could go. You had a long schedule for tomorrow but you didn't have the heart to ruin his excitement.

Felix's hand shot down back into his pocket to fish out his phone again before handing it to you looking away quickly, avoiding your eyes.

"Maybe you'll feel better if we had a way to let each other know when we'll be there," he mumbled, his cheeks tinting a bit pink.

"Is that how you're going to ask for my number?"

"If it's working then yes."

Laughing at his honestly you gingerly took the phone out of his hands and put in your number. His fingers lightly brushed against your own causing tingles to travel up your hands.

Ignoring the flutters in your stomach, you frantically typed in your info, becoming very embarrassed every time you made a typo. Feeling a heavy gaze watching you, you had barely missed the small comment that slipped out of his lips.

"Cute," he muttered under his breath.

You felt like digging yourself in a hole while you waited for him to put in his own number on your phone, openly spamming in some middle school emoji choices for the heck of it.

His cheeks raised up as a smile lit up on his face. "Can't wait to see you there!" You nodded happily at him trying to calm the nerves that were spreading through your body.

What kind of trouble were you getting yourself into?

You urged him to finally head towards the store, it was like you could hear more message alerts already coming of his phone from a mile away. Waving goodbye as we walked away from each other, you couldn't help but feel the excitement building up already inside. You haven't had a light hearted conversation like this in a long time.

You closed your eyes seeing the painted image of his dark eyes looking down at you, hearing his deep voice that hilariously did not match his face.

His voice.

You whipped around from where you were, only a few feet further from the store and where you just spoke. You spotted the same boy right in front of the store, just about to push the door in.

"Hey Aussie!"

Your shout echoed through the empty dark street. The sky was clear and the moon was out, a perfect chilly day in November.

He turned to your direction surprised at your call. Doing the same head tilt like before, he was about to reply until you beat him to it.

"I like your accent."

His eyes twinkled a bit as he smirked back, amused.

"I like yours too."

#stray kids #felix #lee felix #stray kids felix #fluff #kpop #humor #sorry for the rant #bad grammar #junior year sucks #one shot #idol #kpop idol

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britishchick09 · 2 years ago

Text

The Phantom of The Theater: A Wadlow Sibling Fic (part 1/2)

it’s spooky season... and phantom season! in honor of me seeing 1925 poto today, the sib saw it too! this fic was written in three days (october 27th to the 30th) and it’s made me even more excited to see the movie just as they did! :D

senpai and the sibs are seeing a movie... and they choose poto! but is it the right choice... or the spookiest?

Robert Wadlow felt as chilly as the autumn air outside. Tomorrow, he and his family would move from their familiar home on Brown Street to a new one on Sanford Avenue. Except for a few things, everything was packed up in boxes. Robert had taken out a Richard Hailburton novel to read, but even his exciting expeditions couldn’t seem to get Robert out of his gloom.

“You and the kids should do something fun once they come home from school,” Addie said. “See what movies are showing.”

Robert smiled. “That’s a great idea, Mother. We all deserve some happiness today.” “That’s why I’ll be going to the beauty parlor,” Addie ran a hand through her hair. “After all this packing, I certainly need that happiness!”

After Addie left, Robert got up from his oversized chair and picked up the newspaper from the coffee table. He was flipping through it when the siblings arrived home from school. Eugene flopped onto the sofa. “Boy, am I beat! Math isn’t the best way to end the day.”

“Big Brother!” Harold Jr. exclaimed as he ran up to Robert. “I made a drawing in class!”

Robert smiled. It was of the brothers next to a tall tree. Yet Robert was a bit taller!

“I didn’t know his hands were that big!” Betty remarked. “Almost as big as my English assignment. It’s a hundred points!” “I know you’ll do great at it,” Robert said with a smile. “But let’s not think about school for now.” “Let’s think about moving,” Helen sighed while sinking onto the arm of the couch. “I’d rather play viola for a million hours than leave Brown Street.”

“And let’s not think about moving.”

“Then what are we supposed to think about? A nice long nap?” “No… A nice long movie. Mother suggested that we should see one. She’s at the beauty parlor for her own relaxing time.”

Betty sat on the floor with Harold Jr. as an idea came to her. “We should see Heidi! That’s the new Shirley Temple movie.” “Shirley Temple,” Eugene muttered with a scoff. “Aren’t you too old for those pictures?” “Hey, thirteen is not too old for feel good movies.”

“We should see Double Wedding,” Helen said. “It’s a new William Powell comedy.”

Eugene smirked as he said, “You just want to see your crush on screen, don’t you?”

Helen gave her brother a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hey! I do not have a crush on him! He’s just a bit handsome, that’s all. Do you have any movie ideas?” “How about… Law for Tombstone?”

Helen rolled her eyes. “Great, a western. That’s my favorite movie genre.”

“Robert will go with me while you girls go see a drippy wedding movie,” Eugene said before asking Robert, “Right?” “I don’t know…” Robert said, his voice trailing off as he read the newspaper’s front page.

“I thought you loved westerns. You and Harold Swinney would see them on Saturdays when we were kids.” “Yeah, when they were kids. That was nearly a decade ago,” Helen reminded Eugene. “Movie tastes can change. Can’t they, Robert?” Robert didn’t respond. His eyes were still on the paper.

“Robert?” Again, no response.

“Robert…”

Betty hopped up and snapped her fingers in Robert’s face. He blinked, looking at the siblings with sadness in his eyes.

“What happened?” Harold Jr. asked. “There was a fire at Temple.” Robert whispered.

The siblings gasped.

Betty was too stunned to sit down. “No way, really?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Robert nodded. He showed her the article.

“It says the theater was damaged early in the morning.” Betty read.

“This is horrible,” Helen said forlornly. “That’s the best theater in Alton.”

“Especially since it was the only one where you’d be able to fit!” Eugene told Robert.

The Wadlows would visit Temple Theater four times a year thanks to free passes from the owner. Robert sat in the front of the theater… and took up five seats! He’d sit in one and his limbs would occupy the seats next to and in front of him. It was quite a comfortable experience.

And now that experience seemed to be gone.

“It says the theater is still open, though!” Betty said cheerfully as she handed the paper back to Robert.

“But it says that the lobby was affected,” Robert said. “Maybe it’s best if we try out another theater.”

Grand, Uptown, Gem, Ritz, Princess and Norside were the other movie theaters in Alton. Norside had opened four months earlier. Their big advertisement on page eleven of the newspaper proclaimed that they were playing The Garden of Allah. The other movie theaters also had ads, albeit smaller than Norside’s.

“There’s Temple!” Betty said. “They’re playing something called Down the Stretch. Ooh, and The Princess is playing Wee Willie Winkie this weekend! That’s a Shirley Temple movie.”

“Uptown is showing Love in a Bungalow,” Helen said. “That sounds nice!”

“Ritz has The Road Back,” Eugene smiled. “A war film!”

Helen frowned as she asked. “Why would we want to watch something like that? War isn’t very fun.”

“Well, maybe there are some fun moments in there. Besides, it’s historical.”

Helen rolled her eyes at The Great War being called historical.

“Look down here!” Robert exclaimed. “There’s something playing tonight only at the Princess. The Phantom of the Opera.”

A chill went through the air. No one could tell if it was from the air outside or the words inside.

“Opera is funny!” Harold Jr. spoke up. “I wanna see that!” “But isn’t the phantom part spooky?” Betty asked.

“I’ve read the book based on that movie.” Helen said.

“Is it better? They say the book is better than the movie.” “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it!” “Neither have I,” Robert agreed, to which the other siblings nodded. “Perhaps we should check it out. Since it’s spooky, it would be perfect for the Halloween season.”

The siblings agreed.

“But are you sure that all of us should go?” Helen asked. “I don’t think this movie would be appropriate for Junior. Some parts, at least.” “He can close his eyes at the scary scenes,” Robert turned to Harold Jr. “Right, Junior?” Harold Jr. gave a firm nod. “Right! I’m not scared o”

Robert smiled. “So it’s settled. We’re seeing Phantom of the Opera!”

...

The journey to Princess Theater was longer than the siblings anticipated. Harold was using the car for work, so they had to walk. And what a walk it was! It took the siblings nearly fifty minutes to get to the theater.

“At least this one is closer,” Eugene remarked as the siblings walked past the drug store. “There’s not as much walking.”

“You’re joking, right?” Helen asked.

“This is taking forever!” Betty exclaimed. “I think the sweat in my socks is turning into ice,” She noticed the refrigeration company next door. “And they’re the reason why!”

“My toes are okay,” Harold Jr. said. “They’re just cold.” “You have the advantage of being carried by the best big brother in the world,” Robert told him. “Although this is doing quite a number on my legs, too. The upper part, at least. But, hey, this is good exercise for all of us.”

Much to the siblings' relief, their exercise came to an end. They had finally arrived at Princess Theater. The marquee proudly announced,

LON CHANEY IN

‘THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA’

“Wow!” they exclaimed in wonder.

They couldn’t believe their eyes! The theater’s facade had been entirely redone. The marquee was lit up in neon lights and the name of the theater, which proudly stood on the top of the marquee, was now in a sans serif font.

“It’s beautiful!” Betty exclaimed.

“And quite modern,” Helen added. “It looks even newer than Norside.”

They went up to the glass ticket booth, which was right in the middle of two sets of doors. While Helen and Eugene fought over paying for the tickets (and Robert dealt with their bickering), Betty and Harold Jr. peeked through the big round windows. People were walking through the lobby.

“Are you excited to see the movie, Junior?” Betty asked. “I know I am. I almost want to walk into the lobby and sit right down!” “I do, too!” Harold Jr. agreed. “Let’s go inside!”

He stood on his tippy toes to reach the door handle and stopped at the sound of Robert’s voice.

“Wait! You need this first.” he told his baby brother.

He crouched down to hand Harold Jr. his ticket, which he took eagerly. He ran to the door, but wasn’t able to open it. Luckily, Betty was there to help her baby brother out.

“I’ll pay for popcorn!” Eugene said.

“No, I’ll pay for it,” Helen told him. “If you’re in charge of the popcorn, it’ll be gone by the time we sit down! You’ll get the drinks.”

“Who cares about drinks? Popcorn is where it’s at.” “Our mouths will be drier than a desert if we don’t have water!” “And your mouth will be too dry to stop me from getting that popcorn.”

Robert stood in between Helen and Eugene. “I’ll get the popcorn. You can be in charge of the drinks, Helen. And as for you, Gene…” His voice trailed off into a smile. “You can get the candy.”

Eugene grinned. “I almost forgot about that! Want some Jujyfruits, Junior?”

“Yeah!” Harold Jr. replied, eagerly nodding at the mention of his favorite fruit candy.

After picking out their beverages and treats, the siblings went inside the viewing room. Nearly all of the seating was filled.

“It seems like everyone in Alton is here!” Helen remarked.

“We’re taking the organ out after this showing,” the usher said as he led the siblings to their seats. “It’s gathered a lot of admirers in twenty-two years.”

The siblings could certainly see why. The organ’s music perfectly conveyed the fear of the ballerinas when they saw the shadowy phantom, the unease of Raoul overhearing Christine’s singing lessons with an unknown voice, the beauty of her performing Faust and the fright of the chandelier falling.

But the worst was yet to come.

Harold Jr’s eyes were glued to the screen as a mysterious masked man took Christine into the tunnels beneath the opera house. His eyes were kind as he showed her to his room. The music made it seem magical.

I’d like to be his friend, Harold Jr. thought. He has such a nice house and has pretty music!

After waking up from a nightmare, Christine explored The Phantom’s home. She discovered him playing a song at his organ (one that wasn’t as grand as the theater one!). She peeked over his shoulder, seeing sheet music.

I wonder if that’s the song playing now! Harold Jr. thought.

He noticed that Christine looked curious. Harold Jr. watched with bated breath as she gazed at it in anticipation… slowly moved her hands near the mask…

Harold Jr. held back a scream. Christine looked just as frightened, but he didn’t look at the screen. He shut his eyes, feeling his body stiffen.

Yet The Phantom’s horrifying face still stared at him.

#robert wadlow #robert wadlow trash #senpai fic #fan fic #the temple fire occurred on the 20th but that's when senpai's family moved so it was changed to the 19th #it's still a great story! ;)

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topclassteacher-blog · 6 years ago

Text

What it’s like to live and teach English in South Korea

I have been teaching for nearly 10 years and during that time, I have had the privilege of teaching in a number of different countries. Therefore, I’d like to write a few posts for other travellers who may be thinking of following in my footsteps.

So, first of all, let’s go back to where it all began; Busan, South Korea. The year is 2008 and I had just finished my degree. Like a lot of graduates, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life but I had spent the previous few years working with kids and I had loved it. Therefore, when my mum told me that the daughter of one of her friends was teaching in South Korea, I thought why not?

Before Going

One of the worst parts of my whole experience was before I went. First of all, a mate of mine was supposed to come with me but he dropped out - after we had had our leaving party! Then, the agent who I had been working with went on holiday and my visa application sat on her desk untouched. This meant that I was late arriving and I missed the training provided by the EPIK (English Program in Korea). That being said, I have since been told that the training was not fantastic and that a lot of my peers went to their respective schools feeling far from confident.

If you are planning to go to Korea, you must be in possession of the following things:

- A Bachelor’s Degree

- A passport from a native speaking English country (UK, USA, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Ireland)

The following things are also important to consider

- No visible tattoos

- No history of mental illness

- No drug use (you are drug tested when you arrive)

However, remember that most employers in South Korea will pay for:

- Your rent

- Your flight (this will be reimbursed on arrival)

Arriving

Upon arriving in Busan, South Korea, I was taken to my school directly from the plane. Imagine my horror when I realised this - I was wearing a Hooters baseball top as it was the most comfortable and loose fitting thing I owned. I met the principal and had to give a little speech in front of all the other teachers - again something I wasn’t prepared for.

Just a day later, I was in front of my first ever class. I had been given a few textbooks (even then I could see what poor quality they were) and the powerpoints created by the previous incumbent of my position. I cobbled together an introduction lesson and stood up in front of the class. Now here is a huge difference to consider - will you be in a public school (organised by EPIK) or a hagwon (a private academy)? For an explanation of the difference, see the section below. I was with EPIK which meant I was assisted by a Korean co-teacher who translated everything I said into Korean. At the time, I thought this was great but I now realise that this is really bad practice. I was really glad she was there that day though as, 25 minutes into a 40 minute lesson, I ran out of things to say. Fortunately, she stepped in and ‘rescued’ me and by the time the next class rolled around, I had prepared a little more; enough to fill the time at least.

On the whole, I did the best I could in class but with no formal training, I acknowledge my lessons were pretty awful. That’s why I would definitely recommend getting a CELTA before teaching anywhere. Not only does it prepare you for what it’s like to stand in front of a class but you also get a slight salary bump as well.

EPIK or Hagwon?

EPIK

Advantages

A Korean co-teacher handles discipline and is on hand to translate any difficult words.

You don’t teach the same class all the time so you can ‘rinse and repeat’ lessons which means less planning.

Your classes are often cancelled as they are not high priority. This means you often get paid for doing nothing. For me, this was actually a disadvantage because I went stir-crazy with nothing to do for long periods.

You work a traditional work week - 8.30-4.30, Monday-Friday.

You are much less likely to get bad accommodation, although this does happen.

Disadvantages

Days are very repetitive

You may be the only native speaker teacher there which can make meeting new people difficult

You sometimes feel like a circus attraction - the kids used to come to my class just to stare at me or pull hairs out of my arms.

Hagwon

Advantages

Higher salary

You teach the same children so you have a chance to learn names and build a relationship with them

There are other native speakers around for you to interact with.

You are given full lesson plans to work with

Disadvantages

There are a lot of shady operators who do not treat their teachers very well, e.g. a friend of mine was made to live in her boss’ basement.

You work until late. The normal work day is 2-10pm.

Your classes are NEVER cancelled. If you are contracted to work those hours, there will always be students there.

You have to handle discipline yourself.

Life in Korea

Socialising in Korea

Socialising in Korea was incredible. I quickly got myself into a football team of native speaker teachers and travelled all over Korea with them and I had a large group of friends. While the majority of my free time was spent out drinking and partying, I also had some of the most incredible experiences there including:

- Making Kimchi (see food) with monks

- Diving with sharks at the Busan Aquarium

- Jumping off the Daegu Tower (unfortunately this is now closed)

- Playing in a volleyball tournament on Haeundae Beach in Busan

- Being invited to a co-teacher’s house for traditional Korean food

- Visiting incredible temples - Yonggungsa in Busan is stunning!

2. Korean Food

I miss the food - my God how I miss the food! When I arrived, I wasn’t convinced by the food but after being shown around by my new friends, I realised that Korean food is fantastic. Here are some of the things you need to try

- Kimchi. The Korean staple, Kimchi is fermented cabbage served in a chilli sauce. While it may not sound nice, it’s different in every restaurant that you visit and when you find 2-3 restaurants where they make good kimchi, you will not be able to stop eating it. Popular variations are Kimchi-jigae (Kimchi soup) and Kimchi-Pahjon (Kimchi pancake) which are also delicious.

- Samgyupsal and Bulgogi. Order raw meat and cook it on your own personal grill with onions, garlic, Korean chilli paste and Kimchi. Then enjoy family style!

- Hae-Jang-Guk. Translated this means ‘hangover soup’ and boy does it do the job. The contents are pork spine with a fiery broth. The meat just melts in your mouth and you can add rice for extra yumminess.

- Tang-Soo-Yuk. Korea’s answer to sweet and sour, this is much more tasty in my opinion. Sticky and really unhealthy, it’s another thing you won’t want to stop eating.

- Ojingo. Squid that is served while it is still moving. This is an acquired taste but something you have to try. The sensation of the suckers sticking to the inside of your mouth is bizarre but unique.

3. Korean people/customs

On the whole, you will find Koreans a pleasant enough bunch and some of the younger generations have grown up having native speaking English teachers so it is normal for them. Make an effort to have some Korean friends even though it’s tempting to just hang around with other English speakers. Some of my best experiences came with my Korean friends Gyu-Ho, and (Super) Hans. However, there are a few things you should be aware of. Do not get into any kind of conflict with a Korean as your status as a foreigner means you are always in the wrong (even in the eyes of the police in some cases). Koreans are fiercely protective of their language and are not especially helpful when you make mistakes. Do what I didn’t and take classes to make sure your pronunciation is spot on.

Korean people (especially women) love to form relationships with native speakers and while they are very affectionate and undeniably attractive in a lot of cases, this can cause problems with old-fashioned families. One friend of mine was told that he would marry his Korean girlfriend ‘over her father’s dead body’.

This section seems unduly negative and I don’t want it to be. Most of the people I met were great people and were so happy that I was there to share in their culture. The negative sides of this part are more a case of ‘forewarned is forearmed’.

In terms of customs, you will often find that you will need to remove your shoes before entering a house or, in my case, even a school. However, they will often provide slippers/sandals for you to wear.

While eating there are a few customs to be aware of. A lot of meals in restaurants are served on low tables which require you to sit cross-legged. I am the least flexible person ever so this was not an enjoyable experience for me. Also, the person sitting opposite you is your ‘partner’ and you are ‘responsible’ for them, Make sure they always have a drink in front of them and serve it to them with one hand while holding the other on your bicep, e.g. serve with your right hand, your left hand should be on your right bicep. Finally, please please please learn to use chopsticks before you go. When I arrived, I didn’t know how to use them and it caused me no end of embarrassment. When I finally learned, my Korean co-teachers and waiters/waitresses in restaurants were so happy. It’s a small thing but it makes a huge difference.

The last major custom that you should be aware of is the different approach to nudity. Koreans will often visit jjimjilbangs (spas) with friends and coworkers. Once inside, the men and the women are separated and go into large spa rooms/hot baths completely naked. This is normal but Korean people are a little prone to staring especially if, like me, you are quite hirsute.

4. Shopping in Korea

While you are in Korea, you will still be able to get a lot of your home comforts. In Busan, they have a Costco where you can buy a lot of Western food although you have to buy it in bulk.

In terms of clothes, you need to be aware that sizes differ drastically. Here in the UK, when buying a pair of shorts, I wear a medium but in Korea my shorts were an XL! Also, for women, if you are busty, it can be very difficult to find clothes that will fit. A friend of mine once went into a shop and the shop assistant pointed at her chest and said “No size, no size”.

As you might imagine, electronics are cheap so there’s no need to take too many gadgets with you. I bought a really nice camera out there much cheaper than I could have bought it in the UK.

5. Transport/Getting Around in Korea

The best way of travelling from city to city in Korea is the KTX (the bullet train). This super-fast train is affordable and comfortable and is a pleasure to travel on. If you’re on a budget there is also the mugunghwa which is an older, slower train that is used to get to smaller towns and villages.

In terms of travelling in the city, most of the big cities have a subway system which makes it easy to get around. I used this opportunity to learn the Korean letters as all the stations are in Korean and in English. There are also buses that you can use if there isn’t a subway station near where you are heading. Finally, taxis are much cheaper than in the UK (I’d say cheaper even than Uber) but make sure that you know how to pronounce where you’re going - I got into a rather heated argument with a taxi driver about my pronunciation of White Hotel as the Korean pronunciation was White-uh Hoe-ter. As you might imagine, I was quite upset about having my pronunciation of English words corrected.

Last word

Overall, Korea is a wonderful place and a part of me still misses living there. The quality of life is great and as an English teacher you will be financially comfortable.

I hope this guide to living in Korea has been helpful and if there is anything I haven’t covered or if you have any questions, feel free to contact me.

#teach abroad #teach in korea #tefl #tefl life #busan #korean food #korean transport #socialising #topclassteacher #life in korea

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newstfionline · 4 years ago

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Thursday, December 31, 2020

Covid-19 ‘not necessarily the big one,’ WHO warns (Washington Post) The coronavirus pandemic might not be the “big one” that experts have long feared, World Health Organization emergencies chief Mike Ryan warned at the global health agency’s last virtual media briefing of the year. Since the first reports of the coronavirus began circulating nearly a year ago, the WHO has repeatedly warned that the world must prepare for even deadlier pandemics in the future. “This pandemic has been very severe,” he said Monday. “It has affected every corner of this planet. But this is not necessarily the big one.” The coronavirus, he said, should serve as a “wake-up call.” “These threats will continue,” he said. “One thing we need to take from this pandemic, with all of the tragedy and loss, is we need to get our act together.”

American youth too flabby to defend nation, retired generals say (Washington Times) A group of retired military leaders is warning the Pentagon that most of America’s youth is too out of shape to defend the nation. The organization, known as “Mission Readiness” wants the Pentagon to help set up an interagency committee to address what it considers the nation’s military recruiting crisis. They recently sent a letter to acting Secretary of Defense Christopher Miller, urging him to work with heads of other relevant federal departments and agencies to take a “holistic approach” to addressing issues ultimately impacting the ability of the military to recruit personnel. According to the Department of Defense, 71 percent of young Americans are unable to serve in uniform, largely due to obesity, drug abuse, a poor education or a crime record. “These factors largely fall outside of the Department of Defense’s purview but have an immense impact on the ability of the military to recruit new service members as well as a significant monetary impact on the Department,” of Defense, retired Air Force Gen. William M. Fraser and retired Coast Guard Adm. James M. Loy wrote in their letter.

Pandemic feeds demand for backyard chickens (AP) The coronavirus pandemic is coming home to roost in America’s backyards. Forced to hunker down at home, more people are setting up coops and raising their own chickens, which provide an earthy hobby, animal companionship and a steady supply of fresh eggs. Amateur chicken-keeping has been growing in popularity in recent years as people seek environmental sustainability in the food they eat. The pandemic is accelerating those trends, some breeders and poultry groups say, prompting more people to make the leap into poultry parenthood. Businesses that sell chicks, coops and other supplies say they have seen a surge in demand since the pandemic took hold in March and health officials ordered residents to stay home.

Another Arrest, and Jail Time, Due to a Bad Facial Recognition Match (NYT) In February 2019, Nijeer Parks was accused of shoplifting candy and trying to hit a police officer with a car at a Hampton Inn in Woodbridge, N.J. The police had identified him using facial recognition software, even though he was 30 miles away at the time of the incident. Mr. Parks spent 10 days in jail and paid around $5,000 to defend himself. In November 2019, the case was dismissed for lack of evidence. Mr. Parks, 33, is the third person known to be falsely arrested based on a bad facial recognition match. In all three cases, the people mistakenly identified by the technology have been Black men. Two other Black men—Robert Williams and Michael Oliver, who both live in the Detroit area—were also arrested for crimes they did not commit based on bad facial recognition matches. Nathan Freed Wessler, an attorney with the American Civil Liberties Union who believes that the police should stop using face recognition technology, said that “Multiple people have now come forward about being wrongfully arrested because of this flawed and privacy-invading surveillance technology.”

Pompeo Weighs Plan to Place Cuba on U.S. Terrorism Sponsor List (NYT) State Department officials have drawn up a proposal to designate Cuba as a state sponsor of terrorism, a final-hour foreign policy move that would complicate plans by the incoming Biden administration to relax increased American pressure on Havana. With three weeks left until Inauguration Day, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo must decide whether to sign off on the plan, according to two U.S. officials, a move that would also serve as a thank-you to Cuban-Americans and other anti-communist Latinos in Florida who strongly supported President Trump and his fellow Republicans in the November election. It is unclear whether Mr. Pompeo has decided to move ahead with the designation. But Democrats and foreign policy experts believe that Mr. Trump and his senior officials are eager to find ways of constraining President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s initial months in office and to make it more difficult for Mr. Biden to reverse Trump-era policies abroad. In recent weeks, Trump officials have also sought to increase American pressure and sanctions on China and Iran. A finding that a country has “repeatedly provided support for acts of international terrorism,” in the State Department’s official description of a state sponsor of terrorism, automatically triggers U.S. sanctions against its government. If added to the list, Cuba would join just three other nations: Iran, North Korea and Syria.

British lawmakers approve post-Brexit trade deal with EU (AP) Britain’s House of Commons voted resoundingly on Wednesday to approve a trade deal with the European Union, paving the way for an orderly break with the bloc that will finally complete the U.K.’s long and divisive Brexit journey. With just a day to spare, lawmakers voted 521-73 in favor of the agreement sealed between the U.K. government and the EU last week. Brexit enthusiasts in Parliament praised it as a reclamation of independence from the bloc. Pro-Europeans lamented its failure to preserve seamless trade with Britain’s biggest economic partner. But the vast majority in the divided Commons agreed that it was better than the alternative of a chaotic rupture with the EU. The deal later received formal royal assent from Queen Elizabeth II. It has been 4 1/2 years since Britain voted 52% to 48% to leave the bloc it had joined in 1973. Brexit started on Jan. 31 of this year, but the real repercussions of that decision have yet to be felt, since the U.K.’s economic relationship with the EU remained unchanged during the 11-month transition period that ends Dec. 31.

As U.K. coronavirus cases hit record high, health-care workers are overwhelmed (Washington Post) Doctors and nurses across Britain are sounding the alarm as confirmed cases of covid-19 reach record highs, with experts urging the government to implement a stricter lockdown to prevent the health system from being overwhelmed. Simon Stevens, chief executive of the National Health Service (NHS) in England, told reporters on Tuesday that hospitals were “back in the eye of the storm” as new cases surged across Europe and Britain. He said more must be done to ease the burden on health-care workers. Some health-care workers are issuing their own public warnings, detailing how hospitals in London and the southeast of England are already setting up tents to increase their capacity. They say ambulances are waiting outside hospitals for hours because there is no space inside. Government figures suggest that the virus is surging in Britain, despite restrictions already in place in most of the country. On Tuesday, 53,135 confirmed cases were reported across Britain, marking the second record day in a row and a number far higher than any single day increase in the first wave.

Germany set for longer lockdown as death figures spike (AP) German officials made clear Wednesday that they won’t be able to relax lockdown restrictions in early January as the country recorded more than 1,000 deaths in one day for the first time. That figure was likely swollen by delayed reporting but underlined the severity of the situation. Germany, the European Union’s most populous country, shut restaurants, bars, sports and leisure facilities on Nov. 2. That partial shutdown halted a fast increase in new infections for a while but failed to bring them down, prompting authorities to impose a fuller lockdown from Dec. 16, shutting nonessential shops and schools. Those measures run through Jan. 10. Chancellor Angela Merkel and the governors of Germany’s 16 states will consult Tuesday on how to proceed.

Quake aftershocks keep people out of homes in Croatia (AP) A series of aftershocks jolted central Croatia Wednesday, a day after a 6.3-magnitude earthquake killed at least seven people, injured dozens and left several towns and villages in ruins. The strongest, 4.7-magnitude tremor was recorded early Wednesday near the heavily damaged town of Petrinja, some 40 kilometers (25 miles) southeast of the Croatian capital, Zagreb. Many people had spent the night in tents, their cars or military barracks. In the hard-hit village of Majske Poljane, where five people died in the earthquake, a little boy could be seen sleeping inside a van, wearing a cap on a chilly December morning.

Schools in India have been closed since March. The costs to children are mounting. (Washington Post) Out in the fields, the adults were chopping towering stalks of sugar cane, but Mamta Jaysinge did what she could. The 12-year-old gathered the woody stems where they fell and tied them into a bundle almost as tall as she was. Then she lifted it onto her head and carried it to a waiting truck. Any other year, Jaysinge would be studying in the modest school near her village in western India. It closed in March. Now she spends her days fetching water, cooking meals and hauling cane. Online learning is out of the question. “We were struggling to eat,” Jaysinge said, “so how would we manage to get a smartphone?” She misses school and hopes to return as soon as it reopens. Until then, she said, “I’m trying to help my parents in whatever way I can.” Jaysinge is one of tens of millions of Indian children who have not seen the inside of a classroom since March, a hiatus that educators say is without precedent in the country’s history. In major metropolises such as Mumbai and Delhi, schools remain shut for the ninth straight month. While some states have reopened high schools, the majority of India’s 320 million students remain at home as part of the effort to fight the coronavirus pandemic. Students from poor and marginalized communities face enormous hurdles to continuing their education even in normal times. Now many of their families are under severe financial stress as India’s economy contracts.

China clamps down in hidden hunt for coronavirus origins (AP) Deep in the lush mountain valleys of southern China lies the entrance to a mine shaft that once harbored bats with the closest known relative of the COVID-19 virus. The area is of intense scientific interest because it may hold clues to the origins of the coronavirus that has killed more than 1.7 million people worldwide. Yet for scientists and journalists, it has become a black hole of no information because of political sensitivity and secrecy. A bat research team visiting recently managed to take samples but had them confiscated, two people familiar with the matter said. Specialists in coronaviruses have been ordered not to speak to the press. And a team of Associated Press journalists was tailed by plainclothes police in multiple cars who blocked access to roads and sites in late November. More than a year since the first known person was infected with the coronavirus, an AP investigation shows the Chinese government is strictly controlling all research into its origins, clamping down on some while actively promoting theories that it could have come from outside China. The government is handing out hundreds of thousands of dollars in grants to scientists researching the virus’ origins in southern China and affiliated with the military, the AP has found. But it is monitoring their findings and mandating that the publication of any data or research must be approved by a new task force managed by China’s cabinet, under direct orders from President Xi Jinping, according to internal documents obtained by The AP. A rare leak from within the government, the dozens of pages of unpublished documents confirm what many have long suspected: The clampdown comes from the top.

US bomber mission over Persian Gulf aimed at cautioning Iran (AP) The United States flew strategic bombers over the Persian Gulf on Wednesday for the second time this month, a show of force meant to deter Iran from attacking American or allied targets in the Middle East. One senior U.S. military officer said the flight by two Air Force B-52 bombers was in response to signals that Iran may be planning attacks against U.S. allied targets in neighboring Iraq or elsewhere in the region in the coming days, even as President-elect Joe Biden prepares to take office.

Explosions rock Aden airport, killing at least 22, as new Yemen government arrives (Washington Post) Blasts rocked the airport in the Yemeni city of Aden on Wednesday, killing at least 22 people and injuring 58, shortly after members of a newly created unity government arrived. The death toll is expected to rise, as 36 victims remain in serious condition with wounds requiring major surgeries, said Ali Abdullah Saleh, director of Aden’s health office. He said the injured were taken to several hospitals in the southern coastal city. The assault, for which no group immediately claimed responsibility, threatens to ignite more turmoil in the Middle East nation already reeling from war and hunger. It was launched after the Yemeni government forged a political alliance with southern separatists, ending months of feuding that threatened to plunge the country into more conflicts and chaos.

#headlines #news

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belladonnaandulriched · 4 years ago

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the artist | chapter one

The pandemic had left us all feeling all manner of shaken. My mom and I knew we had to make the stimulus checks go as far as we could ever possibly make them go in those especially tough months given the whole ordeal came in the form of waves; my dad on the other hand clutched onto his money for dear life. Every penny had to count. Every single one.

It was because of all this here that I learned to hold onto things for dear life, the real important things. The good stuff, in particular Chris' number.

I kept my promise to him: little by little, I worked on the roses surrounding the portrait of him. I always had trouble mastering roses, from their shape to their delicate petals. But I somehow did it with the edges of each of the red and orange colored pencils. Once he was finished, I took a few pictures and sent them to Chris himself.

He titled it “Fresh Deadly Roses” after a song which he felt Soundgarden would make at some point once the music studios opened again. Even though the pandemic was over and the vaccine had made its way into everyone's hands, paranoia still lingered throughout the country. That vaccine might not be fool proof after all: as a result, the future of anything pertaining to music had been thrown up in the air.

In the mean time, I had found my way back towards the darkness that made up Anthrax. Adjacent to that was the power within Nirvana. It sounded so contradictory, especially given the underrated status of the former, but I needed to seek out the darkness, and the current music wasn't doing shit for me. Granted, I found Anthrax a few years before but it was good for me to make a triumphant return to them.

Such salubrious music I listened to as I found out high school would be ending so early for me. But it helped me. I lost myself in Joey's rough but strong melodies. His voice lifted me up from the floor. Those high registers made my toes curl into the soles of my shoes while his lower registers were full, almost sensual at times. I often pictured him singing from the bottom side of his flat belly, and he let it fill out just enough when hitting those low notes.

No one knew when anyone would tour again, and notably, I had no idea when Anthrax would touring again despite the posts from their Instagram and my incessant keeping up with them. But I had my hope they would come to the Pacific Northwest when time permitted: I was dying to see them, and I was dying to see Joey in particular. I confessed it to Chris at one point, “I wish you guys could tour again.”

He replied back with: “me, too. I miss going out and playing up on stage.” He often made note of that on his Twitter.

On the other hand, Joey was often quiet on social media, even though he had his own account next to Scott, Frankie, Charlie, and Danny. There came a point in which while I was drawing Chris and the roses when I wanted to draw him, too. To draw those coarse and yet strangely luxurious curls down around the sides of his head and atop the crown, and that nonchalant and yet emotive face.

I needed to find a good picture of him, one that would take me aback like the portrait of Chris and yet there wasn't much.

The poor man was too underrated—of all the metal singers in the world, he was one difficult to name off in the world. He always brought up the rear and yet I always found it incredibly strange that was the case surrounding him. He had such power and such intensity, and yet there was a quaint little boyish quality to his voice: he was just a boy after all. A lanky little Iroquois boy with a head full of jet black hair. Black as night and eyes as brown as the earth.

The lack of Joey depressed me, and yet I wanted to draw him so much. I really had nothing better to do than to take a stroll outside while there was a break in the rain. I kept my hands tucked in my snug jeans pockets as I made my way towards the center of town. The gray sky over my head served as a blanket of sorts, a cool moist blanket even with the rouse of the marine layer. The breeze blew through the roots of my hair with each step down the cobble stone walkway.

A voice to my right caught my ear.

“I was gonna be singin' the National Anthem—now I dunno what's gonna happen.”

Not an accent we heard here in western Washington. It was almost alien to this area, if I'm honest. Kind of like a New Yorker accent, except there was something different to it. Some kind of warping, like it had been turned inside out.

I halted in place to find out where the voice was coming from. I turned my head to the right to spot him there on the grass. I recognized him almost immediately even by not seeing him too much. He lingered before the little ice cream bar there in the middle of the grass; I recognized him even while he was wrapped up in a fitted little black leather jacket and snug black jeans. My heart skipped a few beats as I ambled towards him.

An opportunity had opened for me, much like the few days before with Chris in the art shop.

He was very handsome, more handsome in person than I had imagined. He even reminded me a bit of Chris with his black curls and soft features: however he stood at a much shorter stature and his skin had a slightly darker tint to it. He was also much slimmer than Chris, a lot slimmer in the chest in particular. He ran his fingers through the little bit of soft looking ringlets on the side of his head and he noticed me walking towards him. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Hi,” he greeted me in a soft voice: a few ringlets sprawled down his brow and down around the sides of his neck

“Hi—are you waiting in line?” I asked him in a kind voice.

“Um—maybe,” he quipped with a slight twitch of one eyebrow. I grinned at him; an Iroquois boy faced on a Blackfoot girl. Who would've thought this would happen?

I locked onto his brown eyes even as I stood right next to him there at the shiny metal counter.

“You gonna get ice cream or sump'n?” he asked me.

“Either that or a lemonade,” I replied.

“Eh, it's kinda a li'l too chilly for ice cream anyways,” he said.

“Says who?” I teased him. He parted his dark lips but no sound came out.

“Yeah…” he said as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He was quite the cute boy, even though I knew he was a bit older than me. Chris was older than me and yet he and I bonded pretty well prior to then. Joey lingered there off to the side as I asked the guy with latex gloves who stood on the inside of the counter for a glass of pink lemonade.

I had a dollar in my pocket but nothing more than that, though. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I delved through my other pockets for some loose change but I found nothing.

“Here, you need some change?” he offered me as he searched inside of his jeans pockets. He took out some quarters and a couple of dimes and handed them to the man.

“Good man, Joe, good man,” he stated to Joey. “You still want a gelato?”

“Of course,” he said with an air of sass; he and I lingered back as we watched him pour me a glass of lemonade and then set it on the counter. I thanked him and stood back next to Joey again.

“Thank you so much,” I told him, and he showed me a sweet little smile.

“It's my pleasure.”

We waited for a couple of minutes and then the man handed Joey his chocolate gelato. He gave his curls and ringlets a toss back behind his head and then he took a little nibble of the ice cream. He padded over to me as I stood away from the counter to let someone else ask for something.

“I hope Anthrax can tour again,” I confessed to him and he gazed on at me with a pensive look on his handsome face.

“Yer tellin' me,” he said as he took another nibble of gelato. “The five of us have been gettin' kinda antsy as of late—especially once the vaccine came out.”

“I'd love to see you guys in particular.”

“I hope ya can! It's not often we see some girls in our audiences, at least from my point of view anyway...” I liked the way he enunciated certain words, like there was something endearing about his way of saying “not” as “naht” coupled with the soft boyish tone of his voice. He then turned his head to me with that pensive look still upon his face.

“Are you—Native American, by any chance?”

“Blackfoot. On my mom's side.” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“I ain't fuckin' with you,” he remarked.

“Why? The Iroquois are badasses.”

“But you guys fought the Sioux nation.” He moved his head in closer to me. “You guys 'n the Crow—ya fought the Sioux nation.”

“Yeah, but you guys fought the British, the French, and the Mohicans, though.”

“Oh, please, like no one would'a fought the British anyway,” he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Or the French or the Mohicans, either.”

I took another sip from the paper cup of pink lemonade before I spoke again.

“I wish more people would show you some love,” I said to him. “You deserve it.”

He raised his eyebrows at me again and then his dark lips formed that quaint little Mona Lisa smile, complete with a filling out of his full cheekbones.

“So do you,” he retorted to me. “You n' I, we lived through the pandemic.”

“That, and I don't know anyone who could name Joey Belladonna, though,” I pointed out. He nibbled on his bottom lip and brought the gelato closer to his chest.

“I dunno anyone who could name—” he hesitated.

“Holly.”

“Hahlly.” He took another nibble of gelato.

“By the way, I love your accent,” I complimented him, and he shrugged at me.

“It's just that upstate drawl,” he explained, “nuttin' fancy.”

“I like it, though. It's kinda—”

“Kinda what?”

“—sexy.”

He tilted his head forward and raised his eyebrows.

“Ya think it's sexy,” he muttered as he stuck out his tongue and took a lick of the gelato. He locked eyes with me all the while, and I giggled at him. I probably should have told him that I wasn't eighteen yet, even when he gave me his number. I probably should have told him that he was the older guy for me.

But then again, there was something about reveling in the comfort of that mystery, especially with him involved.

#the artist #the artist fanfic #the artist chapters #chapter 1 #fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #joey belladonna #joey belladonna fanfic #at land's end #at land’s end series #sci fi writing #sci fi #coronapocalypse #corona world order #fan writing #writing #text

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exmachinus · 7 years ago

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WIP: Wolves of Yellowstone

presented in the style of @solivar, who is partly responsible for this endeavor of mine, this is a preview of the first chapter of my fic Wolves of Yellowstone

Boy meets wolfgod, and shenanigans ranging from silliness to sexiness ensue. Gratuitious awoo-ing ahead.

Inspired by the musings of @hhgggx, the fanfiction “Ghost Stories on Route 66” by @solivar, and way too many and highly varied late-night conversations with @melissaknowsthings

From his perch in a repurposed hunting hide in a pine tree, ten-ish miles in from the Montana border of Yellowstone National Park, the ranger let out a satisfied huff, his breathing misting in the chilly air. He lowered his binoculars and took down a few last careful notes for the Fish and Wildlife people currently camped out in his office, hoping that these latest observations would help convince them the pack of wolves he was clinging to a tree squinting at were actually going to stay in the area for the next few months. They were afar enough into the interior of the Montana wilderness that the officials in his office insisted a ranger already familiar with the area go and collect some data for them, rather than doing the work of making sure the tracking collars placed on several of the wolves were still in place and functional themselves. If the wolves stayed in the general area for the next several months, they’d likely avoid both prey shortages and poachers, and then move on to someone else’s jurisdiction, taking the Department people with them, in a few months. The ranger couldn’t really bring himself to blame them. Being out in the Montana woods a few hours off dusk in wolf country when the nights were really beginning to make one grateful for having feeling in the toes and fingers wasn’t all to appealing to him either, and he loved his job.

Considering further the approaching dusk, Jesse McCree collected his various pieces of equipment and began descending from his perch back down the rustic ladder, shivering a little even through his multiple layers. Dusk in the woods of Montana was not a time to be outside, much less now as the long dry days of summer were coming to an abrupt end in early September. When his boots hit the much-more-comfortably stable ground, it was indeed the beginning of the end of the day. Heading out at a brisk walk for the clearing where his fellow ranger waited with the truck, the ranger activated his transceiver. “’Reeha, you there? I’m comin’ back, pack’s fine. Got that last data for the Fish and Wildlife people, all the collars are still in place. Maybe they’ll finally be happy now.”

A few seconds later, the coworker Jesse considered more of a sister answered with a radio-scratchy, “Gotcha. Want me to come pick you up?”

“Nah, weather’s still good. Need to stretch my legs a little, was up there for hours.”

“Roger, see you in a few. Over.”

As he walked, Jesse fought against the strangest sense of unease. He’d walked these woods a thousand times and never felt the slightest bit of undue danger, but tonight was different. He shivered and rubbed the back of his neck as he walked. A new moon meant it was gonna be dark as the pits of Gabriel Reyes’ soul that night, with likely some rain coming judging by the wind. Creepy. Jesse was by no means a superstitious man, but having lived in the woods for as long as he had meant he gained an understanding and healthy respect for all the somethings in the woods that weren’t always what they seemed. He rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling the short hairs there rising with the strangely electric air. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind that this was wolf country, after all, maybe he should walk a little faster. Even though Jesse had last sighted the wolves a good while away, he knew how fast they could move when they wanted to. Jesse shivered. By the time he could see the truck’s headlights breaking through the trees he was practically jogging, the hair on the back of his neck standing almost on end.

He paced quickly to the passenger door and hoped Reeha didn’t notice when he slammed the locks down after he climbed in.

She did not, far too preoccupied to notice. “Jesus, Jesse, did you turn your radio off? I must have called you half a dozen times.”

Jesse blinked. “No, no I didn’t- The batteries musta died, Reeha, I’m sorry. What happened?”

Fareeha shook her head, her hair beads clicking. “Jess, you aren’t gonna believe this. They tagged a wolf today, those Fish and Wildlife people that’ve have been around recently. They were out with Gabe and Jack and there it was, not twenty yards away. Gabe said it was looking back and forth like it was trying to decide which way to go on the trail. He said it’s not just any wolf, it’s the literal biggest wolf they’d ever seen. I was just talking to Gabe about it not ten minutes ago, and he was completely serious when he was telling me about it. White as snow, too, and had these neat yellow markings under its eyes.”

Jesse raised his eyebrows and fought back another shiver, but said nothing, reminding himself objectively that it was more than likely a regular wolf and Gabriel “Has Never Been Completely Serious Ever In His Entire Life” Reyes was likely pulling her leg. “So,” he said as he leaned down to arrange his gear on the floorboard between his feet, “I guess the Fish and Wildlife people were having a fuckin’ field day, huh?” Fareeha made an assenting noise as she started the truck and started heading back to the station.

“Gabe says so. He and Jack think it might be some kind of arctic wolf hybrid that wandered too far south and east and ended up here somehow, or it’s a pet that escaped or that someone dumped. Climate change and food supplies and or exotic pet needs, you know the drill. Speaking of food supplies, you have to fend for yourself for a few days. I talked to Jack, he says it’s fine if I spend a few days at my mom’s for Rein’s birthday. I’m assuming you’re going to want me to bring you more of that nasty grape soda that you love so much when I come back?”

Shaking off his unease, Jesse turned to shoot a wolfish grin and a wink at her. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Fareeha wrinkled her nose and flicked a look at Jesse’s paunch as she maneuvered the truck down the track. “I believe I know one that does. Fewer sodas, more hikes, and a shave might do you good, Sasquatch. Ma still frets about you and your green leafy material intake.” Jesse snorted and tugged his jacket closed over his shirt, grumbling half-heartedly about busybody women and their mothers while Reeha laughed at him. Frets was a kind way of saying Ana Amari threatened on a monthly basis to come to the park and force-feed Jesse vegetables herself if she wasn’t thoroughly assured Jesse was getting some form of proper nutrition.

After Fareeha dropped him off back at the station, Jesse headed in to close up shop and headed upstairs for the night himself. He hummed a song from an old Western as he went through the motions for bed.

The storm hit within the hour. Normally storms acted as white noise for Jesse, had him snoring on his pillow in minutes, but this one was different. He tossed and turned for the better part of an hour before ending up staring up at his ceiling as the rain pounded against his window and the wind howled and roared through the trees. He scratched absent-mindedly at his belly, and his hand drifted slowly farther south, rubbing and running his nails lightly over the skin of his lower belly and thighs. He sleepily considered it for a few moments, but the strange feeling like he was being watched prevented his blood from heating. He didn’t notice when he finally dropped into a light sleep. Even then, Jesse didn’t find rest. His sleep was fractious and his dreams filled with flashes of dark trees and yellow-gold-white fur. He was running through the woods, sprinting, out of breath, the trees closing in on him, hot panting breath on his neck, no time no space no air no air no air—

Jesse woke with a ragged gasp, sucking oxygen, and bolted upright in bed. Or he would have bolted, had there not been what felt like a boulder sitting on his midsection, leading to an undignified brief fit of scrabbling, causing him to be on the edge of asphyxiation and generally unable to move. Jesse had only a moment to struggle before a long crack of lightning lit the room for a single clarifying second and revealed the identity of the boulder. Jesse froze.

Illuminated in the white brilliance of the lightning was the figure of a man, heavy with muscle and wearing a white wolf skin headdress and strange armor, kneeling on Jesse’s stomach with a feral smile rendering his face extremely dangerous.

#mchanzo #overwatch #wip wolves of yellowstone #wip woy #okami hanzo #park ranger mccree

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kappasigmalife · 7 years ago

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Eternal Purgatory: Chp 3 first impressions aren’t always key

As chris opens the door to what he believes his is his room, he catches a glimpse of two girls making out on a bed. Shocked chris looks at the door only to see that its Paul’s room and his is next door labeled as 2. Paul goes up and tells him to knock before opening anything only for chris to stare dead in his eyes.

“Really, I wasn’t even told what my room was, but yes I must say I probably should of knocked before seeing what I can only assume is a paranormal three-way with your friends over here.” Paul looks at chris and tells him to go get some rest before someone or something sets him off. Chris likes to reiterate that after the shit he saw there isn’t anything that can tick him off again. Paul takes his phone out and sends chris a pic telling him to enjoy the view. As Chris opens the pic message his eyes begin bleeding dropping the phone and nearly vomiting asking what shit Paul always plans for.

“PAUL, YOU SICK FUCK, WHAT IS THAT?”

Paul responds that he prepared for just the occasion in case Chris was gonna be dick to him.

“that picture, is robbys ass, have fun with that image, in the mean time, I got two girls to please.” Paul closes his door leaving chris to question everything that just transpired and then looks at his phone again, this time a close up of a blonde hairy ass, making chris look away and run to the kitchen. He starts tearing it apart muttering to himself.

“come one, where is it, where is it, god knows I really need it.” Reefer walks in and asks Chris what he’s doing tearing apart the cabinets. Chris explains that paul sent him some pics and he trying to find the bleach to wash his eyes out with. Reefer just looks and contemplates the images in his head.

“trust me Chris, nothing will ever get that image out, to this day I still see them in my eyes.”

Chris looks away and finds a bottle of rum which he partakes in about 5 heavy shots before going to his room to sleep. All the while he cant seem to get any shut eye cause of Paul’s incessant snoring, while looking at his phone getting more pics of Robby’s ass. The following morning he wakes up to find Helen making coffee ready for the first day of their classes, as it turns out they will be taking western civilization with professor Thucydides and Chris remarks how it might as well be a poetry class.

“the freaking guy always overdid it on the context of history, it sounds like a terrible movie rather than historical events transpiring, he talks about feelings and imagery, whereas the only thing that matters is who they are, what they do, and why their important, I mean can we please just…. Oh my god im too fucking tired for this.”

Helen looks at him curious why he should have some coffee before Robby comes in taking some fro himself.

“Listen Chris, it’ll be okay, you got your brains and you rock in history and literature classes, I bet by the end of the semester every student will my begging to get help from you.” Robby interjects saying that Chris can’t be that smart if he died in a freezer, cracking jokes at his expense.

“What’s the matter, a little frostbite hurt your feelings, lighten up Chrisper, it’s just purgatory, we know full well that your death was from stupidity.” Paul appears out of Robby’s phone grabbing the coffee in his hands and cracking back at him

“Yeah see robby, that’s where your wrong, cause you died watching a marathon of one piece from beginning to end, all 700 episodes and without sleep.” Chris just stares at robby

“So you died cause you were a weaboo and had no life, good to hear, now I’m grabbing coffee then heading to campus, don’t want to be late.” Chris heads out the door walking to campus as Paul sends more pictures of Robby’s ass to him, this time chris admires them knowing that each angle is different almost like they were posed. Although the admiration is nice, chris once again bumps into a chubby goth kid Chris embarrassed apologizes and looks and sees it’s the same person from orientation.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to do that again.” The boy just glares at him looking at the spilled coffee all over him.

“Thanks again for ruining my clothes, guess im doing to class looking like a slob.” Chris looks at the massive stain of coffee and scratches his head, then pulls out a black zip up fleece he got from his room in case it got too chilly in the morning.

“it might be snug but itll be better than the stained wear you got on, go ahead and keep it I got others at home, im late for class.”

The boy looks at the sweatshirt and puts it on commenting its labeled a XL, even though Chris looks no more than a large. He gets to campus and sits in the back of the classroom seeing Chris sitting next to Helen and sees the teacher approach him.

Professor Thucydides asks chris to help some of the students in the class considering his talkent in life for history and note taking, although chris agrees he looks back as the boy ducks in his books as the teacher calls his name.

“BRENDAN, you again forget that this is western civilization, not eastern drama, get the right textbook.” Brendan looks around embarrassed by everyone laughs with students making comments around him

“way to call out the new kid, like he didn’t fit in already.” “no wonder he sits in the back, trying not to be noticed by the crowds.” “I heard he was a transfer from a different country, whats he doing up here.” As Brendan tries making an attempt to give a reason for not having the right book (he actually forgot to buy it), chris raises his hand and tries explaining.

“professor that was my fault actually, as I was walking I failed to put my phone down while walking and bumped into Brendan on the way to class, I spilled my coffee all over his book and it got ruined, I will ensure he gets a replacement from my own pocket.”

Thucydides apologies to Brendan and tells Chris to be careful around the campus as many will not watch where they go. The class begins the tale of the discovery of rome made by the brothers Remus and Romulus which chris finds more fascinating than everyone. helen nudging him calling him out as a history nerd.

“seriously its just history you read about this all the time, whats the difference between this and now.”

chris responds with a glimmer in his eyes and a smile on his face.

“hey I’m passionate about mythology and lore, its my favorite thing about class.” Brendan looks at the board and rolls his eyes knowing full well that the textbook is totally wrong.

“oh right yes Romulus was the eldest and remus was the little brother, they conqurored rome cause of a wolf mother breastfeeding them, what a load of shit.”

Thucydides looks at Brendan and asks if he said something was wrong.

Brendan looks at him and tells him the history is wrong and that none of that stuff was accurate to the true history that happened.

“There’s no way that all happened its makes no sense at all and I should know im…. Im adept at knowing this stuff.”

He covers his mouth and hears Chris from the back.

“what were you there or something, these are mythical werewolves controlling the elements, the only way to know for sure would either be to have been there or you were blood related, which I highly doubt considering the amount of humans in the world.”

Brendan slumps in his chair and looks at the tag on the fleece chris gave him.

“oh his names chris, like the patron saint of travelers, I gottaa ay, you’re a nerd, but you have a hell of a smile.” The student next to him looks at him in a state of shock.

Brendan responds to his look.

“uh what’s your deal?”

“dude, you’ve been talking to yourself the entire time class has been going on, we heard everything you just said.” Brendan shuts his mouth and rushes out the classroom with chris looking back as he looks at a roster of students he going be tutoring during the semester.

“Oh he’s going to be a peach isn’t he.”

As chris starts walking out a young man comes up asking if he wants to join him for a coffee at the blue moon café down the road from campus. Chris obliges and looks at his watch, he rushes out to find Brendan to give him notice of his tutoring. Brendan looks at himself in the mirror and notices his eyes turning.

“shit no no no, I thought the drops worked, fucking pharmacy always has to screw me.”

He hears chris calling his name coming into the restroom and ducts into a stall as chris walks in looking for him.

“hey dude, I know you probably had Gregory hall food for breakfast, but I wanted to let you know im gonna be tutoring you, so don’t get so worked up okay, I’ll help with your preparedness.” “Yeah sure, just let me dump in peace.” Chris rolls his eyes and walks out.

That evening chris is preparing for his coffee dressing cleanly but knowing its just something small. Paul remarks hes getting worked up over nothing and that he should be chill like he is. Chris remarks that Paul is far from chill this morning.

“those 180 ass shots of Robby beg to differ, talk about vindictive.” Paul just looks at him and retorts that there could have been worse stuff.

“Trust me I could of done so much worse, you got off easy.” Chris shrugs it off and goes to the blue moon café to meet the young man a little muscular with a blonde goatee. Chris sits down and orders a hazelnut coffee done light with plenty of creamer, while the young man has a simple iced coffee with milk. The two sit down and talk with the young man looking at this phone.

“so I hear you’re a new kid but got tons of talent in class work, that impressive.” Chris smiles thanking him for the compliment trying to change the subject.

“Yeah always was a good student but I don’t normally like talking about class on a date, so where are you from.” The boy dodges the question immediately saying that Chris could be a big help to the class if he shared notes. Chris looks at him with his eye brow raised stating that he thinks people should copy their own notes rather than be explicit and copy everything else just to pass.

“if people want my help they can sign up for tutoring, if anything else its going to help raise the grade standard and I get paid more.” The young boy opens his mouth saying.

“look ill make it worth your while, im sure you haven’t had any in a long time, so help me with homework and ill give you some payment another way.” Chris gets upset and responds with a standard scowl

“you mean your offering sex, for grades, uh yeah no thanks I thought you wanted me for me, not my grades.” The boy responds

“well I wouldn’t go for you anyway, your plain and country is a terrible look in general, I need meat on bones firm and tight, glistening hair and well you don’t got that, but I need grades so what do you think.” Chris stands up taking his coffee.

“so your looking for prince charming in a world of mediocrity, good luck with that, and also I got more value in myself not to whore out for grades, you want that, talk to Gilgamesh, later.” chris goes home and straight to the kitchen getting a drink all the while paul coming in asking what happened. When he explains paul jokes about already knowing and rolls a joint for the two to share on the front porch.

Brendan looks out his window contemplating why Chris defended him twice that day and sniffs his fleece as his eyes change colors.

“mmmm, he smells like hazelnut.”

#lgbtpride #lgbt #eternal purgatory #love #college

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newflanagansonthebloch · 6 years ago

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Day 12, Part 2

After stuffing our tummies we’re back on the boat heading to our original port. We see the tallest buildings in Saigon. This is a city city-with sky scrapers and office buildings and new modern buildings. Like in Hanoi there is considerable construction and entire apartment parks that are owned by Vietnam’s richest man Vin. It seems as if he has a mall and large building in every major city. A car dealership too.

At port we meet our driver and enjoy the air conditioning. We would normally opt for a walking tour of some sort but not in this thick heat. Our first stop is the Central Post office which faces Saigon’s Notre Same Cathedral. The church was completed in 1880 and is constructed of all french materials and designed to look a bit like its Parisian namesake. It’s made of red brick from Marseille and is currently undergoing significant renovation. Typically however, it holds 4 Sunday masses including one in English. The post office is a remnant if french colonialism and was designed by Gustavo Eiffel (yes, that one!). construction began in 1886 and was completed in 1891. It’s still in use today and tourists can be found drafting post cards on the back table. Duong Van Ngo, a professional letter writer who speaks Vietnamese, French and English and has been employed with the post office since 1946 is also still there. A giant portrait of Ho Chi Minh is featured on the back wall. From outside the post office you can also see an old grey building which housed the US CIA and from where the helicopter in a famous a Vietnam War photo flew from.

From here we drive toward the Presidential Palace, now knows as Reunification Palace. A palace existed here when the French occupied the area since 1868 but South Vietnam’s president Ngo Dinh Diem commissioned a new structure be built in the early 60s. It shows. We see the offices and also the living quarters. The first president was ultimately assassinated in 1963 so the main inhabitants of this home was the second president and his family. The dining rooms both have two tables—one long rectangular one for eating western food and one large round one with a lazy Susan, with the correct cutlery for each. Large and real ivory elephant tusks can be found in the International receiving room. At this time there were two VPs-one internal and one for external affairs. The Ambassador room is the grandest with a giant layer ware painting composed of 49 pieces. Evidently it can take three months to finish just one piece with its 17 layers. We finish by seeing the bomb shelter basement complete with rotary phones and radio gear, which kind of reminds me of when we visited Churchill’s situation room in London. The art deco style makes me giggle a lot—you can’t help but think of the swinging 60s and then remembering this was a president’s home. It’s now called Reunification Palace because this was where Communist forces crashed through the gates in 1975 to end the war. Thuy also tells us that the original building didn’t have good Feng Shui and so a fountain was built in front—you almost never have a direct entrance to a building like this—it’s why there are screens in front of the entrances at the other palaces we’ve visited—you shouldn’t be able to see straight through! The “palace” is a nice break from the heat though as a nice breeze wafts through.

After the palace we make our way to Saigon’s most visited museum, the War Remnants Museum. The museum centers on the atrocities of the Vietnam America war and can be difficult at times to wander through. Inside you can see all the American guns, ammo and bombs used and more bombs as well as aircraft carriers and tanks are situated outside. Inside there are exhibits on the imprisonment of the Vietnamese by both the French and Americans. There is an exhibition on resistance from other nations, and there are endless photographs from the many photojournalists risking their lives to depict the war. The most difficult sections are about Agent Orange and it’s multi generational effect on those exposed. There is a section of artwork done by children on this topic I felt particularly moving. There is a lot to learn about the atrocities of what we did in Vietnam and how we did it, and a lot of disbelief that we did such inhumane things. The perspective of the museum is rather one sided as most exhibitions are here (like the Hanoi Hilton) but for me, this fact didn’t take away my unease on what the Americans did during this war.

After this museum and Kerran gawking at planes and tanks like a school boy, we have a little time to freshen up at our historic hotel which has been in business since 1925. At 6pm we meet our guide for the evening from Vespa Rouge, our two drivers and a pair of vintage vespas—green for Kerran and baby pink for me.

Our first stop is around the corner from the hotel on a bridge just near where we got the speed boat earlier that day. We start the tour with a pair of welcome cocktails that have chilli, Ginger, and lemongrass and are super tasty. From the bridge you can see then unfinished construction of the Saigon subway and one of the cities tallest towers complete with a helipad.

After our drink we hop on the back of our scooters (after our driver crowns us with the helmet—that’s literally what it feels like) and we go for a drive. First, despite the traffic this is not nearly as scary as one would imagine. The tour takes a scenic route around the city and through a local market which I really liked—seeing everyone in their natural habitat, no tourists etc. We stop on at an outdoor cafe in District 4 and make our way to a low table with plastic chairs. We both get Saigon Special beers and our guide orders us two types of clams—little ones and big ones with peanuts. We had a piece of black fish that was likely caught that day, and fried frog legs which taste just like chicken! This is clearly an off the beaten path local eatery and the food is goods. As we are wrapping up a street performer emerged in a midriff baring low neck shirt and jeans (a rarity for relatively conservative Vietnam) and she’s dancing in the middle of the street. This progresses to dancing with and swallowing fire. Again, not a tourist area!

We get back on our chariot-Vespas and take another scenic drive. Our next stop is in Distrixt 5, China town which is evident from the red paper lanterns hanging outside. This restaurant is full with locals and their families. Here we have another type of Saigon beer (some locals drink it with ice!). We eat chicken salad with banana flower, and a massive bigger-than-the-plate Vietnamese pancake stuffed with pork. Instead of rice paper you just roll this one up with giant lettuce and dip it the fish sauce. I am so full but it’s really tasty!

We hop on the vespas again to head toward our third destination. We drive on the highway and I spot a church with Buddhist style influence and LED colored halos on Jesus. We ride through a vibrant street of flower store after flower store. The alleys of Saigon are clearly where the magic happens.

Our last stop is a more upscale affair called Cafe Soi Da. It has a mini garden in it and a nice ambiance.There are couples with arms around one another. Kerran gets a really good pina-colada and I get an equally yummy ginger tea. We listen to a Cellist, Pianist, and Violinist play jazz music and three separate singers accompany them. Most of the singing is in Vietnamese, but one woman sings in french.

After this we board the bikes for the last time and they drop us back off at the Majestic Hotel. We snap a few pics before heading inside and packing our belongings before an early checkout tomorrow.

(More food pics in next post!)

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xhapjeongkrp-blog · 7 years ago

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( We thought we were running away from the grown-ups, and now we are the grown-ups. )

Name: Evan Park Age: 25 Occupation: Record Store Employee

i. SEOUL, winter of ’92.

snowfall and chilly winds. hot tea and hotteok. scarves and snow boots.

these are the said associations of the general population for the cold winters of seoul, but for park jinhyung and bae woohee, they will only ever associate winter with the birth of their pride and joy; their son that they will come to name park jaehyung.

jaehyung’s first cry is melodic and it echoes throughout the ward, his cries bouncing from wall to wall.

“you have a healthy baby there, m’aam.” says the nurse, a smile spreading on both his parent’s lips.

but then their eyes lock and their smiles begin to fade. it had been a journey to get where they are now, the multiple moments of disappointment when the pregnancy test turned negative all leading to this—this moment where they could hold the love of both their lives.

jaehyung is only a few hours old and he’s already felt more love than his parents have ever felt for each other.

ii. SAN FRANCISCO, spring of ’97.

the scent of fresh flowers and the radiance of the sun. the shuffling of feet against concrete and the sound of car engines on the street. the distinct noise of a baseball hitting a bat and the slight trickle of rain against glass windows.

at five years old, jaehyung has seen more of the world than most others of the same age that he knows. in the short five years that he has breathed in the world, he has also seen more of life than the rest of his peers. he doesn’t understand why his mother had always been crying, he doesn’t understand why his father always seemed so angry, he most definitely doesn’t understand why on one seemingly quiet night, his mother decides to pack their belongings and head out the door.

‘their belongings’ meaning only his and his mothers.

“jaehyung-ah, we must go now. here…isn’t good for us—for me.”

his mother’s voice is soft and had he been old enough to tell, he would have realized she had been holding back tears as she held him in her shaky arms, limbs loosely and weakly hanging around his tiny frame.

( he never sees his father again after that. )

at age five, jaehyung takes his first airplane and enters the western world of san francisco as evan park.

at age five, park jaehyung ceases to exist.

iii. NEW YORK, summer of ’02.

coffee and fresh toasted bread. horns honking and crosswalks dinging. phones ringing and pens scratching paper.

a job opportunity lands both his mother, and of course evan in tow, in the hustle and bustle of new york city, the city of dreams where you can be anyone you like.

the two have a morning routine of getting breakfast at a quaint café just at the corner of their cramped apartment before evan is then dropped off at school and his mother proceeds to go to work.

“mom, why did we have to move from korea?”

( the question is finally asked. )

there is an innocence to evan’s voice, the slightly raised tone at the end of a sentence alongside the hushed tone proves that he is unsure of whether he should ask or not. but he does regardless, because when little ten-year-old evan park needs to know something, he must know it.

he watches as his mother freezes up, her fingers tightening around the silver spoon she had been using to stir her coffee—two creams, no sugar—knuckles almost white and her expression sour. if his mother had been a fruit then, she would have been a lemon; sour, tangy, and all up in your face.

“we don’t speak of korea, evan.”

simple. her answer is simple yet it is the tone of her voice that cuts to his core, the ice-cold monotone sound that he has only ever heard once before in his life; the last night he spent with both his parents.

he’s about to delve deeper, ask more questions about a seemingly innocent topic, but before he can do so he is picked up from his seat and ushered towards the door. “we’ll be late!” says his mother.

they were half an hour early to school.

iv. PARIS, fall of ’10.

the scent of freshly baked baguettes and the sound of chairs scratching against floors. the jingle of the doorbell and the rustle of pages of a book turning. the sound of fingers against keyboard keys and the hushed tones of people speaking into their phones.

“bonjour, comment ça va?”

“ça va bien, et tu?”

“ça va bien, merci.”

paris serves as a new beginning for one evan park whose life has been nothing but ups and downs, moving from place to place and never seeming to understand what home really means. he had been reluctant to bid his mother farewell but who is he to reject an offer from conservatoire de paris, a prestigious music school located in arguably the greatest location for muse to bloom? he thinks it will be the beginning of the greatness he is destined to be but he should know by now that life never follows a smooth path.

“mr. evan park?” inquires the voice on the other end of the phone, sounding rushed yet calm.

“this is him. who is this?”

“we’re calling from coney island hospital regarding your mother bae woohee.”

the pronunciation is off but evan hardly registers it. in fact he hardly registers the rest of the phone call. the next thing he registers is the airplane ride, then the cab from john f. kennedy airport to the hospital, the white walls enveloping him the second he steps into the building. everywhere he looks there seem to be families crying over those they have lost and he sure hopes he won’t have to be in their position.

but of course, nothing ever goes as planned.

evan park is on his own at eighteen, the last of his known family disappearing.

“bonjour, comment ça va?”

“ça va bien, et tu?”

“ça va bien, merci.”

he is not doing well.

v. AUSTRALIA, winter of ’14.

warmth and the smell of fresh cut grass. games on the television and crunches of potato chips. gentle waves and the lax beach.

winter approaches australia faster than evan had seen it coming, and before he knows it he’s packing his belongings once more. four years in one place is four years too long, he thinks.

after the death of his mother in a tragic drunk driving accident evan escaped to the opposite side of the world, secluding himself in the shelter of accents and surfboards in little ol’ australia. he stands out without a doubt. it isn’t his bright blonde hair ( there are far too many blondes around ), it isn’t his american accent when speaking english ( ever heard of tourist central? ), funnily enough, it’s the pair of ugly tortoise-shell patterned glasses he adorns. he hates them, to be quite frank, but he wears them because they’re a gift from his mother. his now very dead mother.

evan wears the glasses to the airport, head turning his way as he strides through the vast building, weaving in and out of groups of bodies. he approaches the desk labeled with the red and blue sign of korea air, gently placing his passport on the counter and lugging his luggage onto the scale. he hears a faint chuckle from his right and when he looks up, it is none other than the female behind the counter.

“it’s the glasses, isn’t it?”

she only nods with another sheepish laugh, proceeding to begin the check-in process.

evan laughs too, genuinely, for the first time in what seemed like ages.

korea here i come.

vi. SEOUL, spring of ’17.

the cherry blossoms and the pastel colours. the soft tunes from the radio and the soft giggles of little children. the click of cameras and the strumming of guitars.

three years. that is the length of time he has been home, albeit a home he doesn’t recognize. seoul has changed from when he was a mere little boy, or perhaps it is he that has changed. park jaehyung—who stands as evan park—is twenty-five this year and as he stands on the roads of hongdae looking out at the crowds walking happily, the corners of his lips unconsciously turn downwards.

evan is happy, but is he really happy?

working at a hipster record store in the middle of hongdae has its perks, he supposes. he gets to listen to the music he enjoys and witness the people passing by the store, each having their own story. twenty-five-year-old evan park is letting his life pass by right before his eyes as he spends his days organizing, then re-organizing, the display of old records that most fail to appreciate anymore.

but it’s alright because he’s home, and nothing is more important than home.

#hpj: accepted

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monroesinflux · 8 years ago

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From Dublin to Galway: Manifest Destiny

Our second Irish day took us from one coast to the other. Morning in Dublin began with coffee, pastries, and a quick trip to one of the city’s most famous sites (you’ll want to wake up early for this one).

For non history nerds, allow me to introduce the Book of Kells: widely considered one of Ireland’s greatest national treasures. The illuminated manuscript is a breathtaking illuminated and calligraphic work. The fact that we can still see parchment and illustrations that were created nearly two millenia ago is obviously rare, and rightly breathtaking.

Well, I can’t exactly introduce you to it, because gawking tourists aren’t allowed to snap photos of the actual piece – something about destroying years of historical records with camera flashes? Whatever. Take it away for me, BBC.

However, seated directly above the book is an equally gobstopping sight, which one is allowed to photograph to one’s delight (and clearly I did): the famous Trinity library.

Can’t you just smell the books?? Is there anything so wonderful?

The arched nave is lined with marble statues of great thinkers – philosophers, authors and theologians guarding the aged tomes.

If you politely ask one of the many official ushers, they’ll even pull a book off a shelf for you to view. And by all means, you should!

After soaking up wood and parchment, we had a little more time to trot around Dublin. Gardens, pavements, and a half pint with lunch were our send off from this quaint little city.

And with that, gird your right-side-of-the-road lines: it was time to start the road trip! We picked up the rental car that would be our best friend over the next week (semi-pro tip: get all the insurance...Irish roads are notoriously narrow, and you don’t want to be worried about the inevitable branch scratch – or worse! – ruining your trip).

As you can see, Andrew is driving a manual engine from the right hand side of the car, because he is a rockstar. As navigator, my also important jobs were a) working the gps, b) sucking in gasping breaths (translation: mind the left side of the vehicle!!), and c) taking semi-confident selfies.

Our first day of driving was actually fairly easy: a straight shot on the trans-island highway that connects east-coast Dublin to Galway in the west. It might sound a little frightening to jump on the freeway straight away – but this was actually much easier than some of the tiny country roads we’d be navigating within a few short days.

And what a lovely place to end up. Galway is a brisk coastal town on the Atlantic – large enough to have a bustling liveliness, and small enough to feel palpably charming.

We stretched our legs with a stroll towards Salthill and along the rocky coast. There’s something about coastal towns that feel remarkably familiar: whether they’re in California, New England, or Ireland along the Atlantic. Salty air carried on cold fresh breeze: it’s deeply restorative to be near the sea.

Although the weather held, it was still pretty chilly...perfect time to pop in for a warming dinner with a handsome boy. On our host’s recommendation, we chose the newly opened Quay Street Kitchen. The tiny room was packed to the gills with friendly waitstaff, locals and tourists, and more seafood than you could shake a stick at.

For those who think that Irish food equals corned beef and stewed cabbage – well, you’re not entirely wrong, but the real star cuisine is the seafood.

JOY! It was time for the first of many clam chowders for me...the Irish version kicks New England’s into next year. The mini pot at Quay’s was a particularly delicious start.

As dusk fell, we retreated to our little Galway Airbnb, which would be our home base for the next day of traveling north into County Mayo.

More to come:

I: Beginnings, Beers, Behan » II: Manifest Destiny of Dublin to Galway » III: Abbeys, Saints, and Seafaring Horses » IV: Cliffs, Killarney, and the Western Coast » V: Beara, Blarney, and the Southern Counties » VI: Organic Life in Kilkenny » VII: The Un-Ireland of Wicklow and Glendalough » VIII: Giants along the Northern Coast » IX: Whisky and the Sea – Crossing to Scotland » X: Chasing History in Edinburgh » XI: Mediterranean Fjords in Montenegro » XIII: The Savors of Herzegovina » XIV: Mythos in Dubrovnik »

#Flux Trips: Chasing Celtic and Adriatic #travels #Dublin #Galway #Ireland

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

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[HR] Badges

BADGES (Part 1)

By Michael Ely

If you ever asked him about it, James would probably tell you that it all started for him around the time he figured out masturbation. He was 10 years old and his parents had just gotten divorced. Dad had moved in with Kristine, the woman James’s mother always bitingly referred to as “The Whore”. Mom didn’t take it well and started drinking. One night, too drunk to be driving, she crashed her car into the side of an occupied town house. James was in the back seat. Both mother and son survived the crash with nothing more than minor scrapes and bruises, but afterwards James’s mother went to jail and James went to live with Dad and The Whore.

Things started off okay, but don't bad things usually start that way? The honeymoon phase lasted almost a month, but before long, James started getting into trouble in school; first it was stealing random things from other kid’s lockers, and then it was fighting the kids who found out he’d stolen from their lockers. After a couple of in-school suspensions and a few more out-of-school suspensions, the Superintendent gave James’s father an ultimatum; either enroll James into a home-schooling program, or allow the boy to face expulsion.

If you asked his Dad, Chris would tell you that he couldn’t have given a shit whether his son got expelled or not. He didn't much relish the idea of staying home to teach his kid History lessons; Chris worked full-time at a tire factory and to come home to that after an exhausting day on the line would have added insult to injury. He also didn't like the idea of leaving the kid at home with Kristine who was only 24 to Chris’s 37, and who, after they’d been given custody of James, had already complained in an argument that she “didn’t sign up for this shit.” Chris had been able to smooth things over with his girlfriend, but only just barely. Asking her to take 5 or 6 hours out of her mornings every day to teach the boy Math was out of the question.

“Expel him then,” Chris had told the Superintendent, a beefy man with thick glasses perched on a bulbous nose, the crown of his large square head balding in the front but still desperately holding onto the back and sides. The Superintendent sighed in resignation, perhaps in requiem for another child falling through the cracks of society and bad parenting, and then he set about filling out the necessary paperwork and getting all the required signatures from Chris.

That was how James came to spend so much time alone with Kristine, neither of whom were very happy about it. Despite all of the troubles James had had with school, he still enjoyed going. He only had a couple of friends, but they were his. He also liked the food. At home it was just peanut butter and jelly all day, every day. Plus, the school had a great library and books were where James made his escape. His favorites were westerns and old Davy Crockett stories. He liked the idea of forging a life out on the frontier and since he couldn’t accomplish that personally, reading about it was the next best thing. The only reading materials at his dad’s apartment were Kristine’s tabloid magazines and James couldn’t care a rats ass for them. But then Vanity Fair did a Nude Issue.

James found the magazine one morning while he was snooping through his dad’s bedroom, as he usually did whenever Kristine got into the shower. His favorite thing to do was to reach underneath his dad’s dresser where the gun was “hidden.” It was a polished chrome snub nosed .38 and the weight of it always surprised James, no matter how many times he held it. It was a cold October morning and he was shivering in his pajamas, half due to the chilly apartment air (his father was adamantly against turning on the apartment’s heaters due to energy costs), and half out of the excitement of skulking around his dad’s bedroom. He crouched in front of the dresser and reached his hand underneath, but instead of feeling the cold metal of the revolver, his fingers touched paper. He had to reach farther in to grab it with his fingertips, but finally he snagged the corner of the cover and gingerly pulled it out.

Why was this magazine stashed under there? He wondered.

Curiosity led him to opening the magazine and flipping through its glossy pages. His eyes widened and his heart raced at what he found. Women in bras and panties. Women in less than that. The entire magazine was filled with it. He could scarcely control the shaking of his hands, palms sweaty as he eagerly turned the pages. And then he got an erection.

James couldn’t have told you how he had known what to do with it. All he knew was that he knew. Tucking the magazine into the waistband of his pajama bottoms he ran out of his dad’s bedroom and locked himself into the upstairs bathroom. Back to the door he slid down to the cold tiled floor and reached into his pants. His icy, clammy hand felt strange on himself and caused more than a little shrinkage to his already diminutive penis. He needed a barrier.

A laundry basket filled to overflowing with dirty clothes sat against the wall. Quickly he delved into it searching for a half-usable washcloth or towel. Something. Anything. But instead of coarse cotton, his fingers were surprised by the soft whispery touch of silk. He pulled out the cloth and discovered it to be a pair of Kristine’s underwear. As soon as the recognition hit him, he was devoured by an alien hunger. His back to the bathroom door again, Vanity Fair open before him, he sheathed his dick with his dad’s girlfriend’s underwear and began to masturbate for the first time.

When he climaxed, he ejaculated. It frightened him at first, but only for an instance. He felt the warm cum gush into the palm of his hand and once the fear had subsided his fright morphed into more curiosity. He watched the pearl glob of semen pulsing in his hand where the veins under the skin of his palm rushed blood to the synched up rhythm of his post-masturbatory heartbeat. It wasn’t difficult for James to imagine the pulsing, oozing cum to be a whole living organism. He sniffed at it. It didn’t smell like anything. Maybe mushrooms, but not really. He didn’t have much time for his inspection though because he quickly noticed that the ejaculate was beginning to liquify, turning clear and running down his wrist.

Unrolling a handful of toilet paper, he wiped the cum off of himself and flushed it down the toilet. A Viking burial.

He re-buried the underwear in the laundry basket and then replaced the magazine back where he’d found it. He told no one about this.

There were a lot more times after the first time. Discovering pornography on the internet was easy and with no more than a few clicks of a mouse James had opened Pandora's Box. He found that he could no longer get on the family computer without looking at porn. He became an addict, and like most closet addicts he learned how to hide his addiction. Whenever he logged on he kept PornHub in a minimized window and was always sure to clear his search history after each session.

At one point however, James was forced to take a week long masturbation hiatus due to the unfortunate fact that he had rubbed himself raw; a condition that lack of self control exacerbated for the first few days before he willed himself to abstain for the good of his dick. He also began to look at Kristine differently.

Once, when he knew that she was getting ready for her shower, he snuck into the bathroom and removed all of the towels, unbeknownst to her. When she got out and couldn’t dry off she called out to him, “Jamie, can you go grab me a towel?!” James was already waiting, ready. When she cracked the door and reached her arm out to recieve, James handed her the towel but the entire time his eyes were fixed through the crack in the door up at the mirror above the bathroom sink, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dad’s naked girlfriend. The mirror was hazy with steam and he could only briefly make out a foggy outline of Kristine’s body, but that was enough. An erection roared to life harder than any pornography or half-naked Vanity Fair model had ever made him, and after the bathroom door shut he masturbated on the living room couch, excited with the idea that Kristine might walk in on him at any minute.

He felt it almost a shame when the 90 day expulsion was over and he had to go back to school, repeating the 5th grade.

When classes started back up at the end of August, the rest of the kids avoided James. So much that one might assume that his classmates figured his obvious loneliness was contagious. He was a new sort of outcast that he’d had no previous experience at being. The older, troubled kid. But being the oldest, most troubled kid in his grade came with a few fringe benefits. If the others refused to accept him, fine. James would make them fear him instead.

After several unsubstantiated complaints of bullying and harassment, Ms. French, the appointed Guidance Counselor at Dearborn Elementary quickly came to the conclusion that James, lacking emotional and social stimulation, was reverting to the same pattern of behavior that had resulted in his expulsion during the previous school year. After pulling the boy from P.E., she sat him down in her tiny utilitarian office and spoke to him about finding a resolution to his misplaced angst.

“What do you like to do, James?” She asked, ink pen poised on the cream page of her notebook.

James shrugged, his anxiety transferring itself into his erratic, restlessly bouncing leg.

Ms. French wrote the shrug down in her notes. “You don’t have any extracurricular hobbies?” she persisted. “It's good for a boy your age to have hobbies. Keeps you out of trouble, and we both know you could benefit from less trouble.”

James shrugged again, but said, “Well, I read a lot.”

Ms. French copied down his every word. “What do you read?”

“Westerns, mostly. Explorer stuff.”

“Do you like the outdoors?” Ms. French waited to write down his answer.

“Sure, I guess.” replied James. “But I don’t really get out there much.”

Ms. French considered for a bit but then after a few seconds of thought, the answer to all of James’s problems seemingly magically popped into her head.

“Have you ever heard of the Boy Scouts?”

And that was how it happened. Six months later James was a full fledged member of the Boy Scouts of America and had already earned several badges and the respect of most of his troupe. His grades didn’t pick up much at school, but his behavior made noticeable strides toward improvement. So much that he completely fell off the radar of his teachers and counselors.

He did not, however, fall off the radar of Scoutmaster Hank.

Hank had had his eye on the boy since he first joined the Scouts and the night of their first outing Hank did things to James that would make most fathers want to comitt murder. It was Hank’s first time and afterward, realizing that the idea of the act had been more powerful and satisfying than the actual experience, overwhelmed the Scoutmaster with inescapable guilt and self-pity. Less than a week after he had molested James, Hank’s mother found her son naked, hung to death in her garage, his face purplish, his feet and calves black with lividity. He left no note.

James never told anyone about what had happened to him that night with Scoutmaster Hank, not even when it was reported that he had passed away. No one told the troupe that Hank had killed himself either, but the boys found out about it regardless. Kids tend to learn things like that on their own. There was a lot of speculation among them as to why Scoutmaster Hank had done it, but the overall feeling toward it was sadness and loss. Especially, ironically, from James.

More often than not, James found himself thinking about what had happened to him at the hands of Scoutmaster Hank, and surprisingly, even to himself, he found that he had kind of enjoyed the experience. When the troupe was assigned a new Scoutmaster, James caught himself wishing that Scoutmaster Rob was more like Hank. On their first outing with their new leader, James stayed up late that night hoping to hear his tent unzipping, hoping to find Scoutmaster Rob crawling into the tarp smelling confines, half naked, whispering “Shhh…”

That never happened, much to James’s disappointment. But no amount of time passage could make James forget the time that it had.

“Scoutmaster Jim,” wheezed Brian, a fat 12 year-old with constellations of blotchy acne scarring his cheeks, chin, and forehead. James couldn’t stand him. “How much farther till we get there?”

“When we get there, we’ll be there.” James had no toleration for Brian’s weakness, or anyone’s weakness, for that matter.

Brian shut up and did his best to keep pace with the other eleven kids in Troupe #44. Backpacks slung over their shoulders, boots squelching through half-dried mud and decomposing leaves, they trekked uphill to the designated campsite, four miles into the heart of Dearborn’s very own Shale Quarry Forest. Fatigue wasn’t localized to Brian, though. They had been hiking for over an hour now and most of the boys were out of breath, stopping every fifty or sixty yards to take quick gulps from the canteens hanging around their necks. Scoutmaster Jim was not blind to the exhaustion of his boys. There wasn’t much about them that he didn’t notice. Especially Kyle and Lucas.

He had gotten both of them separately, a week apart from each other. Kyle in the shower at the Rec Center when the boys were preparing for their swimmers badges, and Lucas that next friday in the front seat of his Corolla when he gave the kid a ride home from their Community Action project at City Hall.

Neither of the boys had said anything to anyone so far. If they had, James was sure he wouldn’t be there with them now, hiking to a secluded campsite in the middle of the woods. He would be sitting in a jail cell at the Sheriff's station with his picture in the newspaper, probably beaten half to death already by some self-righteous inmate sympathetic to the two children’s plight. James knew the score. He wasn’t delusional. That’s why he had threatened both of them, and the threats seemed to have worked too because they had kept their mouths shut.

“You know if anyone finds out about this, your dad is gonna have to quit his job and move you and your family out of here. No way will they let him stay on as a pastor in this town if his son turns out to be a queer.” Kyle bought it so fast that James hardly had to sell it.

“Lucas, I’m sorry, but if you tell anyone about what just happened, I’m gonna go to jail for it, yeah, but I’ll get out. Eventually I’ll get out. And the whole time I’m in there, I’m gonna be thinking about what I’m gonna do when I get out. You understand me? As soon as they let me loose, I’m gonna find you wherever you’re at, and I’m gonna do all the things I’d been thinking about. Get it? And trust me, what just happened isn’t shit compared to what could happen.”

Like Kyle, Lucas had stared at him with tears welling up in his wide, fearful eyes and nodded vigorously in acquiescence.

James kept his eyes on the two boys as they hiked to the campsite, noticing how neither of them ever spoke to him or any of the other boys, not even to each other. They also never came near James, which didn’t bother him really, except for a small itch of disappointment in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help reflecting on his own experiences with Scoutmaster Hank, remembering all the nights he’d sat up touching himself while thinking about what the older man had done to him, wishing that it could happen again. The fact that the two boys seemed to not want it to ever happen again slightly upset James, sure. But in the end he pushed the negativity out of his mind. If they didn’t want anymore of it, fine. Jame’s sights were set on a new target.

In James’s opinion, Nolan was gay; he just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. He could tell by the boy’s mannerisms, the way he talked, walked, and how he dressed. James had heard a couple of the other boys joking about it out of earshot of Nolan and that’s when James started paying closer attention to the kid. Even trudging up the muddy incline toward camp, Nolan sort of skipped and bounced. James had wanted him since the day Nolan’s father had dropped him off at his first Scout’s meeting. Tonight would be the night.

As it had been with Lucas and Kyle, the plan was simple, only this time it more closely echoed James’s experience with Scoutmaster Hank. Tonight, when the fire died down and all the boys were asleep in their tents, dreaming in their bedrolls, James would sneak into Nolan’s tent. He could picture the entire scene as clearly in his mind as if it were happening already. He imagined the cold metal of the tent’s zipper in his fingertips. The sound of its teeth opening up as he unzipped the tent, slowly so that he didn’t wake Nolan. He could feel the chilly night air washing his bare legs with goosebumps as he climbed into the tent. He could see the boy sleeping, a lock of his curly blonde hair tousled across his face. He could feel the warmth of the boy’s shoulder as he put his hand on it and gently nudged him awake….

James nearly bumped into Zachary, not paying attention to where he was walking, too caught up in his daydream and mumbled a “Sorry.” He swallowed, noticing that his mouth had been watering unconsciously.

“I think it's just through these trees,” announced James. “Only about fifty more yards, troops. Dig deep, get there, and lets get set up for tonight.”

A cadence of enthusiastic “Yes sir!”s from the scouts. All of them were sweating through their uniforms now and most were visibly exhausted. This hike had been the longest they’d gone on so long as James had been Scoutmaster, and they still had yet to set up camp.

Their campsite was a large clearing in the middle of Shale Quarry Forest, large enough to accommodate the entire troop, and maybe half of another. As soon as they arrived, the boys threw down their gear and got to rummaging through the packs, removing tents and sleeping rolls. Meanwhile two of the older, stronger boys put together their shovels and went out to the edge of camp, upwind from the cluster of tents, and began digging the latrine.

“We always get the shit job,” complained Marcus, digging the blade of the shovel into the soft loamy earth. “Rather be out there with the hatchet getting firewood. Lenny always gets to go get the wood.”

Dev dumped a shovelful of dirt away from his hole. “That's the price we pay for being the biggest,” he said, coming down on the shovel with the sole of his boot. “We get typecast for all the real manual labor. Besides, you get enough wood on your own as it is.”

Marcus guffawed at that and kept digging. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Shortly before the latrine boys finished their work, announcing that now everyone could take pisses and dumps with ease and convenience, Lenny returned to camp lugging a leather satchel full chopped timber. He spilled it all in the center of camp where a couple other boys had already set up the perimeter of the campfire. With flawless teamwork the boys got an impressive fire going within minutes.

James observed his boys with pride, satisfied in the fact that he hardly had to guide them through their set up. An hour after they had made camp, the sun was melting crimson through the trees and evening was blooming into night. The scouts got a supper of roasted hotdogs and beans going, just like the wild west outlaws James had grown up with in his Louis L’Amour novels. He sat with them in front of the crackling campfire as pinpricks of stars began to illuminate the sky and the firelight danced orange shadows across the boy’s laughing, chattering faces. Even Lucas and Kyle seemed to be in high spirits.

“Okay boys,” announced James finally after the food was gone and the kids started getting louder, rough-housing. “What’s our Oath?”

The boys immediately stopped what they were doing and spoke in unison.

“On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times; To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.”

James nodded in approval. “Good,” he said, churning coals in the fire with a long oak branch. “And what's our Outdoor Code?”

“As an American, I will do my best to be clean in my outdoor manners, be careful with fire, be considerate in the outdoors, and be Conservation minded.”

James tossed the stick into the fire and stood up, clapping his hands together. “Exactly!” He pointed at two boys to his right. “Derek and Shawn, you guys get this fire put out. The rest of you, trash clean up time, lets go.”

The boys jumped to their Scoutmaster's orders. Flashlights were lit and as Shawn and Derek dumped dirt on the campfire to smother it, the rest of the boys picked up what little trash they had accumulated and tossed it away in a plastic garbage bag that another boy, Tyler, had produced from his backpack. James watched with the utmost approval, yet never taking his eyes off Nolan.

The moment was approaching; only a few short hours from now and the boy would be his. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight, but he had set an alarm on his phone for midnight, regardless. The boys never went to sleep right away anyway, electing instead to stay up for another hour or so to crack jokes and talk about girls. But soon enough they would all go down, and when they did, James would be ready.

“Alright boys, bedrolls.” James said, unzipping the flap of his own tent. “We have pack up at dawn and another two mile hike up to the Quarry for fishing in the morning. Y’all need your shut-eye.”

As the boys got into their respective tents the dark clearing was loud with the noises of tarp canvas rustling, zippers zipping, and the rhythmic hum and swish of crickets chirping in the darkness as the wind blew sporadically through the leaves of the oak trees that encircled the clearing. A couple boys went off to piss in the latrine. James sat at the entrance of his tent and waited until all of them had finally laid down before he finally zipped himself into his quarters and shut his eyes to catch a few hours of rest.

(Continued in part 2)

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