#by high school he's found his niche and light music club is one of them :9

[zipsunz]

for such a cheerful guy, amada-senpai listens to some really emo stuff...

[whosjunglejim4322]

Cobra Hybrid! Yukhei/ fighter AU

Warnings: pussy eating, breeding kink, competitive fighting, bl**d, mentions of open wounds, eagle hybrid Xiaojun, scorpion hybrid Hendery, minor mentions of getting high, angst, mentions of near death experiences, fluff bc Xuxi loves u an unhealthy amount

The sky outside of your bedrooms hopper window is scattered with rich hues of deep violet and burgundy, a sight that is too captivating to not sit and admire for at least a moment while your food cools off on your beside table.

You've always been particular about the temperature, needing it hot enough to burn your palms but not the surface of your tongue.

You smile warmly to yourself as you think of Yukhei, the way he can practically scarf anything down no matter the heat. You've had to physically stop him from inhaling piping hot ramen quite a few times, though he never listens. "Its okay, promise!I like when it's hot!"

Stubborn boy.

The colors above seem to dissipate by the second into shades that better suit the nighttime hour, not even a quarter of the sun peeking from below the horizon as the city below continues to buzz with work commutes, or perhaps lovers that are eager to be in the same space their partners occupy.

You sigh ruefully, knowing that it's just your suboncious missing a certain doe eyed, raven haired boy.

It hasn't even been two days since you last saw eachother, the navy blue sweatshirt that he wore over still hanging off the corner of your dresser, the scent of patchouli and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Your fingers reach out to undo the latch that keeps your window closed, the cool, dusk air gentle against your cheeks.

You know you shouldn't worry about him, he's with Hendery and Xiaojun and the others and they're all celebrating YangYang's birthday in his uncles house near Shenzhen.

At least that's what his last message said, and truly, you're not one to be overly nosey or obsessive. But the thought of Yukhei, your Yukhei, back in that poisonous red ring with barbarous eyes latched onto his body, eager for his blood to spill across the white floor-

You feel your throat tighten at the thought, eyes closing as you inhale through your nose, the air not as thick with smog this time of year and allowing for at least somewhat of a peace of mind. 

You find the juxtaposition to the outside world, and the world that lies below the boutiques and indie music shops and niche cafes, to be sardonically humorous.

It makes sense, strangely, that the evil and greed that people possess would no doubt be thrumming with a life of its own in the hybrid world, even more so than that of the human world, sometimes.

And for hybrids like Yukhei, the ones with a little more strength, a little more aggression once the animal that coexists with their dna is provoked, for a king cobra; merchants practically frothed at the mouth when your boyfriend put himself up for rivalry.

It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and not just because the clubs usually smelled of dry blood and spit among other noxious substances, or because of the fact that his body felt as if it had been hit by a train every morning when he awoke.

It's because of how you sobbed when you found out. Your eyes and nose raw with the fury in which you had rubbed them, your body shaking. It hurt more than anything, more than a fierce kick to the jaw or a pair of canines ripping into the flesh of his shoulder.

It was agoninzing, almost more so than the fact that he had to do it in order to pay off some stupid, futile debt that he owed.

It was a nefarious fox hybrid who helped him out of an almost brawl at a club downtown during the time he worked there, fixing drinks sometimes, or lending a hand in securing the canvas and apron that was needed for the fighting ring.

It was easy work for him, and he needed the money if he wanted to get through school by even a little, but the people who occupy spaces like that, they weren't too keen on a snake hybrid being allowed in during daytime hours; helping or not.

It was just a bigheaded bull, a new bartender who caught a glimpse of the few iridescent scales that gleamed acrosss the expanse of his shoulder blade, and before he could even smell the unprompted vexation wafting off of the hulking man- he was thrown across the room.

He was nearly impaled on the bar top, nearly. Though the fox jumped in almost too eagerly after the bull busted your boyfriend's top lip open, introducing himself as the owner and kicking the aggressor off of Yukhei after professing his status.

As far as the story goes, the owner was still quite upset at the fact that two bottles of expensive liquor had been busted and wasted in the whole debacle, news to Yukhei since he had been, well, fearing for the safety of his face due to the close proximity of six inch horns.

So, it was lose a decent job and have no other options left as such a reclusive breed, or use his strengths to his advantage.

You shudder everytime you think of the ladder. Nothing prepared you for hearing that from Xiaojun's mouth, for seeing him look so weak, so close to the brink of deterioration. He looked broken.

Your noodles are cold now, and you curse yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander off to a place so unnecessary to revisit.

You're too tired to heat them back up, moving from your window sill to your quaint, welcoming bed. You peel the thick comforter back and nestle yourself into the warmth, grabbing your old (but still functioning) laptop in hopes of finding something new to watch on netflix. You have too much of a habitual personality to start a new t.v. show, but a movie might suffice.

It's hard to focus your attention elsewhere, to not to think of him. He's the type of person that you can't ever get used to seeing upclose, so effortlessly beautiful it's almost painful, an ache in the pit of your chest.

Maybe that's silly to say, but it's not jusy because you're sickeningly in love with him. It's this force that he carries with him, like he's made of pure, raw sunlight.

You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the way his plush lips feel against yours when he smiles into a kiss, noses touching and giggles resonating in his throat as you play with the wild strands of his perpetually fluffy hair.

You think of all the things that make him inherently him. His hands, the way they always seem to be steady and gentle, elegant, despite their size. Even when he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles, it's featherlight.

It's in his nature to be so agile, so stealthy in his movements. You sometimes forget he's a snake hybrid at all, his outside appearance similar to a lion shifter, or a wolf.

It's probably the most unobvious thing about him, unless he were to take his clothes off and reveal the miscellaneous littering of scales across his broad back and shoulders.

They're similar to his eyes in the way that they're usually onyx until they glimmer under light, ranging from shades of dazzling silver to veridian. You think of the way he hums in satisfaction everytime you run your fingertips along the surface, eyes captivated with wonder.

You jolt in surprise as your phone rings obnoxiously loud, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the prospect of your pleasant thoughts being so rudely interrupted. Your indignation vanishes when you see the caller ID.

Hendery 🦂 is calling...

"Hello?" Your voice is neutral for the most part, the rational side of your mind trying not to panick so suddenly.

That doesn't last long once you hear the troubled pang in the hybrids voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.

"Hey, uh- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry to have to- look Yukhei is hurt-" You're sure all the blood in your body has suddenly been drained, stomach twisting as the words fly from Hendery's mouth. "We can't go to the hospital, Yangyang isn't with us and-"

This can't be happening. Not again. Who lied? Did they all lie?

"Is it the same club?" The stillness in your voice is unsettling, though you're pretty sure you might be going into shock at this point. You can't feel your limbs properly.

"Yes." He replies bleakly, and your fingers tremble as they end the call.

It's like you knew, you always know. There's something about being with Yukhei that has given you a sort of second sense, it's like knowing when a step is missing and you're about to trip.

You know you're going well over the speed limit, skin pulled fiercly over your knuckles with the force in which you're gripping the steering wheel. You're only aware you're crying when streaks of warmth cascade down your cheeks and soak into Yukhei's sweatshirt that you threw on before leaving.

You never wanted to be back here, navigating the slim dark streets to find that familiar, seemingly abandoned building with a simple red logo spray painted on the side. It can only be understood by hybrids, humans not able to translate.

The building is tucked so far back behind the city, it makes for an incredibly unpleasant journey, along with an already unpleasant destination. It's a dark corner in a place full of light. It's the door to a shadow world, to the creatures that find comfort in malice and anguish.

You're surprised you've arrived so fast, not even aware of the strange, curious glances you've been getting by passerbys. No doubt wondering what a little human girl is doing in one of the most dangerous, underground parts of the city.

But they can't touch you, not legally anyways. It's forbidden for hybrids to harm humans, and none of them would dare risk exposing their little side show for a taste of a mundane.

It's Xiaojun you spot first, his conspicuous head of nearly white hair sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the alleyway. It's only as you approach that you can see he's slumped under the weight of Yukhei, who's figure is akin to a wilting flower.

You feel your stomach lurch, though adrenaline is what drives you to throw yourself out of the car like a madman, leaving the door open and all to run to his side. You share a brief glance with a wide eyed Hendery, gesturing towards the car as your knees scrape fiercly against the pavement.

You almost don't want to look at him completely, gaze set on Xiaojun as you round to the other side and slip yourself underneath Yukhei's heavy arm. You can't, however, ignore the blood that sticks to your skin, nor the scent of it clinging to him. He murmurs your name with a strained cry, your knees wobbling.

It's a complete blur, happening in what you guess is only about two to three minutes. Yukhei slurs his words as you and the blonde haired hybrid hoist him up with all your strength, agonized groans bellowing from his throat while you move him to the back seat.

You help to manuever his long legs into the car, every bruised, wounded, and bloody part of him visible now underneath the light above your heads. It's even worse than before. How can it be worse?

You throw yourself in beside him, Xiaojun slamming the door shut before he sprints to the passengers seat, Hendery hitting the throttle as soon as everyone is secure inside the vehicle.

You turn to your boyfriend, your love. You have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, terrified to accidentally skim past a laceration. You whisper his name into the darkness, hoping that he'll answer and that he won't disappear before your very eyes.

Getting him inside of their apartment complex isn't easy. And not just because it takes two of you to carry him, his body too weak to do much of anything; it's mostly because carrying a half dead looking hybrid to an elevator isn't really the most optimal option.

Luckily Hendery knows how to pick the lock to the fire escape hatch in the back of the complex, allowing the four of you to somewhat subliminally carry him up two flights of stairs before finally arriving at apartment 236.

Not the essiest thing you've ever done. But none of that matters, nothing matters right now except for him.

"Couch!" Xiaojun yells, Hendery two steps ahead of him, pushing the old coffee table in the center of the livingroom to the far right corner.

Yukhei stammers before you both set him onto the piece of furniture as gently as you can, a choked whimper being the only sound he can make. It's even worse in this light, all the shared meals and nights binge watching movies suddenly lightyears away. Now this room is tainted with the sight of him falling apart.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" You speak through a broken sob, on your knees next to your boyfriends limp figure, his long limbs hanging off the side of the couch while his head struggles to stay upright.

You don't even realize Hendery has ran off until he is jogging back with a first aid kit that probably won't do any good, not in this situation. He reads the uncertainty and disbelief in your expression, quickly rebuttling.

"Venom, we need his venom," He and Xiaojun share a look that you don't quite understand, but you're too overwhemled to question it right now. "We just need to clean him up first, as best as we can."

He hands you a warm, damp washcloth and you are quick to bring it to Yukhei's face, the only place that isn't too damaged to touch and somewhat tamper with. His swollen eyes struggle to stay open, but once your hand caresses his sweltering cheek, he uses all of the strength he has to mutter your name.

"I'm so- sorry, you don't...you don't under..understand."

You place a gentle finger to his busted lips, pulling back immediately as his eyebrows furrow and he winces, not yet aware of the two others pouring some sort of unfamiliar disinfectant onto the open wounds.

"Shh, not right now. We gotta get you fixed up, okay? It's gonna be alright."

The words are probably more comforting to yourself, though nothing is comfortable at a time like this. Everything is happening so fast, Hendery gently pushing you to the side and whispering something to Yukhei that is inaudible to your human ears.

He nods weakly, and you can't hide your horror nor contain the frightening gasp that escapes your throat when Xiaojun approaches and bares his claws, shoving them into your boyfriends side.

You're frozen in place, time stopping for a an infinite moment as you sit and watch what's unfolding. Hendery muffles Yukhei's agonized shout initially, removing his hand when he realizes that the cobras fangs have been ejected.

He holds a vile up to his mouth, puncturing the top open with the sharp edge of his tooth, allowing the sticky clear venom to drip down into the glass container. You've never seen Yukhei's fangs before, mostly because snake hybrids and cobras alike aren't one to use them unless absolutely necessary.

Life or death.

It happens quick, Xiaojun with a needle inbetween his deft fingers, likely from the inconspicuous looking first aid kit, pulling the venom through the syringe before handing it to Hendery to inject into your boyfriends carotid artery.

His body stiffens as if he's gone into shock, veins protruding from his skin and pulsing like his heart beat has gone past the safe amount of BPM.

And then, he's still, so still it feels like you're getting a glimpse of what it's like to lose him, and you still can't find the strength of the willpower to move.

"He'll be okay, I promise,"

Hendery is by your side in an instant, panting as perspiration drips from his forehead. "He just needs to rest, he's the only type of hybrid who can use his own venom as a healing agent."

It feels like you've stepped into a different dimension, like somehow now is the time that your brain finally begins to over process the fact that none of these boys are human and that monsters really do exist.

They're not the monsters. You're not bothered by their otherworldy state of being in the slightest, but there's something in the way that they speak that makes it seem as though you're missing a vital detail, like a page ripped straight from the spine of a book. A page that could very well determine the entire stories fate.

"Where's Yangyang? And the birthday?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, incredulity in your tone.

He and the blonde haired eagle look guilty beyond belief, hesitancy in their eyes. The anger that boils inside of you, starting from your toes and rising to your ears, pushes you to stand to your feet and move past them to where Yukhei lies.

Theur admittance to whatever the fuck is going on, can come later. You don't trust yourself right now anyways, too angry, too overcome with grief to yell or shout or throw things in the way you wish to.

You sit by his side, and reach out to brush his tousled hair out from in front of his scraped forehead, examining the violet and burgundy hues that blooms from underneath his honey colored skin.

"I love you, I'll always be here."

You whisper, lying your head against the cushion next to his, exhaustion suddenly clouding your brain and allowing you to forget, just for a second, that you almost lost him.

The sunlight burns red from behind your eyelids, last nights events not yet in the forefront of your brain until you hear the low timbre of voices from the other room, haunting images forcing you awake.

You sit up too fast, head pounding from the restless sleep you've endured. You realize you're in someones bed when you kick off a familiar pair of black sheets from your feet, the setting around you like a second home. Yukhei's room. Someone must have carried you here during the night.

You're quicker and more eager than you've ever been in the morning, feet carrying you towsrds the half open door as you practically sprint into the livingroom, expecting to see him lying there as immobile as he was last night; preparing yourself for the worst.

But you don't see anyone on the couch, in fact. It takes you a moment to register that everyone is in the kitchen, huddled around the island. You're too beside yourself to realize that the broad, tan back that's facing you belongs to him, until he turns around.

You don't get a good look at his face, already smashing yourself against his chest with a force that doesn't even budge him. You gasp suddenly, recoiling in fear as you step away, terrified that you've hurt him.

His long arms are still open expectantly, doe eyes glossy as he stares back at you in confusion, your expression as shocked as it is dubious. He's healed. Well, not completely. Your fingers trace over the scabs that have formed where gashes and lacerations once were just hours before.

He pulls you to him again by your elbows, and you look up at him through wet lashes to see that the bruises are no longer a severe shade of purple and blue, only slightly yellow.

It doesn't take many more glances before you're forcing yourself up onto your tippytoes, grasping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your mouth against his.

His arms enclasp you fiercly, nearly making it hard to breathe but you don't care, not at all. Not when he's whole and alive and smells like himself again, not when he's kissing you like it's been years since you've last seen eachother.

When you part you realize that Yangyang and Kun are here, and the confusion that you harbored last night for their actions and secret glances, has you reluctantly pulling away from the embrace of your lover.

You see it now, the fear and worry that colors his expression. All of their expressions. Your eyes are suddenly fierce, fists clenching by your sides as your nails form crescents into the flesh of your palms.

"Someone better tell me what the everliving fuck is going on and why this happened again," You've never been so furious, have never lashed out as anyone as angrily as you are right now.

"A birthday party? Really? That's the excuse you came up with?!" Yukhei hangs his head in shame, knowing that it's in all of their best interest to let you finish. It's only fair.

"And you all knew, every single one of you let him walk into that ring again, every single one of you were okay with letting him die!" Your voice rises an octave, fresh tears now springing from your tired eyes.

"And I know there's something more, you're all shit liars. I just don't know what's going on and I dont know why, I just need to know why?" You sound defeated this time, covering your face in your hands as the cobra cradles your head against his chest.

You're too weak to pull away, too run dry to sob any longer.

Kun is the first to speak.

"His venom, it's-" You can only guess that someone glares at him, Hendery murmuring to his elder to let Yukhei tell you himself.

You finally glance up, meeting the teary eyed gaze of the man you love, who looks as terrified as he does stricken with unidentifiable emotions. He's silent as he deliberates with himself mentally, looking over his shoulder and nodding to the group in a silent understanding, before gently guiding you towards his room.

Venom, money, high.

These words echo in your brain as you sit across from Yukhei on his bed, his eyes too scared to meet yours as he finally finishes his explanation.

It's the whole hearted truth, as painful as it is to admit to the one person in this world who he so desperately wants to protect. But it had to be done, for your sake and for his.

"So the drinks you were making, they were filled with your venom...and people drank it willingly?"

You're still struggling to understand, no anger or shame laced in your voice as he expected, though it still doesn't lighten the indescribable weight that sits on his chest. He swallows.

"It's like...it's like a high for some people, or like being drunk but to an extreme, euphoric level," He anxiously picks at the skin beside his nail beds.

"The fox knew he could profit off of it, but it's still taboo. He was my employer and could easily pass me off as a crooked cobra hybrid who was sneaking my venom into drinks for secret cash. So he told me if I wanted to stop, for good, I had the chance to get my get out of jail free card during the upcoming fight,"

Your heart feels as if it might rip through your shirt, the pain and obvious regret in his voice tangible. It all makes since bow, though, in hindsight. Though you still don't understand why the others were so involved.

As if he read your mind, he continues.

"And Hendery, Xiaojun...they were just protecting me. They'd wait and make sure that I left the club everynight unharmed, and they knew the cost of confronting the fox. Hendery's venom as a scorpion is lethal, so he couldn't get involved for obvious reasons. They weren't happy or okay with any of it, I just didn't have a choice."

You suddenly feel like the guilty one now, chest heavy as the pieces of the gigantic, horrifying, and confusing puzzle finally come together.

It's alot to take it, more than you were prepared for. And your anger isn't directed at them anymore, in fact wvery ounce of fire that had been raging inside of you burns at the idea of that stupid fucking fox doing all of this for cash.

Sensing that he's still worried you're upset, you reach out to grab his fidgeting hands, his chin lifting only slightly as to peer at you through his dark lashes.

When you crawl over to him and on his lap, he looks dumbfounded. Even more so as you kiss him gently, softer than a rose petal as your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so so sorry." Tears slip past your waterline before you can contain them and he kisses them away just as quickly, voice incredulous.

"Baby no, don't apologize, ever," He lifts your face to his, eyes wide and full of reverie. "I'm okay, I'm okay because you were there and I promise with my entire heart and soul to never get wrapped up in that shit ever again, ever."

You kiss him again, the taste of tears not bothering either of you. You just need to feel him, to remind yourself that he's not going anywhere. You can't shake the thought of how he looked last night.

"I almost lost you, Yukhei you...I thought I'd wake up and you'd be gone and I'd never get to kiss you again or hear your laugh," He's crying now, too, silently as he closes his eyes and you bury your face against his neck. His hands cradle you as if he has the entire world in his grasp.

"Shh I'm here, m'not going anywhere baby. I'll stay forever with you."

And he means it to his very core, feels it in his bones, solidifed as you kiss him again and again like he suplies the air in your lungs. You're both so in love with every fiber of your being, so enraptured in the feeling of one another.

When you push at his chest to silently ask him to lie down, he's quick to assert who's taking care of who, eagerly gripping your soft waist and letting your back fall against his mattress.

"My sweet angel," You arch into his touch as his plush mouth nibbles the soft skin underneath your jaw, traveling across the expanse of your throat and to the sides of your neck. "Let me make you feel good, been so patient with me."

It dawns om him that you're wearing his hoodie and he swears his heart throbs in his chest, quick fingers pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the side with your shirt underneath, before continuing his descent.

He's shamless in the way he cups your breasts in his wide palms, gazing up at you through slitted eyes as his pink tongue flicks over one of the hardening buds. You reach out to touch any part of him you can, whining as he repeats the action on the opposite breast.

He wanders even further down, across every inch of your tummy, humming all the while in satisfaction at how sweet you smell between your legs, at how needily you whine for him.

He's all too excited now, pulling the shorts from your body with a force that should've ripped them in half, kissing your inner thighs sweetly but not as earnestly as he'd like. He's just too focused on the enticing sight of your glistening sex, mouth practically watering.

He doesn't wait for you to prepare yourself, digging in immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as his mouth encloses around your throbbing clit, suckling before he licks a broad stripe over your folds.

"Yu-yukhei...oh!" Your thighs threaten to close around his head but he holds them open with an inescapable grip, endulging himself wholeheartedly as he slurps and licks at every drop of juice that flows from you.

It's a maddening sort of pleasure, your toes curling and belly tightening. His nose is pressed against your pubic mound as he keeps his mouth over your center, wriggling his head back and forth as his tongue flicks over your clit at an inhuman pace.

"Ah, I can't- oh fuck." You're blabbering incoherently, though it only drives him further. He relishes in the way you're writhing underneath him, the way you're so wet just for him and him only.

"Want you to cum on my tongue, can you do that for me?"

All you can do is cry out in response, bucking your hips against his mouth as he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You're so close it's humiliating, but he's elated, already sensing your orgasm in the way your walls throb and pulse with every lick to your bud.

The sounds are so nasty, so lewd in the way your wetness combined with his saliva is so audible in the small room.

You cum without a warning, not being able to speak or do much of anything except jerk and twitch as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in his determination to taste your release.

You whimper.

"Fuck me, please Xuxi p-please."

You beg softly, with half lidded eyes and he reluctantly lifts himself from your center with dark yet gentle eyes, mouth saturated in your juices. He can't resist you.

He kisses you like this, and you don't complain one bit. Not when he's got his pants down faster than you can blink, gripping his thick shaft and rubbing the ruby hued tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to make you mine forever and ever."

You're unable to verbally respond when he pushes himself in, not even an ounce of friction due to a mixture of your cum and his spit coating your walls as well as the inside of your thighs. He buries himself to the hilt, your hands on his broad back.

His pace is determined but not frantic, body held up by his forearms so he can continue to kiss you while his dick spears into you. Your lips are one of his favorite parts about you, so soft, the perfect size to slot right against his.

"Yes Xuxi, want you to give me all your cum, pretty p-please."

He supresses a hiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your thighs around his middle, heels pressing into his lower back.

"Mm, gonna give you my babies," He doesn't miss the way your walls flutter around him, as he pulls himself almost all the way out before sheathing himself inside of you once more. "Want you to be leaking with my cum for a w-whole week."

You whimper, and it drives him mad. His hips are agile and precise as he fucks into you now, controlled and skilled. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is, exactly what has you clinging onto him for dear life.

"You're s-so big, missed your dick, missed you."

He's the one whining now, scattering wet kisses under your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. It's like no other sensation, being together like this. You can't tell where he ends and you begin, all you can do is feel.

"You like my big dick, hmm? Want me to stuff that pretty pussy full." His words are filthy, but his candence is sweet like honey, earnest in the way his voice trembles. He's just as high on pleasure as you are.

"Please, please, yes."

His thrusts become harsher in the way he fucks back into you, reaching past your cervix. Your fingers bury themselves into the dark strands of his hair as quiet whimpers bubble from your throat, senses overwhelmed with Yukhei Yukhei Yukhei.

It doesn't help that he's so vocal in your ear, the deep timber of his groans sending chills down your spine and causing your belly to fill with heat, spreading throughout your limbs like wildfire.

It's not just fucking, this feels like what making love really is. It's a reunion in more ways than one, a solidification of your bond. You wish it could last forever, the scent of his skin, the softness of it. You can feel every muscle in his body strained with the strength he uses to please you, to reach depths that have your toes curling.

When you turn your head to kiss the skin just below his ear, his hips falter.

"Oooooh, shit baby m'gonna cum, fuck."

You pull his face from your shoulder to smash his lips against yours, cradling his face as he cups the back of your neck. His tongue slips inside your mouth, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his length.

He mewls, cursing under his breath. "Cum for me, please Yukhei," He's looking right into your eyes, lips kiss bitten, skin flushed. "Make sure you give me every last drop."

He's done for, hair sticking to his forehead, a broken groan straining to leave his throat as he pushes himself as deep as possible, both of you watching each others expression in the process.

"I love you I love you I love you." He chants, while spurts of his cum paint your walls white. You unravel when you look down between your bodies for a fleeting moment, catching a glimpse of the amount he's released as he disappears inside of you over and over again.

He kisses your face as you struggle to grasp onto him, the pleasure too much to handle, physically and emotionally. It has tears springing from your eyes, nails digging into his biceps as he continues to fuck you through it.

"I love you too, I love you so much." You finally reply, finding the strength to speak no matter how slurred and sleepy it might sound.

He smiles warmly with irrevocable adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners. He strokes your cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, leaning down to peck your nose, and then your forehead, and then your eyelids.

"You have my entire heart," He professes. "I'll always be here."

"Guess I saw that cumming."

Xiajun glares at Hendery.

[kitkat404]

✏️✏️✏️ to get 3 out of it (or only one if you only want to do one)

Another body hits the lockers beside her much more gently.

“You okay, Tara?”

Sky can’t fight the small smile that graces her lips at the sound of that voice.

Connor Jenkins has been Sky’s best friend since they were young, though over the years they’ve been forced to drift apart. Connor’s father is of the opinion that boys cannot be friends with girls because it makes them gay. An opinion that Sky frankly thinks is completely ridiculous. Though she has to admit that Mr. Jenkins isn’t completely wrong on the whole “gay” front.

Connor came out to Sky back in middle school. Sky’s sister Lizzie was holding a sleepover at their house with some other friends and the two of them hadn’t been able to sleep. They had climbed out of Sky’s window and were sitting on the roof, reminiscing the past few years as they prepared to enter high school.

If someone asked Sky how they got onto the topic in the first place she wouldn’t be able to tell them, but suddenly Connor was crying and spilling his guts to her, and then the words were out and there was silence. Connor had his head buried in his hands, sniffling as tears poured down his cheeks, just waiting for the rejection he knew was coming. Sky remembers being left speechless for a moment before his words fully registered, and without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him in the tightest hug she had ever given. Connor had sobbed into her shoulder, apologizing over and over while Sky tried to calm him down.

They ended up staying on the roof until sunrise, Sky flinging about a million random, silly questions at Connor in an effort to cheer him up. It worked, and eventually, he became a bit more open about discussing his sexuality. Connor told Sky how he figured out he was gay, they talked about different people who brought that realization, and by the time they went back inside, Sky was starting to wonder why Connor’s words resonated so deeply with her. At that point, she had been so tired that she just shrugged it off and went to sleep.

Connor is a bit different from the other boys in their community. On the surface he doesn’t appear to be anything special; fair, pinky skin, wavy ginger hair with an undercut, hazel eyes, and a long, lanky body. Overall unremarkable in appearance, but his personality is where you can see how different he really is. Connor is one of the sweetest people Sky has ever met. He’s sincere and gentle, soft-spoken, and not one to defend himself. He holds a level of empathy that Sky hasn’t seen in any other guy in the Gilded Gates, which often gets him in trouble. Back in grade school, Connor was very sensitive, he still is but especially back then; he cried easily, and the other kids had taken to picking on him. He was seen as an easy target, not just to his peers, but to his family as well.

Mr. Jenkins radiates the energy of a high school bully who never grew up. The man is bitter and petty and it often seems like he has nothing better to do except making his son’s life miserable. Pretty much every household in the Gilded Gates has an air of toxic masculinity, an idea that “real men” show no emotion; it's disgusting.

The girl breaks herself from her reverie when she realizes she still hasn’t answered Connor. He looks to her expectantly, though patient. She gives him a thin smile and shrugs. He chuckles, patting her shoulder and dragging her off to class.

Later that day, Connor approaches Sky on her way home from school. The two take the same street but because of where they’re headed, they never talk. Sky gives the ginger-haired boy an inquisitive look, and he simply hands her a slip of paper and holds her gaze for a meaningful moment, then keeps walking. Sky glances at the paper, then at Connor’s retreating back. She shoves the paper in her pocket for later and continues home.

On the surface, the Taras seems like your normal, cookie-cutter family. A father, a mother, twin daughters, and grandma. But that is far from the truth. Sky’s father is a cruel man. He is stoic and cold, many would claim they’ve never heard the man utter an ‘I love you,’ not even to his own wife and daughters. He cares for nothing but business and reputation. Sky’s mother is vindictive and vain. She carries a melancholy air to her, as well as a pervasive smell of booze. Nana tells them there was love once, long before they were born, but somewhere along the way that love died. Ever since then, Mrs. Tara has turned to the bottle as her only true companion, and Mr. Tara has drowned himself in his work. What little time the couple leaves for their children is focused almost solely on Sky’s sister, her older twin, Elizabeth. They sing their praises for Lizzie, rewarding her accomplishments, however big or small they may be.

Sky and Lizzie may be twins, but the two are completely different. Lizzie is perfect, everything their parents want in a daughter, everything their society expects of a young lady. She gets good grades and participates in after school clubs. Lizzie volunteers at church functions and always has a smile on her face. She wears pretty dresses or blouses and skirts, with light makeup accentuating her features. They have the same face, yet Lizzie is the pretty twin.

Sky is the exact opposite. She is rough around the edges, closed off, and quiet. She rarely, if ever, smiles and actively avoids large groups of people, especially her peers. Sky wears rugged, baggy clothes and is often dirty in some way, shape, or form. She gets decent grades, but they aren’t perfect. Sky instead found her niche in writing, specifically poetry and songwriting. She developed a love of music and classic literature and found a sanctuary within these interests, her own little world to escape to inside her mind when life got to be too much.

As far as physical appearance, the twins are basically identical. Porcelain skin with Asian features, straight, shiny black hair with thick fringe, piercing blue eyes, thin lips, upturned noses, high cheekbones, thin faces, and slim builds. Sky is noticeably more muscular than Lizzie, while Lizzie sets herself apart from her sister by walking with perfect, pretty posture where Sky is always slouching.

Dinner with the Taras is a quiet event. Only the adults are allowed to talk, and they almost never do. Sometimes Sky’s father will talk about work and her grandmother will give him some form of verbal acknowledgment, but oftentimes the table is silent save for silverware scraping against plates. The girls may not leave the table until they are dismissed, at which point everyone splits off. Sky’s mother moves to the kitchen to do dishes, while Sky’s father and grandmother retire to the living room, along with Lizzie, who entertains them with piano. Sky meanwhile goes upstairs to hide in her room for the rest of the night and drown herself in homework and books.

[whenwomenrefuse]

I have never told this story before.

I have never told this story before.

It was the summer of finishing school, I was 19 years old and had a five-month-long holiday inbetween finishing the final exams for school and starting uni in October. Me and my friends drove to the next bigger city with the train, to go out, almost every weekend. We went on concerts and metal parties, and sure, we also drank a bit (In Germany the legal drinking age is 16 for beer and 18 for liquor), but due to the expensiveness of the drinks, it was never more than two, maybe three longdrinks. This may sound like a lot, but the way they are mixed there’s usually barely any alcohol in them. Therefore drinking three of these will still let you be almost sober. Also, my body had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, and I’d really had have to drink heavily in order to get actually drunk. Additionally, I’d been having these exact two to three drinks every weekend for months, I knew exactly how many of them I could drink without an effect (1-2), I knew how many I’d need to drink to get slightly tipsy (3-4), and how much to get noticeably tipsy (5 and up). I was also used to taking a cab to the train station in the city (about 10 minutes), taking a 20-minute train ride and then a 10-minute walk home, in the village I lived in. I knew exactly at what point during the evening I’d have to stop drinking, to be sober when leaving for home. Since the parties only started at 10pm and the last train came at 1:30 am, I never stayed long enough to be actually wasted. What I’m trying to make clear is that while I was just 19 years old, I was used to alcohol, I was used to the locations where we partied, I had a close group of friends who travelled with me, I had self-imposed strict times when I left the party for home, and I knew exactly what I was drinking and how it would affect me. In short, I was partying and drinking responsibly.

Going out in a tight knit community such as the one we found ourselves in, due to our taste in music, it means you start to recognize the same faces in the venues you go to for concerts, for parties, for festivals, the people you stand in line with at the bar, are the people who organize the next show, who own the record label, who play in the bands. You start to know people and they start to know you. The older people look out for the younger ones, make sure they’re handling their drinks, make sure they know when to leave to catch their trains/buses etc. Girls and women have whatsapp chats dedicated to leaving the venue together, so that nobody has to go home alone. In short, I had a strong sense of familiarity and security with these people. Then that day came.

There was a concert, five bands from the wider region were coming to our city and playing a concert. The subgenres they played were pretty broad, and some of them were big enough to attract their own fans to the venue, people from further away and people who otherwise weren’t involved with the local scene. Needless to say it was incredibly full that night. The last band that played was one of our friends, so we had made plans with one of them, to spend the night in his flat, he had a big sofa and two camp beds, and his flatmate was out of town, so one of us could also spend the night in their room. At that point we knew him for months, and trusted him completely. And it wasn’t like we were only young girls in the group, we were mainly guys, and then me and two other girls. It was a 100% non-sexual sleeping arrangement, and everyone was aware of that. Before the show, we went to his flat to drop off our things for the night, and to help him transport his equipment over to the venue. Then the problems started.

You see, music scenes can be complicated, especially the underground scenes, and some subgenres and their fans don’t go well with each other. That night there was a mixture of a lot of different genres, which each had a mixture of people in the crowd. You had your leather jacket bruisers to whom music ended in the mid-80s, paired with super niche neo avantgarde experimental metal, just to name an example, and there were some tensions in the crowd. People were rowdier than usual, and some got ridiculously wasted. There had been some instances where security actually had something to do, prying drunkards from each other, before they could throw blows at the other’s face. I was still more or less new to the scene, having existed in the microcosmos of my home city for years, and never really gone out anywhere else. I wasn’t used to this in the way that I am now. I was uncomfortable, and I stopped drinking after my first drink. I quickly became aware of how sober I was, as everyone around me got increasingly wasted. One band from Dortmund got kicked out of backstage (sounds more prestige than it is – it’s just a backroom with a sofa) for “doing coke on my sofa”, as the owner put it. They riled up their posse and started having fights with the people who organized the show, culminating in the schedule being changed, so that they would play earlier than planned, just so they would leave as soon as possible. They didn’t like that at all, and you could hear the shouting from backstage inbetween songs.

In the end, I decided to leave early. I wrote in the whatsapp chat if any of the other girls wanted to head to the train station together, but nobody answered. I waited for an hour, but nobody wanted to leave. Then 1am came, and with that my last chance to take the train. I asked once more, but still nobody wanted to leave. Walking alone in that part of the city, where all of the concert halls and clubs were, on a weekend, was a really bad idea. People got mugged and worse, one of my friends was mugged that summer, so it was just a security measure not to travel alone. I stayed. I went to the bar and ordered my second drink of the evening. Hours had passed since the first drink, and there was no way this one could have made me as drunk as I became.

I remember waiting at the bar for a long time. But that was okay, it was full that evening and I had all the time in the world (the second-to-last band were just finishing up their show, the band of my friend hadn’t even set up their equipment yet, I’d be stuck at the venue for at least another hour). One of the friends of the band from Dortmund was there. He noticed a patch on my jacket, we talked about Blackthrash, he offered to buy me my drink. I tried to decline, telling him truthfully, that I was more interested in girls, but he insisted, saying he didn’t want to buy me a drink because he wanted to get laid, but just because he liked me. It was a nice gesture, I didn’t really believe him, but accepted the drink out of politeness. I saw my acquaintance at the bar pour me the same drink I had had so many times before, there was no way she was responsible for this. She gave the drinks to him, he paid for them, offered me my drink and toasted with me. Then he asked if I wanted to go to the outside part of the venue for a smoke. I said sure. I felt bad that he had just bought me a drink. The whole time I was so fixed on him, I was so sure he had bad intentions, he came with the rowdy band, he was one the ones that had been involved with the small fights earlier, he had the look of a typical bruiser, long ratty hair, 80’s mustache, crusty jeans vest, bruised knuckles, and he seemed to be a lot older than me, that I started being hyperaware of what he did, if he was trying to slip something in my drink or lead me to a lonely corner, that I let my guard down for anything else. He wasn’t the problem. My friend, at whose place I was staying the night was.

My friend saw me talk to the guy from Dortmund, he came over instantly and started talking about how he was about to play, that the crowd was getting so much bigger than before, how awful the previous band had been and that’s why he stayed sober during shows, because he just loves music so much. It was a horrible mess of ego running wild, geared at pushing the other guy’s buttons. He was amiable enough to ignore the jabs and just talk on. Sometime during the conversation I handed my drink to my friend, just to tie my shoe. During that moment, the guy from Dortmund had turned his back to us, to light a cigarette against the wind, and I was tying my shoe. It must have happened then. When I got my drink back from my friend, it didn’t take long. I was ridiculously wasted within a short amount of time. The guy from Dortmund was friendly enough and took care of me, giving me water to drink and keeping an eye on me, but eventually he had to leave with the band from Dortmund (who had been kicked out for punching the owner of the venue), to head home, so he found the only person he knew to look after me, my friend.

My friend was about to play, and he took me backstage, propped me up on the sofa and started groping me, that’s as much as I remember, then my memories fail. But the memory was all hazy, it was difficult to tell if I had just dreamed it, or if it had actually happened. The next time I woke up was after the gig, hours later. The other bandmates had already loaded their equipment into my friend’s car and left with a cab for home, the owner of the place was already announcing his place would close shortly (venues in Germany have to close at 5am). I woke up with a spinning head. My shirt was ripped at the neckline and I had love bites all on my neck and sternum. I felt horrible and didn’t remember the evening as clearly as I do now. I still thought the guy from Dortmund was responsible for this. Especially since my friend was being so caring and friendly with me, and telling me how he had seen that the guy from Dortmund had apparently taken advantage of me in my supposedly drunk state. He told me my friends had gone home when they read my message in the whatsapp chat, leaving me alone with him. I believed him without further thought. He was sober, he was the friend I trusted, the guy from Dortmund was a stranger who had showcased his violent tendencies in the fights before. I went with my friend, never second guessing.

Still drowsy from what I had thought was drink, I fell asleep during the car ride to his place, and I had difficulty walking straight, when we went up to his flat. Instead of leading me to the living room, where the sofas and field beds stood, he led me to his room, claiming to “take care of me”. Then he closed his room door and said “There now, we’re home. No need to be coy”. I didn’t understand what he meant, and tried to ask him about it, but all of my words were slurred and I was ashamed of seeming drunk. He just told me to go to sleep in his bed, that it was fine, that he’d take care of me. Then he joined me on his bed, running his fingers over my face. I told him “no”, but he didn’t stop. I told him “I don’t want this. Stop”, but he pulled my head into a kiss. I tried to shove him off the bed and then he hit me, wrestled himself on top of me and ripped up my shirt completely. I started crying and asked him to please stop, please don’t, please leave me alone. But everything I said made him angrier. He pushed me down, whenever I squirmed he choked me. So I stopped moving. He tugged and ripped my clothes from my body and stuffed my underwear in my mouth. Then he turned me around and tied my hands and neck to his bed. I tried to fight him off, but I couldn’t. I was hazy and exhausted and my body froze up in fear. I had never been beaten before. If I moved, I choked, if I tried to scream, I choked, if I cried too loud for his liking, I choked. And so I just… lay there. And endured it. All the time he grunted about how I had to stop being so coy, how he knew I wanted this, how I had baited him with the guy from Dortmund, how I was his wh*re, how long he had wanted to do this, how he deserved this and so on and so forth.

When it was over he lay down next to me and smiled at me, telling me how good I was in bed, and if I needed aftercare. He pretended that this had just been some bdsm roleplay, but it wasn’t. He let me lie there, tied to to his bedpost, gagged, bruised and naked, unable to move, to talk or to scream, while he berated me on how consensual what he did had just been. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. He said things like “Oh, you should have told me you’re new to bdsm, this was just roleplay”. But I knew that wasn’t true. And when he finally untied me, I ran and never looked back.

I know I should have gone to the police, but I was 19 and stupid and thought nobody would believe me. I live in a conservative town, and just the month before there had been a big court case, in which there had been video evidence of a woman being raped, and her abusers had framed it as a consensual bdsm scene, and had walked away from court without a sentence. I was sure my situation would turn out the same. And all of his rambling about had gotten to me. I started doubting myself. I started believing that it had actually just been a normal scene for him. And I was so ashamed of myself. I had broken all of the rules I had been taught. Never travel on your own, never leave your drink unattended, fight your assaulter with all the power you can muster. I stopped showing up at the local scene, until I eventually moved away, for fear of meeting him. When I moved town, I finally mustered the courage to go out again. And I want to explicitly say that what happened to me has nothing to do with the music scene involved. I have met so many nice and good-hearted people running shows and metal bars, I don’t want to scare you away from this type of music scene. I just need to tell my story.

It’s been years, but sometimes I wake up in the night, still drowsy from sleep, and for a heartbeat my mind brings me back to that place. I can’t have sex the way I used to, I’m always always reminded of that night. But I never told my partners. I never told my friends. I didn’t even tell my family. That one night is eating away at me, every day of my life. And I needed to get this story off my chest. If there is one thing I can tell you is please, do all of those things you thought was not necessary or overdoing it. Know your alcohol tolerance. Be aware of how many drinks you can drink to reach what stage of drunkenness. As soon as there’s a deviation – tell your trusted(!) friends. Even if you’re sure nobody spiked your drink, it may have just been someone you hadn’t had your attention on. Never travel alone at night, and if you’re in a travelling group, stick to that group, even if you’re told “Oh, they went home early”. Call them. Just to be sure. If my friends would have been in his flat, it wouldn’t have happened. If you don’t know someone well enough and have to spend the night at their place, don’t do it alone. Especially at a distant friend’s place. Meeting someone at parties and being alone with them is vastly different. No matter how safe you feel in the venue you’re going out, even if everybody knows each other and there are whatsapp groups dedicated to women for going home together, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security. Know the people you trust and stick to them. If you’ve wrote to them that you’re going home, but you return to the venue instead, let them know. And lastly, the one I’m the most upset about, that I didn’t do. If you wake up in a venue like mine, there’s going to be staff at the bar, organizers from the concert, security staff at the door, people who sale the tickets, people who clean the toilets, just any staff member. If your memory is hazy, don’t let the people you wake up to tell you what happened. Find someone from the staff, tell them you were drugged and assaulted and that you need to LEAVE. Most staff of nightclubs and concert halls will bring to to a safe staff-only room, call you a cab, and make sure you can leave without your assaulter noticing. If you have no place to go like I did, because the train doesn’t arrive til morning, go to the police. Even if you’ve had bad experiences with them before, go to the police and tell them what happened and that you have no place to go. If you think you’ve been drugged, you can opt to make a test there. Even if you haven’t been drugged, just made drunk, you can find shelter for the night there, or they will sometimes even bring you home, especially if you’re underage. Even if you get in trouble for breaking curfew, or underage drinking, it doesn’t matter. Those are things that will trouble you for about a month. What happened to me will eat away at my soul for the rest of my life. Whatever you do, find help as soon as you notice something is wrong. Don’t wait, don’t let people tell you what you need. Tell the staff, tell the police. Get out of there.

[7r0773r]

Bend Sinister by Vladimir Nabokov

He remembered other imbeciles he and she had studied, a study conducted with a kind of gloating enthusiastic disgust. Men who got drunk on beer in sloppy bars, the process of thought satisfactorily replaced by swine-toned radio music. Murderers. The respect a business magnate evokes in his home town. Literary critics praising the books of their friends or partisans. Flaubertian farceurs. Fraternities, mystic orders. People who are amused by trained animals. The members of reading clubs. All those who are because they do not  think, thus refuting Cartesianism. The thrifty peasant. The booming politician. Her relatives—her dreadful humorless family. (p. 179)

***

As he bent over the child, Krug was held at arm’s length for a moment, both looking into each other’s faces: the child hurriedly trying hard to think up something to ask in order to gain time, the father frantically praying that one particular question would not be asked. How tender the skin looked in its bedtime glory, with a touch of the palest violet above the eyes and with that golden bloom on the forehead, below the thick ruffled fringe of golden brown hair. The perfection of nonhuman creatures—birds, young dogs, moths asleep, colts—and these little mammals. A combination of three tiny brown spots, birthmarks on the faintly flushed cheek near the nose recalled some combination he had seen, touched, taken in recently—what was it? The parapet.

He quickly kissed them, turned off the light and went out. Thank God, it has not been asked—he thought as he closed the door. But, as he gently released the handle, there it came, high-pitched, brightly remembered.

“Soon,” he replied. “As soon as the doctor tells her she can. Sleep. I beg you.”

At least a merciful door was between him and me. (pp. 190-91)

***

O my strange native town! Your narrow lanes where the Roman once passed dream in the night of other things than do the evanescent creatures that tread your stones. O you strange town! Your every stone holds as many old memories as there are motes of dust. Every one of your gray quiet stones has seen a witch’s long hair catch fire, a pale astronomer mobbed, a beggar kicked in the groin by another beggar—and the King’s horses struck sparks from you, and the dandies in brown and the poets in black repaired to the coffee houses while you dripped with slops to the merry echoes of gardyloo. Town of dreams, a changing dream, O you, stone changeling. The little shops all shuttered in the clean night, the gaunt walls, the niche shared by the homeless pigeon with a sculptured churchman, the rose window, the exuded gargoyle, the jester who slapped Christ—lifeless carvings and dim life mingling their feathers. . . . Not for the wheels of oil-maddened engines were your narrow and rough streets designed. . . . (pp. 199-200)

***

He was one of those persons whom one loves not because of some lustrous streak of talent (this retired businessman possessed none), but because every moment spent with them fits exactly the gauge of one’s life. There are friendships like circuses, waterfalls, libraries; there are others comparable to old dressing gowns. You found nothing especially attractive about Maximov’s mind if you took it apart: his ideas were conservative, his tastes undistinguished: but somehow or other these dull components formed a wonderfully comfortable and harmonious whole. No subtlety of thought tainted his honesty, he was as reliable as iron and oak, and when Krug mentioned once that the word “loyalty” phonetically and visually reminded him of a golden fork lying in the sun on a smooth spread of pale yellow silk, Maximov replied somewhat stiffly that to him loyalty was limited to its dictionary denotation. Commonsense with him was saved from smug vulgarity by a delicate emotional undercurrent, and the somewhat bare and birdless symmetry of his branching principles was ever so slightly disturbed by a moist wind blowing from regions which he naïvely thought did not exist. The misfortunes of others worried him more than did his own troubles, and had he been an old sea captain, he would have dutifully gone down with his ship rather than plump apologetically into the last lifeboat. (pp. 236-37)

***

Three chairs placed one behind the other. Same idea.

“The what?”

“The cowcatcher.”

A Chinese checker board resting against the legs of the first chair represented the cowcatcher. The last chair was the observation car.

“I see. And now the engine driver must go to bed.”

“Hurry up, daddy. Get on. The train is moving!”

“Look here, my darling——”

“Oh, please. Sit down just for a minute.”

“No, my darling—I told you.”

“But it’s just one minute. Oh, daddy! Mariette does not want to, you don’t want to. Nobody wants to travel with me on my supertrain.”

“Not now. It is really time to——”

To be going to bed, to be going to school,—bedtime, dinnertime, tubtime, never just “time”; time to get up, time to go out, time to go home, time to put out all the lights, time to die.

And what agony, thought Krug the thinker, to love so madly a little creature, formed in some mysterious fashion (even more mysterious to us than it had been to the very first thinkers in their pale olive groves) by the fusion of two mysteries, or rather two sets of a trillion of mysteries each; formed by a fusion which is, at the same time, a matter of choice and a matter of chance and a matter of pure enchantment; thus formed and then permitted to accumulate trillions of its own mysteries; the whole suffused with consciousness, which is the only real thing in the world and the greatest mystery of all. (p. 316)

[vileart]

Shit I'm in Love with Dramaturgy: Rachelle Elie @ Edfringe 2017

Bawdy Romp through Life, Love and Family with Cheeky Songs About Sex

Rachelle Elie can tell you more about love and relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry could ever do – and she’s laying it all on the line.

The Outstanding Canadian Comedy Award winner is bringing her critically acclaimed one-woman show Shit I’m in Love With You Again (SIILWYA) to the Edinburgh Fringe for the first time. Packed with witty observations, tales of embarrassment plus cheeky songs about sex it’s a joyfully bawdy romp through the ups and downs of her life that covers teenage lust, family, marriage, parenthood and therapy.

What was the inspiration for this performance?

For the last 15 years I have been creating and touring one-woman comedy character shows such as Joe: The Perfect Man and Big Girls Don’t Cry. After years of marital distress, my obstetrician/gynaecologist husband and I managed to rescue our love from the cliff’s edge, a recovery that inspired my own story. 

I realised I knew more about love and relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry could ever know. So six years ago I decided to strip away the characters, get on stage in stand up clubs and find my own voice, a decision that led to Shit I’m in Love With You Again. The show is my life, including my time spent in Kenya where my husband worked in a hospital and I taught art to HIV positive adults shunned by society. 

Medical politics forced my husband to resign his post just as I, after making sacrifices and overcoming doubts to accompany him, found my niche and was making a real difference to people’s lives. The rest is history – a history laid bare for all to see on stage. Shit I’m in love With You Again is my first autobiographical show and this is me laying it all on the line.    

Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas? 

I feel theatre is still one of the best ways to share ideas. What I love about theatre is it is an art form that requires an audience. As a performer I get immediate feedback about whether my idea is being understood and it affects my performance.  

With so much social media and texting, face-to-face communication is harder to get but theatre is an old fashioned art form that offers modern present day idea sharing and expression.  

How did you become interested in making performance?

From a very early age I would do silly characters to make my siblings laugh. My brother always pushed me to do the characters for others to make them laugh. We would be driving through Florida and he got me to walk up to strangers and do my characters. I got addicted to the laughs. 

Those were early performances. By being weird I realised I could affect a stranger’s day. I failed Grade 8 and at that time a guidance counsellor encouraged me to audition for a high school of the arts. I didn’t know it but I was an artist. I got into the art and dance program and thrived.  At 16 I was working as a professional model and at a Ralph Lauren show we were told to completely ignore the audience. 

This was impossible to me and that realisation led me to persuing a degree in acting at Bishop’s University. Making performance was something I gravitated towards but as I got older the type of performance I was meant to do became clearer. I went to theatre school to be a serious actress but my true calling has always been to be a clown and to do comedy.

Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?

Every show I have created has had a slightly different approach but most of the time it involves collaboration with clown experts. I have worked with Philippe Gaulier, Sue Morrison, Mike Kennard, James Keylon, Francine Cote, Adam Lazarus, David Shiner and others. T

hese people are masters of clown and physical comedy. When starting a new project I often get in a room with one of these people and start jamming. They help me get clearer with my ideas. I also get on stage as much as I can because the audience will immediately let me know if something is working. I am not a linear thinker so I often work with dramaturges or directors to shape the show. 

Once I feel I have at least an hour of strong material I will schedule previews so the show can further develop in front of an audience. I will video those previews and make major cuts at that point.  Friends and family feedback also influences my work. 

Does the show fit with your usual productions?

In the past my work has been theatre based and the shows have revolved around over the top characters. This show was developed in front of audiences in stand-up clubs, cabarets and bars. It became clear after hundreds of 5-30 min sets that a new show was in development but I was to be the central figure. 

Many comedians will say it takes years to really find your VOICE, after six years of consistent performances and feeling like my comedic voice was surfacing it became clear that I needed to create a new piece. I knew I wanted to perform it in theatres so I returned to my usual approach; to shows which involved several collaborators and mentors. 

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

More and more people need to laugh. As a comedian my favourite part of my work is doing just that and I believe this show provides some comic relief. I am also a trained clown. Clowns go too far, push boundaries and talk about things people are usually hesitant to discuss. 

I hope audiences jump on board with me when I go into the good the bad and the rauchy experiences of life. My specialty is “being too much” and “going too far” I hope audiences will enjoy my unique brand of comedy developed over the last twenty years that involves storytelling, stand up, clown, characters and acting.  

Near the end of the show, when we get more into the crisis of my relationship audiences get to see the worst of me. It is very intimate. I try to always come back to the light of it which is fun because things get crazy and then we laugh about how ugly things got. I had a friend who went through a nasty divorce and at the end of the show he was teary and said he wished he saw the show before they broke up. 

Another elderly overweight gentleman said he wished he had "fucked first" in his first marriage. Maybe it would of saved it! I tell the truth about love and relationships and the shows message is that even if a relationship appears to be shit it may be fixable. I hope audiences will laugh and when conflict part of the show comes up that people will relate to my struggle and to my universal message about love.

What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience?

A few years back I discovered Aristotle's “Fryetag's Pyramid". Exposition, Rising action, Climax, Falling action & Resolution. I am not by nature a linear thinker and this tried and true triangle for story development is a strategy that helped me shape my chaotic ideas. Also I perform as much as I can in front of a live audience so that I can ensure my writing and performance are consistently funny for all types of audiences. 

Lastly and most importantly as a performer doing what I have to do before a show, to be in the moment with the audience that is in front of me, is crucial to shaping an audiences experience. There is a magical place, a five star place, between an audience and a performer on stage and when I access that place the audience and I have the ultimate experience. I am getting better and better at stepping into that place and it is the part of theatre that is like skydiving: life and death.

The show was a sing and shout-along success across Canada. Mums empathise with the “Ring of Fire” scene where Elie discusses that unforgettable sensation during childbirth, just before the baby arrives. 

And we can all learn from the Fuck First ditty and its core message about going to bed together before, rather than after, a romantic restaurant curry. 

SIILWYA rips through every key moment from Elie’s fall out with Jesus and enthusiastic embrace of sexual freedom, to true love and a marriage that came within an inch of divorce.

Described by legendary French master clown Philippe Gaulier as “fucking funny”, Elie has won bucket loads of praise. Critics delight at the energy and charm with which she delivers this autobiographical tale. Elie’s comedy can switch in an instant from naivety to raunch and then into the pathos of the realisation that she “loves everything about her husband – even the things that she hates”.

Elie treats universal themes in unexpected ways. She says: “It’s all there from splitting up with Jesus to the need for patience, tolerance and blow jobs in saving your marriage. I know more about long-term relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry combined. I’ve been in the trenches of love for 20 years with my husband. We’re raising two boys together. I talk about the things most people are afraid to discuss.”

The songs are co-written with Luke Jackson, who provides live musical accompaniment.

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[recentanimenews]

So, I Just Watched Hyouka...

While I’m no stranger to Kyoto Animation, even considering myself a fan of their collective works, one of their shows has always eluded my grasp. Acclaimed by just about every anime fan I know, I’ve carried a burning desire to watch Hyouka for years. Fortunately, its recent addition to Crunchyroll's catalogue gave me the perfect opportunity to finally do so!

So I set aside a single weekend where, across the two days, I threw myself into binging all twenty-two episodes. With six years worth of hype behind it, though, has Hyouka matured like a fine wine? And how does it compare to Kyoto Animation anime past and present? You could say, I’m curious!

Hyouka is far from the studio’s first foray into the slice-of-life genre, yet the Classic Literature Club’s activities engaged my attention in a way not even K-On!’s musical performances could (and they’re a mainstay on my Spotify playlist!). That’s because this time, I wasn't just watching someone shine on a stage out of reach; I was walking alongside Oreki and Chitanda as they piece together the mysteries of their school life.

Mystery stories are a guilty pleasure of mine, and I found a lot of charm in the niche Hyouka carved for itself. With the cast in the height of their youth, where school life is all that really matters, their mysteries are less Murder on the Orient Express and more exercises in innocent curiosity. When introducing the story of Chitanda’s uncle going missing in India, the series could have spun into an exciting, international manhunt – but it didn’t. I admired how Hyouka avoided the more obvious theatrics in favor of more intimate mystery; wanting to remember a forgotten memory in time for the final goodbye.

For me, that is where Hyouka truly excels. Not in the complexity of its mysteries, but in the people behind them. For example, even when multiple episodes were dedicated to a Cultural Festival thief, the caper’s hijinks became a platform to highlight insecurities that helped me better understand and sympathize with the once-assumed happy-go-lucky Satoshi Fukube.

Fukube wasn’t the only character to benefit from the School Festival arc either. Hyouka exceeded my expectations by doing what few series do: establishing a school life for characters beyond the club room or initial social circle. Away from Oreki and the series regulars, Mayaka Ibara had her own duties as part of the Manga Club, a situation that saw her become the lead in her own corner of Hyouka’s world.

Other series may have used her minimal involvement in the overarching storyline as an excuse to write her out completely, but I love how Hyouka seized on the opportunity to instead show us another side of Ibara, away from the Classic Literature Club – even if it meant seeing my favorite character on the receiving end of a tormenting mentor.

At the heart of Hyouka, however, is the budding relationship between the self-proclaimed “energy conservationist” Hotaro Oreki and the bubbly, enthusiastic girl he meets in the clubroom one fateful afternoon: Eru Chitanda. If their personalities were described as colors, Oreki would be a stale gray and Chitana a rosy pink. Initially finding her curiosity an annoyance, Chitanda’s gradual awakening of Oreki’s social desire really is a work of expert craftsmanship, as it advances at a pace unnoticeable from one episode to the next, yet unmistakable when comparing start to finish.

Once-in-a-lifetime meetings, where a person’s more sullen outlook is slowly transformed by a radiant new light, should be no stranger to fans of Kyoto Animation or the romance genre at large. You may find a warming familiarity in Oreki and Chitanda’s relationship, as it has a lot in common with one you may already know: Yuta and Rikka’s in Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions. Chunibyo’s Yuta and Hyouka’s Oreki have a lot in common, so if you enjoyed one, you’ll likely be fond of the other.

Upon entering high school, both had hopes of spending the next three years with their heads down, avoiding unwanted attention. However, both young men were denying a valuable part of themselves – for Yuta, it was the imagination that sparked middle school delusions of grandeur, and for Oreki, the acknowledgement of his deductive ability.

While Rikka and Chitanda have their own individual charm, with the former captivated by flights of magical fancy and the latter driven by an adoring curiosity, they share common ground in their ability to draw out the best in others. In both series, I delighted in watching these relationships grow from mild irritation into blossoming inspiration, and in Chunibyo’s case, becoming one of the cutest couples in modern anime.

Taking my first dive into an anime many have loved for six years, I was admittedly anxious over how the animation would hold up, especially given Kyoto Animation’s reputation for beauty. Fortunately, those doubts were completely unwarranted and Hyouka’s spectacular visuals would no doubt be celebrated even if the series were released today. The scattering of cherry blossoms evokes a tender, emotional majesty not unlike the stellar A Silent Voice, while a focus on realistic detail in even rarely visited locales like a cosy coffee shop really helps Hyouka feel like a comfy slice-of-life.

If you’re like I was and have yet to dive into the mysteries of Hyouka, you won’t regret satisfying your curiosity by giving it a try now!

Are you also a Hyouka newcomer, or a long-time fan? Let us know what you think of the series in the comments below!

Josh A. Stevens is a freelance PR with anime industry experience, and a writer at Anime UK News. You can follow him on Twitter @Joshawott.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[foodieworldmelbourne]

The Simpsons, doom metal, and the seven stages of grief: The story of Dr Colossus

By Matt Neal Posted April 21, 2018 06:08:40

Photo: A Simpsons-style depiction of Nathan 'Buddha' Johnston, drawn by Glenn Smith. (Supplied: Glenn Smith) Map: Portland 3305 Doom metal band Dr Colossus were on to something. When they formed in 2014 they had found a unique musical niche heavy rock songs about long-running animated TV series The Simpsons which would prove surprisingly popular. Over the next few years, Dr Colossus comprising long-time friends Jono Colliver (guitar) and Nathan Johnston (drums) built a large following by releasing EPs and singles, and toured Australia. When it came time to record an album, they launched a successful crowdfunding campaign that raised well above their target of $6,000. With new third member Mike Findlay on board, Dr Colossus recorded their debut album The Dank and readied themselves for a series of launches. But then Nathan died suddenly. He was 29. 'Why don't we make all the songs about The Simpsons?' Nathan "Buddha" Johnston grew up in the south-west Victorian town of Portland. As a youngster he was more likely to listen to Black Sabbath than The Beatles, and started playing drums in early high school. He met Jono Colliver by playing in high school rock band Emprica together, starting a decade-and-a-half-long friendship and musical partnership. What is "doom metal"?Doom metal is one of countless subgenres of heavy music. Sometimes also known as stoner rock, stoner metal, or sludge metal it is typically characterised by slow tempos and heavy riffs intended to conjure up a sense of doom or dread. Guitars are often tuned down lower than is typical for rock bands. So instead being in standard E tuning, they might be in standard B tuning, which is five steps lower.Black Sabbath is seen as the originator of doom metal. After high school, Jono moved to Melbourne and Nathan moved to Geelong but they continued to play together in bands such as Honeytrap and Kashmere Club (the latter band worked with The Living End's Chris Cheney at one stage). It was while on tour in Tasmania with Honeytrap in 2011 that the seeds of what would become Dr Colossus were planted. Jono and Nathan joked about starting a "slow and sludgey" doom metal band and naming it something "ridiculous and cliched [like] Colossal or Monolith", to which Jono suggested "Why don't we name the band after Dr Colossus from The Simpsons?". "Well, why don't we just make all the songs about The Simpsons?" Nathan replied. A crazy idea was born.

Photo: That makes two of us: Jono Colliver (left) and Nathan Johnston employed their humour, musicality, and love of The Simpsons to create doom-metal band Dr Colossus. (Supplied: Dr Colossus) 'Wait a minute, this is just good heavy music' Jono remembered thinking two things about this idea. One, "that it would be really funny" and two, "that it would never see the light of day". He said over the next couple of years the notion of a Simpsons-themed doom-metal band refused to dislodge itself from their minds, so they eventually took it seriously or at least as seriously as one can take a Simpsons-themed doom-metal band. They recorded an EP called IV, so named because the subject matter came from season four, which featured three somewhat thinly veiled songs paying homage to Jono and Nathan's favourite TV show. The EP tapped into their shared musical preferences and sense of humour, and proved surprisingly popular, not only with fans of The Simpsons, but also fans of doom-metal. "There [were a lot] of people who didn't even realise it was Simpsons-related and didn't realise it was a joke," Jono said. "People [who] liked it thought 'Oh, this is just good heavy music' and then some people were like 'The Simpsons' gags, that drew me in'." Another seven-inch single followed, which was more overt in its references with one track's title coming from a direct quote from the show Shut Up And Eat Your Pinecone. But things really took off when another Simpsons-themed metal band the Ned Flanders-worshipping Okilly Dokilly went viral in a massive way, accidentally dragging Dr Colossus into the spotlight too. "We'd been playing shows, releasing music, being a normal, busy band, and around that [time a] band from Phoenix, Arizona, arrived on the internet in meme form, which was a picture of this band all dressed up like Ned Flanders and they were a 'nedal' band which was a heavy metal band [singing songs] all based on Ned Flanderisms," Jono said.

Photo: US metal band Okilly Dokilly, in all their Ned Flanders-inspired splendour. (Supplied: Okilly Dokilly) "Online just gobbled it up. "These guys had not only taken this similar concept, they'd accumulated millions of followers online in the space of a week and picked up pretty much every major music press and web blog. "We were like 'Awww, that sucks'. We thought that was our only chance and they've nabbed it from us." But Jono and Nathan hit upon a smart way to cash in on Okilly Dokilly's sudden fame, using an unrecorded song Dr Colossus had been playing live called Stupid Sexy Flanders. "Okilly Dokilly came onto the scene [and] the internet kinda blew up on a Friday the next day we were out at the studio [with producer Nic Pallett] and I said to Nic 'Tomorrow can we record a song?', so we recorded the song, mixed it in a day, and put it online that night," he said. "I wrote a press release for it saying 'Dr Colossus have released this track Stupid Sexy Flanders but it's not directly based on Okilly Dokilly'. "We implied there were accusations I kind of just invented this feud that wasn't there. "Our press release was saying 'there's no feud it just happens to be a song we released', which was all true." The Australian online music press lapped it up and began spreading the word about Dr Colossus. "Okilly Dokilly turned a lot of people on to us inadvertently," Jono said. "People who loved the idea of a metal band based on episodes of The Simpsons, they all clicked on those links to check out Okilly Dokilly, but I think they stuck around with us because we were actually creating a body of work at the time and we were playing shows we were a real band that I'd like to think you could have longevity with, and listenability beyond the gag. "That's no criticism of Okilly Dokilly because they were masters of what they did [but] their focus just wasn't as heavily on the music as we were, but yeah, it worked amazingly well it amassed a ton of listeners for us." Tragedy strikes This accidental burst in popularity put them in good stead to record their debut album. Jono and Nathan added a third member, bass player Mike Findlay, and started a crowdfunding campaign that easily eclipsed its target.

Photo: Dr Colossus as a three-piece, just prior to Johnston's death: Mike Findlay (left), Jono Colliver and Nathan Johnston. (Supplied: Dr Colossus) The resulting album, The Dank, attracted positive reviews and interest from a record label in Europe. And then, just as they were readying more gigs to launch the record and mailing out the rewards for the crowdfunding campaign, the unthinkable happened. Nathan died in his sleep, most likely from an aneurysm. He was about five months short of turning 30 and two months away from sharing his first wedding anniversary with his high school sweetheart and best friend Kate. Dr Colossus had played their final gig just days earlier at Cherry Bar in Melbourne. Nathan was remembered as a big man with a big heart who threw himself into his passions, whether it be motorcycles or music. Friends and fans flooded Dr Colossus' Facebook page with messages of disbelief and condolences, as well as sharing stories about their fond memories of Nathan. Jono, understandably, was devastated. "I was [thinking] the only way he really could die is in a fiery motorbike crash, but that didn't really make sense [because] he was at home and he was crook [so] I didn't think he'd be riding his motorbike, but for some reason that was the only thing in my mind that would have ever killed him exploding in a ball of flames on his motorbike," Jono said. "I was in disbelief. "I rang his partner Kate and I kinda knew as soon as her friend answered the phone the disbelief turned into instant and total agony. "The penny dropped that he had been feeling a bit ill and this reality just smashed me in the face. "I was in the process of posting out [album] orders so when Nathan passed away my whole house was filled with this record [staring] me in the face every day, illustrating this absence of him, of him not being able to share the record not being able to hear what people say about the record. "The timing of it was atrocious, no matter how you look at it. "He was far too young." A celebration of Nathan When a band loses a member, there is no rule book on what to do next. Amid the usual maelstrom of feelings that follow a death, Jono and bandmate Mike Findlay struggled with the sense there was "some unfinished business with Dr Colossus that Nath would have wanted to be finished". Eventually they called in one of Nathan's longtime friends and fellow Portland native Josh Eales to take the place behind the kit, as well as Jono's brother Joel as an extra guitarist and for moral support, with the idea of playing some tribute shows to honour Nathan's memory.

Photo: Get with the times, Moe: The new four-piece line-up of Dr Colossus will pay tribute to Johnston at two upcoming gigs. (Supplied: Dr Colossus) "We're all playing with Nath in our hearts and minds and we can feel him in the songs and the way those songs move," Jono said. "The main reason for doing it is we feel like we should it feels like it's a shame to let any opportunity for celebration in these situations to pass you by. "I just hope it will connect everyone around him more." He said the rehearsals had been going well and they hoped the tribute shows would be the start of a new chapter for Dr Colossus. "It feels healthy and healing to be doing it," Jono said. "It's a nice excuse for us, particularly Mike and I to be busy on a project that's so rich with memory that we can reminisce about and be close to those things that Nath did. "It's going to be a different band naturally, but that's cool, that's fine, that's good Nath will always be an absentee member." The "Dr Colossus Honour Nathan Johnston" gigs will take place at Cherry Bar in Melbourne on April 28 and the Barwon Club in Geelong on June 8. All profits will go to Edgar's Mission, an animal rescue charity that was close to Nathan's heart. Topics:music,arts-and-entertainment,music-industry,rock,death,community-and-society,grief,television,portland-3305,warrnambool-3280,melbourne-3000,geelong-3220 http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-04-21/simpsons-band-dr-colossus-death-tribute/9670186

[markwatkinsconsumerguide]

Consumer Guide / No.43 /  American artist Steve Pietzsch with Mark Watkins.  

MW: How did you become an illustrator?

SP: Well, Mark, of course I always drew pictures as a kid (mostly WW2 tanks, ships, and airplanes that were fairly realistic) and pursued my interest in art throughout my schooling.  After graduating college with a degree in advertising art, I took a job as a junior art director with an ad agency in Dallas, Texas. I was assigned to doing layout, type design, and product illustrations for a sporting goods company. I can’t tell you how many pen and ink merchandise drawings of athletic shoes, tennis racquets, golf clubs, or soccer balls I did - but three years of it - that was enough!

During this time I met a group of illustrators working out of a local studio called The Sketch Pad. It was run by the late Don Ivan Punchatz. Punchatz was internationally regarded as one of the premier illustrators in America at the time. His surreal art graced the pages of popular horror and science-fiction paperbacks, National Geographic, Esquire, National Lampoon and Rolling Stone magazines, and many others.

I left my junior art director job when I had the chance to get into that special place which was probably the most important and lucky things to happen to me.  It was a den of creativity and experimentation. There were about eight artists working there under the watchful eye of Don, the mentor. It was run very much like a Renaissance atelier. By starting out mixing paints, painting in backgrounds, doing tracings, etc., one was eventually given assignments of their own. I owe everything of my illustration career to my two years working in The Sketch Pad.  It was there that I learned acrylic painting techniques, honed my craft, and found my niche. I came out after a two year apprenticeship with a portfolio that set me off on 15 years of freelance illustrating. My freelance lifestyle afforded me the kind of freedom that allowed me to work and play whenever I wanted. Clients included American Airlines, Avon Books, Bantam Books, Atlantic Monthly, New England Monthly, Texas Monthly, Omni magazine, Neiman-Marcus, Greyhound, Boy Scouts of America, Hyatt Hotels, Dr Pepper, and Rolling Stone magazine, among others. Working for Rolling Stone was surreal. It was exhilarating for an old hippie like me to have the good fortune to have been able to work for that icon. I even had “…my picture on the cover…!”

MW:  Thanks Steve, we can roll over to the ‘Stone in more detail shortly...why did you diversify into making computer generated art for video games?

SP: After 15 years the solitary life of a freelance artist was growing stale. Alone at home in my studio, the thrill of seeing my work in public was slowing down, as well as the business, and I was nearing burnout. Then in 1993, out of the blue, some artist friends called to let me know they were all taking jobs at a video game company in Austin, Texas that was in need of artists. So I went down to check out what this was all about and was excited by what I saw.   The company was Origin Systems, a video game developer most famous for the Wing Commander, a groundbreaking space combat simulation computer game, and Ultima, a fantasy role-playing series, considered the seminal games of the genre. The founder of the company was a young eccentric (and I mean that in the best way) named Richard Garriot.  He started his gaming business out of his garage while in high school and went on from there to make millions of dollars. He was the son of an astronaut and always longed to go to space himself…which he eventually did... by paying millions to the Russians for a trip to the International Space Station.

The company realized that games in the future we're going to be loaded with art and animation and that they needed to hire and train real artists to do the work, rather than programmers with limited artistic skills. I was offered a full-time position. It was mind-blowing at the time. Here, I would be creating objects in 3D space and putting them in motion. After working on a 2D surface in static time all those years, this looked like an opportunity to begin a new creative endeavor. I couldn’t sleep the night before as I had to decide whether or not to accept a position there, but it became clear that this was something I couldn’t pass up.  It seemed to be a new frontier.

I loved every minute of it. For the next 15 years, I stayed in the video game industry, working for several studios in Austin, including ones owned by Electronic Arts, Microsoft and Disney. I became proficient in Photoshop, did some concept art, built and textured 3D models, created 3D environments and did some animation. It was exciting to work on a team with brilliant young minds and ride the wave of the future with 2D and 3D technology. I had put my brushes aside and replaced them with a mouse. I began to dream in pixels!

But the winds within shifted, and I began to feel it was time for yet another change. I was becoming a bit weary of work in general, and I started thinking about getting back to doing art with my own ideas in traditional tools.

MW: Rolling Stone magazine marks its 50th anniversary in 2017. Share some of your memories of your time there...

SP: I never actually worked in New York at the offices of Rolling Stone. All my work with them was done on a freelance basis and I worked out of Texas via telephone, faxes and FedEx.  These were the ancient days before the Internet!  

The backstory on how my business with them came about started back in Texas around 1987.  Early on, I did some illustration work with the art director for one of the Dallas newspapers and their Sunday supplement magazine.  This was Fred Woodward who then moved on to become the art director for award winning Texas Monthly Magazine where he continued to hire illustrators and photographers he had a good working relationship with. I continued getting assignments from Fred while he was there.  Then he got the call from Rolling Stone to take over the art director position (Fred was art director for 14 years and is now design director for GQ magazine).  He continued to use artists he liked and trusted and fortunately that included me.  One of my favorite assignments for Rolling Stone was a portrait of Ronald Reagan in which he takes on the image of the Wizard of Oz complete with some figures behind the curtain pulling all the strings…including his wife Nancy.  And then of course the cover assignment came along!  

MW: ... yes, tell me about the cover you designed...

SP: I did a few interior story illustrations for Rolling Stone before the cover assignment came about in 1988.  The art director called me with a verbal description of the idea for a cover featuring the best 100 singles of all time…looking down on a 45rpm record sitting on a turntable. With that I sent a comp of my interpretation. In the final painting I added swirling colors on the record label to simulate spinning and musical notes being emitted from where the needle touches the record.  All done in about 10 days.  It was quite something to see the finished issue on the stands.  

http://www.rollingstone.com/

MW: You were born in Dallas, Texas. Can you remember where you were when Kennedy was assassinated?

SP: Yes, Mark, I was in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963 sitting in my 7th grade classroom when the principal came over the loudspeaker to tell us the news that the President had been shot…on that day…in our town. Shock.  Maybe the first time in my 12 years I had felt that particular emotion.  No one knew how to act or what to say. Sickening silence.

Many kids were downtown because they were excused from classes if they were going to see the President.  It was supposed to be an exciting, festive day but it all went dark.  It was hard hearing the rest of the world tagging Dallas as a “city of hate” when we all knew this was not true.  It took decades for the stigma to fade away.

MW: What are your favourite paintings?

SP: Oh, of my own -  is an early one dating back to 1978.  It is very detailed with imagery drawn from a visit to France and my love of playing card games.  

The most moved I have been by a single painting is one called ‘The Lady of Shalott’ by John William Waterhouse.  I was visiting the Tate in London in 1979 especially to see the collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings. When I came upon this painting I was so taken by it I had to sit on a bench located in the middle of the room and stare at it for what seemed a timeless period. The lighting in the gallery struck this painting in such a way that the lady seemed to come alive. I still get chills thinking about it!

One other fascinating and detailed painting is also in the Tate.  It is ‘The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke’ by Richard Dadd.  

MW: Tell me about your life on a hilltop hideaway...

SP:  Ah…the hideaway! After living most of my life in large cities I decided to move to a fairly remote cabin on ten acres atop a hill in what is known as the Texas Hill Country in the center of the state.

So things are quite a contrast to living the bohemian artist lifestyle in the city hanging out with artists, photographers, graphic designers, and writers in the pubs and cafes.  Here it is very quiet with most of my visitors being hummingbirds, deer, fox, porcupines and many other “critters.”  

I also created several nature trails throughout my ten acre property.  At night the “stars are bright”…and one can see The Milky Way… something unavailable under city lights. My water comes from the sky as I have installed a rainwater catchment system for my needs. I feel reconnected to the Universe.   I moved-in full time in 2008 after adding a studio space to the existing cabin along with other remodeling.  That, plus getting Internet and TV connections made it feasible to leave the city. I still have plenty of social activities being thirty minutes from the nearest town ; if I need a big-city-fix I live close to both Austin and San Antonio.

MW: Which radio station/s do you enjoy...?

SP:  When painting I usually listen to classical.  I stream music from WRR-FM, a classical music station out of Dallas.   When I need to liven things up I’ll turn to Sun Radio out of Austin.  A little Stevie Ray Vaughan can give me a boost anytime!

http://www.wrr101.com/

http://sunradio.com/

MW: ...newspapers/magazines?

I try to keep informed about what’s going on in the world via satellite TV and the Internet.  Local news I get from the local small town newspaper.  Other than that I have been reading a lot more in the form of novels. I’m on a run of Erik Larson novels at the moment.

MW: Steve, what are you plans for (the rest of) 2017?

SP:  Not too many plans.  Everyday brings new options. I am currently creating pictures inspired by the local environment.  Lots of cactus around here!  I am forcing some of the natural objects in the area into geometric shapes…trying to interject some surrealism and whimsy into the Hill Country art scene. Ha!

I’m not too keen on accepting commissions as I prefer to paint things for my own amusement and then sell them later. Otherwise it becomes too much like a job. But my contact info is on my website at www.steve-pietzsch.com just in case.

Oh, just before I go, your readers may also like to check out this You Tube interview I did with the Texas Country Reporter only last year :

https://youtu.be/kMxRFzynsfQ

http://texascountryreporter.com/

(c) Mark Watkins / April 2017

[newandbrave]

The Paper Kites – Revelator Eyes

The process of making an EP (let alone an album) can be an incredibly long task for any aspiring band or musician. It requires a lot of dedication and hours spent in the studio working alongside producers to perfect the album. But there are also other things to consider, including whether to record locally or overseas and what sort of concepts will the new record be based around. Young Australian indie-folk band The Paper Kites has recently gone through the process of releasing a second album, and it is vastly different from what they produced earlier in their careers. This band has a very dream-like sound about them, and you could be left in a daze by listening to a few of their songs. While they are still starting out in music, their retro and diverse sound shows just how mature each of the band members are as musicians.

The Paper Kites originated in Melbourne back in 2010. In the beginning it was based around band members Sam Bentley and Christina Lacey who had been performing together and writing music since high school. Early on in their music careers they would play Melbourne coffee shops, and they would eventually be offered a chance to play at a local festival. It was then that Bentley and Lacey came to the realisation that they would need more members if their music was to take off and make an impact. These three other members included David Powys who was recruited from another Melbourne based band (guitar/banjo), Sam’s friend and co-worker Sam Rasmussen (bass/synth) and Sam’s cousin Josh Bentley (drums). Their debut single Bloom followed soon after the line-up was complete. The EP Woodland was released in 2011, and by the early months of 2012 they were headlining festivals across Australia and even got the chance to perform on live TV. The hit tracks from the EP including Featherstone and Bloom generated over 5 million YouTube views. Following this they opted for another EP called Young North, instead of a full album, so that they would have the chance to continue to develop their live sound. Young North was co-produced by Wayne Connolly and the band at the Sing-Sing recording studio in Melbourne. In 2013 the band released their first full LP ‘States’ and they followed it up with a tour of North America supporting Canadian band City & Colour.

The concept and planning of the second album was originally took place in Sam Bentley’s family home where he would be in his studio creating new music during the early hours of the morning. All the long hours and hard work would pay off when the band went to Seattle to record the album and create a more in-depth sound that was different from their previous album. In Seattle they would work alongside critically acclaimed producer Phil Ek who assisted them in developing a more synth focussed sound. The second album ‘Twelvefour’ was released in 2015 and it was based around the idea of it being recorded during the hours of 12.00 AM and 4.00 AM. Bentley described the different sound of their second album as a natural progression and he feels that the change was definitely a good thing.

They have an indie-folk sound which is a nice combination of synth and an earthy folk guitar which is then supported by some nice vocals. A documentary by Matthew J Cox has also been made about the making and progression of the bands second album. Sam Bentley says they wanted to give viewers an insight into what they went through to make the record and the processes that they had to follow. The Paper Kites have stood by the style of music that they love and they believe that it is what will make them successful. They also have a local but very loyal fan base that have supported them from the start. Sam Bentley said that he wanted to be part of that band where people would give them a listen when they needed something more than a song to make them feel happy.

Revelator Eyes is taken off their second album ‘Twelvefour’ and it shows off the synth inspired indie sound that The Paper Kites have progressed towards. The first twenty to thirty seconds shows off the light synth sound straight away, it then progresses to some vintage indie pop which a lot of band have turned to as of late. I think the chorus is what makes this song so special as it has some great indie guitar combined with some light vocals which immediately brings me back to some of the very famous indie-pop songs from the 80’s. The music video was shot by Dan Huiting and it was based around a fictional venue that was thought up by Sam Bentley and the band known as Jam Bar. Sam Bentley said that he intended the concept behind the video to be that people would order their music from behind the bar and then play the records at small vinyl record stations with headphones. So instead of ordering some drinks and sitting down at a booth and having a conversation, people actually get the record and they listen to it together in silence. The whole idea is very retro and it could easily be set in one of Melbourne’s many underground bars, clubs and hidden laneway gems. 

The Paper Kites remind me a lot of English indie band Bloc Party. While The Paper Kites use more synth in their current song I can still hear some elements of indie-pop/rock in their music that Bloc Party rely on create their emotional and upbeat songs.

The Paper Kites seem to have found a new niche in their song Revelator Eyes. I enjoyed the retro sound and it immediately made me feel like I was wandering down one of Melbourne’s back laneways while looking for a new place to go late at night. The vocals still have the folk feeling but this new indie-pop that they have come out with is worth a listen because there are not many bands in Australia right now who can produce such a smooth and laid back retro sound. I would love to hear more of their new style in the near future.

I’m starting to see The Paper Kites as a band with a more human element. The Melbournians seem to enjoy sharing their story and the highs and the lows with their group of fans, and they also seem to have the right attitude about their work as well. I think we will see more artistic music video concepts and delightful retro based indie-pop tracks from them in the near future, and while they may not be making headlines around the world just yet I believe that they can become an internationally recognised band very soon.

Why we love it: Dream-like vibe, indie-pop sound, retro aesthetic

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By Kieren