#he’s doing a weird mom pose to get the right angle while he has tears in his eyes

[umemiyan]

me and A Boy (it’s almost 2am so why not)

(neka link if anyone wants it)

[book-o-scams]

Either 1. Do an analysis on the scene from Run for Your Ed where the Kanker's find that their ship-in-a-bottle is missing. Or if you don't want to do an analysis (please think about doing one though) you can just answer this question. Why is the Kanker's ship-in-a-bottle so important? * If you have any questions see the post on my blog. You have until Sunday to complete the analysis.

I’m excited to do this because ‘Run For Your Ed’ is a really great Kanker episode AND a really great LATER episode.  Season 4′s Kanker episodes have some of the most intentional character-exploration in the show’s entire run, and it’s really nice to see AKA so proactive about developing characters who are usually treated like extras, especially during an era  era where they were having trouble developing the central characters.  This season contains at least 3 episodes that begin from the Kankers’ perspective and humanize their motivations before setting them loose on the cul-de-sac, this being one of those episodes.  This season also contains ‘A Twist of Ed’, an interesting episode that begins from the Eds’ perspective but starts blending in the Kankers’ perspective when the Eds start to turn the tables on them.  It’s disappointing that we don’t really get any Kanker-focused episodes during the digital era of the show, but at least season 5 finally breaks status quo, first by having the Eds publicly declare the Kankers to be their girlfriends, and in the end by scaring the Kankers away for most post-s5 episodes.

Here’s a weird thing I noticed… for the last 3 episodes of season 4, the storyboard credit screen does not actually say “storyboard by.“  And although they are all episodes with the “Tout Le Monde“ credit--  a trend mostly used during seasons 2 and 4, while season 3 had more solo episodes and season 1 wasn’t credited very clearly, it’s a French phrase they use when all of the storyboard artists in the studio contributed pieces of the episode-- earlier instances of “Tout Le Monde“ as late as s4′s ‘Stuck in Ed’ included the “storyboard by“ line.  Kinda seems like an oversight as season 4′s deadlines got tight...  But obviously I know this is nitpicking, regardless it’s very interesting that Danny wanted the show to go out with so many group-effort episodes.  I wonder if perhaps it was to improve morale when everyone was feeling out of ideas?  Or if the artists actually disliked not receiving clearer credit?

Anyway the other reason I wanted to include this screenshot for Kanker appreciation month is that I noticed the Tout Le Monde episodes of seasons 2 and 4 (IIRC, it’s just Homecooked Eds, A Twist of Ed, Run For Your Ed, and technically the movie although it is not credited to Tout Le Monde) produced some of the most iconic Kanker moments and I think the Kankers’ group dynamics are influenced by the team spirit at AKA.

This is the first time we see the trailer park at night and the only time we see it at night without it being buried under snow.

Oh, I also have model sheets archived for this episode!  Here are some color tests using season 1 background lineart:

This episode is the only time we get to see the Kankers all sleeping in their bed, as well as the only time we get to see their pajamas.  I’m fascinated by which characters get pajamas and other sorts of alternate outfits.

So things begin peacefully enough, with Brahms Lullaby, lotsa night ambience, and a cute gag where the Kankers each have their own obnoxious snore that somehow doesn’t wake the others.

But soon enough, one crash downstairs wakes Lee and a second crash wakes Marie. 

The storyboarding seems to be intentionally framing this as the older sisters sharing a feeling of responsibility for their household.

Ohh, I also love whenever we get to see the Kankers scared shitless like this, it’s surprisingly not as rare as you’d think.

Have some cute sleepy Mays:

The girls have each others’ backs as they cautiously look down their staircase.

Thankfully I have the model sheet so we can fully appreciate this perspective:

In a subtle and effectively creepy little bit of animation, all the Kankers see is a tiny tin can rolling out of their kitchen.

Marie and May immediately turn to Lee for their next move.

LOVE this shot with the kitchen light.  Season 4 also has the hands-down BEST trailer backgrounds, we get to see so many interesting perspectives in these episodes.

Lee seemingly lets her sisters stay behind and charges to the kitchen with their wall-mounted swordfish (or is that a marlin…?).

However, the intruder has already left and we get a few more looks at the nighttime trailer park:

Relieved, Lee and Marie jump into the window and bark insults at the intruder.  Another good older sisters sequence, and this one I have a couple storyboard panels for:

They inspect their wrecked kitchen, and at first the background, Lee’s tone and the music sync up to make this look like a really depressing moment, this family with little to begin with having been eaten out of house and home.  And as fans, the next scene’s reveal that this is a redux of Ed’s sleepeating from season 1 is no surprise, and I think it’s being portrayed a bit less amusing now that it’s affecting families outside of Peach Creek’s ritzy suburbs.

But then we get this dramatic shot of Marie holding the table and it always throws off the mood of this scene to me…  I still love the scene as a whole but when Marie whines “why’s it always the good ones that get away!?” while looking at a bite mark out of something inedible, it kind of implies weird things about the Kankers and adult strangers and really any trailer park weirdo who might break in…  Especially after what the Kankers do without a second thought to Bro in BPS, this is more than a bit concerning.  It’s right up there with Marie saying “I LIKE cheaters“ in her second appearance, sometimes Marie’s defining trait in my mind is that she’s somehow LESS rational than the others.. Or maybe it’s just another reference to this specific interest they’ve picked up from their mom, in men who have big appetites…

I always want to believe this is actually a more absurd gag and that Marie is instead saying it to mourn the table where she eats all her meals, in more of a “why do the good die young” way… but then Lee and Marie continue the conversation, referring to this stranger as a bum they shouldn’t shed tears over and it’s cemented as a creepy moment.

Moving on, I love this unnecessarily detailed ketchup bottle Lee shakes and then tosses on the floor:

At least Marie ends up agreeing with Lee.  Then Marie makes a joke about May being the only one to clean this up and it gets a laugh out of Lee.

I love how much the later backgrounds in the show focus on how these homes look from various standpoints… Makes the world feel very lived in.

Take note of how the front door has been eaten through by Ed, exposing their yellow car out front. Ed apparently nibbled on EVERYTHING along that wall on the right…We also see a new telephone, a Chekhov’s Gun for a later gag in this scene…

Love the trumpets blaring as the camera swirls up to the missing heirloom.

“HOLY TOLEDO!” Lee and Marie exclaim in unison to underline that this is crossing a major line.

This angle is making my mouth water.  Latter-day EEnE backgrounds are to die for.

Getting back to my favorite time-wasting Kanker gag, even at their most personally attacked and mutually motivated, the siblings have to fight over who gets to hold the plaque first.

Marie strikes first.

Yay, May called first dibs before they jumped!

OH NO

Lee looks so much like Bro in this pose…

Could these just be Toomey’s drawings?  I’m not sure how often he storyboarded or how often he changed drawings during the design phase since the show’s so close to the boarders’ styles, but I feel like these square jaws are something I keep noticing when archiving Toomey’s model sheets.

Also, I love the phrase “someone shanghaied our ship inna bottle,“ very nautical.

May is moved to tears yet again this season as she fills the audience in on how this is a family heirloom that the Kankers were allowed to play with during bath nights at their old home.  Pretty cute memory, I wish the show had flashbacks at this point!

Does anyone know what it is May calls their old home here?  I’ve always heard it as “the Ol’ Hubcap“ which is convincing enough for me as a name for another local trailer park or just a nickname the Kankers would come up with for a nostalgic home, but it’s difficult to hear through her sobs.  Another popular theory, which I see is currently used on the EEnE Wikia’s transcript of the episode, is that she just says “the ol’ homestead,“ which is a pretty old-timey phrase if you ask me.. May’s certainly not made to feel “modern“ as much as Marie or Nazz are but it also seems unusual to give her such antiquated wild-west dialogue.

Marie covers May’s mouth before she exposes any more vulnerability or personal details about their backstories.

Marie is surprisingly lawful and proposes they call the cops.  I WISH WE GOT TO SEE THE COPS THEY MENTION AND THE FIRETRUCKS WE HEAR LATER IN THIS EPISODE, AAAARRRGGGHHHHH I just want to see more emergency vehicles, this season let us have an ambulance for Pete’s sake!

HEY LOOK IT’S THE PHONE I POINTED OUT.

“WHAT’S THE NUMBER YOU DIAL FOR 9-1-1?!”

Uh.. May, put the phone down, the Little Rascals Movie’s calling, they want their joke back.  Sorry, this episode came out when I was 12 and going through a terrible Little Rascals phase. 

This episode has really good camera direction…

“NO COPS!!“  Why do I get the feeling their mom would punch a phone to prevent the cops from getting involved in anything…

Such good looking backlit sparks!  Gonna miss backlighting during the digital era.

Can’t help but notice that these model sheets have been reversing the rimlighting on the Kankers…

In this very well composed and cinematic feeling shot, Lee vows to find the crook and recover their bath toy, “Kanker Style…“

Cue maniacal laughter and end scene!  It’s a pretty self-explanatory scene, but I really appreciate all the detail put into the Kankers’ poses and expressions and home life.  Season 4 doesn’t always sit right with me, but I think this episode has a pretty fun understanding of every character.  Hope you enjoyed studying this scene with me!

[gemini-62-blog]

Chapter 1 - The calm before the storm

I opened my eyes. The sun was shinning intensively. It always felt great to take a little nap after lunch, but I had so much to do. I was not in a very comfortable position, laying in a weird angle in my bed with my phone right beside me. I picked it up to see what time it was. 

15:35 

I had been asleep for somewhat twenty minutes, but already had a few messages. I lied on my back, spreading my arms and legs, just like a starfish. I didn’t even have enough strength to read my texts, I didn’t feel like facing reality. I closed my eyes and meditated for a little while. Focused on my breath, then on all the sensations of my body, followed by feeling my own weight, feeling my body being pushed to the center of the earth, understand how light my mind could be, as long as I decluttered it every once in a while. I finished by focusing on a good energy cleansing my body and mind, while unifying all parts of who I am. I liked to meditate every once in a while, and it felt right at that moment.

I opened my eyes. My bedroom was really bright, the sunshine made everything feel really balanced, almost has everything in the room was weightless, I was in peace. It wasn’t necessarily hot, but rather satisfyingly warm. We were in May. The weather was getting better and better everyday. The sun was shinning brighter and brighter. Flowers were picking through every garden, giving us hope. Hope for a nicer time, away from exams, tests, papers and all kind of projects that involved hours and hours of work. I stared at my white ceiling for a while. I loved how every wall in my bedroom was white. It was so refreshing and helped me relax every time. I sat on my bed and looked around. It wasn’t really all that messy. A few pieces of clothing that could be either in my wardrobe or in the washing machine,

a few forgotten bottles of water here and there and some books laying on top of my desk, some that I wasn’t really needing at the time, but was simply not in the mood to put them in my wood bookshelf. I looked around for a few seconds. Finally, I stared at the hardwood floor. I gained the courage I needed and picked up my phone from my bed. Only a few texts from my friend Rachel . She wanted to meet up, as planned, so we could work on two projects that we had to present to the class. What a pain in the ass. She and Tara had had lunch together and ended up going over to Rachel’s house.

“I’ll be there in 20.” I texted. 

I got up and stretched while gaining the courage I needed to face what was ahead of me. I put my pants back on, brushed my teeth, fixed my hair and was out of the house in less than ten minutes, this time in my sneakers, since they were way more comfortable than the shoes I had worn that morning. I carried my backpack with my laptop and a notebook where we had already written part of one of the projects we were working on. I pulled my headphones out of my pocket as I was leaving my home, opened the Spotify app on my phone and shuffled through a workout playlist, trying to boost my energy. I walked pretty fast, not even carrying about the rhythm of the songs as I usually do. In about a month I’d be turning 17. By then, all of the school work would be over, I couldn’t wait. 

I got to my friend’s place, knocked a few times and, after waiting for a while, the door opened uncovering a beautiful barefooted redhead in a small top and shorts. She  inclined her head to the right and smiled. Her shinny wavy hair almost seemed alive. While most people would assume it took her forever to get it to look that way, as I liked to call it, “Victoria Secret’s status”, she didn’t put any effort on her hair at all. I noticed how it reached her yellow top, balancing on her chest. Her big green eyes welcomed me, enhanced by the black mascara she put on in the morning, that made her long but light lashes turn dark.  A curious nose popped at the door, this time it wasn’t a human, but her

Dachshund, Benny. The little creature was adorable, but was easily scared, so decided to hide behind his owner. 

“Hey Rachel, took you a long time to come to the door. Don’t tell me your fat ass can’t move any faster!” 

“So funny” she replied “Just so you know, me and and Tara just had lunch and I was doing the dishes just like a good girl would,” she faked an innocent kid’s smile. “Come on in.” 

I walked through the door and locked to the right where Tara was sitting at the kitchen table. “So Rach makes you lunch, does the dishes and you can’t even open the door? I picked the wrong people to work with...” 

We all laughed. We had been close friends for a few years. We felt more like family day after day, and there was nothing else like coming over to Rachel’s house after a day full of classes. Usually we would enjoy the delicious treats her mom always made sure to have somewhere in the pantry. I never understood how Rachel looked so good. Her body looked amazing, but she would always eat as much and whatever she would want. Her clothes that day showed off her body, a tiny waist and skinny legs that every girl would envy. She didn’t usually dress that way, though, only when she wanted to be comfortable at home. Sadly, I was not as happy to be there as I usually was. We weren’t there to eat and talk to each other, we still had to work. I took my phone from my pocket and connected it to Rachel’s amazing speaker. I ended up putting some Colombian music to lift up the mood while me and Tara helped our host with the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.

We sat at the kitchen table where there was more light. I took my laptop out of my bag and, after many attempts that would end up failing due to some kind of distraction, we started working. Since we couldn’t decide on what kind of music to play, we ended up not listening to anything at all, that way it was harder for us to get distracted. We worked for a couple of hours, until we were tired and decided to make a pause. I opened the curtains to find a less intense sun shining in the horizon.

“Open the window“ Tara asked. 

With a click I moved the sliding window and felt the fresh breeze in my face. Even though around midday it felt like we were already in the summer, the cold afternoons reminded us that we should still carry around a sweater with us. Rachel got a big bottle of coke out of the fridge while Tara open searched for the cookies in the pantry. 

“I’m kinda feeling like eating Doritos.“

“Tara and her Doritos! Just like Romeo and Juliette, only death can tear them apart,” Rachel said, while getting her hand to her chest in a dramatic pose ”I think I opened a bag yesterday and left it in the leaving room.”

I shifted my attention from the outside to the kitchen where we were standing. I felt so tired and only wished I could sleep eight hours everyday.

“Hey Rach, would you mind making me some coffee?“

“Welcome to Starbucks! What are you feeling like drinking today?“

Rachel got up and started searching for something in the counter. I went behind her pulled her beautiful hair to the side and whispered in her ear. 

“You’re the best!”

“Hey! Get a room you two!” 

“Glad you found your Doritos, honey,“ I said, “what about you eating them and minding your own business. Don’t you see we are saving ourselves for marriage?“

We all laughed. As far as I knew, everyone in that room had already kissed the others on the lips, we were pretty comfortable with each other. From silly games played in breaks at school, to weird conversations when the influence of alcohol was already noticeable, we learnt a lot about each other, we probably knew more about the others then our own selves.

I picked up my phone from the kitchen table, where it had been since we started working.

“What do you guys think about looking at the boys around us?“ I asked.

They both looked at me confused.

“I told you I downloaded Grindr, don’t you want to check it out?“

“Ohhh sure!“ Tara said. 

In a very brief moment i explained to them how the app worked. The dating app was exclusive to men looking for other men, often known for how easy it is to find some fun there. In almost no time we were surfing through all the different profiles of guys around us.

“HEY” Rachel yelled “I know that guy! I follow him on Instagram!”      

We had stopped in a profile of a guy whose photo showed him facing the landscape in front of the camera. It. was possible to see a little bit of his face since he was ever so slightly turned to the right. He seemed weirdly familiar, but I couldn't figure out who he was. Rachel left the kitchen, looking for her phone. Moments later she walked back in with a huge smile on her face.

“See? I told you I knew the guy!”

She handled me her phone opened on this guy’s profile on Instagram. It sure was him, the photo he used on his profile was on his Instagram too.

“But who is him? His name isn’t familiar,” I asked.

“He went to our high school! He is in university now. My mom is friends with his mom. And if you are interested on him, my dear Jacob“ Rachel smiled in a provocative way,“make sure you get him a good pair of high heels, he is so short you are only able to see the top of his head.“

“Don’t be so exaggerated, Rach! Poor guy. He is kinda cute, I guess...“

Rachel started giggling and me and Tara looked at her in disapproval.

“I am not interested anyway. I am not looking for anything.”

It was true. In fact I was not even allowed on the app, since I was under 18. I decided to download it because I guessed no one around me would use it. I was wrong. It was a nice feeling, having more people like me close by. But I still wouldn’t message anyone or reply to the messages people would send me. Everyone who said Grindr was full of desperate guys looking for “fun” seemed to be right. A lot of the messages I got only made me uncomfortable.

I had an idea.

”What do you guys think of just messing with those pervs? We could reply to some of the messages!”

Tara ripped my phone from my hands.

“I start!” 

We lost track of time fooling around with some guys. Finally, we were having fun again. My profile had no information about me, it was completely blank, no photo, no age, no description but I still managed to get some guys’ attention. A  lot of them were over 35 years old, and some of those were interested on younger guys. How young? As young as they cold find. It was quite disturbing.

“It is getting late,” I said “It is better for us to get back to work.”

“Oh please no! I am so done with all that crap! My parents won’t be home anytime soon, they went to visit my cousin at the hospital.”

Rachel lay down on the kitchen table, on top of all our work, as a form of resistance. I bend over and kissed her on her exposed stomach.

“That tickles!”

Her hair was pending from the table. The sunshine made it look like flames.

“C’mon Rach, you know we have to do this!”

Once again, a childish expression emerged on Rachel’s face, from her inter child, I imagine. It wasn’t a happy one, but a tantrum’s face, the kind a little kid shows when he doesn’t get what he wants.

“I am afraid Jacob is right, my dear,” Tara said while massaging Rachel’s head with her hand, just like she was a little kid “we have so much to do!”

Tara bend over, just like I did, and kissed her on the nose.

“When you two finish that lesbo sh*t, I wanna work!”

Rachel kicked me.

“Homophobic pig! Let us be lesbians!”

We all laughed. 

I looked over the window, it wouldn’t take much time until sunset. The soft sunlight painted everything of a beautiful golden tone. Rachel’s mom’s roses looked better than ever, as if they were made of gold. Everything looked sad, but beautiful at the same time. It was the calm before the storm. The sunset before every night. I tried to reached the light rays that were entering the kitchen window with my hand, in hopes of catching one and keep it forever. But we can’t freeze time, we can’t freeze our lives in the good moments.

“The calm before the storm...”

This words came out of my mouth in an involuntary whisper.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 4

Hunger master post. 

The wolf wants to run deep into the woods and lose himself there, but his boy is pack and pack tugs on his instincts harder than his fear. The wolf takes up a position at the end of the alley, sitting outside the puddle of light cast by the streetlamp, in the shelter between a set of rough steps that lead to a chained door of some business that fronts onto the other street, and the back door of the diner. He runs, but he does not abandon his boy. He will not.

He can still hear his boy’s frantic heartbeat from here.

It’s late when the back door of the diner opens and the young man in the grease-splattered steps outside and turns the corner into the alley to put the garbage in the trashcans. When he goes back inside the diner, the alley is quiet for a few minutes and then the wolf hears the squeal of a trashcan lid as Stiles opens it up and hauls the bag out.

The wolf’s stomach growls, and he pads around the corner into the alley.

His heart aches when Stiles sags to the ground when he sees him.

“I thought you left.”

The wolf whines out an apology and moves forward into Stiles’s space. Stiles wraps his arms around him tightly, fingers digging in and twisting in his ruff as though he will never let go.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

***

 The leaves crunch under the thin soles of Stiles’s shoes as he and the dog walk into the Preserve. It’s colder under the cover of the trees, and Stiles tugs his hood up. The air is damp and smells of petrichor and loam. Strange, how the smell of dirt can smell cleaner than the air in town. Stiles finds the walk relaxing, but the dog is skittish and on edge.

When they reach the clearing where the Hale house once stood, Stiles sucks in a shaking breath.

Here.

It all started here.

The frame of the house is still standing. The front walls are in place, but they’re blackened and charred. The windows have long since gone. Stiles imagines the glass exploded on the night the fire took hold. The front door is still there. It’s open, and hanging at a strange angle. Stiles creeps closer to the house. The dog doesn’t come with him. He lowers himself onto his belly at the overgrown edge of what must have been the driveway once, and whines plaintively.

“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him. He wonders if animals can sense the bad energy in places like this. A lot of people died here, afraid and in pain.

That’s what never made sense.

It wasn’t smoke inhalation that got the Hales when they were sleeping. They were found in the basement. Who the fuck shelters in the basement when their house is burning down?

It never made sense.

Dad knew that.

“If there’s a fire, what do you do?” he mumbled one night, flicking through all the papers spread out on his desk.

“You get down low and you crawl!” Stiles announced proudly, and his dad had jerked as though he hadn’t realized Stiles was there.

“That’s right,” he said, and stacked the papers up again. “That’s right, kiddo. Let’s go watch some TV, huh?”

Stiles was ten when the Hale house burned down with the Hales inside it. It took two years for the ripple that started that night to turn into the wave that swept his entire life away.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the cool air. It’s awful. It’s awful to stand here and know that all those people died. It’s awful that whatever happened here that night didn’t just end here. That once, six years ago, a person stood here and did this, and then they destroyed Stiles’s life as well.

God.

He just wants to step back in time. He just wants to see their face. And then he wants to track them down wherever they are now and drive his knife into their heart.

Tears swell in his throat and burn his eyes.

It’s not fair.

It’s not.

Stiles starts and opens his eyes when he feels the press of a damp nose against his palm. He curls his hand around the dog’s muzzle.

“I just want to know,” he tells the dog. “I just want to know what happened.”

The dog whines and presses against his legs.

They watch the house together.

 ***

 “Hi, Stiles,” Scott says when he opens the door of the animal clinic to him.

Stiles and the dog step inside. Scott’s not alone. There’s a pretty dark-haired girl with him. When she smiles, she has dimples.

“This is Allison,” Scott says. “She just started at my school.”

“Hi,” Stiles mumbles.

“Hi,” Allison says. “Wow. Your dog is amazing. He looks just like a wolf.”

“I think he’s a hybrid,” Scott says. “Hey, listen. Allison is coming to my place to do some homework. My mom is working a late shift. Do you, um, do you want to come over? Like, um, no offense or stuff, but you could have a shower and wash your clothes and stuff?”

A part of Stiles wants to curl up and cry at the reminder of how filthy he is, but he’s not proud enough to refuse, or stupid enough.

“Okay,” he mumbles instead.

 ***

 Allison has a car. She puts the windows down when Stiles and the dog get into the back seat, so Stiles figures that yeah, okay, they both stink. Allison talks to him about moving here, and about some band she likes, and she doesn’t ask about Stiles and who he is and why he’s homeless. He likes that.

Scott leads the way on his dirt bike. 

Scott lives in a small house on North Sycamore Street. It’s nice. It’s actually really weird to be inside a house again after so long. Stiles breathes in deep so that he doesn’t panic. This could be really stupid, going to some place he doesn’t know with some people who are pretty much strangers, but he’s got his knife, and he’s got the dog, and also this is Scott. Scott, who never charged him a thing for the consultation, or for the dog treats. Scott, who gave Stiles his dinner and his hoodie and ten dollars.

Scott shows him upstairs. “Okay, so here’s the bathroom. I’ll get you some clothes you can borrow, okay, so I can put yours in the washing machine.”

Stiles is pretty sure a spin cycle will destroy his jeans and underwear, but he nods.

Scott produces a bottle of dog wash from behind his back.

Stiles looks dubious.

“Dude, he’s got fleas,” Scott says in a low voice.

The dog rumbles unhappily.

“Actually,” Scott says, “we should probably wash him first.”

The dog is not happy to be manhandled into the bath, but his eyes close in what seems like pleasure when Stiles lathers him up and massages his fingers through his coarse fur. He doesn’t like it when Scott tries to help, so Scott stands back and leans in the doorway and lets Stiles do it. Then he gets his mom’s hairdryer and Stiles dries the dog off as best as he can. He’s pretty sure the dog’s belly is still dripping when he finally decides he’s had enough and leaps out of the tub though.

The dog growls when Scott tries to haul him out of the bathroom so Stiles can shower. In the end he curls up on the bathmat while Stiles undresses and hops into the shower.

The hot water is incredible.

Stiles uses what he thinks is Scott’s mom’s body wash. It smells like something soft and floral. He doesn’t care though, because he’s clean for the first time in months. It’s gross how quickly he turns the white washcloth gray. He basically has dirt ingrained in the creases in his body.

Sleeping in the alley is going to be horrible tonight.

Stiles stays in the shower until the water begins to run cold, and then feels guilty for using all the hot. He twists the taps off and grabs the towel that Scott left him. The mirror is fogged up, so he wipes a section clean and stares at the clean, thin kid the glass reveals.

He can count his ribs.

He runs his tongue over his fuzzy teeth, and wishes he had a toothbrush too. He thinks about checking underneath the cabinet for a spare, but that feels rude. He wipes himself down and pulls on the sweatpants and t-shirt Scott set on top of the counter for him.

When he leaves the bathroom and treads downstairs, the dog follows him.

He finds Scott and Allison in the living room, their textbooks spread out on the floor around them and a pile of sandwiches stacked on the coffee table.

“Hey,” Scott says. “Your stuff is in the washing machine. Grab a seat. Have a sandwich.”

Stiles sits down awkwardly on the floor beside them. The dog presses against his side. They eat the sandwiches. There’s a thin silver laptop on the coffee table.

“Can I use your computer?” Stiles asks Scott.

“That’s mine,” Allison says. “And sure.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles opens it and looks up a few articles, trying to refresh his memory about the Hale fire. There’s not really much online. Just newspaper articles. One on the fire, one on the funerals, and one quoting the fire investigator’s report that it was a gas line explosion.

It wasn’t.

You don’t hide in the basement from a gas line explosion.

He falters when he sees a picture from the scene. His dad is there, his sheriff’s badge shiny and new. The picture isn’t posed. His dad is caught in mid conversation, talking to one of his deputies. They both look haunted by whatever it is they’ve seen that night, faces drawn and grave. There are lines around his dad’s mouth.

Stiles’s heart skips a beat, and the dog nudges his hand with his muzzle.

Stiles goes to another article. No pictures this time.

It’s barely eight, but Stiles is already fighting sleep. It doesn’t help that Scott and Allison are talking about trigonometry.

He drifts off leaning up against the couch, with the dog’s head in his lap.

 ***

 When Stiles wakes up, it’s dark and he doesn’t know where he is. He flails, and the dog rumbles comfortingly. Stiles jerks more fully awake, blinking in the darkness. He’s in Scott McCall’s living room. The lights are out, but there’s a faint glow coming from elsewhere in the house. And Stiles can hear voices.

He climbs to his feet and slips slowly toward the light.

It’s the kitchen light. Stiles can see Scott standing by the sink, wearing a worried frown. There’s a woman with him. She’s wearing pastel scrubs.

Shit.

Scott’s mom.

Adults mean the authorities, and Stiles can’t have that. He fights the urge to run. He’s also barefoot, and wearing Scott’s clothes.

“Are my clothes dry?” he asks instead, stepping into the kitchen.

Scott looks imploringly toward his mom.

“Stiles, right?” she asks. She has dark hair and a caring expression that Stiles desperately wants to warm to. He can’t though. She’ll want to help. She’ll want to call the police, or child services. “How old are you, Stiles?”

“Mom!” Scott exclaims.

“Scott, I’m not an idiot,” Scott’s mom says. “Stiles, look me in the eye and tell me you have a home to go to.”

“I just want my stuff,” Stiles says, his voice hitching, “and then I’ll go.”

Stiles’s mom purses her lips.

“I just want my stuff,” Stiles says, glancing at Scott. Scott’s expression tells him everything he needs to know. “I’m sure you’re a really nice person, Mrs. McCall, and I’m sure you only want to do the right thing, but I’m not hanging around while you call the cops.”

“Honey,” Mrs. McCall says, stepping forward, “it’s not safe for you to be sleeping on the streets.”

“I’m not going back into care,” Stiles says. “Scott, please, I just want my stuff.”

The dog steps between him and Mrs. McCall, hackles up. Her hand flies to her throat.

“He won’t bite,” Stiles promises her. “But you can’t call anyone. Please don’t call anyone.”

“I’ll get your clothes.” Scott moves past him.

Stiles stares at Mrs. McCall warily.

“Stiles, please, it isn’t safe,” she says. “We can work something out. I know some people who work with Child Services and—”

“No!” Stiles’s eyes sting. “I’m not going back! I can’t!”

“Mom,” Scott says, reappearing and bundling Stiles’s clean, dryer-warm clothes into his arms. “Mom, please don’t.” He takes Stiles by the shoulder and draws him back down the hallway to the living room.

The dog stays in the kitchen, watching Mrs. McCall.

“I said you were a friend from school, but I guess she didn’t buy it.” Scott’s eyes are wide. “I’m sorry, dude.”

Stiles begins to strip. “It’s okay. It’s a mom thing, right? I mean, she’s trying to do the right thing. It’s nice.” His voice cracks on the word.

“You can still come by the clinic,” Scott tells him. “Promise you will.”

“Yeah.” Stiles sniffs, and sits down on the couch to pull his shoes on. His ten dollars is still in his right shoe. He doesn’t know yet if it’s a lie or not. “I will. Thanks.”

He tugs on Scott’s old hoodie and zips it up tight.

The dog meets him at the front door, and they slip out into the night.

 ***

 The wolf knows the way back to the alley. He curls up beside his boy when they reach their cardboard shelter.

“I miss my mom,” Stiles tells him in a broken whisper.

The wolf whines.

Death still wears Laura’s face. She watches them both silently, but keeps her distance tonight.

[mixtapekings]

Listen Review of Run The Jewels’ ‘RTJ4’ Album by djbooth.net

“…a shotgun blast to the face.”

Run The Jewels thrives on the spirit of rebellion. The duo, consisting of Atlanta rapper Killer Mike and New York rapper/producer El-P, has grown from indie one-off to one of the most impressive second winds in rap history. Their music finds the middle ground between cartoonish purist rap thrills and anarchic grit. At their very best, Mike and El-P will have you ready to burn everything in sight.

While RTJ’s music has always maintained an anti-establishment bent, the aggression on their 2016 album Run the Jewels 3, in particular, was channeled through the prism of revolt. In the wake of the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown and the election of the 45th President of the United States, RTJ’s lawless spirit made them, however unintentionally, uniquely suited to address a world coming apart at the seams.

In the face of Armageddon, RTJ’s message hit differently. Four years later, with another wave of protests taking place in response to Black death looming large over the world, Run the Jewels are offering their fourth album, aptly titled RTJ4. 

The public needs music directly speaking to the times. Mike and El’s timing is perfect; the stakes have never been higher. Let’s see if the Jewel Runners are up to the challenge.

In usual 1-Listen fashion, the rules are the same: no rewinds, pauses, or skips—a straight shot through followed by my gut reactions. Let’s ride.

1. “Yankee & The Brave (ep. 4)”

Killer Mike opening with DaBaby speed. Man, these drums are THUMPING. “I’mma terrorize the actors playing like they want some drama.” No holds barred. Mike and El-P play rap hot potato like no other. El is floating. “I’m ready to mob on all these charlatans.” The beat sounds like a John Carpenter score stripped for parts and hooked to some boomers. “I can’t let the pig take me, I got too much pride / I meant it when I said it, never take me alive.” This exact energy is what I was hoping for. Revolt music right off rip. No brakes, all nitrous. “Yankee & The Brave�� is how you open an album.

2. “Ooh LA LA” feat. Greg Nice & DJ Premier

Did El-P source his drums from fucking mortars? These boys are monstrous. El’s beats are big enough to walk through. I don’t like this hook. Greg Nice’s voice is grating. “When we usher in chaos, remember we did it smiling.” They may be smiling, but Mike and El sound pissed. “Ooh LA LA” isn’t playful music; it’s angry. This song doesn’t leave me shaking the way “Yankee & The Brave” did, but it’s still a nice jolt of catharsis. Premier scratches are always a plus. I’m glad he’s still so revered by rappers across generations.

3. “Out of Sight” feat. 2 Chainz

El-P made a beat out of jumping vocal cuts that would sound at home on a post-apocalyptic workout tape. He never fails to impress. I love hearing references to Public Enemy’s “My Uzi Weighs A Ton.” Mike and El are trading off lines. “I’m only doing what I want by hocking loogies at the swine.” I see why they wanted to push this project up two days. Forget “F*ck The Police,” this is FUCK THE FUCKING COPS. Mike caught a CRAZY flow and held onto it forever. The energy is stabbing me in the chest. If you’ve ever downed a bag of Pop Rocks with nails inside, then, and only then, will you understand the power of “Out Of Sight.” Here comes 2 Chainz. One mention of growing up in poverty, but the rest of his verse is just soulless flexing. It’s not 2 Chainz’ fault, but I’m not tryna hear his verse right now.

4. “Holy Calamafuck”

A reggae sample to start things off. And everything just devolved into a 404 error. The beat is actively falling apart. A line about jacking Supreme jackets and calling out hypebeasts. Are those record scratches or Windows 95 program glitches? I can’t keep my head straight. A line about drones and time elves. “Every other goddamn year I’m brand new / It’s been 20-plus years, you think that’s a clue?” TALK YOUR SHIT, EL. Since the Def Jux days. Mike and El stood the test of time, gotta respect it. These two were born to rap together. “PTSD, streets did the damage.” Mike is pouring his heart out. If the streets run red with blood, “Holy Calamafuck” will be the soundtrack.

5. “Goonies vs. E.T.”

These drums and synths were sourced from space. Mike and El are rapping for their lives. “Goonies vs. E.T.” is pure fucking chaos. How did they keep their heads together recording over this beat? E.T.’s healing touch couldn’t help them. The hook’s not doing much for me—it feels like dead space—but the beat is breathing. Man, this shit is manic. I’m on a sugar high. “The revolution is televised and digitized.” All facts. Mike has one of the most potent rap voices. I can’t see his face, but I know there’s fire in his eyes. “This is people with an attitude in Beverly Hills.” Making people uncomfortable is progress.

6. “Walking In The Snow”

A nice crunchy guitar riff to incite more chaos. The beat just cracked open, and now it sounds like a fucking Tesla coil. I feel more compelled to type the word “fuck” than I ever have during a review. “All oppression’s borne of lies.” El has been talking that talk all across this shit. El sounds like a preacher. “Just got done walking in the snow / Goddamn that muhfucka cold.” Who’s rapping on the hook? OH SHIT, IT’S GANGSTA BOO. Nice surprise. OG needs more love. “Every day on the evening news, they feed you fear for free.” Mike is laying everything out. “I can’t breathe.” That line really hurt. “The most you get is a Twitter rant and called a tragedy.” He’s just talking at this point. Brutal. I know he was fighting back the tears rapping this one. The beat is mutating like crazy. I can’t keep up—breathless rap music at its finest. I love love LOVE this song, holy shit.

7. “Ju$t” feat. Zach De La Rocha & Pharrell Williams

It’s the famous four-count! Pharrell must’ve had a hand in production along with El-P. Pharrell’s voice doesn’t fit into the cracks of this hook; it’s distracting. “Look at all these slave masters posing on your dollar.” Mike is doing call-and-response with himself. He’s talking about corporations co-opting marijuana and pedophiles in high places. “Confuscious say you’d better thug out.” That got me. El has a thing for turning voices into drum patterns. These beats are fun but they will also turn around and rip your throat out if you try them. Here comes Mr. Rage himself, Zach De La Rocha. His voice cuts through everything. I love how analog his voice sounds. He sounds fired up. I’ll take another Rage Against the Machine album, please. Without Pharrell, “Ju$t” would be close to perfect.

8. “Never Look Back”

A little techno bounce to start “Never Look Back.” All I can see in my head is Tron light cycles burning digitized vapors. Was that a Pop Smoke bar? His death still hurts. Mike and El managing to rap about current events and not sound lame is amazing. No other rapper their age could pull off a TikTok bar. Mike is rapping about his mother. Did she pass? Man, that’s heavy. So that’s why it’s called “Never Look Back.” “All that matter is gratitude. Gratitude is everything.” Who’s speaking right now? Can’t make it out. El is talking about how he never saw class or race as a child. Mike follows with, “Never look back, you’ll only be bitter / If you get bitter, you’ll never get better.” They’re confronting demons. RTJ4 feels as immediate and punchy as Mike and El’s respective solo work. Ending with a ticking timer, always coming through with the relief.

9. “The Ground Below”

Is this nu-metal I’m hearing? These guitars and smashing drums are super silly, even by RTJ standards. They rapping, though. “Screaming fuck the world and you can drink what’s coming from my urethra.” El always knows how to rap familiar shit differently. “Not saying it’s a conspiracy but you’re all against me.” Funny. A weird melange of sounds and images, and I’m not sure what to make of it. The raps are crazy, and the beat is kinda growing on me. Easy to believe them saying, “The money never meant much” when they’ve been giving out their albums for free since 2013.

10. “Pulling The Pin” feat. Josh Homme & Mavis Staples

Okay, last two tracks. If you’re gonna name a track “Pulling The Pin,” there’d better be an explosion. Ominous marching and some warbled vocals. “These old foxes got a lot of plots to outfox us.” El hit that Aesop Rock flow real quick. Those chorus vocals are ghostly. Josh Homme is a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Shout out Queens of The Stone Age. “Every cage built needs an occupant.” Is that Mavis Staples? It is! Her vocals are so rich. Staples finding space in this interstellar mayhem is wild. Mavis is my favorite feature so far. There’s much less frivolous shit-talking this time, especially from Mike. “Kicking and screaming while watching the demons collecting the gold and the diamond residuals.” Career-best rapping from Mike. More Mavis, thank God. “There’s a grenade in my heart.”

11. “A Few Words for The Firing Squad (Radiation)”

RTJ4 has been a ride. Ending with the firing squad can’t be a good sign. El starts with a short tribute to his wife. Touching. Mike back to rapping about asking his mom to cling to life. His kids, his wife, and his craft have made him a better man. These are death-bed confessions set to music. Mike and El must be rapping blindfolded, standing in front of the wall and the firing squad. Heartbreaking. “Last word to the firing squad was ‘Fuck you, too.’” Kicking and screaming. It sounds like we’re going out with a big instrumental explosion—saxophone, brass, and reverbed synths and choirs. This is BIG.

Where do Mike and El find the energy to keep expanding their sound like this?

Oh, we’re not done yet.

A narrator is laying down the story of two rebels forced together by the odds. They’re still running with this Yankee & The Brave angle. It’s playing like an end credits song. So… The whole thing’s been a TV show? I’ll admit, this takes away some from the immediacy of Mike and El’s message.

Final (First Listen) Thoughts On Run the Jewels’ RTJ4:

Run the Jewels dropping their fourth album in the middle of a global pandemic and a nationwide uprising is perfect.

The duo crafted a potent mix of braggadocio and political and personal reflection set to beats made for video game boss battles. Both Mike and El deliver career-best work behind the mic, and El-P’s production has only grown more expansive.

Golden-era boom-bap (“Out of Sight,” “Holy Calamafuck”), and murky synth-scapes (“Never Look Back”) are flayed and split open to create digitized warzones. They’re as frantic and restless as the rappers pushing them to their limits.

From beginning to end, RTJ4 is a shotgun blast to the face; an album to turn up to 11 while the precincts burn. Pent-up emotions shoot through every bar, every beat, and every second of breathing room. The anti-police sentiment couldn’t be more timely.

The only time the momentum drags on RTJ4 is when other voices cram into the frame. Several features are either inappropriate (2 Chainz on “Out of Sight”) or distracting (Pharrell on “Ju$t”).

Unintentionally, the running motif of the Yankee & The Brave TV show stifles some of the immediacy from Mike and El’s best verses to date. Maybe the TV show angle will age better in a world where the president didn’t just declare war on his fellow citizens.

Minor missteps aside, Mike and EL understand the stakes at hand. RTJ4 mixes the punchy and the profoundly personal with cartoonish zeal, EPMD by way of Adult Swim’s Superjail! 

Politically and musically, Run the Jewels are done asking for favors. RTJ4 is five-finger discount rap at its finest.

from Listen Review of Run The Jewels’ ‘RTJ4’ Album by djbooth.net

[sending-the-message]

I’m severely regretting posting a photo of my great-grandfather online by kapekilp

I posted a picture of my great-grandfather over to r/OldSchoolCool a few days ago. I posted it on my main account (not this one). I regret posting it. It’s turned my family’s lives upside down, opened up possibilities I’d rather not even contemplate, and thrown into question everything I thought I knew.

I was scanning some old family photos onto the computer for my Mum. I’ve always been fascinated by my great-grandfather – my Mum always has so many stories to tell me about him, and how he brightened her childhood – he was truly a remarkable character. Plus, he was a particularly handsome man – I’ve always loved that photograph of him, with his chiselled face and his dark eyes staring into the distance. He wasn’t looking directly at the camera. It’s the only photograph we have of him. My Mum says he was caught off-guard by that photograph, because he normally never liked having his photo taken.

Before I posted the photo, I was pretty certain he’d be a sure-fire hit with the online crowd. And I was right. But you know, at the same time, I was still surprised by the extent to which people agreed actually with me – the photograph shot up to thousands of upvotes very quickly. My great-grandfather was internet famous.

I got the usual ‘Oh my goodness your great-grandpa was soo handsome!’

and ‘Is your great granddady single?!’ comments.

Also: ‘Hey, can we have a picture of you, OP, so we can see how much of the good looks you inherited?’

The first few comments made me smile and feel oddly proud of my genealogical inheritance. After a while it started to get a bit creepy, as some people started to cross boundaries and take things too far – I started to feel guilty.

Sure, there were some beautiful, respectful comments, discussion and questions – but as the popularity of the photograph steadily increased, so did its exposure to the world in general, and that was when the less-than-savoury characters started coming out of the woodwork.

I never knew my great-grandfather, but from everything that I’ve heard, he was such an upright, almost regal sort of man – well-bred, well educated, respectable and dignified. A true gentleman, and he had been greatly loved and revered by my family. And now, it felt like an oxymoron, this clash of worlds – having my amazing, dignified great-grandfather on display for the ugly underbelly of the internet to ogle and make crude remarks. It felt like I was violating his memory; like I was literally whoring him out for my own personal gain. And what gain? A few arbitrary internet points?

I was about to remove the post – when two things happened, in fairly quick succession. First, someone kindly offered to colourise the photo and asked for details about hair/eye colour etc. I asked my Mum for details. She had been very close to her granddad, and she could remember everything very well. The most striking thing about him – that you couldn’t see from the black-and-white photograph – was that he had two different coloured eyes: one a deep green, and the other dark brown. In the black-and-white photo it just looked like there was a shadow over the darker eye.

When the colourised version came, it was beautifully done. They got the shades exactly right. That made the whole ‘online sharing’ experience slightly redeeming, I must say. I showed my Mum, and it made her cry. I’d almost been afraid to show my Mum, because she had loved her grandpa greatly, to the extent that she still didn’t like to talk about the end of his days – all I know is that it had been an extremely traumatic time for her. She sometimes still tears up, if something happens to remind her about the end.

Anyway, a few minutes after the colourised version was posted for everyone to see, someone responded.

‘Hey there. I know this is going to sound really weird, but after seeing that colourised photo of your great-grandpa, I know a guy who looks EXACTLY like him! Seriously! He comes into my coffee shop almost every day so I see him a lot. It’s like his doppleganger or something! I’m going to take a photo and send it to you tomorrow morning. I swear, it’s exactly like him!!’

I checked out the poster’s history, and it didn’t look like he was a troll or anything. I don’t know, something about his entire post history and earnest way that he’d written the message, made me believe him, and feel mildly interested about the promised picture. His enthusiasm seemed genuine, and so I was intrigued to see this alleged doppleganger. Most likely it wouldn’t look like my great-grandpa at all, though, I was sure. After all, we’re often told by friends that they know someone who looks exactly like so-and-so, and when you see the proposed ‘twin’ later on, it’s usually quite disappointing.

So I just replied:

‘Hey, cool! I can’t wait to see the photograph of my ancestral twin, haha.’

And then soon forgot all about it, basically. The next day, though, I got this message:

‘Hey. So, I know I promised a photograph, and here it is. Just a quick disclaimer: I was hoping to get a straight head-on shot of the guy. I asked him if I could take his photograph, and he asked why, and I tried to briefly explain without sounding too stupid. Basically I told him that there was a picture on the internet that looked just like him, and I wanted to send his picture to a great-granddaughter of the dude he looked just like. It sounded progressively weirder as I tried to explain it, haha… It made me realise that things that are perfectly reasonable on the internet can sound so utterly bizarre in real life!

Anyways, I don’t know why but he got quite angry and wouldn’t let me take his photo. I mean, fair play to him, not everyone likes their photo taken to be shared on the internet. But I mean, it was weird how his attitude just did a 180… he’s always so friendly and nice and he tips really well. I would have expected him to say ‘no’ nicely. But it really upset him. He was very curt with me. I got the sense now that this’ll be his last visit here, which is a shame, because he seemed like a cool dude before all this :(

Anyways so, I didn’t want to let you down after the build-up yesterday. Plus, the fact that he seemed so annoyed meant that he likely won’t come back, and so this would be my last chance to get a photo! So I know this is really iffy, ethics wise or whatever, but I sneaked a photo anyway, haha. He had to stop at the door – he held the door open for someone coming inside. So I *was able to snap a quick pic, but he wasn’t looking right at me, which is both why I was able to take the picture, but also why the picture isn’t that great.

It’s a side-pose so maybe you won’t be able to see the resemblance as well as if it had been from the front. But seriously, I still thinks it looks just like your mom’s grandpa. I hope you’ll agree. Let me know what you think.’

Given the lengths this poor guy had gone to in order to attain this picture, I was quite amused, so I clicked the photo with neutral expectations. The man was visible in side-view, but I had to admit he did bear a passing resemblance to the colourised version of my great grandfather. Maybe he was a distant relative, somehow. It bears noting that the guy who sent the photo was practically on the other side of the world to me, and to my knowledge, I have no relatives in America, so this is really unlikely.

I thought the ‘doppelganger’ photo would amuse my mother, who of course, had known her grandfather very well. It would be interesting to get her opinion on it, I thought.

I took over my laptop to her and showed her the photograph. She glanced at the screen, first absent-mindedly, and but then she did a double-take. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen.

‘My God,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth. She leaned into the screen, peering at it. ‘Can you zoom in? On his face?’

I zoomed in as much as I could without making a pixelated blurry mess of the face.

She stared at him for what seemed like ages.

‘My God, it looks just like him,’ she said, finally. ‘I mean, honestly. Just like him. I mean – even…’

She ran her fingertips over the screen so earnestly and lovingly.

‘Do you see the slight scar there? On his cheek, near this ear? He used to tell me stories about how he got that. A different story every night. I was so little – I’d sit nestled on his knee and gaze up at that scar, sometimes until I fell asleep. And – ’

She gasped and pointed at the scar on the man’s hand, which was clutching the cup of coffee. His sleeve was slightly lifted back. There was the trace of a scar protruding from his forearm, extending onto the back of his hand.

‘That one, too. That one was so prominent. It was a deeply-cut scar. I could feel that one underneath my fingers when I held his hand. It seemed huge to me, then, underneath my small hand. He’d tell me stories about that one, too. Silly little stories, to amuse me. Fights that he’d gotten into. Or mythical beasts he’d wrestled.’

She sighed and smiled, lost in her happy childhood memories for a moment, and then, I guess, the bizarreness of the situation hit her. The man holding the coffee in this modern photograph, was a young man. And yet he had the face and accurate identifying features of my mother’s grandfather.

She sat down heavily on the chair next to the table.

‘How is this possible?’ I asked, voicing the obvious question for both of us.

‘Could it be a hoax?’ she said. ‘Could this man – who sent you the picture – could he be playing a trick on you? These internet people can be so clever with their – their Photoshop stuff, can’t they? Could they have worked from your original photo?’

‘Well… yes… maybe but…’ I trailed off. I mean, it was the only possible explanation I could think of. Anything else would be too bizarre.

I brought up the original photograph, the one where my actual great-grandfather was facing towards the camera more head-on. The scar near his ear wasn’t visible due to the angle of his face. His hand wasn’t in view at all, either.

My mother and I both took in these details, wordlessly. She stared at me, her eyes wide.

‘This is impossible,’ she said. ‘It can’t be possible.’

I sat down next to her. We sat in silence for a while. My blood was ringing in my ears. There had to be some explanation, surely? It had to be a trick, or a joke, somehow. Or just a really, really weird coincidence?

Having said that, the picture wasn’t that great quality. You could see the scars once my Mum had pointed them out, but not before. So maybe it was like an optical illusion, like one of those ‘hidden pattern’ type things that aren’t really there, but you make yourself see them, and then you can’t unsee them. Maybe it was like that, and the scars weren’t really there, and we saw them because my Mum expected to see them, because the man’s face looked a bit like her grandad, and she’d made me see them now, too. Hey, it could be a prominent vein on his hand, or the lighting, or something, and the lighting had caught it just right.

I said all of this to my Mum, and she nodded along, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

‘I suppose…’ she said, and then she trialled off. ‘But…’

‘What?’

‘It might have something to do with what happened at… at the end.’ She was staring at the floor, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her hands were shaking, and she seemed… frightened.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, carefully.

She shook her head.

‘I’m being ridiculous,’ she said, and she just got up, and left. Her whole body was trembling, and I could see tears on her face.

You have to understand some backstory, even though admittedly I don’t know all that much. Mum has never spoken about those last few days, despite my previous careful prodding. All I know is, it was a traumatic time when she lost him. It was some sort of violent accident. I know no details beyond that. She still has nightmares about it, and was in therapy for some time. I was itching for details when I was little, but I had eventually made peace with the fact that I might never know. Any small details had been like gold dust.

She talks about him all the time, his life, his character, passing on his wisdom. But never about those end days. Not to me (and never to my Dad, either, because I’ve asked him). It’s basically ‘restricted territory’ for our family to discuss. I think, partially because of the mystery around his end days, and what an amazing person she describes him to have been – I’ve always been so intrigued by this man’s presence in our family history, and the bond my mother shared with him, how he had shaped her character. I guess it’s because of this general awe and intrigue that I’d scanned that old picture into my laptop in the first place, and then why I posted it online. Because I wanted to share his essence with the world.

So, of course, my natural curiosity was on fire when she just walked away like that…. So close to telling me more, and clearly in some sort of turmoil. And she thought – whatever it was that happened at the end – might be related to this? This modern-day man walking around who looked like him? How on earth is that even possible, and what the hell was it that happened?

I really wanted to go after her and just open up my flood of questions, but she seemed in that unreachable mood again, liked she often did when she was reliving her traumatic memories. I could hear her crying and I didn’t want to open any wounds.

So I just sat there awkwardly, my nerves a squirming bundle of unease… and confusion and an uneasy feeling of fear, I guess. I was trying to process things but just coming up blank.

The modern photo was just a coincidence, we were seeing scars where there were none, and I’d managed to open up a whole can of traumatic worms for my poor mother, probably messing with her mental health. I should have known better than to post about this sensitive subject online at all.

My mind was made up, then, to delete the post – and forget all about it.

I logged into my account and I had hundreds of new messages. I’d been offline most of the day, because my Mum and I had been discussing the new photo for quite a while. I opened my inbox with a bit of a sigh, expecting more of the same general comments of jokes and compliments and the occasional lewd remark.

Except, what was posted just amplified my unease by a thousand. I have no idea what to think. I’m terrified now…. I think I’ve opened up a Pandora’s box in our family history.

Here’s what happened: after that guy posted the modern photo of my ‘great-grandpa’ in the coffee shop, along with the colourised version from the other user… there had been a barrage of comments. Here is just a sample that I copy/pasted and saved at that time (there were many, many others, though, some that I didn't even manage to read):

(Edit: I've now quickly edited out their usernames, sorry if this messes up formatting)

User 1:

‘Dude… this is gonna sound pretty random, but that guy looks just like a mythical figure famous in my hometown. They say he’s evil and has a flying beast at his behest, that he’ll summon, if you cross him. The sounds of its helper-creature’s screams are enough to kill you. We have an old portrait of him in our Town Hall, it’s basically part of our heritage. They say that many years ago he and the Screaming Falcon wiped out half the town population because they mistreated him. I’m going to post the portrait tomorrow. Same chimera eyes and everything! Freaky!’

(Reply to the above):

User 2:

Are you from my hometown? I won’t post the exact place b/c doxxing… but are you in South America? We have exactly the same legend here! Except we call him something different. We call him the Cunning Eyed One. They say he has two different coloured eyes because his flying minion can see through one of his eyes. Anyone he doesn’t like… anyone with attitude… the monster flies over immediately. Its screams are enough to paralyse you and pulverise your flesh, just from the sound alone. I used to be so scared whenever I heard screaming during the night. My mother would scare me and my brothers with the Cunning Eyed Man all the time whenever we misbehaved. And there are old people here who swear they’ve had run-ins with him, or know someone who has. Everyone thinks he’s real. I got thrills when I saw you mention the legend.’

(Reply):

User 1: I’m not from South America – I’m from a tiny town in Eastern Europe! How scary that you guys have basically the same legend over there! I’ve never heard anyone else mention this legend other than here in my home town.’

User 3

Wow… now that you post those two photos… I have an old book of legends. One of the illustrations is of a handsome dark haired man with two eye colours. They say he’s a cruel monster disguised as a man, uncannily clever. Anyone who fails his tests is woken up to the sound of screaming, and the screams make their flesh rot and fall off. It’s described in so much detail with historical eye witnesses and stuff. The man looks like the photo here (sorry, OP, no disrespect to your grandpa, but it looks so much like him). This was an old legend from a small, remote Scandinavian village, I think. I can’t remember the name they gave to the monster. I’ll dig out the book and post more details. The way it was described gave me the creeps. Never heard anyone talk about this before, it was a really obscure legend.

User 4:

’OMG I know what you guys are talking about! We have a similar legend in India! In the village where my parents were from! I am SO EXCITED to hear others talking about this! My mother would tell me about something that happened to her aunt when she was little by the (rough translation) ‘Cruel, One-Eyed Demon’ with his Helper, the ‘Screaming Devil’. They call him one-eyed because they said he could only see through his dark eye, or he closed one eye to look at you through his good eye. I’m going to have to type out that story properly for you – I’m going to get my Mum to tell it again. Seriously, me and my cousins loved and hated that story in equal measure, it was so scary and we’d never sleep afterwards! We’d freak each other out by screaming in the middle of the night and scare each other awake. My older cousin did that once and I peed the bed, I was so scared (TMI, I know). All the elders in our village would tell us about it when I visited back home. OMG I am so thrilled that other countries have this same demon guy in their history too! It makes it so much scarier… like he really roamed the world. Wow, I can’t wait to tell my cousins. This is, like, all my childhood excitement/fears rushing back!’

User 5:

’We have a very similar urban legend in the place where I am from. They say he’s immortal and he flies from place to place on the back of his winged screaming monster thing… it had a name, can’t remember it. They have different names for it. They say that he had different coloured eyes, one evil and one good, and depending on how he felt about you, he would use one or the other to look at you. If he looks at you through the black eye, you’re screwed, basically. I also remember something about the screaming. It was my grandpa who would tell us kids stories about him, that he heard from his mother. Pretty cool to see it being talked about on here. My family is from a small village in China, but haven’t heard anyone else mention it. I thought the stories died out with my grandpa.

User 6:

’I’m blown away. Honestly. I thought this story was just an urban legend confined to my family, or something! I had a great uncle who swore he saw this man with unusually uncanny, beautiful, eyes, that were two different colours. He was almost hypnotised by them. The man – who my Great Uncle always swore up and down was not a man, but rather a monster of some kind presenting himself like a man - was very strong, and my uncle was very scared. My great uncle was working in a factory on the night shift. This man managed to bend metal with his bare hands, or something, because he was angry. My Uncle was freaked out, and he managed to get away from that place, came come with a high fever. The next morning the people who were there at his work that night were found literally pulverised. On phone, will type out whole details later if anyone interested. Can’t believe others are mentioning this same sounding man in other parts of the world that match up to what my great uncle said. Never really believed it fully until now.’

User 7:

’Guys. I had that photo open in my browser, and my grandma walked past – she’s visiting us. I’m not lying I swear. She saw the photos and she did a double take and just froze. She’s saying the man’s a ‘terrible creature’ from her childhood. I’ve never seen her like that before. She was legit scared and asking me where I got the photos, why I was looking at him, where were these photos taken, was this man still alive, where was he…. and she was getting all worked up… she just left our house and she’s gone home now, really abruptly. Won’t answer my calls. She seemed really upset and shaken. I swear I’m not making this up.’

(Reply): ’Which photo? OP’s great gramps or the new pic?’

User 7 (replying to the reply): ’Both. I was comparing them side by side, just out of curiosity. I never expected a reaction like that. I’m really freaked out. And reading other replies here, even more freaked out. I’ll see if I can get anymore info from my grandma when she calms down.’

User 8:‘I feel really sorry for OP. Turns out her great-grandpa looks just like a legendary demonic monster guy.’

User 9 (replying to the above): ’What if OP’s gramps really is this monster guy? Everyone swears it looks just like him, and it’s his likeness that’s triggered all this discussion…’

And on and on. Many legends and lore of a man who apparently looks JUST like my great grandpa, with two coloured eyes, one green, one dark brown, and different stories but all sharing very similar elements to the lore that follows this man all around the world. Lots of people saying they heard this legend, these stories around this man/monster/demon.

But here’s the worst part.

I felt really tired out reading all that stuff. I mean, obviously, I reasoned that they’ve just latched onto the fact that my great grandpa just happened to have the same unusually coloured eyes as the man in these legends. But with my Mum’s reaction earlier I was just feeling bad and overwhelmed I guess, so I just left the laptop and I went to sleep. There were hundreds of comments I still hadn’t read, and I’d changed my mind and I didn’t want to delete the discussion just then, because there were so many people involved and the whole thing was just buzzing and taking on a life of its own, and so I felt like I’d be rude just to cut it off abruptly when there were so many people so excited.

Besides, it wasn’t even about my great-grandpa anymore, it was just that his multi-coloured eyes had unearthed a legend that people had thus far just kept tucked away in their little corners of the world until then. At that point, I was even slightly proud that my photo had managed to bring to light a hidden, very interesting sounding, obscure legend that many cultures seemed to have their version of. I felt I would enjoy the discussion more when I was better-rested.

I wanted to take another look at the updated discussion in the morning, so I left the laptop in the living room, with the page open.

Big mistake.

I woke up this morning and my Mum was sitting by the laptop, reading it all. Her face was white as a sheet, honestly. Even on her worst days she’s never been like that. Even on the days when she’s had nightmares that reminded her of how her beloved grandpa died… even when she’s been reliving the trauma, I’ve never seen her look like she did that morning.

I was kicking myself for leaving the laptop open, so I snapped it shut, quickly, so she couldn’t read more (kind of rude, but it was basically to protect her) and I just tried to laugh the whole thing off. She wasn’t in a great place, mentally, anyway, because my stupid post had probably awakened further traumatic memories for her about his death and just… I really felt awful to have pushed her to this point. The discussion about the legend of the two-coloured eyed man was an off-shoot and unrelated, she had no business reading about it in her anxious state.

‘I know, Mum. It’s weird how there’s a legend about a creepy figure… with similar multi-coloured eyes!’ I laughed. ‘I guess there must be something in our collective unconscious about people finding chimera eyes scary, or something. So they built a legend around that.’

She stared off into middle distance, her gaze still fixed on the place where I’d closed the laptop monitor.

I tried to talk about other things, I rambled on, actually. And she just sat there, transfixed. In shock.

I was getting really scared now, so I got her a glass of water. She took it, just absent-mindedly, and held it, but didn’t drink it.

I was feeling terrible, there were goosebumps on my arms. Somehow, reading all that ridiculous, hyping up and exaggeration of the lore surrounding a two-coloured-eyed man had messed with my poor mum’s head. Was she having a mental breakdown? I really was such an awful human being for throwing my family’s sensitivities to the mercy of the internet like this. I was wondering whether to take her to the doctor.

She put the glass down. And got up. She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I could hear the sound of her retching.

I ran behind her and stood at the door helplessly, crying too, now, really, seriously, feeling like such a terrible person for opening this whole thing up. People on the internet think they can say what they want and run their mouths and create theories and not realise that those careless comments and hysteria can really impact people in real life. How dare I open up my family, my poor Mum, up to that sort of stuff? She was having therapy for his death, she still had regular nightmares, for God’s sake. Why did I ever think this was a good idea, and why had I let her be exposed to those horrible, persistent people getting their kicks from relating their stories?

When she emerged, she was puffy-eyed and hoarse.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I said, and hugged her, held her tightly, trying to squeeze away the bad feelings, somehow, to protect her from all that bad stuff. To fix her through sheer determined love. I really, really, hate seeing her when she has one of her anxiety attacks. It was a constant fear of mine, to see her in that broken state, when I was little. If you’ve ever seen a parent in a vulnerable state, you know exactly how awful, how scary, how heart-breaking it is. ‘All that stuff on the internet, it’s so stupid, I’m so sorry…’

‘It isn’t stupid,’ she said, in a small voice. She basically pushed me away. ‘It’s what I’ve feared, all these years.’ She was looking at the floor.

‘Ok… so, Mum, I think we need to go see the doctor this afternoon…’

‘I heard the screams,’ she said, looking at me in eyes for the first time. ‘I heard the sound of the screams. When I was little…. I saw the…’ She coughed and put a hand to her mouth, and I thought she was going to be sick again. But she wasn’t. She swayed a little, but steadied herself.

‘I had no idea about the scale of things. I had no idea he was… I mean, I guessed a little… but… Oh God! I was always so afraid to face the fear I always had. I loved him so much. I never wanted to face it.’

She covered her eyes and started sobbing – deep, gut-wrenching sobs – and then she went into her room. She hasn’t come out.

I really have no idea what to think, how to feel. I can’t even concentrate on the newer posts and messages I received. I’ve deleted the original post now, with its photo and discussion. I just can’t handle it.

I feel numb, but there’s this definite sense of terror, too, eating away at the back of my head. I feel so many large, unwieldly thoughts that make no sense, just clanging around in my brain, getting larger, like echoes, but I can’t focus on any one coherent thought. None of this makes sense.

Edit: I just went for a nap, and woke up to find a letter from my mother. She’s written something for me and I think she’s gone out for a walk. I think it contains more info, finally, about my great-grandpa. I’m going to read it through and will try and update.

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