#i found some old photos of when I was younger (and still in China) picking and eating them and little me was living the dream

[food-lover9000]

One of the greatest pleasures has to be eating good fruit I swear

[red-moskito]

24. April. 2020

Málaga, Spain

For many of us, the last time it felt like the whole world was having the same conversation was on September 11th, 2001. For me, it was also the day I left London for Faedis, Italy. A few people around me on the train were murmuring about some kind an attack. When I got the airport, it was so quiet. People stood frozen in front of televisions watching two plumes of black smoke rise into a blue sky.

I’d met Marco while he was in London for a couple days to sell some wine. We both quoted Biggie Smalls and the Big Lebowski. He was just getting the family vineyard going as a proper business. I had no plans beyond the next weekend. I said I liked the idea of working on a vineyard. He said, cool. 

The house was a kitchen and a bedroom above the cantina. Almost everything inside was older than me. The roof in the bedroom sloped down to the floor. We opened a few bottles and ate dinner. 

While insects buzzed and chirped outside the windows, we watched our world reorganize itself towards endless war on television. It was cold that night. We slept under scratchy blankets on little beds made during times of less abundance. 

I stayed until the end of October. We often ate lunch in Orsaria with his parents, Paolo and Miriam. I liked them. They acted as if Marco had just found a younger brother they had somehow misplaced. I also liked their house. It was big, beautiful and warm. They had comfortable sofas and a computer for sending sentimental emails and downloading mp3s. 

I did my best to match their enthusiasm for every course. E buona la pasta, Tito? Si, si... buonissimo! Marco, perché non mangia di più? When I got sick, they had a doctor come to the house. He brought a stethoscope in a leather bag. Nonna introduced me to grappa as medicine. The first glass felt like hot wax going down my throat.  

I annoyed Marco with my plans to marry his sister Barbara, even though she thought I was a sfigato. We drove down gravel roads to parties in little bars where his friends played reggae like some of mine did back home.

No matter how late we stayed out, or how many bottles we left empty on the table, Marco was up with the sun and ready to work. He’d drink flat Coca-Cola before his coffee. Some fuel to get the engine started, man. Good for the stomach. 

Winemaking is agriculture, science, art, design, engineering, sales, marketing, gambling, guessing…. When there aren’t vines to trim, there are tanks to check, fertilizers to buy, grapes to take to the laboratory, grass to cut, cases to deliver, bottles to label, fill, cork... People we’d meet throughout the day said, buon lavoro as goodbye. 

Whenever something could go wrong, it often did. Marco’s momentary frustration would quickly just become something else to laugh about. Stay calm. Piano, piano. We have to be the Tom Cruise of the situation, man. 

Sometimes he would sketch out the plans for our day on scrap paper. Little cartoons of machines, grapes, tanks and tubes with arrows between them. Numbers and notes floating around the edges. He never drew us. We were always moving anyway. 

During the vendemmia a crowd arrived to help. Friends, traveling workers and his family, of course. Nonno laughed and shook his head at me and my allergies. I never really got the hang of the tractor, but I loved cutting the grapes free. We stacked crates and tipped them into presses. They all knew far more about my country than I did about theirs. We debated the merits of Sublime, compared Berlusconi to Bush and retold our favorite Simpsons episodes. Every day we all ate lunch together on the patio beneath a sunshade of interwoven vines. 

The wine we made went to tables all around Friuli-Venezia-Giulia and parts of Europe. I brought a few bottles with me when I left for Torino. Some went to rest on shelves in the cantina.   

The last time I was in Faedis was in August 2016. Marco still sings while he’s walking between the rows of vines. 'Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see…’ I mean come on. man. He was really the best. You know it. The best... ‘It was all a dream. I used to read Word-Up Magazine…’ 

The TV in the kitchen is gone. There’s a wood stove there now. They watch movies projected on the wall of the room we used to sleep in. A futon for guests has replaced the little beds. Marco had remodeled the house to make room for another proper bedroom. 

He dug out some grimy bottles of our wine. It was six years younger than I was when we made it. I didn’t get to see Barbara. Paulo and Miriam’s house is now a bed and breakfast. Go there if you’re ever near Orsaria. It’s even more beautiful now. 

Friuili is 300 km from Lombardia. In February, Marco and I started talking and texting about the virus. I’d already started veering away from people on the sidewalk. There was a movie I wanted to see in the cinema, but I didn’t go. I avoided the port full of cruise ship passengers. But I still went out. 

On March 6, I’d had an internal debate about going to the botanical gardens on my day off. It’s outdoors. It’s low season. It’ll be empty. It’s windy and warm. And anyway, Málaga isn’t Bergamo. I rode my bike there, and while I was locking it, I reconsidered again. I saw a couple walking down from the mountains across the road. Should I just hike up this trail instead? Instead I went inside. I’d only been in summer before. I wanted to see what it looked like at the beginning of spring. 

While I was having my coffee, a woman sat at the other end of the picnic table. When she started blowing her nose, I told myself it would be silly and rude to get up. Then she started coughing. I looked at the unwrapped sandwich I had brought from home. My open water thermos. Mentally measuring metres and wind speed. Still feeling like I was being ridiculous. Her daughter brought the drinks and sat down. Ecco la tua mamma... I picked up my things and moved to another table.

I spent the next half hour telling myself I was being paranoid while trying to focus on the plants in the sunshine. Doing impossible math in my head. There are 60 million Italians.... they could have been traveling for weeks... maybe they live here... anyone could have it... there are so many old people here... I heard that man couch under is hat... it could have been on the coffee cup anyway… the bartender washes them in the sink... how hot is that water?

I walked to the end of the gardens where a gazebo was built for the view of the cathedral and the sea. I watched turtles swimming around the little pond. Marco texted me. Stay at home. I called him to tell him about the Italian women and my paranoia. They walked by while I was on the phone, and I moved upwind. Still feeling ridiculous. 

He was calm as always. The main problem is there aren’t enough beds for the, how do you say... the reanimation. The people they are just fucking dying in the corridors. They don’t know for sure who is the patient zero, but the patient one or two. He’s a 38 years old guy. He’s been on the fucking respirator for weeks. In Cividale there are three cases. It’s crazy, man. What we have to do is just fucking close everything like they did in China. But that will never happen you know man, because this is Europe. 

Two days later the Italian government locked down Lombardia and fourteen other provinces. The following day they extended to it include the entire country. Within a week, most of Europe followed suit.

Seven weeks later the Italian government agrees with many of you about the essential nature of wine. So Marco is still working. Since the lockdown started, he’s been in the hospital twice. He was in a car accident in March, and then something more serious happened in April. 

He sent me a selfie from the hospital bed. I called him and he answered laughing. His wife had thought he was faking a stroke to play a trick on her. Fucking unbelievable, man. I tried to drink the juice. You know in the morning, the orange juice, and I put it all over my t-shirt. I couldn’t put it to my mouth. I couldn’t say nothing. I was like blah, blah, blah. My brain was no good. Anyway, how are you, are you good?  

The hospitals in Udine aren’t overwhelmed, but he was only allowed one visitor per day. He asked his mother to bring his laptop, so he could get some work done. Everybody say rest. Rest, rest, rest. Okay, I’m in the bed. 

When he was discharged he sent me a photo with his wife and baby walking between the vines. Their daughter, Emilia, has unruly red hair. In every photo she looks overjoyed and a little surprised to have found herself inside her new body. Are you ok? Super ok, man. Super ok. They were all smiles. Glowing in the green grass. Paola looks far too smart to have fallen for either of us back when we would try to out-charm each other every time a woman arrived at the vineyard. 

Marco’s still getting up with the sun. But fewer and fewer Italians have money for wine. He’s not loading pallets with boxes bound for dinner parties in Oslo or Chicago. No American tourists will be giggling at his accent this summer. The local restaurants are dark and full of stale air. 

For almost twenty years, whenever I’ve called Marco to talk about moving or just getting away, he reminds me of my house in Faedis. 

Next to the front door there are photographs of family and friends working together since long before the days of color. Behind the house, up on top of the hill, there is a little shack with the year 1867 written above the door. It will still be there once our world has reorganized itself yet again. 

So will we. 

https://www.cecchinimarco.com/

http://www.dorsariabedandbreakfast.it/index.php/it/

[southeastasianists]

Names marked with an asterisk* have been changed to protect identities

Mandalay, Myanmar - Sitting in a monastery in Mandalay, a city in northern Myanmar, Ake Xi* watched his family scatter flowers on his freshly dug grave, via Skype.

On the other end of the call, his twin sister held the camera in focus so he could see the picture they had placed at the head of the grave.

It was one of his younger self, a child who spent his days picking tea with his parents in plantations above their hillside village.

"I felt so strange. I wanted to shout, 'I'm not dead!'" said Ake Xi, who is now 18.

A year has passed since his fake funeral, which was organised by his parents.

They wanted to have his name removed from their household because he was at risk of being recruited by an armed group in Shan State, an east-central region.

So far, the fake funeral has worked.

Ake Xi is no longer linked to his home residence - he is out of reach of soldiers from the armed wing of the Restoration Council for Shan State, an armed group known as the Shan State Army-South (SSA-S), who patrol his parents' village in search of young recruits.

Myanmar's long-standing internal armed conflicts have been characterised by severe human rights violations and mass displacement, with forced recruitment tactics used by both the Myanmar army and non-state armed groups.

Young men are the primary target, but children are often also swept up in blanket enlistment practices.

The Myanmar military was first found guilty of using child soldiers in 2003, in a UN report on children in armed conflict.

The country remains on the list despite the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement (NCA) reached in 2015, requiring the Myanmar military and signatory ethnic armed organisations to protect civilians, including by not engaging in forced conscription or the abduction of children.

The UN children's fund (UNICEF), which monitors the implementation of a 2012 action plan to end the use of child soldiers in Myanmar, says 924 minors have been discharged by the Myanmar military in the past seven years. 

But forced recruitment remains common in areas controlled by non-state armed groups.

The SSA-S is among seven ethnic armed groups in Myanmar listed by UNICEF as "persistent perpetrators" in the recruitment of child soldiers.

Last September, the UN Fact-Finding Mission to Myanmar published a report revealing the widespread forced recruitment of young people in northern Shan State villages.

Bordering China to the east, the mountainous region has seen fierce fighting since late 2015 when the SSA-S moved north into Ta'ang National Liberation Army (TNLA) and Shan-State Army-North strongholds.

The UN report found that "even if there is no policy of forced recruitment per se, there is no space to object to joining the ranks of certain armed groups" with abductions, torture and extortion used to coerce families into handing over their sons.

In June, these findings became a reality for Ake Xi.

His parents received an ultimatum from SSA-S soldiers: either they hand over their son or pay 10 million kyats, the equivalent of around $7,000, for another to serve on his behalf. If not, they would be taken hostage until he turned himself in.

"They locked my hand with three other men and blind-folded us as we drove out of the village," Ake Xi said.

He claimed he was tied to a tree and interrogated at the SSA-S base.

"They wanted to know how many other families were hiding their sons," he said.  

On the third day, soldiers accompanied him back to the town and waited while he cashed in his father's gold, the entirety of their savings.

"We had no choice," he told Al Jazeera. "It feels like a bad dream."

Amnesty International documented  45 cases of abductions by the TNLA and SSA-S in Shan State between late 2015 and late 2016 as fighting intensified between the two warring parties.

The rights group says civilians are typically taken in groups of five to eight people. Some are forcibly removed from vehicles, others are taken from home and never seen again. Parents are also held captive until their children agree to conscript.

Lay Sai Nge's arms are still marked from the ropes that bound him for the four weeks he spent as a captive of the SSA-S.

The 43-year-old was the eldest of 10 men taken from Man Li village when fighting erupted in Hsipaw township in late February, snatched from his car on the way to rescue other villagers caught in the crossfire.

Photos of him beaten and bound were circulated by local media, which led to his eventual release.

Six men, including minors, are yet to return home but have been spotted in posts shared by SSA-S soldiers on Facebook. In the images, they are wearing uniforms and holding guns.

Three months on from his release, Lay Sai Nge has sent 60 school-aged children from his village to live in a monastery in Ayeyarwady region in the country's southern delta.

Like many parents Al Jazeera spoke to in rural Shan State, he is confident that there is next to no risk of recruitment outside the areas controlled by ethnic armies.

Humanitarian organisations say that since late 2016, there has been an exodus of rural youth and a spike in displacements linked to concerns about forced recruitment in northern Shan State.

Matthew Maguire, an aid worker, cited an increase in adolescents crossing to China as fighting intensified.

"Young people fled across the border to work as the risk of forced recruitment [or] being picked up for belonging to an opposing ethnic group went through the roof," he said. "Their choices were limited: either move to an urban area or find work in China."

Maguire, who was working with local groups on a youth dialogue project in 50 villages in Kutkai township in early 2017, says that their endeavour could not proceed as there were simply no young people to work with.

"All had fled for fear of recruitment," he told Al Jazeera by email.

Mother of five, 43-year-old Yar San Taw* has made many sacrifices to keep her children out of harm's way, including living without them.  

"He cried when we sent him to China to work after he finished his studies, but he didn't have a choice, I won't let him stay here," she told Al Jazeera from her home, holding up a photo of her 15-year-old son in the monastery where he was educated and raised from his ninth birthday.

"Even when he visited home, we worried that the army would take him," she says, looking anxiously out the window at the base occupied by young soldiers. "Nobody wants their children to join the rebels."

The US State Department said, in its latest country report on human rights practices in Myanmar, that the unlawful use of child soldiers and forced labour of adults and children by non-state armed groups "rarely result[ed] in investigations or prosecutions".

"I can forgive an animal that bites me that knows nothing about the law," said Lay Sai Nge, "but these soldiers have signed the Nationwide Ceasefire Agreement."

For former abductees and parents grieving the forced conscription of their sons, the injustice they have faced is difficult to swallow.

"They tortured me and took away my freedom," said Lay Sai Nge, "I cannot forgive them."

[axelsagewrites]

Stiles Stilinski*Sister

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Requested by Annon:

TW imagine Stiles younger sister by a few months, and he treats her like a child, and she gets sick of it that he doesn't give her chance just because monsters exist and he's paranoid and he gives her feelings that she doesn't want to feel, and he makes her feel useless and hurts her feelings and sometimes embarrassed the reader.

From birth (Y/N) Stilinski was treated like a fragile china doll. Born almost 3 months early with several complications they were concerning from the start. The baby was barely even a ‘viable’ birth. Sheriff Stilinski was panicking over the birth as his wife brought their first daughter into the world. Stiles was only 10 months old when (Y/N) was born and had no clue why the man who’d bring him food was pacing around the room inside of playing peekaboo. But as he got older, (Y/N) not that far behind, he inherited his father’s protectiveness over his sister. Of course, the Sherriff was concerned about both his children, only being heightened by his wife’s death, but (Y/N) was always the ‘most vulnerable’. The pair did their best to protect her while she tried to prove she didn’t need to be protected. Stiles would tell her not to follow him and Scott on the big climbing frame scared she’d fall. Okay well, I’ll just climb the slide then, (Y/N) would think. And so (Y/N) would and normally be up there first. School was different. The Stilinski family decided to send the two to school together as they just fit in the year’s requirements. Stiles was one of the older ones while (Y/N) was one of the youngest. They’d compete in tests, games, and anything else possible. (Y/N) would do their best to embarrass Stiles while Stiles attempted to protect (Y/N) from bullies. Even though Stiles was their prime target. Despite being in the same year they decided not to deal with each other in school. (Y/N) had her group, Stiles had Scott. It worked. Of course, Stiles still looked over the girl, but he saw she could take care of herself. Well, until the wolves came to time.

Stiles and Scott were both thrown into the supernatural world. Despite Scott being the werewolf, it was still as bad for Stiles. He had to go through a lot of the same things with none of the powers. Being human in a supernatural world makes anyone panic but Stiles had (Y/N) to think about. But (Y/N) was really into myths. Greek myths, Roman myths, strange creatures. Didn’t matter. (Y/N) had taken their late mothers’ old collection of books of myths when she was young and got hooked. As Stiles was trying to help his friend he would ‘borrow’ her books without asking. And she would notice. So (Y/N) found out. Stiles wasn’t the best liar, yet, and (Y/N) knew her brother. So (Y/N) became like Stiles; the human with the info. (Y/N) had to admit Stiles had great intuition but she had the prior knowledge. She was useful. But Stiles didn’t care. It was too dangerous. She could get hurt. You’d be safer at home. Every time he said one of these she’d sigh and walk away. there was no fighting Stiles, the boy was delusional. She did meet Derek, Deaton, and Peter. Well, she wasn’t supposed to meet Peter, but she did. Stiles had been on extra edge recently and (Y/N) didn’t know why. She’d thought it was strange he was hanging with Lydia and Allison now, but nothing was ever explained. All the involvement she had with the supernatural was either answering their questions, meeting Deaton to ask her own questions, and occasionally being dumped on Derek to ‘look over’ her. But stiles were finally talking to girls so (Y/N) didn’t want to ruin it. “So,” (Y/N) said, trying to make it casual, “What’s up in the land of wolves?” They were sitting on the sofa watching some crappy movie, eating dinner. Sheriff was at work and Stiles had cooked his best dish; take out. Stiles gulped, “Um not much. Wolfy stuff and you get it…” he waved her off. (Y/N) crossed her arms, “SO this movie huh?” (Y/N) scoffed “I’m not an idiot. Your panicking, Scott’s panicking, and Deaton’s avoiding my questions,” “You talk to Deaton?” Stiles tries to change the subject. “Yes,” (Y/N)’s eyes narrow, “I like this sort of stuff. I know about it. I can be useful too,” “I know,” “Stiles you’re treating me like a child,” (Y/N) told her brother. He sighed “I’m just…protecting you. It's more dangerous than your storybooks,” “They’re not story books!” Stiles gave her a look, “Maybe when we were 7 but now it's real. I can help.” “No,” “Sti-“ “I SAID NO!” (Y/N) flinched. “It's too dangerous. End of,” Stiles crossed his arms and sulked back. Wiping a quick tear away, (Y/N) stood up, “Fine,” she spat. “But know one day you’ll need help and I won’t run to you,” She turned on her heels and rushed upstairs. “What about your dinner?” Stiles went after her, standing at the foot of the stairs. (Y/N) paused, fighting tears, “I don’t care,” She yelled back. Stiles flinched as her door slammed with a bang. He slumped back down onto the couch, trying to find a better show to watch. It wasn’t safe. He kept telling himself. I need to protect her, for dad. (Y/N) didn’t feel the same. Lying face down on the bed, (Y/N) fought back tears and lost. He always did this. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t smart enough. She wasn’t capable of protecting herself. It made her feel not enough. “Why can’t he let me,” she whispered to the photo on her bedside of her mum holding her in her arms, Stiles in dads. “I’m not a baby. You’d want me to be strong. Like you,” (Y/N)’s words fell on deaf ears of an old photo. He’d never changed. Stiles doesn’t do change.

But Stiles couldn’t control the world. The alpha pack wanted to know everything about each kid and their friends and family. They knew everything about Melisa, Danny, and even (Y/N). but they didn’t see a use for her, well not right away. Stiles and Scott were forced to stay back for Lacrosse so (Y/N) would either go to a friend or walk home. They only had the jeep and (Y/N) knew better than to ask for a car they couldn’t afford. (Y/N) knew she had to study, after all, she was in high school, so decided not to go to her friend’s house. She waved goodbye at the gates, shoved her headphones in, and started home. The walk wasn’t too bad and (Y/N) did like to be somewhat healthy with all these werewolves running around. But despite her dads’ warnings not to have her music on full because she’d be unable to hear her surroundings she did. Her dad had tried to teach the siblings a little fighting but soon gave up on Stiles. But despite the self-defense training, her dad gave her when the hand clamping over your mouth has claws on it, you just scream. Off course the large werewolf paw muffled it and his running meant anyone who heard wouldn’t see them for long. (Y/N) would like to think she’d kick them in the balls when they put her down and run but, in reality, she fought back sobs. She thrashed and struggled but the twins were still able to tie her to a chair. “Did you bring it?” A cold voice asked. (Y/N) head whipped to the side to see a man walking in with a cane and a woman guiding him. When the twins spoke, her head turned to them, “Right here,” “Good,” he smiled a creepy smile. The woman let go of his arm and he sauntered over to her chair. He grabbed her jaw, although light still strong, “Well done,” (Y/N) pulled her head back, not caring if she hit it off the back of the chair, “Fighter?” “Not really,” Aiden chuckled. (Y/N) glared and as the man went to touch her face again she bit him. Screw manners. He pulled his hand back with a hiss. Suddenly she couldn’t breath and claws were starting to pierce her neck “I wouldn’t do that,” he growled, “you won’t just get rabies from our bite,”

When Stiles saw the dinner sitting on the counter, not even heated yet, he was concerned. Scott was busy raiding his fridge for after game snacks as he called out “(Y/N)”. when no one answered the pair shared a look, “Those damn headphones,” Stiles realized. He walked over to the stairs and yelled louder. No response. He huffed and ran upstairs, throwing open her door and yelling “(Y/N)-“ but cutting himself short. “(Y/N)?” he said in confusion. Stiles went back downstairs and Scott was looking at him with a questioning look. “Maybe she went to a friend’s house?” Stiles shook his head, “No we’ve got that English test she wanted to study for,” Scott shrugged as Stiles frowned, “I’m calling her,” Scott groaned, “She’s not gonna like it,” “I don’t care,” Stiles said like it was the most obvious thing. Scott sighed, sitting the food he was eating down, “You embarrass her. Like really embarrass her.” Stiles barely glanced at him while he pulled out his phone, “Stiles! She feels crappy. Last time I was here I swear I heard crying. Just text her and give her half an hour. Then you can phone,” Stiles paused, holding to phone against his chin in thought, “Crying?” “Yeah, stiles,” Scott said, walking closer, “You make her feel useless. Give her a break,” “Okay. Half an hour,”

As the alpha’s chilled casually around the run-down living room (Y/N) panicked. Stiles was usually so protective. He would’ve got out of Lacrosse 20 minutes ago, home 10 minutes ago, and defiantly called when he couldn’t find her. It was her turn to heat dinner up after all. (Y/N)'s lip was going to go raw at her chewing. They’d took her stuff and sat it in a pile, but the phone still hadn’t buzzed. The blind man had left, and Ethan was studying something half-heartedly on the sofa. The girl sat, picking at her obnoxiously sharp nails while Aiden went between working out and playing on his phone. Then the worst thing happened, “I need to go to the bathroom,” (Y/N) pipped up with little enthusiasm. Ethan chuckled but didn’t look up. “Tough,” The girl said, clearly not caring. Aiden, however, spared a glance. He doesn’t have feelings, (Y/N) thought. “Like I really need one,” it was unfortunately not a lie. She hadn’t been allowed to go since lunch and that was hours ago. PE was last so water was gulped before the end of the day. Don’t think about water. “Too bad,” the girl told her, more aggressive, “Should’ve gone before you came,” “I didn’t get the choice,” (Y/N) snapped before she could stop. The girl let out a hollow laugh, approaching (Y/N) at a torturously slow pace, “Little girl thinks she has claws. I got these ones,” She waved her fingers slowly in front go her face, “And I’m desperate to use them,” “Just take her to the bathroom,” Aiden groaned. The girl shot him an angry look, coupled with red eyes. “She looks like she’s gonna wet herself. And I’m not cleaning it up,” “You take her,” The girl crossed her arms. “I’m a dude,” “Too bad,” The girl stood her ground. Ethan sighed from his spot, “Just stand outside the bathroom,” he told his brother, “We’re three stories up. If she jumps she’s not getting far,” (Y/N) shot Aiden a sorry look and he groaned. “Fine,” Reluctantly he stood up and untied (Y/N), her hands going to rub her wrist to soothe it, “C’mon,” (Y/N) wasn’t about to argue and followed the werewolf. The bathroom looked even more dire than her situation. Aiden motioned for her to go in and turned to lean against the wall across from the door. (Y/N) walked in, slowly shutting the door and locking it. As soon as the door was locked she sped up. Ethan was right, she was too far up and above the concrete. Not to mention she couldn’t imagine fitting through that window without being heard. After (Y/N) washed her hands she looked in the mirror and sighed, her hand going up to grab her locket. He must be a werewolf. (Y/N) told herself. She opened the necklace and let the dust fall into her hand, holding it tight. She opened the door with the other, taking a deep breath. Aiden had barely looked up from his phone when she flung the dust in his face. He coughed a little before he slumped. (Y/N) quickly grabbed him, struggling, and placed him on the floor, knowing he would’ve made a thud. The apartment seemed to go silent for a moment as (Y/N) crouched next to Aiden. When no one came she stood slowly, walking through the corridors. The only doors were the bathroom one and one other before the corridor ended and you were in the open planned living room kitchen. (Y/N) looked at the other door and saw it was a dingy bedroom with a stained bed. The dust had been a strong type of wolves’ bane she’d got from Deaton. Although not knowing the whole situation (Y/N) had known something was going to happen. She always kept a few things on her. Mountain ash, mistletoe, wolf’s bane, and such but all in her backpack. Which was currently in the corner of the living room. But (Y/N) was beyond lucky. The bedroom had a fire escape. Cringing as the window creaked, (Y/N) opened the window as quietly as possible. You could tell from the fire escape that it would creak. She sat on the window ledge, feet hovering over the metal. RING! RING! RING! (Y/N) jumped a little when she heard her phone go off. Although not having wolf hearing (Y/N) knew that they would grab her phone and probably go to find her. Maybe the noise would mask her noise. So (Y/N) jumped onto the fire escape and rushed down, metal clanging with her footsteps. As she was almost on the ground she heard one of the wolves run through the apartment and someone yells for Aiden. Well, that’ll be a nice surprise, (Y/N) thought. She looked over her shoulder as she began to run out the alley and saw the woman looking out the window. Luck seemed to finally be on her side as she was looking the other way and (Y/N) was able to scamper. (Y/N) pressed herself against the front of the building, knowing she’d be out of eyesight. Once she’d took a couple deep breaths she began to sprint. The wind ripped at her skin and her legs felt like jelly, but she pushed on. (Y/N) had only sort of saw where they went but she didn’t care where she ended up. The first thing she recognized was her friend's house at the end of the street. But (Y/N) paused. They had to know where she lived to have found her. She’d be putting this on her doorstep. But at least she could get home from here. (Y/N) ran before she could think. But as she ran past her house she only stopped to grab her bike and speed off even faster. What was a human house going to do? The jeep wasn’t even there. (Y/N) jumped off her bike, letting it fall and crash into the wall, and ran inside the vets. “Wolf,” She panted when she saw Deaton, ignoring the strange look from a couple picking up their dog. Deaton’s eyes widened and he ushered her behind the counter and into the back, “Wolf’s her dog,” He told the customers, “Out of surgery not that long ago,” they nodded in understanding and left, unsuspecting. Once the place was empty he asked, “What wolf?” “Twins, some girl, a blind guy,” She said through pants. “I used the wolfsbane. I-I ran. I’m going to be sick,”

When Scott and Stiles got their Stiles rushed to (Y/N) who was sitting down, cradling her.  She wasn’t crying, or smiling, or showing anything. Deaton filled Scott in, glancing over at the siblings occasionally. “We’ll deal with it (Y/N). don’t worry,” Scott told her, crouching to the sibling’s level, “But can you help?” “Scott!” Stiles glared at him. (Y/N) nodded slowly, “It was Aiden and Ethan. Some girl and a blind guy,” “Yeah, but where? I need you to think,” She shook her head, “That apartment was just a stop. They don’t live there,” Scott nodded but there was still defeat in his eyes, “I-I through wolves’ bane at Aiden.” “I heard,” Scott looked down, “We’re gonna have to get you protection. I don’t know what yet-“ “Teach her,” Stiles cut him off. “What?” Stiles sat up properly, “You or Derek or even Deaton I don’t care. Someone’s gonna teach her. Its no use her having protection. She’ll be alone sometimes, and she needs to be ready,” (Y/N) nodded in agreement. Scott stood up, nodding and pulling out his phone, assembly for Derek, “I guess you’re in the pack,” Stiles sighed. “There’s a pack?”

[gwiiyeoweo]

But with each loving kiss pressed upon his flaws and marks, Cor found it easier to see himself through Noctis’ gaze. Because whatever Noctis loved must certainly be something worthy of all the adoration.

It goes without saying Cor has amassed his fair share of scars. He's never felt self-conscious of his earnings, but Noctis makes them feel beautiful.

Pairing: Cor Leonis/Noctis Lucis Caelum Rating: T

“Have you ever thought of getting a tattoo?”

“Why? So I can replace Gladiolus as your Shield?”

Noctis smiled wryly, gently smacking a paint-stained hand across Cor's bare shoulder blade. “Yeah, so I can totally mess up centuries of tradition and family honor and all that jazz just so this selfish prince can turn the Marshal into my Shield,” he snorted, sarcasm and amusement dripping off every word and inflection. “It’s just, iunno. Seems like an idea.”

“Perhaps one day then.”

Here, in Cor's private chambers, they gave up all pretenses and honorifics separating their stations. Cor wasn't Marshal or the Immortal or some stone-edged warrior formed from the steel of his blade or the blood of beasts. Noctis wasn't Crown Prince or a living one-man army who could decimate entire squadrons with his deft illusory magics and immense arsenal of mastered weapons.

They were just two men, finding comfort in soft intimacy and softer touches.

Noctis had barged into his office earlier that day, firing orders to make Cor clear his schedule and free up his evening — he had even pulled rank to use his Prince status when the man made to argue. And Noctis rarely used his position to bow others to his whims, and Cor knew how much he hated any reference to his power and privilege as royalty; so the moment he had heard Noctis take advantage of that, Cor had realized just how serious his prince was.

Just, he hadn't realized how premeditated this all was. Hadn't expected the lights turned on the dimmest settings or the oil diffuser misting out his favorite vanilla-lavender scent. Hadn't expected the freshly laundered towels spread across his bed and set in his bathroom countertop, where his heated bathtub kept his oil-infused bath at the ready. With flower petals to boot.

“What's the occasion? Surely I'm not forgetting an anniversary or something?” Cor had asked, taking Noctis’ hands into his own and admiring the red rose stains on his fingertips.

“No, but you've been working way too much. Training and recruiting the Crownsguard, secret intelligence work, keeping contact with the Hunters. All the paperwork that would make even Iggy cry.” Noctis had explained, trying not to blush as Cor lightly kissed his fingers.

It's funny, how Noctis had no qualms with giving affection but tended to turn pink like a young maiden when that same affection was returned.

And here Cor was, stripped to nothing but his bare skin — save for the towel covering his lower half — as he laid himself across the towels on his bed, flopped onto his stomach and head turned to the side on a pillow, with Noctis perched above him. Unlike Cor, he was clothed comfortably in sweats and one of Cor's own shirts, old but soft with use and much too large for the smaller man. To his side, a small platter of handpaints Noctis had already dipped his fingers into.

Noctis traced lines and circles on his back, spending extra time where Cor knew his more memorable scars should be. He's curious as to what his lover was trying to paint, what colors he's dying his scars with, and if he's even trying to create anything recognizable at all or going for abstract nonsense. It's not exactly a massage but it very well could be, with how Cor felt all the tension melt out of his body under each fleeting touch.

Throughout all his years and his line of duty, it went without saying that Cor collected his fair share of battle proofs, scars and burns that etched themselves as permanent fixtures to his skin. There were old wounds that never quite healed right, too late for a potion to erase the scarring, and bullet holes amassed during his time at the front lines against the Niffs, when he couldn't find shelter quick enough or when he threw a greenhorn behind him and took the shot himself. He wasn't like the Amicitia, where its sons and daughters held onto their scars and flaunted them like trophies and war prizes. But neither was he ashamed of them; they were all proof he lived and served, or humbling reminders of reckless follies.

Yet when Noctis was here, tracing his healed wounds with gentle fingers and reverent eyes, Cor felt like precious fine art rather than an expendable soldier. Like finely spun glass, delicate and fragile when he knew he’s allowed to be anything but. Cor was a warrior, a soldier, a stalwart protector and silent spy; being handled like thin china was the exact opposite of what had been ingrained into him. It had taken him a long time to become comfortable with the idea, that someone like him who held so many scars could look like a flawless gem in another's eyes, that he was allowed to let down his carefully built walls down for once in his lifetime. All under the prince’s eyes, no less. But with each loving kiss pressed upon his flaws and marks, Cor found it easier to see himself through Noctis’ gaze. Because whatever Noctis loved must certainly be something worthy of all the adoration.

Cor felt thin splatters of paint across his back, and he opened an eye to peer up at Noctis, straddling his lower back with a definite but comfortable weight. Among the paint stains on his hands, Noctis’ fingertips were covered in white, and the paint threatened to drip off his fingers but never did. He returned Cor’s lifted brow and curious gaze with a satisfied grin of his own, and he leaned to the side to wipe his hands on a spare towel before reaching for his phone.

“Finally finished, Highness?” Cor asked, pushing through the drowsiness in his voice. A few more minutes of that and surely he would have fallen asleep, surrendered to the relaxing and therapeutic touch of his prince.

“Mhmm,” Noctis hummed in affirmation, angling his camera phone just right to snap a photo of his newest art piece.

Ever since he scrolled through that particular blog on the internet, Noctis had been enraptured by the idea of body paints and using bare skin as a canvas. Naturally, Cor had been the first — and only — guinea pig, made to strip down to his pants so that Noctis could find the perfect patch of skin to try his artistic skills on. It had been the arms at first, then the chest, and finally his entire bare body when Noctis made no show or sign at his myriad of scars. Cor had offered once, if Noctis wanted to trade roles and play as canvas, but they had both agreed the younger was far too ticklish, a cover-up for the trauma his own scar that still haunted him. A childhood wound that never quite healed right, when the young prince was but a small thing, attacked by a daemon and almost losing his life.

“Here.” Noctis leaned in and held the screen in front of Cor’s single opened eye.

It’s not a terrible picture, despite the poor lighting, but Cor had to blink to fully understand what he’s seeing. There’s the edges of his untouched skin, where Noctis decided were the borders of his painting, but within was a pool of blues and purples against a dark black, swirls of lighter shades streaking across his skin. There’s the barest hint of soft pink and pale gold, entwining themselves into a lazy river that broke through the darker paints, following the lines of a particularly large scar. It’s a galaxy of navy and burgundy, and clusters of light coiled around his old wounds. Among them all, he knew the white stars, where his little nicks and scar tissues should be, and the bright lines that connected them to each other.

Cor didn’t realize he had been smiling, until Noctis pressed a finger to the corner of his lips. “I think he likes it,” he said, laughter in his voice.

“Very. I think you’ve outdone yourself.” Cor held onto the phone for a while longer, while Noctis moved his hands to rest them on the man’s shoulders. “This constellation is familiar. I’ve seen this one before?”

Despite his attention to the screen, he’s temporarily distracted when he felt those kind fingers suddenly turn firm, kneading into the knots and sore muscles in his back. He knew the paints must still be wet, that Noctis’ merciless hands were now only smearing the careful strokes he had spent so much effort on, and that despite this was how they always ended, he can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the loss. Yet the dismay was short-lived, when Noctis worked his magic into the kinks and tight coils buried deep into his muscle, his skilled fingers turning from artistry to therapy.

Cor let the phone slide from his fingers, and he closed his eye once again to focus where Noctis' palms dug themselves into his skin. The prince must have picked up a few new tricks, no doubt from Gladiolus who doubled as his physical therapist, because Cor breathed out a near salacious groan when Noctis bore down on a particular ache that had bothered him for the past week. They're both a little surprised at the sound, but Cor had no reason for embarrassment and Noctis only found himself feeling smug and triumphant. So Noctis kept on, using Cor's sighs and moans as encouragement and guidance.

Noctis finally answered at the end, a little breathy from the exertion on his arms. “Leo, that constellation.”

Ah, of course. ‘How apt,’ Cor thought. He felt a shift of weight on his back, then the tickle of soft hair brushing against his nape. Noctis’ hands turn reverent again, and they quietly ghosted his spine and hard planes, and Cor recognized the particularly soft press of lips against his shoulder.

“Since you're my lion, y'know.” Noctis nuzzled the fine hairs on the man's neck, gifting a few more last kisses across his skin.

“And you, my night sky.”

Noctis’ laughed a warm breath in the crook of Cor's neck. “We're so cheesy.”

“Agreed. I don't dislike it though.”

“Me neither.”

Cor missed the warmth and weight on his back when Noctis pulled away, and the dip in the mattress told him Noctis slipped off. He kept his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow of the massage but keeping his ears open for the sounds in his bathroom. There's the ripple of water, probably from Noctis checking the temperature, and the sound of bottle caps opening and closing, before he finally heard the light footsteps cross into his bedroom again. Cor only opened his eyes when a warm hand brushed against his cheek, and his heart nearly constricted at Noctis’ tender gaze, his blue-steel eyes promising nothing but ardor and love.

And this. This is the prince he would fight hordes of daemons and armies of soulless machines for. All the battles spent in steel and blood, the silent nights infiltrating enemy lines, the sleepless hours spent leafing through documents and secret files. And if the gods would take that gentle heart from him, then Cor would wage war on even the heavens to keep his dear light shining. For all the cherished moments Noctis gave him, he would do anything to return them all tenfold.

“C'mon, Cor. Up we go, need to clean that mess off your back,” Noctis softly chided, lightly smacking Cor's cheek to route him.

“Join me?” he asked. Cor only managed to push himself off the bed through sheer willpower and the knowledge that Noctis had put in all the effort of preparing a special bath for him. He could have easily fallen asleep as he had been, especially if he had the prince slung under one arm and as a sweet warmth at his side.

“Duh, who else will wash your back? Bahamut?” Noctis replied, lacing their fingers together and pulling Cor out of bed.

“That's a disturbing picture.”

“You can say that again.”

Cor let himself be led to the bathtub, and the warm water washed over him like a sweet balm. With his head lolled back and his arms draped over the edges of the porcelain tub, he watched through hooded eyes as Noctis stepped out of his clothes to join him. It was a bit snug for two men, but Noctis fit in quite perfectly; and Cor was infinitely thankful that the interior designers insisted on a large bathtub. Noctis made himself comfortable, leaning his back against Cor's broad chest.

“Thank you for all this,” Cor said. He placed a kiss atop the prince's hair and watched as Noctis gathered a handful of water and rose petals in his cupped hands.

“Mmm, don't mention it. You looked like you needed this anyway.” Noctis tipped his head back and met his gaze with an expectant look.

Cor knew that expression, the way he liked to raise his brows and purse his lips just slightly. And he couldn’t deny him, not with all he's given him and not when Cor so wanted to give and take all at once. So he craned his neck and stole little breaths in between their lips, tasted a sweetness that could only ever belong to a certain Lucian prince.

Just, he wished he could give him more. Noctis would never want it, but Cor would gladly give him the world if he could. He only had his life to give; his heart had surrendered so long ago. If only he had the power to pin himself as the constellation to his starry sky, to make good on each others’ names.

And perhaps Cor could.

“Actually. About that tattoo.”

[jungnoir]

May I please request college boyfriend!yuta in bullet point form? Please please please ❤️❤️❤️ I’ve been waiting so long for your requests to be reopened, I love your work!

a/n: thank you for being patient!! i hope you like this~

name: nakamoto yuta

age: immortal

major: bullshit undecided

if anyone were to try and define yuta,,, there would be a series of words that would be used,,, all of which may or may not be appropriate for ages 13 and under

yuta came to seoul from japan when he was just graduating high school on a scholarship for soccer

there were tons of schools that he really would have liked to go to all over the world, from places like New York to places in Brazil and Germany

and these schools all around the world really wanted him

he was, after all, a star on the rise

so you can see why his family was so confused when he chose to take a scholarship a little nearer to home, right in south korea

at the time, all he’d said was that seoul was somewhere he always wanted to live

which of course his family called bs on lol

yuta; what do you mean i’ve never talked about going to seoul before!! it’s my favorite place in the world!! great city!!! 10/10 would live there

literally everyone who knows this fool: you spelled seoul as seol once and it took you eight minutes to realize it

jk jk but look ok,,, he’s nowhere near as ditzy as he likes to joke about sometimes

cause yeah he’s great at soccer but he’s also got the brains to go with the brawn!! which makes him understand that despite the scholarships he’s getting to these overseas schools, not a lot of them cover all the expenses it will take to both get there and stay there

whereas the school in seoul is only 516 miles away from home, a stark difference to all those schools all over the world

if yuta wanted, he could go visit his family every weekend with the money he saved

and while seoul (shocker!) really wasn’t his dream place to be, it ended up being not too bad in yuta’s mind

to be honest,,, he kinda liked it

it was the actual school part he didn’t like

yuta felt most alive and happy when on the field, so having to take all these classes he neither cared for nor could understand on top of being in a foreign country and trying to master the language was t o u g h

while yuta never liked to admit it, there were often times he would find himself crying himself to sleep because he missed his family and old friends so much and being in another place, even if only 500 miles away, was stressful for him

thankfully, despite being one of the v few japanese students at his school, he wasn’t the only foreigner, and he’d met tons of good friends who were always patient with him when he mixed up his korean

ppl like taeyong, ten, jaehyun, doyoung, taeil, sicheng, mark, and johnny became some of his closest friends, but sicheng was his first

yuta could still remember his first day in classes at the school and how he couldn’t spot one (1) foreigner until his last class, statistics

yuta had just finished introducing himself to the class and he wasn’t really paying attention to everyone else as the teacher went down each table to get names, majors, places they were from, etc.

but then he remembered hearing this soft voice come from way across the classroom and this boy who was just a little younger than himself was introducing himself as dong sicheng and telling everyone that he was from china and would do his best to try and communicate and,,, fuk,,, it was like yuta’s world got a lil brighter

(i swear to god this is a yuta x reader fic and not a badly disguised yuwin fic ok)

almost immediately after class yuta tracks down sicheng and he’s like oh!!! hello!!! and tries to use his best korean for yuta but then yuta just pats sicheng’s shoulder with the most loving look in his eyes and probably tells sicheng he had been looking for him his whole life or something tbh sicheng doesn’t remember much of that moment except now yuta was his Best Friend and that was nonnegotiable

sicheng soon learned that yuta was also a foreigner and had gotten excited for all of five seconds before he found out he couldn’t speak much chinese, but sicheng was still pretty happy to have someone around who was in the same boat as him regardless

and, over time, sicheng began to teach him chinese and in return, yuta would teach him japanese

they would often try to navigate the horrors of being multilingual

and while yeah, it was pretty frustrating not being able to verbalize how you feel as accurately as you’d like, there were some perks

like insults. just hella insults

especially from sicheng to yuta

yuta absolutely loves pinching his cheeks and telling him how cute he is and follows the kid around and is so CLINGy and sicheng sometimes just has to smile and take it but other times,,,

sicheng: *in chinese* i’m going to skin you alive if you poke my cheek one more time you infuriating little man-

yuta: what are you saying, sicheng? *bats eyelashes lovingly*

sicheng: oh i was just saying ur my best friend in chinese hahahaha

yuta: awwww 💕❣️💓❤️💖💗💝💘

despite this though, the two really do love each other and often times do talk smack to each other about korean customs that they just Do Not Get

and all of their korean friends are just kind of like ???? why are u all so negative and yuwin is like “these are just the facts dudes”

it’s the relationships yuta has formed with these boys and more that really come in handy when yuta realizes in the middle of his second year that,,, he doesn’t really want to go to school for soccer anymore

he doesn’t love the sport any less!! but he just doesn’t feel like it’s what he wants to do for the rest of his life

there’s so much dedication and work that goes into it and yuta just isn’t in the same mindset he was in osaka or during his first year

he feels so ashamed when he informs both the school and his family that he was changing his major, and despite how his family still wants to support him in whatever he chooses, it becomes apparent that time is really running out for him at this point. most people say that declaring a major before your third year is crucial, and he has barely months left

of course, after changing his major, yuta also loses his scholarship and is therefore having to try and make ends meet in any way he can

if that’s taking odd jobs here and there and moving from the dorms into a small, cheap apartment a half hour’s subway ride away from the school, he does what he has to

it’s only randomly when he’s just wasting time with the boys at their dorm that one of them turns on this,,, anime

no it’s not hentai

and sometimes the boys joke abt yuta’s anime knowledge being sub par at best but yuta is just like “at least i’m not a weeb”

until they introduce him to this one anime

ouran high school host club

he learns that the basic premise is the protagonist ends up getting forced into working for a “host club” of pretty, rich boys who tend to the girls of their high school and raise money doing silly things like taking photos of the boys and selling them or auctioning off the host’s belongings

and while he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous,, he’s also inspired

and out of the blue after binge-watching all the episodes in two days, yuta asks if any of the boys thinks it would be possible to have a host club in this decade, specifically at their school

at first, most of them just joke about how weird it’d be and that there were hardly any rich students on campus, let alone ones pretty enough to successfully be a part of a host club

but then yuta is like “no,,, i mean we don’t have to be as elaborate as the anime but we could still do things right? like for people who are stressed with exams or who need to talk to someone because they’re homesick and their friends here don’t get it,,,,, and we can get donations and stuff to keep it going. and the more money we get the more fun activities we can organize for students to enjoy,, wouldn’t it be cool?”

so from there, a conversation spurs on and suddenly this thing is actually getting put to work

each boy is in charge of something, whether it’s being a shoulder to cry on and get advice from on (taeyong), a fun, laid back guy who knows where all the cool things to do on campus are (johnny), or a guy who is just a plain pick up line machine (yuta)

they all do something unique and different compared to the other boys and it all just,,, like it just works so well

at first the school thinks it’s fuckin weird and there’s so much they have to smooth out but they eventually end up getting a faculty advisor to look over their activities and soon enough their “host club” is in business

at first, people really don’t know what they’re getting into when they’re invited to the club on campus, only that it’s supposed to be either really funny or really embarrassing

and the boys are just as nervous as the first few students who arrive

but, at some point, something just clicks

there’s this one student who comes to taeyong every week and complains about their annoying roommate and their terrible history professor but by the end of the meeting, they feel so much lighter

there’s another student who honestly just comes to see doyoung bc he reminds them sm of like a goofy best friend who is both awkward and cute at all times and they often just go to the cafeteria and play board games for hours

and there’s another student who is a chinese transfer and finds so much comfort in getting to talk to sicheng in their native language about home bc they haven’t met many ppl on campus who are in the same boat as them and it’s just,,, a blessing

yuta’s crazy, out of the blue idea actually works

and as ppl become regulars, they tell their friends and their friends tell their friends and suddenly they’re really doing something

students who can are sparing a few bucks here and there and when the club pairs up with other clubs on campus, they also get money from the fundraisers they hold selling ice cream or organizing therapy pet meetings during exam week for all the stressed students

a portion of the money that the club gets goes to the members to help with books and other little necessities that they might have trouble paying for currently

now, yuta, like some of the other boys, doesn’t really have a niche in the club

some of them do!! and that’s fine!! but it’s a little disheartening because there’s always that student who is like “is there anyone here who can do [x] for me?” and there will be one of them there and that thing is right up their alley

whereas all the more broad and unexplored requests go to the other boys who haven’t quite established what they can do for their clients

yuta is usually good at cracking jokes and being an overall mood lifter, but,, so is johnny,,,, so is their youngest, donghyuck,,, so is their newest member yukhei

and once again, yuta just feels like he doesn’t know what he wants in life and doesn’t know where he fits in

and yeah, sure, he put together this whole club in the first place, but he leaves management in the hands of taeyong and doyoung and taeil…. the “responsible” ones

yuta was just the “goof”, the “sassy” one, the “greasy” one

he just doesn’t know where he fits….. he feels like a puzzle piece that’s missing its place from the big picture

enter you, someone who was definitely in a similar head space

you weren’t sure what you were doing with your life, if you really wanted to pursue higher education, and your mental health was suffering big time

you were pretty much on your last leg as you tried to figure out whether you should just call it quits this semester and drop out for good or if you should keep soldiering on

your friend notices that you’ve fallen so deep into a bad mood that you haven’t been able to drag yourself out of it yet, so she recommends that you come try this new thing on campus that a lot of students have been talking about

something about a “harem of handsome boys” and “the answer to all your problems”

you seriously couldn’t see how a boy would ever be the answer to any problem but nevertheless u went

after your last class of the day, your friend brought you to one of the empty rooms on the top floor of one of the buildings on campus overlooking the rest of the school

there,,, you hadn’t known what you expected but it definitely wasn’t this

there’s just a bunch of handsome looking boys sitting around the big classroom, one sitting on top of a desk and talking animatedly to one girl about god knows what, another in the back showing a girl some new trendy dance you hadn’t caught on to yet, and another standing off to the side with a kind smile on his face as he introduces himself as jungwoo, a member of the club

he asks you what you’re looking for for the evening, and you have a weird feeling about the way he asks the question but this seems so,,, innocent,,, odd but innocent

your friend nudges you to go on, and you kind of just shrug and tell him you don’t know yet

jungwoo just smiles and tells you that he knows the perfect person for you

and then he runs off to the back of the room, up to one boy who wasn’t talking to anyone yet

he’s got headphones on and the shade on the window next to him is rolled all the way up, letting the sunlight in and it highlights his sharp features and stunning hazel eyes

jungwoo says something, and then those hazel eyes are on you

you barely register your friend leaving, just that her fleeting words are “have fun with him, he’s a mystery”

hazel eyes blinks and then quietly waves you over, and out of instinct you look over to the familiar face of jungwoo to see if it’s ok

the boy who looks much younger in comparison to hazel eyes just nods and smiles that big smile again, waving you over as well

so you make your way over, catching eyes with a few of the boys who were with other “clients” as your friend had called them, some of them giving you a smile and some of them widening their eyes as they watched you make your way over to hazel eyes

jungwoo pulls a chair out for you and faces you toward hazel eyes, telling you to have fun and to talk to him if you had any questions

once he’s gone…. you don’t quite know what to do now

and hazel eyes has no problem staring at you while you try to figure it out

immediately, you decide that’s the first order of business

“so uh,,, i’m (y/n), what is ur name?” you ask, sounding much meeker than you intended

honestly, you were just tired and couldn’t quite believe this was what you were spending your very limited time doing instead of homework or staring at the wall in the middle of an existential crisis

hazel eyes smiles some, “nakamoto yuta, but you can call me later”

it takes you a second to process that he’s just used a pick up line on you,, and a bad one at that

by the time you even get a stunned laugh out of your mouth, he grins wider and you swear that the sun’s light burns a little brighter on his skin when he does, “i’m already taking your breath away, huh?”

“out of disbelief” “i know, right? i’m a marvel. it’s ok, you can admit it” he nods at you understandingly, as if he knew your feelings better than you did yourself

“is this your thing then? you’re the flirty one?” you ask, folding your arms on the desk separating the two of you and tilting your head to the side

the sun reaches you when you do and,, you looked beautiful from across the room but up close

you took his breath away

he has to collect what is left of his bearings, watching you in quiet awe as he thinks of what to say to you in response

there are no more pick up lines or witty remarks up his sleeve all of a sudden

how did you do that?

he finally clears his throat and looks away almost bashfully, “that’s more yukhei’s area”

“then what do you do?”

“uh,,, i don’t. uh. i don’t have a thing”

you hum lowly, “so do you usually get the clients who are indecisive?”

he thinks for a moment before nodding an affirmative

after a small awkward silence, he tries to fill the time you have together, “well, why don’t you tell me about why you decided to come today then? or how you’re feeling? i can find out what to do for you from there”

you try to think about what to tell him, unsure if you should go as deep as to tell the truth but also if you should stay elusive. after all, you had no idea what this club specialized in. maybe it was just for lighthearted interactions between students and nothing more

“i really only came because my friend said i should take my mind off of school stress and well, here i am”

yuta blinks for a few seconds before perking up, pushing himself up from his chair. the sudden movement surprises you, but then he’s walking over to the other corner of the room where there’s a locker located. he pops open the door and pulls out a soccer ball, then turns to you with a grin “wanna play me? loser buys slurpees at the corner store”

your eyes widen in surprise before you decide that you’ve nothing to lose and decide to accept with an added “slurpees and snacks, accordingly”

yuta ends up leading you out to the empty, open soccer field as the sun starts its descent out of the sky, kicking the ball around to you with more force and precision than you had expected

it’s only a quarter into the game when you realize that you are v seriously outplayed and yuta hasn’t broken a sweat

meanwhile you have drowned in your own bodily liquids and are probably watering the grass with it at this point

“you tricked me!” you accuse, breathing hard as you fall to your knees at another goal scored by him, but he just grins and his smile looks more devious out here than it did when you’d first seen it

“i never told you i was bad at soccer, i just told you to play me” “tricked!” “you didn’t ask!”

you rush over to retrieve the ball, wanting so badly to score a goal out of spite but when you kick,,, he just quickly blocks it and gets it into ur goal instead

finally, he decides to pity you and ends the game early with a whopping win 12-1

to make up for completely annihilating you, he offers to drive you both to the store instead of making you walk in your exhausted state and soon, the both of you are perched in chairs outside of the corner store, laughing over your slurpees and snacks and talking about everything that comes to mind, from the strange little trinkets yuta keeps in his car to your ankle socks decorated with little strawberries

the sun has fully gone down now, the night air cool but relieving on your heated skin

yuta brushes his hair back with his hand and takes a long drag from his straw before leaning back into his seat and looking at you, “so, how do you feel?”

you start at the sudden question, realizing that you have no ready-made answer on your tongue

honestly, you hadn’t thought anything about how you felt

the whole time you were with yuta, you just let go. you stopped thinking. stopped feeling. you just had fun

so you tell him just that

“i feel the most carefree right now than i ever have since i started school here”

a look of stupefaction floods his expression, making you shuffle in your seat “sorry, uh,,, was that too much?”

he quickly shakes his head, “no i just,,, uh… i feel the same”

you two just stare at each other like you’d done earlier when you’d first met, bewilderment and curiosity clear in the air

there’s something there, you both note, but what it is is still unclear

all you know is that you felt free, and all yuta knows is that he feels like he might have actually found his thing

he ends up taking you back to the school where it has gotten quite late and all the other boys have finished up with their clients and have gone home by now

yuta is going to wish you a goodnight and get back to his apartment when you turn to him and dig into your wallet all of a sudden, pulling out a few dollar bills

“i uh,, i guess you guys take donations and everything?”

usually, this wouldn’t feel so strange. after all, it’s what the club runs on next to fundraisers and the like

but

between the both of you, it just doesn’t feel right

so he pushes your hand away and grins, “you already treated me to food, silly!”

you look like you want to protest but yuta just smiles and heaves a big breath, “so! i hope i made your night”

you just look at him for a bit before blurting out “can i see you again?”

yuta is taken aback bc… well, he’s never had anyone request that of him before. he never really saw regulars like the other boys, so to imagine that he would have one just boggled his mind for a while

he soon recovered however, putting on one of his carefree smiles, “only if you’ll continue to suck at soccer”

you scowl before breaking out into laughter together, you waving a quick goodbye before slipping out of the car and heading off to your dorm room before the night got any older

and yuta really shouldn’t be surprised when he sees you in their room again the same day next week, hair put up out of your face with a funny looking headband and your body outfitted in a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and some sneakers that definitely aren’t made for running around on grass for hours

he doesn’t even get to ask you what the hell you thought you were wearing before you’re slapping your hands together and demanding a rematch for last week

and when he beats you (again), you treat him to slurpees once more

he expects you to really give up this time because now you’ve learned that he was recently attending school on a soccer scholarship and there was virtually no way that you, without any experience in the sport, could pummel him in it only after two matches

but then when he drops you off at the dorms a little earlier this time, your parting message is that you’ll be back for the next match

you meet him six days earlier, then five days, then four, three, two…

soon, you’re popping by every time you have a free hour or two to see if he’s in to play

slowly, you learn his schedule and he learns yours

the boys become well acquainted with you when you bound into the classroom with bright eyes and slightly more sport-appropriate outfits, simply yelling a “yuta, they’re here!” at the top of their lungs

while yuta starts to complain that all your meetings are the same, he does find that he’s having quite a lot of fun playing you

because, and don’t tell him i told you, but you’re getting better the more you play and he’s kinda proud

for those few hours every other day or so, it’s just the two of you messing around and playing soccer with each other

sometimes, you’ll get some talking in when you eat or when you both take a break and fall out on the grass in sweaty, panting messes

you learn all about how he wasn’t from around here, not too much of a surprise to you given his name, but you were awfully impressed with how he spoke almost like a native korean

he tells you about his life back home, about his family and how he’d gotten into soccer from a young age and adored it more than anything

he tells you how he has dreams of his mother’s homemade food and how he and his father message each other everyday about how much they miss each other

he tells you how ever since he changed his mind about his major, he’s felt lost and confused about his place in life and whether he would be anywhere near productive in the next ten years

and for the first time since yuta’s told someone about it, he feels like someone understands him

because you tell him that you feel similarly, that you don’t even know if what you’re studying for now will have any impact on your life in the future. you don’t have a clue what you want to do with your life and you don’t have a clue who you want to be,, but there’s something in that solidarity

and despite how scared the both of you are of your futures, you both decide that no matter what it is, you two can figure it out together

it’s different. it’s…. good. he likes the feeling of having someone understand him. he loves the feeling of having someone understand him and vow to walk the treacherous roads of life together. he really, really does

he also tells you about his funny habits like experimenting with making new foods (that he forces the other boys to eat and then enjoy) and teaching his unsuspecting friends out of context japanese just for kicks

you tell him if he ever teaches you something messed up in japanese you’ll kick him right in his soccer balls

he makes sure not to play u like that

except,,, maybe once

you: hey yuta how do you say “how much is this?” in japanese? i want to know if i ever visit

yuta: ohhh yeah it’s *in japanese* yuta is the best

you:…. did i just hear your name in that sentence

your friend pokes fun at you for going back so often but you honestly don’t care; you like being around yuta

in fact,, you kinda feel weird when you’re not with him

at first you had attributed it to him just having such a way with words that you would end up consumed in trying to decipher him rather than thinking about your day-to-day problems

but even when school stress was low, if he wasn’t around, you didn’t feel quite as peppy

yuta was slowly becoming something like your other half, fitting the pieces of you that you had long thought were missing

you guessed it might not have been the safest idea to start feeling so strongly for someone whose job was basically making people happy, but you felt that whatever you felt with him,, he felt with you

you could see it in the way he looked at you compared to his other clients, the way he would pretend not to light up when you’d walk in the room, or how he would try to prolong your time together in hopes that you’d stay longer,,,, keep your eyes on him more

you just didn’t know what to do with that information, didn’t know how to go about it the right way

after all, he had become someone you didn’t want to lose. if you screwed it up, you would be right back in the slump you were in before

you try instead to push the tumultuous feelings away for the time being and instead focus on meeting him again for your next match

you had managed to win your last two games and yuta was starting to get nervous, wondering if he was either losing his touch or you were just getting too good for him

when you show up to greet him that day, you notice you’re a little early and he’s with a client that had recently started coming to see him lately

she always came before you and always seemed to be somewhat starstruck whenever she would talk to him. you had eavesdropped on their conversations a number of times, so much so that you had enough blackmail fodder for d a y s

you had once teased him asking him why he never talked in such a cute voice to you as he did her

yuta: i don’t act cute for demons

usually, you would just sit off to the side and wait but you’re surprised when you’re suddenly approached by johnny who is grinning and plopping into a seat next to you, greeting you with one of his million dollar smiles “hey (y/n), waiting on yuta?”

you laugh, glancing over in the boy in question’s direction to see him fluttering his lashes at the girl “yeah, waiting on him and his girlfriend”

johnny snickers, “jealous, much?”

you fake a pout and rest your chin on your fist, “oh, definitely. i’m just overcome with the green-eyed monster!”

johnny looks over at yuta again and his friendly smile morphs into something a little sinister as he turns back to you, leaning in closer, “how obnoxious do you think we’ll have to be to get his attention?”

you take in a breath, wondering if you really should indulge johnny just for a joke, but then yuta looks over

and you start to laugh far too loudly as if johnny had just told you the most hilarious joke

you slap his shoulder for emphasis and feel yuta staring at the both of you, a slight pout on his lips as he can’t help but wonder what tf u two are even laughing abt

what’s,,, what’s with that loud laugh huh?? johnny’s not that funny??? you only laugh like that when he tells you jokes!!!!

>:(

you two keep it up well until you hear yuta call your name from the other side of the room and you finally realize the girl is long gone and yuta’s got his jacket thrown over his shoulder (all cool like, bc bad boys don’t wear their jackets apparently) and the soccer ball tucked between his hip and forearm, looking as serious as he ever has (but it’s rlly cute ishfiash)

“are you coming or are you two busy?”

johnny turns to you and tries to muffle a laugh, whispering for you to run along and that his “job is done”

whatever…. that means

you follow after yuta but he’s walking faster than usual, barely giving you a chance to keep up except for when he stops at the elevator

you try to jokingly ask him what he and his client talked about but he just mumbles “it’s confidential”

you can tell there’s something different in the air now and you’re feeling nervous, but you follow him out to the soccer field regardless and the game starts

it starts off fine, but you quickly realize that he’s playing in a totally different state than usual

he takes each shot seriously, seemingly getting you back for defeating him in the last two games

at one point, you guys get close to each other, you attempting to take the ball from him in hopes that you could somehow survive this game with more than two points or else he would totally annihilate you

your chests are bumping against each other, arms stretched backwards to fight the temptation of touching the other in order to get the ball

all it is is quick feet and sneaky steals

every time you steal, he steals back

it keeps going back and forth like that for a while, and you finally look him in the face

honestly, he could have gotten his point by now and finished the game

but,, he looks distracted

the mindless movements he makes prove that

he’ll steal the ball only to let you steal it back

“yuta…” you call his name softly, taking the ball from him once more

he seems to snap out of whatever it is that has him on another train of thought, and when he sees you have the ball, he steals it back immediately, but this time he gears up to kick it into your goal

you don’t know why you do it exactly, but you have to think fast if you want to save your ass in this game

your fingers shoot out and make contact with yuta’s sides and he jolts, breaking into an involuntary fit of laughter as you begin to tickle him

he demands that you release him in between giggles, hands weakly trying to pry yours away

you laugh too and manage to get him away from the ball just long enough to score a point while he’s compromised

yuta suddenly catches your wrists and pulls you into him, finally sucking in a breath as he realizes that you’ve just stolen a point from him. his cheeks are flushed from laughing so hard (or maybe from embarrassment, but he’d never admit to it) and he’s glaring at you, but not with nearly the same intensity as he had earlier with johnny

“you cheated” he breathes, voice low and quiet

you look up into his eyes and start smiling, flexing your hands in his grip and fighting the urge to laugh when he keeps that same hold on you, “you were distracted. i had to get your head back in the game” “you tricked me” “now, why does that sound so familiar?”

he opens his mouth to protest but finds himself speechless as he glares at you,,, and then pouts “is this payback?”

you shrug, “maybe… but why were you so distracted in the first place… you okay?”

he looks you in the eye before dropping your wrists, backing away some

and,, you miss the closeness instantaneously

yuta sighs heavily, and you’ve never heard him sound more upset before

yuta folds his arms over his chest and avoids eye contact, “i,, it’s really stupid”

“it’s ok, i expect nothing less from you” you joke, moving forward and softly tapping his chin to try and get him to look at you. you frown when he flinches away “seriously, what is it?”

“don’t you feel it?”

“feel… what?”

“you know what. just now, you felt it, didn’t you? all i do is move away from you and my whole body just feels,, wrong. it doesn’t make sense to me”

you watch as he shuffles quietly in the grass, face turned down in a thoughtful and nervous frown

suddenly, without a chance to rethink it, you grab his wrists like he had done yours and pull him right up against you, only,, you severely miscalculate his weight being thrown against you in comparison to yours being thrown against him

you go falling to the ground, right before yuta’s quick thinking has him twisting the two of you mid air so that his back hits the ground instead of yours

but again!!!! you two are really good at miscalculating!!!

and without meaning to (at least, not like this)…. your lips collide

it’s rough because of the momentum and your teeth knock together the moment you both hit the ground, but the pain disappears the second yuta hisses

and kisses you again

like you had grown so accustomed to, you get thrown into a world of your own, thoughts of the little things flying right out of the window

all you can taste is yuta’s lips and all you can feel is every nerve in your body going into overdrive

honestly, you wonder why you didn’t kiss him before

god, you really wonder why you didn’t kiss him before

you pull away first, biting your lip as you catch yuta almost chasing your lips and then letting his head fall back to the ground in defeat when you’ve moved out of his reach

“…are you still tricking me? so that I don’t call a foul on that tickling move earlier?” he narrows his eyes some, chest swelling with pride when you laugh again. because you’re laughing because of him

you cup his cheek and sigh, “you saw right through me”

that feeling you have when you’re near yuta seems to just intensify when you two decide to start dating

since yuta is naturally clingy too it just,,, works so well sehfiajsd

definitely the type of boyfriend to always be touching you in some way

sometimes if he’s not touching he’s hovering, for sure

you could just be standing and he’s like. There

the boys joke that he acts like he’s surgically attached to you but when they ask about you he always tries to act aloof like oh,,, them? yeah,,,, i don’t care abt them at all,,, i could live without them,,, *phone rings with ur caller id on the screen* wait shut up the love of my life is calling

always in The mood for some ominous reason

he’s just a bit,, kiss-starved ig

speaking of kisses!!! king of kissing you till you turn blue

he can go for quite a while and he has quite the tongue and i will leave that at that my friends

he’s such a touchy guy but if you’re equally as touchy he? goes into overload?

sometimes he might literally stop kissing you just to hyper focus on you touching him and ur like dude!!! come on!!! multi-task!!!

he blames it on the fact that you just mesmerize him and you’re too flattered to scold him again

;-;

you guys ofc still have your soccer matches, and you’ve gotten quite good

yuta had honestly missed playing between classes and the club and such, so you encourage him to rejoin the soccer team just for fun and he just loves it so much. he really did miss playing like he used to

speaking of the club, yuta is still a member, but it’s pretty clear his mind is elsewhere with clients

eventually, he decides that he can’t devote his full attention to clients any more so instead he asks 2tae and doyoung if he can maybe take an executive position

and they’re like?? uh YEH u started the damn thing lol

so yuta starts helping put together fun little outings and just tries to make the club not only more fun for the clients, but also for the members

and steadily, more ppl start to join!!! and not just boys!!!

honestly there’s a personality for everyone and something that everyone can enjoy

one time you came to visit yuta during the club hours and a newcomer mistook you for a member and started shyly asking jungwoo if she could pick you

needless to say yuta was v amused

“wow (y/n), if you weren’t dating me i’d probably hire u right now” “yuta please evaporate”

but anywho, despite all of this, yuta still hasn’t figured out what he wants to major in and do with his life

but also… he’s realized that’s okay

and that not everybody has life figured out like that

and if he has to take a year off and find something to do until he gets it then he will

and if he leaves school and never pursues it again, he’d be alright with that

because honestly, his fear of not being perfect or the rising star he was expected to be back home can’t overshadow the love he’s received not only from you but also his friends and family. and while everything in this day and age tells him he has to have it all figured out by now, he has other plans

he knows whatever he chooses to do from tomorrow morning till the last day of his life, he’ll make the decision because he wants to, because he loves what he’s going to do, and because his happiness is more important than any preconceived notions of “success”

he’ll be alright, he’s more than loved enough to see the silver lining

[howaythelasssf]

Tea Tasting Notes & Glossary

Ancient Mystery Tea glossary

I’m starting a tea glossary here:

Green tea is unoxidized

White tea is lightly oxidized

Wulong (Oolong) tea is semi oxidized

Red (aka black) is heavily oxidized (generally 94% or higher though some ancient red teas are oxidized to 80-90%)

True black (pu’er) is fermented

“Gung fu” is master tea processing. I just looked up this term and see it’s the same as the term I associate with martial arts. In both contexts it means the same thing, referring more to what a person puts into something rather than the nature of the thing itself. (The term is made up of two characters: the first, Kung (功), can mean skillful work, hard training, or endeavor. The second, Fu (夫), means time spent.)

Standard tea processing has these steps:

1. Pick tea in spring (generally a bud and two leaves)

2. Wither the tea to reduce moisture content (generally done outdoors)

3. Roll the tea (once for standard process, multiple times for gung fu process.

4. Oxidize the tea

5. Bake the tea to stabilize it for market

Trichomes - tiny pieces of tea that float in the water that may have health promoting properties.

Notes on the 2.27.21 tasting - Vintage (red)

Vintage red tea comes from Fengqing to the north of Lincang, 7000 ft above sea level and a challenging 4 hour AWD ride from Lincang, itself difficult to get to even by plane.

Mini history lesson

1931 Japanese invaded NE China

1937 two tea experts promoted to migrate to Yunnan in search of safety to produce tea. Back then there was no infrastructure whatsoever, super remote (still many places are).

1939 they produced their first finished tea for sale. 500 baskets.

Yunnan is considered to be the birthplace of tea. There are 3500 year old tea trees there. There are more varietals of tea tree in Yunnan than anywhere else. At least 25, probably more to be discovered.

Notes on the 3/6/21 tasting - Ascending Aura (True Black Pu’erh)

“Tea is about the total experience”

This is a true black tea meaning it’s been fermented.

“Hai cha”

Unusually this was a fall pick. Usually Sophie’s doesn’t go for fall picks as they can suffer from greater exposure to insecticides. Plantation bushes are sprayed regularly during the growing season so by fall they have been sprayed many times.

This pick (2009) came from 300-1400 year old wild tea trees. These are never sprayed as they are wild.

Packaged in 2012.

Tea leaves are given a number representing their relative size (1-10).

Tea leaves are also graded (special grade being the very best, first grade the next best, etc.) 

Special grade: >70% 1 bud, 1 leaf

First grade: >50% <70% 1 bud, 1 leaf

Most fully fermented teas are blends of different grades

Brew this tea in glass but with a cover.

Process for Pu’erh

Pu’erh is processed in a special way to encourage microbial fermentation after the leaves are dried.

- Wither under sun

- Fry at lower temp than green tea - long enough to halt the tea's oxidation, but not so long as to drive off all moisture and kill natural bacteria. 

- The tea is then left to dry in the sun, but the bacteria live on, and over years and decades, they'll help completely transform the tea from a fresh, bitter green into something more dark, mellow, and rich.

- Sort package etc. For the typical Pu-erh cakes this involves steaming then compress into cakes and drying again.

Lincang factories make tons of pu'erh tea, most of which is compressed into cakes.

History In 1973 China patented the fermented tea process dramatically accelerating the fermentation process, reducing time from many years to a couple of months. It’s a composting style process in the factories.

From 1973-mid 80s, tea masters resisted the idea that tea didn't need to be aged naturally. They wanted it to be only 80% fermented so it would need to age after fermentation and their expertise would still be needed. Fully fermented teas don't "age"  materially as they are already fermented.

After 1987, only rare artisanal teas have not been processed using this patented process. Unique fully fermented teas can only be found in villages or with special grade source material (wild not plantation tea).

Beware liars, cheaters and scammers. In the tea world, fermented tea is the second most commonly faked tea. (# 1 is Dragonwell.) The tea is not well understood. The tea has been the subject of speculative crazes.

An app for tea experts exists in China that allows tea masters to look up fermented tea details in a database to determine if it's a fake.

Junshan Needle (Yellow tea) tasting, 3/13/21

Ceremonial tea. 

Grown on a very small (1km2) island in Dongting Lake in Hunan Province.  Very rare and unusual tea. Grown at lowest altitude, almost sea level.  Also grown in fields beside the lake. Very hard to get this tea, especially the highest quality. Special varietal on this island, not found elsewhere. No photos allowed. 

Leaders of China come to Dongting Lake at some point in their career. Private trips to enjoy the tea. When China joins the UN, it serves this tea to everyone at the ceremony to mark the occasion. When Putin went to China in the early 2000s, he received a gift of tea from this area. Fewer than 5% of Chinese ever get to taste this tea.

This is a bud only tea. To make 1 1/3 lbs of tea, 105,000 buds need to be picked. An expert tea picker can pick 200g, less than 1/2 lb. The tea can only be picked at a particular time of year. Just once picking a year in April. 

There are a lot of rules about picking these buds. Size, condition, weather constraints, etc.

When we discuss the tea on Saturday let's also remember to use the terminology we started to use over the past few weeks as we evaluate. When thinking of Yellow teas some of the descriptors are: (Aroma) Light and fresh.  Tea Liquor--light, transparent.  Taste--soft, smooth, thick, thin, sweet, mellow, cleansing, or drying. Does the flavor linger? This tea is brewed at lower temperature so be careful when you take a tiny sip.

Process - kept private

Pan frying 130-175F, relatively low temperature, with special hand movements, for just 5 minutes. Don’t completely denature oxidative enzymes.

Then wither, reduce moisture content

Bake in a charcoal oven for a short period of time, again to reduce water content

Remove from oven, spread out

Every bud needs to be similar size and shape, otherwise thrown out

Wrapped in a craft paper

Enhanced flavonoids in this tea

When thinking of Yellow teas some of the descriptors are: 

(Aroma) Light and fresh.  

Tea Liquor--light, transparent.  

Taste--soft, smooth, thick, thin, sweet, mellow, cleansing, or drying. 

Complexity

3/20/21 - Ancient Woodland (Pu’erh)

From Yunnan Province, Ailao Mountains.

Ancient tree - created in an indigenous zone. Indigenous people pick and process this on site. Does not go to Menghai (industrialized processing for terrace tea).

Does it make a difference if it’s processed on site vs. at an industrialized plant?

Considerations: ISO standards observed in the factory setting but fermentation at the farm uses local bacteria in the forest. No tourists. Very impoverished, very remote and can’t drive all the way there. 2-3 hours to get to the right part of the forest and need a guide to get there. Officials do not go there as they cannot drive there.

Wild trees are around 2000 years old, very large, need to climb to harvest. Likely self-planted, self-propagated trees. This area has the largest known ancient tea groves in the world. 

Sophie’s doesn’t purchase fully fermented teas from factories. Often economics trump taste and they don’t modify their process according to the nature of the material they are processing. Too many pitfalls in the fully fermented world.

True black tea, fermented

Marketeers are trying to create a separate category of tea for Pu’erh as distinct from other black teas. Their terms:

Cooked pu’erh = fully fermented

Raw pu’erh = starting the fermentation journey

Manufacturing Process in the village

There is a scarcity of ancient tea leaves and the value has gone up a lot since 2000. Pre-2000, especially pre-1993 people didn’t really understand the value. There was a stampede though it hasn’t touched the Ailao Mountains (giant spiders, giant wasps, cobras, pythons, gibbons). This area’s “source material” - the trees - is called “the Grandfather”. Given the scarcity, it is not used to make a standard fully fermented tea. Instead make it as a raw black. As long as indigenous people didn’t agitate for independence, CCP left them alone. They were completely remote till about 2000 and even since then very few outsiders have visited. There is now a World Heritage Site nearby.

95% of fully fermented tea that has been produced post-1985 has been made via industrial composting process, not much creativity in that method.

Will see stems in this tea - reflecting the need to complement the meagre amount of tea leaves. Would lose the flavor of the tea if it was blended with terrace tea.

Picking is a communal effort, processing can also be communal within the village.

Pick time: spring, relatively early, 3-4 leaves

Brewing Process

7g used after experimenting with 3/4/5/6g and ended up with 7g as it promoted the sweet elements best

Start with rinsing the tea for 20-30 sec in 200F water

Use rinse water to keep glass warm

Brew uncovered for 3 mins at 200F. (Cf. Ascending Aura which is brewed covered as the leaves are younger.)

Benefits of this tea:

Fermented tea is great for digestion especially after a fatty meal.

Stimulative properties: higher caffeine than green tea, warming tea

Tasting notes:

Very limited astringency, very little dryness on the tongue. Dark and mellow and smooth. “A mass of ungainly, different sized, leaves emitting a very slight floral aroma in the bag.  In the glass, they hang down, and rise up.  A drama in the cup.  Floral is replaced by mushroom, veg aroma.”

March 27 Wulong Tea

Grown in many places? Tea varietals are grown all over the world that are then processed as Wulongs. Most famous is the origin of Wu Long in China. In China there are 3 areas: Wuyi mountains (Northern Fujian Province), Southern Fujian province, Taiwan. 

Difference is easy to summarize. 3 month process from pick to final product. Southern Fujian 36 hours from pick to finish process, on market 30 days later. Similar in Taiwan to Southern Fujian.

Semi-oxidized tea. 

You may hear the term green oolong, this is a misnomer for some lightly oxidized teas. (Green tea is NOT oxidized.)

Tea bushes elsewhere in the world, Canton, Nepal, India, Hawaii, etc., are processed as Wulong. “Canton-style” is closest in style. Conditions aren’t exactly the same though as tea processed in the three main areas.

Cliff teas - 25-80% oxidized

Canton - 35-55% oxidized

The high quality producers don’t track the % oxidized. They do it by smell.

Tasting descriptors

Vibrancy

Minerality

Aromas, flavors

Toasty aroma followed by floral flavors. Hence the Black Peony name(?)

Roasted over charcoal - slight smoky taste

The Black Peony we are tasting is from the Wuyi mountains. Harvested late April into May. Cliff tea. Pick top 3 leaves.

Wulong is drunk at a higher temp that white, green and red teas. Brewed at 200F.

At the shop, tea that costs $11 a cup comes from the mountain. Under $11 a cup, the tea is coming from the edge of the mountain.

Northern Fujian vs. Southern Fujian differences in the process

Education level differs - in northern Fujian in the Wuyi mountains, many temples, places of philosophy and education, farmers were influenced by this. People come on pilgrimages from all over China. World heritage site. Poetry and landscape art. Buddhists and Daoists were literate and interested in science as it was then. Experimented with tea over the centuries. 2-4 month process.

Southern Fujian very different, lower elevation, didn’t get the flow of intellectuals and creatives into the area. Farmers in south weren’t exposed to literate people. Much simpler process, 36 hours. 

Taiwanese are much better marketeers than the Chinese. 1852 is when they started marketing their tea. Emperor of the Tang Dynasty was enjoying tea from Wuyi mountains as early as 618. Tea from Wuyi Mtns has been famous for centuries. Wulong process started late 1500s, early 1600s. 

Scammers often roast for a very long time over charcoal as it dominates all the other flavors.

On the mountain, other plants around the tea bushes influence the flavor. This doesn’t happen in tea plantations as every bush is surrounded only by tea bushes.

Salient comments:

I really like its boldness. The tea is cascade of minerals and floral scents

the floral nature of the aroma comes thru as it cools for me

I think this tea is not for food pairing; best to enjoy by itself or with dark chocolate

There are teas that draw me into contemplation. but I feel that this tea is great for focus.

tasting is about being present and fully conscious of the tea experience… drinking is more about hydration and less about the experience (one is about mind and the other about body.. at least from my perspective

April 3, 2021 - Polestar Wu Long Tea

Very popular tea at Sophie’s

Wuyi Mountains, northern Fujian province. Famous cliff tea, from right on the edge of the mountain, better value. Within the mountain - 7.6 km2, best terroir for the cliff teas, 10x the price.

Artisanal cliff teas - 2-3 months to process.

Small pots, e.g., 6oz, require a different process and steeping times. There are schools in China for this, each with their own standard. Without education, making tea in pots this size is just playing per John.

12-16oz standards devised by John and Xiaobei for western tea drinkers of Chinese tea. The rules are updated every time tea supply is backfilled.

Heat equipment

Add tea, shake with lid on to distribute heat and get a sense for the aroma

200F water down the sides

Warm cup while tea is brewing (ceramic 1st brew 3 1/2 mins)

Spring harvest. This varietal is ready for picking earlier than Black Peony.

After brewing and pouring, smell the leaves to establish a baseline aroma.

Very cautious sip (hot tea!)

Very smooth drinking tea, aroma doesn’t necessarily match the taste.

I found the image below helpful in identifying what I am tasting. First time I’ve contributed a tasting comment and John praised it highly.

The more I drink it, the more I am getting the aroma I associate with Uncle Billy’s house in Hexham in the 1980s. He used something called snuff, ground tobacco which he would inhale. I notice the sale of snuff has been banned in the UK since 1992!

Tea process

Pick in the morning, stop around 1pm 

1 bud two leaves

Wither leaves in a single layer on bamboo trays outside in the sun to reduce the moisture content evenly across the leaves (allows leaves to be rolled without falling apart)

Bring inside to wither further on bamboo trays but pile them more thickly than when outside, 2-4 leaves in each layer

Heat the leaves, fry them until they are sticky, then roll them right away to distribute the stickiness and break down the cells so that the essential oils are released to the surface. There is also an aesthetic objective of rolling leaves into a strip.

Let leaves oxidize partially, duration dependent on aroma.

Roast to a certain level associated with a particular smell to get to “stabilized tea,” not fully finished tea. This is at the end of almost 24 hours since picking. Then on to the next batch, can’t finish each batch because it’s so time consuming.

Then after 30-45 days picking season, complete the rest of the process to finish the tea.

Black Peony is roasted the same number of times (3) but at a higher temperature from Polestar.  Polestar roasted for longer but at a lower temperature.

April 10, Reed Jasmine Tea

4-6 week process for the highest quality jasmine teas

Has the essence been sprayed on? If yes, first steeping is strong and looks slightly oily and second steeping is weak.

Traditional method.

Jasmine came from Central Asia. Back then only had green tea and started adding jasmine. Around 1100 the Chinese palate changed in direction of purest taste available, not blends. 

Starting in 1500s in Fuzhou (capital of Fujian province) a new method of infusing tea leaves with jasmine was developed. Different culture than in the Wuyi Mountains. Northern Chinese were the customers. Normal Chinese people didn’t have access to the top teas but were able to gain access to this tea. Jasmine infusion makes green tea (”cold”) “warm” meaning it increases the circulation.

Liked this tea - very balanced floral/green flavor - but it was not nearly as impactful for me as the Dragon Pearls jasmine tea.

April 14, visit to Sophie’s Cuppa Tea

During this visit I learned that Xiaobei and I have a very similar palate when it comes to tea preferences. Her favorite tea is also my favorite tea - Polestar - at least to date it’s my favorite. I was introduced to another fabulous Wulong tea today called Immortal Guardian from the Wuyi Mountains, Fujian Province. It too has an amazing charcoal-y aroma. John and I sat and discussed tea for well over an hour and a half. We made our selections for the CMI tasting on May 1 - one green tea (Yellow Mountains Reserve), one red tea (Ancient Mystery from Yunnan) and one white tea (my favorite White Thunder). I also got to enjoy a delicious lapsang tea called Smoky Pine. It has empyreumatic notes!

In terms of the event, we also agreed that Xiaobei would do one demonstration for the first tea then we would brew second and third at same time. After some research, John was able to find an ideal tasting wheel, created by someone in China who he actually knows. It has the tea language he approves of and is also in Chinese. I plan to laminate copies to include with the tea samples.

April 17 - Wild Vine, an Old Bush Red Tea from Tong Mu Guan area of Fujian Province. 

Unrelated to Wild Vine

Qimen needle is the only red tea on the list of top teas.

West Lake Dragon Well tea is another extremely well regarded tea whose IP is tightly protected, including the name.

Here at Sophie’s we only rinse fermented teas. And yet many places start with rinsing. This is a clue to a quality of the tea. There is 90%+ bait and switch with tea. By and large a rinse tells you that there is a lack of trust about the source of the tea. May be a concern with whether tea has been sprayed. Or perhaps it might be a fall pick not a spring pick. Fall picks are more commonly sprayed. Rinsing is only a practice if you don’t know your source.

“Wild Vine”, red tea, oxidized tea. Producer calls it Old Bush Red Tea.

Red tea may have been made first in Anhui but process only became repeatable in Fujian. By 1600s people were producing red tea. By end of 1600s it was becoming a repeatable style. 

Pre-1970 or so - quality red tea was produced in Fujian Province in two areas - Wuyi Mountains (elev. close to 7000 ft, slower growth, smaller plants - “small bush style”, same place that also produces Smoky Pine). Larger production in central Fujian, between Wuyi Mountains and Anhui province. Many producers of handicraft-style red tea. Most lots that are produced are just 100-300 lb lots. Largest are about 1000 lbs. Too small to justify factory style production. As red tea became more popular in Europe this area could not keep up with demand. This catalyzed the move to Anhui and production of Qimen tea there. Qimen County has really good soil and climate conditions, also there were sufficient peasants already producing tea there to be persuaded to develop it at greater scale.  

Three places produce majority of red tea: Fujian (smaller), Anhui (has gotten bigger and bigger, very large crop, several different varietals) and Yunnan (moved technique from Anhui around 1938-39, least crafted). Red tea is produced in relatively insignificant amounts elsewhere in China.

These were “lost bushes” - people who were taking care of the bushes left and the forest surrounded them. They were rediscovered only recently. Well over 100 years old. Farmer walking in forest found them and decided to do an experiment with red tea. Probably untouched for over 100 years (since 1890 or so) then restarted in 2010. There was a lot of tumult in southern China.

Red tea wasn’t super popular in China at the time Europeans started drinking tea so they were more willing to part with it. Red tea is also easier to transport than other kinds of teas. Can withstand the vicissitudes of ocean transportation. 

In general, green tea is not experienced as sweet. Red tea is easier drinking. 

In China, high profile people aren’t generally captured drinking red tea.

Red tea process

Pick tea (in this case, leave + bud)

Reduce the water content to 55-70% of original, allowing for ease of manipulation. Fresh tea leaves fall apart if you try to roll them. This farmer thinks first withering takes it down to 64-65%.

Machine vs. hand rolling. Both break down leaf cells for oxidation and produce a great result. Breaking down the leaf cells allows oxidation and creates the polyphenols.

88-89 F degrees for rapid but controlled oxidation of tea.

Judge level of oxidation with nose.

Sort tea, remove any branches

Stabilize the tea - get moisture level to 3%, shrinks the tea a lot.

It’s a long steep (5 mins).

I got the floral honey smell and the slight astringency. Smooth, round and coats the tongue. Slight viscousness. Additionally leaves exude some raisin smell.

The name:

Wild - because of the location in the forest

Vine - speaks to the raisin smell

5/8/21 - Orphic (Ancient tree red tea)

Premium Chinese tea is really hard for consumers to buy on the web these days.  Even in China it’s hard to come by online. Have to go to high end tea shops as most not in a position to get to farms.

Wholesale prices 4x higher than what John and Xiaobei are selling it at retail! They are trying to buy it back from J&X!

White tea has blown up to an irrational extent from their perspective. The health benefits seem to be driving this inflation, especially for the aged teas.

Cliff teas are increasing in price wildly. 

Pu’erhs are also running up in price. New papers are being published about alleged health benefits.

India’s covid explosion is likely to impact the tea growing market there.

On June 15th, new pricing will come.  Stock up in advance.

There will still be some “price drift” for other kinds of teas (not downwards). US dollar is not buying as much as it used to.

Have almost run out of Floating Forest (raw black). 60 days left. May also not be able to backfill Vintage.

Discerning questions:

Is it ancient tree grouped together or spread out in a forest? If grouped together, less likely to be truly ancient tree. Sophie’s definition of ancient is 1000 years or older. 

If it’s older than 1000 and closer to 2000, the more likely that it has been self-propagated. If it’s self-propagated then the output from two trees will be different. This is not monoclonal culture, not terrace tea. 

This one is from Ailao Mountains. 6000-8000 feet above sea level. They make raw black and red tea in this area. Indigenous people “own” this land.

Process:

Pick: bud and 3-4 leaves. Spring pick. (Insects are more intense in the fall, farmers tend to spray the leaves to get rid of them.)

Wither: Sun dry to wither

Roll: shape the tea and break down the cells so insides are exposed to oxygen, triggers enzymatic reaction, polyphenols(?) start getting oxidized.

Pile and then wither again.

Bake to stabilize the tea.

Sort to remove any alien objects, leaving stems.

Differences in processing here vs. a more traditional area (e.g., Qimen). Traditional processing goes to about 93% or more. Here it’s less, 75-90%. Impact of this seems to impact flavor and increase the viscosity. In this area they eat a lot of BBQ with heavy spices, a lot of mushrooms and unusual veg. Chinese herbal medicines are treated as cooking ingredients here. Tea flavor has to be robust to pair with these strong flavors.

Leaves have the stems included. Adds to strength of flavor. Second steeping brings out more flavor from leaves and stems.

Orphic price hasn’t gone up much yet. 

Name is derived from Orpheus. His strengths were music, poetry and prophecy. Orpheus could make stones and trees dance.

Next week will be Hundred Blossoms (5/15).

5/15/21 - Hundred Blossoms [BUY SOME OF THIS!]

3 mins for first steeping, 2 mins for second.

Wuyi Mountains - through a cave to get to the tea trees?

2020 spring pick was smaller than usual due to pandemic

Usually 30-40 days picking and processing and can only process 70% within first 24 hours, then have to go back after 40 days to finish the tea

The farmers has more time for their craft last year b/c of the pandemic.

Heavily roasted = Polestar

Lighter more fruity = Aurora

In between = Hundred Blossoms (not as heavily roasted as Polestar)

Forest where this comes from is one of the most biodiverse places on earth. Self-propagated tea. Monkeys and leopards. 

53-65F most of the year round. Top elevation = 7000 ft gets a dusting of snow.

Rainfall 86-125 inches. Wet fog 180 days of the year. Specular columnar mountains around. 

For well over 1000 years this area’s tea has been famous.

Process

Pick bud and 3 leaves

Withering outdoors and indoors, several times to make leaves more flaccid and then you start piling them (note: if you over-wither it’s not possible to fully correct for this). Then bruise the leaves slightly to trigger oxidation. Stop oxidation by heating to 400-500F. Then rest the leaves. May need to process more depending on how much moisture was removed. 

Shaping the tea leaves with rolling tools and high level of skill.

Bake to stabilize the tea.

Label. Put on shelf, look at it again 45 days later. 1 long roast, 2 finishing roasts at the end.

Sort. Make the tea of consistent quality. Get rid of the dross.

Package and market.

Saturday May 22: Silver Tip

Green Tea, Silver Tip from Hunan Province. 

Around 200 BC - 200 AD there was a shift from tea being part of a herbal concoction served in a bowl like soup (with salt, ginger, scallions, etc.) to a beverage. Popular to drink it this way till Tang dynasty in 7th century. During the Tang Dynasty (starts 607 AD) there was a flourishing of culture, philosophy and tea drinking. A lot of ferment in thinking about tea, shift towards appreciation of the tea itself. Adaptation of Confucian values. Rigid way of thinking of society, similar to medieval Europe’s birthright society. Began exploring other ways of thinking.

Buddhist and Daoist thought was much more individualistic than Confucian. At beginning of Tang dynasty, much poetry is about alcohol. By end, 50% of poetry that mentions a beverage concerns tea. Tea was being popularized. If you were a peasant drinking with someone in your village, you could be very casual. If you were a merchant, you needed to be more formal, ceremony arises related to social rules, how people should behave when drinking tea. Who gets served first, who speaks first, how is tea to be served? Earning respect. Controlled interaction between people.

Great period of personal expression through the arts and through tea.

Pin cha - make a critical judgment about the tea

Dou cha - compete with tea

Wan cha - not skilled in tea making (unenlightened)

Song Dynasty 960–1279

Ming Dynasty 1368-1644 (stopped making tea cakes, decisions about when and what to pick)

Culture is not monolithic. Individualism is still expressed, just not in the way it is in the West.

The farmers for this tea belong to the Miao nationality.

The amount of tea leaves per steeping is 4 grams. Glass is best, ceramic is acceptable. 16 ounces of water is the brewing standard we use during the tasting. Timing is important. The first steeping is 4 minutes. The second steeping is 2 minutes. If you are using a ceramic pot there is no change in steeping times.

Bud and leaf, spring pick. March 15-16. Bring into processing area, let wither for a short period, don’t want it to be bruised as that triggers oxidation. Apply heat to fix the tea (not repair) to not allow it to oxidize. High heat 300-400F.  Then shape the tea. This tea is hand rolled a couple of times. Machines can’t get tea into such a beautiful form. Then dry in an oven or tumbler. Otherwise mildew would appear after 3 months.

When we discuss the tea tomorrow let's also remember to use the terminology we started to use over the past few weeks as we evaluate. When thinking of Green teas some of the descriptors are: 

(Aroma) light, heavy, fresh, hints of sweetness, bright, floral, grassy, nutty (chestnut) or vegetal. 

Tea Liquor--light greenish. 

Taste--soft, thick, thin, crisp, mouth watering, astringent, nutty, drying, floral, sweet, fresh, vegetal. Does the flavor linger? This tea is brewed at a lower temperature so you can carefully take a larger first set of sips. In terms of mouthfeel, where in the mouth do you get the dryness? 

Where in the throat do you get flavor? What is that flavor? 

Aftertaste is cool and fresh or heavy and thickly coating? 

Taste retains on both sides of the mouth or on the tongue? 

Taste on the front of a tongue that is distinct is usually described as bright. If flavor lingers all over the tongue it is either thick or viscous. 

All flavors in the mouth have different times of lasting in the mouth. Try as best to identify these.

Tentative summary from a year of this (Steven Luntz):  Pleasure in tea comes from 

a) increasing discernment of flavors, aromas, complexity, etc. 

b) the flavor itself 

c) “energetics” (caffeine+?) 

d) tea companions

e) understanding tea culture, terroir (Aggie Briscoe)

Cultural milieu

Zhangjiajie - world heritage site in Hunan. Women are lead farmers in the Miao minority tribe. Greeting is singing to each other (not hand shake). Joyfully picked tea. Farmers talk about the joy in the tea leaves.

May 29, 2021 - Dragon Eyes, Yunnan

World tea shortage. Quantity is down especially outside China. Very hard to get high grade tea out of China without being there in person.They want to keep it for domestic use.

White tea prices have gone up the most. White tea from the home terroir (Fujian) has been demonstrated to have more beneficial chemicals in it than replicas from Szechwan, etc. 

Believe there is a speculative bubble right now except perhaps for white tea.

For Cliff teas, price will go up substantially though not as much as white tea. Cache was already build into the price so price increase is due only to increased demand. 25-30% price increase this coming year. Travel will eventually increase and reduce demand.

Dragon Eyes is from Yunnan, SW of Kunming, 1 hour’s flight. Tea ball. Good option if you are traveling and like red tea. From Simao District of Yunnan. Was part of ancient tea horse road. 

Tea leaves are sewed together into balls. There are about 9 in an ounce. 3 cups of tea per ball. 5 mins, 3 mins, 3 mins. 185 F is needed because the tea is balled.

Bud only as leaves are too difficult to handle.

Pick, wither on the longer side, roll. 

Rolling method flattens the bud. Want to send an even shaped bud to make sewing process easier.

Pile to encourage the right level of oxidation. Oxidation level is moderate.

Bake as final step.

Sweet, juicy, notes of chocolate. Cooling effect at the back of the throat after swallowing.

Very accessible tea.

More powerful red teas: Might be worth trying Black Beauty, Rosy Dawn, Ruby Gates.

Courtesan is a sewn together green tea with a bunch of flowers. Very aesthetic looking tea but it’s more for appearance than taste. Medium to lower grade material is generally used for these kinds of teas. 

Tea horse road - sometimes referred to as a southern silk road but this is inaccurate. It’s not a great analogy. Silk Road was mostly flat except for a few passes in Central Asia. Many routes go to Tibet, India, Nepal, SE Asia, not through Central Asia. The name was created in the 1990s to describe this group of trading routes. Tea horse roads were mostly mountainous and quite treacherous. Impoverished farmers struggling to make ends meet formed family based trading caravans. Brought other commodities besides tea to these very remote places. Bartered for other goods that would be needed for their journey which could take 6-12 months. Huge risk to make this journey but the alternative was failing to make a living where they were.  If successful, can relatively large amount of money.

Simao was one of multiple starting places for tea horse road. Horses were sometimes sold to Tang Dynasty military in exchange for letting tea leave the country. Culture was transmitted along the tea horse trails.

[somuchanemoia]

I wish you would write a fanfic where... Victor finds out exactly how much a fanboy Yuuri is when Hiroko sends Yuuri's 37 posters, 42 prints, 4 folders of limited addition magazines, 3 scrapbooks, 5 Victor Nikiforov (TM) figurines, and old VHS tapes of Victor's performances that Yuuri taped. Yuuri is, obviously, embarrassed, but Victor consoles him. Also, in reply, Victor sends Hiroko a picture of the veritable shrine he has been building of Yuuri, complete with a personalized Yuuri dakimakura.

Aww! Anon! I have been wanting to write this so badly so without further ado…here is a short drabble on this. I will most likely make this into a fuller fic in the near future once Christmas is over since I’ve been busy busy busy.

Once again, sorry for the late response! : ( I kept getting pulled away from my desk while writing this so my sincerest apologies.  - Sam

It had all started when the UPS guy delivered a huge brown cardboard box late one evening to Yuuri and Viktor’s apartment. They had been enjoying a quiet evening in together, snuggling on the couch as the TV played in the background and picking at their boxes of Chinese takeout they had grabbed on the way home from the rink. Makkachin had been curled up at their feet, ready to protect them from anything that could harm her owners and also ready to accept any food that was “accidentally” dropped by Yuuri. Viktor may have been a stickler for dog food, but Yuuri knew that one piece of orange chicken wasn’t going to harm the poodle so he would occasionally indulge her with his “clumsiness”.

Not that Viktor was really all that intimidating as he scolded Yuuri for it in between kisses.

The knock at the door had stirred Makkachin from her sleepy panting and had roused Yuuri and Viktor from their lazy sleepy cuddles.

“I got it.” Viktor hummed as he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s hair and stood from their tangle of limbs, Makkachin following him to the door to investigate and greet their new visitor, her tongue lolling from her mouth in happiness. Yuuri hummed softly and leaned back on the couch, taking another bite of a Rangoon that Viktor had wanted to try. They weren’t all that bad, but after being to China for competitions and from being from Japan, he missed traditional Asian cuisine and not the rip off type that was often served in other parts of the world.

He could hear his boyfriend taking in rapid Russian just down the hallway, catching a few words here and there, but not really understanding what was being said since he was still learning Russian from Viktor. From what he understood though, it didn’t sound like anything too serious so he continued to stay curled up on Viktor’s comfortable sofa and stare at the TV that had been flipped to some sort of news broadcast that had Japanese subtitles playing at the bottom for Yuuri.

“Mama sent us something.” Was the first thing Viktor said as he came into the room with a large brown box cradled in his arms, Makkachin following behind him happily before she was able to squeeze through the wall and Viktor’s legs and bolt for her new favorite cuddle buddy (at least that is what Viktor had accused her of).

“Oh? It must be that last box of my stuff from home that I asked her to send…” He hummed, “You can just set it down and I’ll unpack it tonight before–”

“It’s for me,” Viktor cooed as he plopped down next to Yuuri and set the box down in front of both of them. He pointed at the label and Yuuri had to nod in agreement, it was for Viktor. But what could his Mama have sent his fiance? What could she have sent and not mentioned to Yuuri at some point? Maybe Viktor had left something in Hatsetsu?

“Any idea what it is?” Yuuri asked as he pulled a pair of scissors from the drawer of the coffee table and handing them to Viktor.

“Your guess is as good as mine, honestly. Can’t be too bad since it’s from Mama.” Yuuri nodded. It probably was something they found in Hatsetsu that Viktor accidentally left behind or something that they saw that reminded them of him.

Viktor opened the box and Yuuri’s face immediately reddened in embarrassment and shame.

“I can’t believe she actually sent them…” Yuuri squeaked to himself as he covered his face with his hands. Viktor was laughing heartily in enjoyment as he was suddenly assaulted with pictures of his face. Pictures upon pictures of him with short and long hair, younger and older, on the ice and off greeted him with small smirks and endearing tight-lipped smiles. He began pulling out multiple pictures of himself that had been sent, looking through all of them and reminiscing about his time in juniors and his beginning years in seniors, much to Yuuri’s horror. Occassionally, he’d remark about the angle being wrong and not getting his good side, easily something Yuuri would dispute, but currently didn’t have the energy for.

“I can’t believe…”

“I wonder where she got all these pictures.” Viktor hummed almost teasingly as he pulled more items from the box, posters of Viktor in varying ages were everywhere, some of them signed and others obviously pulled out of magazines, though they had been loved in the same fashion as the higher end ones.

“This was a good picture of me. I loved being in Colorado.” Viktor hummed as he pointed at a poster of himself standing in the snowy mountain air, gold medal around his neck and National team jacket keeping him warm. His long hair had been frozen in time as it flowed through the breeze, making him look a hero returning from war in a bad action movie. Yuuri blushed even deeper when he remembered some of the things he had done while looking at that particular poster.

“Really great shot…” Yuuri said faintly as he curled up in a ball on the couch in utter shame. Viktor would definitely find him to be a weirdo now. Viktor had known that Yuuri was a fan, of course, but now that ‘Katsuki Yuuri: The Fanboy’ had been taken out of the closet…

“Ooh. Look at these Yuurtshka! Viktor squealed as he pulled out four huge file folders that had been stuffed full with magazines; all the magazines Yuuri had ever collected through his time as a hardcore Viktor Nikiforov stan.

“Oh no,” Yuuri mumbled to himself, “Naze mamadesu ka?“ (Why mama?)

“OH MY GOSH, YUURI! Look!” Viktor suddenly held up a very limited edition magazine that Yuuri had fought to the death for over eBay, “I never even got to read this one! I tried to get it when it came out but someone outbid me on eBay. I was so angry with “viktors-bluest-eyes” for the longest time as a teenager.”

Yuuri felt his eyes widen and his blush deepen. He had apparently been in a bidding war over the internet with Viktor at one point in time for this very magazine. He made a weak sounding squeak as Viktor hummed and continued to riffle through the box off Viktor Nikiforov memorabilia that his Mama had sent.

Time had revealed a collection of Viktor Nikiforov fan merch, a whole set of Victor Nikiforov ™ figurines (all of which Viktor had no idea existed and had proudly set them on the mantle place in their “place of honor”), multiple scrapbooks that he had determinedly flipped through happily, cooing to Yuuri about how well he did formatting pictures by stickers and colorful paper. VHS tape upon VHS tape surfaced as well and by the time Viktor had insisted on taking the tapes to be digitalized Yuuri finally cracked.

Tears flowed down Yuuri’s cheek as he curled up tighter into a ball on the couch.

“Yuurtshka?” Viktor’s voice was soft and tender, unlike the happy squeals he was letting out not even five minutes ago, “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

Yuuri hid his face in his hands as he shook, “This is so embarrassing. You think I’m a freak now, don’t you?”

“No! No, of course not moy sladkiy,” Viktor cooed as he pulled his ball of Yuuri close, “You’re so precious Yuuri.”

“I’m the biggest fanboy ever. I practically stalked your skating career…”

“And that’s so adorable, Yuuri.” Viktor purred as he rocked them back and forth, “You’re so passionate about something and that makes me happy. It makes me even happier that it’s me because I love you so much.”

Yuuri hiccuped, “Why?”

“Well, lots of reasons. You’re so sweet, Yuuri, and so honest. And you’re talented and the way you dance on the ice makes me so inspired. You’re an amazing cook and you have this adorable little laugh. Plus you love animals and–”

“Why do you not find this weird, Viktor?” Yuuri asked as he looked up at him with teary eyes, “You don’t find it weird that the president of your fan club is–”

“You’re “viktors-bluest-eyes”?” Viktor asked with far more enthusiasm than Yuuri expected.

He nodded and let Viktor continue you to squeeze him tight, “Aww! I love “viktors-bluest-eyes”! Even before I met you Yuuri, I followed your blog because you were so sweet and cool and you didn’t like spreading rumors about me. You just let me be who I am and supported me no matter what. And now I get to marry you and–”

“Y-You read my blog?” Yuuri asked softly and gave a watery chuckle at Viktor’s rapid nod. Viktor hummed and chuckled along.

“Well, if you feel like this is your dirty little secret, I might as well come clean too.” Viktor pulled them to their feet and led Yuuri to one of the spare bedrooms that Viktor had dubbed his office. In all his time here in St. Petersburg, Yuuri had never even seen the elder skater in the room. Viktor paused by the door and Yuuri saw his pale cheek light in a gentle blush before he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s lips and then forehead.

“Welcome to the head quarters of Katsuki Yuuri’s ultimate fanboy.” Viktor hummed as he opened the door and let Yuuri peer in the room. The Japanese skater gasped as he walked in the room, Viktor’s arms wrapped around his waist.

The entire room was a shrine to Yuuri; the walls covered in posters of Yuuri from juniors and seniors. Framed photos of Yuuri sat along the bookshelves of magazines that had been dedicated to him. Figurines of Yuuri sat in glass cases for protection around the room and even an exact replica of one of his skating costumes from his time in Juniors sat in a life save glass case to be preserved.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled as he let his eyes drift around the room, his cheeks burning in shyness, “When…?”

“After I saw you dance that night at the banquet, I knew I was in love with you. I started researching you and, well, I feel down a dark hole.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re so precious Yuuri. You are the most precious bean and you deserve to be preserved.” Viktor hummed as he trailed kisses across Yuuri’s cheek and down his jaw, “moy dragotsennyy bob.”

“Viktor, why in the hell do you have these?” Yuuri asked Viktor who pressed two large personalized Yuuri dakimakura into his fiance’s hands. One was of Yuuri laying spread on his back in his eros costume, his hair slicked back and his brown eyes looking up at him with dripping lust. The other was more PG-rated with Yuuri laying on his side dressed in a pair of his training leggings and a loose t-shirt hanging off his shoulders. His glasses were askew and his hair was mused up from what looked to be sleep; by his head “I love you, my Vicchan” had been written in Cyrillic.

“I miss you when I have to leave you here to go to competitions so I need a Yuuri to cuddle,” Viktor asked as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Yuuri just nodded and held the pillow as Viktor took out his phone and eyed the scene in front of him, “A little to the left Yuuri. I want to make sure she can see the limited edition Yuri on Ice alarm clock.”

Yuuri just snorted but scooted over so Viktor could snap a few pictures of the room for Mama Katsuki. He managed to get a few because then he came to stand by his fiance to take a few selfies. They both smiled at the camera and then on the last shot, Yuuri pressed his lips to Viktor’s cheek lovingly.

It wasn’t that much longer when Hiroko received a whole onslaught of pictures from her future son-in-law of a whole shrine to her baby boy and one picture of the two of them kissing with the caption, “Thank you for allowing me to add to my collection…” at the bottom.

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The College Years - Sophomore Year (Chapter 26) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “The Murder Board”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Cora Hale, Liam Dunbar, Hayden Romero, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant, Malia Tate, Allison Argent, Jordan Parrish, Noah Stilinski, Ethan & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of violence/blood/murder.

Summary: Stiles gathers the Pack to figure out what more they know from what Coach told them about his attack… then an event changes everything.

Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six - Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was 5pm and the sun wouldn’t be setting for a few hours, as Scott, Isaac, Cora, Liam, Hayden, Mason, Corey, Ethan and Malia sat in Stiles’ living room, watching Stiles stare at the large glass murder board with pictures and names and red tape plastered all over it. He gnawed on the end of the white china pencil that he held in between his thumb and pointer finger. He had a mess of gruesome crime scene photos splayed out by his feet on the floor, and he barely glanced up as the front door opened and three girls walked through, until he saw Allison.

“Oh shit…” He mumbled, while turning to catch Scott’s reaction.

“Allison?!” Scott leapt to his feet and stumbled over Isaac and Cora’s long legs to reach the girls who had just come into the house. “What… what are you doing here?”

Lydia walked over and took Scott’s seat, mildly grinning over the chaos that was about to ensue. Stiles wrapped his arm around his girlfriend’s waist, and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Hey babe..” He whispered out, still staring at Scott and Allison. You placed your notebooks and textbooks on the coffee table and sat next to Malia on the couch.

“This is not what it looks like…” Scott tried to position himself between Allison and Stiles’ creation.

“It looks like one of Stiles’ famous murder boards… almost like you guys are trying to figure out what’s been attacking all these people in Beacon Hills lately” Allison said, staring at Scott with her arms folded across her chest. Isaac laughed and Cora elbowed him in the ribs.

“Uh.. how… wait.” Scott struggled.

“Okay, we really don’t have time for you to figure this out, buddy. Allison has known for weeks because she overheard you and Argent talking, so can we all sit down and focus on this instead?” Stiles interrupted, as Scott followed Allison to the couch to sit next to you and Malia, his mouth agape. “Perfect timing!” Stiles announced as Sheriff Stilinski and Deputy Parrish walked through the door. “What do you got for me, Daddy?” Stiles rubbed his hands together and grinned, excited to hear the latest updates from the head of the county police.

“There was only one body found this morning and it doesn’t fit the same M.O.” The Sheriff informed his son, as he handed Stiles a manilla folder full of pictures and reports, and then hung his jacket up on a hook by the front door.

“How does it not fit the M.O.?” Stiles questioned, disappointed.

Parrish, who had made his way to sit on the arm of the sofa that Lydia rested in, piped up. “We found this guy inside of his house, and he’d been there for weeks. The rest of the victims were attacked outside.”

“So he has nothing to do with our attacker?” Scott asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Well, not exactly, the wounds were pretty similar with one exception.” Parrish said.

“That he was found inside..” Isaac tried to finish Parrish’s sentence.

“No…. he had his heart ripped out of his chest.” Stiles interrupted, reading the report that Parrish had written for the case file.

“Brutal.” Isaac said, rubbing his hand over his chest, and leaning back in his seat.

Stiles taped the picture and the report up to the bottom corner of the board and drew a question mark next to it in white pencil. “We don’t know if he has anything to do with it, but I’m not gonna rule it out.” He announced to the group, as he turned around to face them. Sheriff Stilinski had made his way back into the living room, holding a Chinese take out box and a fork, as he stuffed cold, leftover chow mein into his mouth. “So what do we know so far?” Stiles asked the group.

“The ages and genders and occupations are all random, this guy doesn’t have a preference in his victims.” The Sheriff said, speaking with his mouth full.

“They’re all happening at night.” Malia reminded the group.

“Some people were slashed with, like, claws.” Liam piped up.

Mason cut Liam off. “Yea, but some people had like detached limbs and others were bitten. That one guy had all three done to him.” He looked up at Stiles, from the floor, where the rest of the younger members of the Pack were sitting.

“What if it’s the Grim Reaper? I mean, that’s what Coach said…” Isaac asked, his eyes widening at Stiles and then the rest of the group.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the handsome, blonde wolf. “Coach is the only one who said that, and it’s Coach… Don’t you think that people would have described it carrying a scythe… or not described anything at all, because if it was the Grim Reaper, everyone who got attacked would have died.” Stiles said, exasperated by Isaac.

“I guess…” Isaac pursed his lips and sunk into the couch next to Cora.

“Have you figured anything out from the books, Y/N?” Allison asked, causing Scott to fidget uncomfortably.

You shook your head, touching your notebook on the table in front of you. “The descriptions haven’t been specific enough. It could be dozens of things in either my Mesopotamia books or my Western Civ. books. I just don’t know. I feel like we’re still missing like one piece of identifying evidence to figure out what they are.” You explained to the group, defeat in your tone.

“Stiles, what is it?” Scott said, leaning his head over the table, watching his best friend pull crime scene photos off of the murder board and out of the file his dad had just given him and begin spreading them on the floor.

“There’s a pattern.” Stiles announced, getting off his knee and standing up to look at the pictures as a whole. The group rushed around him. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Coach told us he got attacked as he was leaving the high school. Greenberg’s statement says that he literally found Coach in a pool of his own blood outside of the main entrance to the school.”

“So what’s the pattern?” Malia asked, annoyed at Stiles’ lack of automatic clarity.

“My dad got attacked outside of that old abandoned house, on their front stoop. At first, I thought it was just people getting attacked outside of their homes, like a crime of opportunity, but with my dad and then Coach…. it’s doorways… dark doorways. What if these creatures can’t get inside of a house or don’t like the light or something, so they get you when you’re coming or going?” Stiles proposed.

“I think you did find the pattern.” Sheriff Stilinski patted his son on the shoulder and smiled.

“Does that help you at all?” Allison asked, turning back to Y/N who was not standing with everyone else, but instead was flipping through your books on the couch.

“I don’t know… maybe.. it sounds familiar-ish… I’m just gonna have to really dig into this stuff tonight.” You said as you rubbed your forehead.

“Sheriff, if the pattern is at night, we should be going out on extra patrols.” Parrish mentioned.

“Guns don’t work on these things, Parrish, I know, I tried.” The Sheriff reminded the young Deputy of how he unloaded his entire clip into the creature that attacked him.

“You need to enforce a mandatory curfew, Dad. I mean, people shouldn’t even be walking their dogs at night anymore. You get inside once the sun goes down, and you stay inside until it comes back up.” Stiles said firmly to his father.

“I think you’re right, kid. We need to get back to the station and talk to the Mayor.” Sheriff Stilinski motioned to Parrish, who kissed Lydia and then followed the Sheriff out the door to the squad car.

“You all should head home. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow afternoon.” Stiles said to everyone, as he rearranged the pictures from the floor onto the murder board.

Everyone began to disperse out the front door. “Lydia, I’ll drop you off at home.” Malia offered, as she walked out the front door.

“Stiles…” Lydia stopped before she followed Malia to her car. “It’s not a premonition, just a feeling.. be careful tonight.” She squeezed Stiles’ bicep and walked out the door.

“Always with the ominous feelings, Lyds... never anything that actually makes me feel good though.” Stiles muttered under his breath, after Lydia closed the door behind her.

“Allison, we really need to talk about all of this.” Scott said, quietly in the corner, by the door, as he slipped his arms through his jean jacket.

“Okay, so just follow Y/N and I home and we’ll talk at my house.” Allison said, firmly, as she approached the front door with her boyfriend. “Y/N, are you coming?”

“Yea, yea… I’ll be right out.” You shut your books and slipped your nude, satin, floral-embroidered bomber jacket over your shoulders. You gathered your books up into your arms and ran over to Stiles. “I’ll see you later?” Stiles nodded, and kissed you on the lips, your books against your chest creating a space between the two of you that he didn’t love. “Don’t come over too late. I don’t want you getting caught in the dark.” You reminded him, kissing him lightly again. You heard Scott’s bike engine start, and smiled sweetly at Stiles. “Love you.”

“Love you!” Stiles shouted after you. He grabbed some chow mein off the counter in the kitchen and went back to work on his murder board.

The sun was setting in ten minutes. Stiles had gotten caught up in his work, and knew that he would be getting to Allison’s by the time that the sun had set. He thought it would be fine since the entrance to the hotel was brightly lit and had doormen out every night who, so far, had been unscathed. He glanced at his phone. 8:19PM, it read. A text message from Y/N was waiting to be opened. “I forgot my Mesopotamia notebook on the coffee table, can you make sure to bring it? Also, Mr. Argent said to bring a change of clothes, since he doesn’t want you and Scott leaving to go home after it’s dark. A bientot. xo.” Stiles smirked at his iPhone. They had began using “a bientot” as a replacement for “see you soon” ever since Sylvie, the coven witch, said it to Y/N. For some reason it made the two of them burst into a fit of giggles every time. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and ran upstairs to grab some clothes and his toothbrush and his backpack. The sun was beginning to set.

Stiles zipped his backpack up and grabbed his keys off his desk. He thumbed the small, tan lamassu keychain dangling from his key ring, and smiled. He remembered the morning in the Oriental Institute in Chicago with Y/N fondly, and the smile that spread across your face when he revealed the present he got for the both of them at the gift shop. He locked the front door and opened the door to his Jeep, throwing his backpack in on the passenger seat. His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Babe, it’s getting dark, if you haven’t left already, just stay home tonight.”, the text from Y/N read. “No worries, I’m on my way.” Stiles typed back, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

“Oh shit, her notebook.” Stiles said aloud, remembering that he forgot to grab it from the coffee table, and running back up to his front door.

Stiles heard a loud bang, and looked up to see fireworks going off a few blocks over. Stiles fumbled with his keys and shook his head.

“Didn’t even realize it was the Fourth of July… ugh, kids, should just get back inside.” He muttered to himself. He looked around and realized the sun had set. No one was going to follow the curfew on the Fourth of July. Tonight would be a bloodbath. He started getting nervous, his hands shook as he looked for his house key. He heard a quiet shriek and looked up, a dark cloaked figure stood looming over him.

25 <- -> 27

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[memorylang]

New Me, Stateside for New Year’s | #20 | January 2020

When I landed back in Mongolia, many asked me either, “How was America?” or “How was China?” I saw both, anyway. So in this travel trio finale, I reflect on the changes I’d noticed in and around me during my three weeks on vacation from Mongolia.

During my reverse culture shock in the States, I logged my findings. Some were physical, like my increased tolerances (resilience?). Others were perceptions. Food, friends and family are my themes~

Landing in the States

“Welcome back, sir,” smiled the U.S. immigration officer at SFO, when said I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer. 

That felt different. 

Usually immigration gives me trouble, not credit. 

But I also felt more comfortable on the plane and in the airport, too, not needing to worry whether my shoes’ bottoms faced others. When travelers’ feet rubbed mine, they didn’t need to shake my hand. Those made life easier. Nonetheless, I felt odd seeing Americans nonchalantly have their shoes’ bottoms face people.

The House in Vegas

Returning to my family’s house that December 19 before Christmas, it felt more spacious than I remembered. Even our restrooms just felt larger than I recalled. Having our cooling fall from our ceiling, instead of heating from radiators below the windows surprised me, too. 

Writing of the house, I also sleep way better in the beds at home. Amusingly, I slept in my older brother’s old bed, since, for the past four plus years, he’s slept in my old bed. My younger brother had moved into his old bed while I was away for university. (It’s complicated.) Based on the States, I felt, I could think up ways to make my bed in Mongolia more comfortable…

As I explained to friends in the States, I’d also experienced dreams including friends from both in my Peace Corps service and in my Nevada lives before. I noted, in the past, I would keep in touch with American friends while going abroad. This time, I would keep in touch with Mongolian friends while visiting the States. Those blending communities felt profound, since I loved when life’s separate experiences crossed. I hope I continue such habits beyond my service.

Before my half-brother and his wife left after Christmas, they commended me, I seem more confident and calmer since graduating university. We discussed at length some cross-culture techniques, regarding how I seek and engage motivations when I teach and learn.

On the Advent of Christmas, I’d returned through my closet for childhood things I’ve finally grown willing to part with. I gifted these to them, for their baby. When I returned to Mongolia, they shared with me a photo of him adoring his new toy. Hehe, what a life.

So Much Food

To end my first full day back at the house, I stayed true to my word from Mongolia. I just went to the fridge and freezer, grabbed a bunch of berries and banana, plunked them in a blender with pineapple(?) ice cream and milk, (plus peas,) then downed that awesome shake while I worked on my writings. Ugh, shakes. 

I definitely satisfied my major cravings stateside. While I love Mongolian food, I’d forgotten the States’ food diversity! I enjoyed at least American (including Hawaiian), Chinese, Japanese, Filipino and Thai goodness. Vegas has lots of Asian cuisine. 

I hadn’t realized how much a half-Chinese American like me could miss pizza, burgers and bagels, but heck, I found that out, too. I ate pizza at plenty opportunities, amounting to at least a time or two per week. Freezer pizzas tasted rad. Even those staling discount blueberry bagels from Smith’s were great. 

And, oh dang, microwaves! Not having to heat my food on a pan felt the best, haha. I’m such a tourist in our own house.

Into Our Community

Leading up to my return, I announced to friends I’d be back. Get-togethers arranged. 

Sunday, we left home to see family friends. The constant Christmas music on the radio and Christmas lights on neighborhoods’ homes welcomed me. I even welcomed hearing car radios! I hadn’t heard as many radios in Mongolia, since I avoided taxis my first months. Buses just played downloaded music videos, if anything.

Outdoors in Vegas, I realized I could take the cool way better! I wore one or two layers when locals wear two or three.

At sushi, we enjoyed a welcome back lunch celebrating the returns of a family friend and me. I loved the fraternal bonds and companionship. Curiously, a family friend offered me a beer, which I finished myself. I felt surprised, considering I could hardly do that before leaving America. I guess Mongolian events like Teachers’ Day gave me practice. Later, at my high school Korean friend’s house, he offered me to try his favorite bourbons. Even those, I realized, tasted pretty good. Seems my drink palate’s changed. But I prefer not to invest that route.

Fireside Philosophies

That night with three from our high school alma mater, we lounged around a backyard fire pit with s’mores. Having had freshman classes with these guys, we’ve known each other almost a decade. 

I felt particularly moved in an albeit geeky way, moments earlier, when we first reunited inside. He’s finishing his last semester at West Point. With a hand on my shoulder, he compared me to Ash Ketchum, traveling the world and making so many friends. “Someday, you’re going to be Hokage,” he smiled. 

He’s fun. He reached out during my first autumn in Mongolia, after some four years apart. 

Our party of four discussed our passions, dreams and goals. We’d all traveled afar for our studies and careers. We talked big ideas like cross-cultural evangelization, shared Asian and Christian philosophies and the flooring ethical codes and punishments of West Point. Turns out isolation isn’t just something Peace Corps Volunteers experience!

Vegas Since Christmas

Days later, after Christmas, I reunited with more friends.

First, I saw a game developer, who also graduated my high school, who saw me before I left for Peace Corps. Then I met up with my photographer Korean friend who married before I left for Peace Corps and has done well. He prefers non-K-Pop Korean music. He let me know our high school friend from freshman year who left to study in the Philippines just returned to America. We hadn’t seen him since 2012. I felt so excited, we drove to see him. What an experience. I picked up a huge Thai tea with boba and Hawaiian burger, too. Now that’s Vegas. 

Then I met one of my best friends, a fellow world-traveled one, who’s also preparing his graduate application. We also met a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, who served in Bangladesh till civil unrest evacuated them. I’ll cover our coffee shop/bookstore conversations in an upcoming story. Another friend, too, a Catholic I met at university, wandered a mall with me before her own first study abroad. I felt so happy for her. 

In there, I noticed what my older brother and his girlfriend meant, about Americans not walking up escalators (lifts), even wide ones. When I got back to Beijing, I saw people did as I remembered, standing on the right side to wait or stepping up the left to go quicker. I felt glad I wasn’t crazy. Though, it made me wish Americans didn’t desire such large personal spaces in public places… We must share.

Last Rides in Reno

Back to Reno! My final day there, morning after the wedding, I donned my Mongolian traditional shirt and reunited with my journalism school and the Honors Program at the University of Nevada, Reno. I reunited, too, that weekend with my fraternity brothers and friends. We talked big ideas, and I imparted notions sculpted by my months in Mongolia. Yet I felt so comfortable seated in the cars, taking walks and lounging between professors’ offices in the city I called home four years. 

Many related my youngest sister’s been doing well in her sophomore year at my alma mater. Church-wise, she’s even going through the Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults and dating her sponsor, who was my Knights of Columbus successor. (There’s a great coincidence from RCIA 2016 I may touch on someday.) The morning choir loves Sister dearly, though, even as they’ve missed my days, months and years among them. They’re family. Curiously, I even heard my dad’s been attending morning Masses there when he takes jobs in Northern Nevada. I’m glad he hears our remarkable pastor. 

My sister and I actually had a falling-out the day I left our college town last May. So I’d written and sent her a formal apology while flying through Kyrgyzstan to Mongolia. Though we made amends over the seven months, I’m glad she’s had the good year I’d hoped for. Though my legacy hasn’t left its halls, I’ve wanted for her her own story. Even our youngest brother means to attend the Honors Program, its new director told me. Ultimately, my sister and I said goodbyes first this time, for she had to leave before my last day in the States.

That noon, still December 31, I also got lunch with my World Youth Day 2019 family. So fitting to end the year where we started it—together. I related the feeling of living the faith in the First Evangelism. They spoke words with such Spirit, I felt touched. They’ve really had my back this year. They kept in touch regularly since I came to Mongolia. I’ve needed that. 

I spent the rest of my day slipping around campus, musing down memory lane and delivering gifts of шагай \shagai\ ankle bones I’d also given many for Christmas. I loved sharing Mongolian culture through my gifts. Mongolians wishing me over Facebook, “Merry Christmas,” on New Year’s Day, reminded me, as a Catholic, Christmas and New Year’s really do overlap.

There are so many more in Reno-Sparks I wish I could have seen again.

Northern Nevada’s New Year’s Eve

As evening neared, Dad picked me up from the University to take me near Lake Tahoe, where we would share dinner with the Catholic Regent and her Mongolian daughter-in-law, who first readied me for Peace Corps mere weeks before I went. Dad’s so social. Maybe someday I could match his way with making himself comfortable in a room of unfamiliar peers. Discussions of mining in Nevada and the Gobi Desert set in stone for me how similar my undergrad and current communities feel sometimes. Seriously. 

Dad drove me back into town so I could ring in the new year with my newlywed friends. We experienced a multi-faith night hosted in the Reno Buddhist Center. Since I couldn’t find them, I sat in back. I spotted the University photographer who took my portraits at my senior year’s beginning and end, for having done well with my University scholarships and later becoming Senior Scholar of my school. She smiled at me with that familiar twinkle in her eyes. 

I enjoyed a joke our kindly cathedral rector made, that evening, about Catholics coming late and leaving early. I hadn’t heard humor like that in Mongolia. He smiled with such affection when he saw me. Later than evening, as the fireworks came up, I approached the front. A woman had me and a classical singing boy join her beating the Taiko drum! What a moment. 

The newlyweds joined me afterward, joyful to have spotted me down there. They introduced me to a Native American, an imam and other religious leaders who attended the wedding. They complimented my cantoring. I felt shocked they remembered. Then we took a big photo. We shared the most loving hugs.

Then, the couple and I went outside. Like our times passed, we exchanged goodbyes before my next big trip around the world. Then I got back in the car with Dad. After returning to Mongolia, I’d place throughout my apartment faith filled keepsakes from that beautiful wedding.

The New Year

New Year’s Day, I rode with Dad to Fallon, from where we left to Vegas after rest and a continental breakfast. Seeing his suitcases and the coolers in the hotel room before we loaded the car, I recollected years of road trips with my father and family. I still felt surprised how selflessly he’d driven me around New Year’s Eve, when I wanted to get places. I’d miss these road trips with my dad. 

As I stared out the window, seeing the faraway mountains and thinking of that Thanksgiving car ride in Mongolia, I felt grateful to still have Dad well and healthy, after Mom. He still listened to dad rock. I liked that. We’d be home soon.

Through car rides like these, I finished one more big thing in the States. Across my weeks, I blazed through “Pokémon Moon.” This achievement was colossal, since I played in Mandarin Chinese and only touched the game once or twice annually for the three years since my sophomore year at university.

But ultimately, I left it behind in the States. I’m in Mongolia, a world of adventure. That’s my 2020 theme: Exploration. A game would surely distract if I brought it.

Leaving America (Again)

The last friend I saw before leaving Vegas and the U.S. again was also my last friend I saw before leaving for Mongolia the first time. 

She seriously helped me pack in May, when I was a mess. This time, we ate out at a restaurant chain I’d seen only during my years in Reno-Sparks. We spoke for hours. Our reunions since college often wind up as these late nights. Though we relate about the voids left since our parents passed, we’ve known each other so long before. I’ve loved we can talk without retelling backstory. She’s one of those friends who’s so real, she knows me better than I do sometimes!

Anyway, seems I grew another way since Mongolia. This time in Vegas, I finished my packing myself.

Before the crack of dawn, I hugged my other siblings bye, before Dad zoomed me across the city for my flight away. That shiny Raiders stadium will probably be done the next time I’m back.

Return to My City

I experienced an amazing time with relatives and friends back in China on my return trip from the States to Mongolia. 

January 8, back in Mongolia, I took an overnight sleeper train for my first time alone. I felt darkness’ void in knowing no one. I felt the waves of the rocking train, its lurches and bumps as it shifted and wheels screeched. I felt pensive during the odd morning hours when my sore back woke me. I thought about my identity and new words said before I left. More on that soon.

Peace Corps Mongolia continues.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

[katrandomtiger]

We’ll Meet Again

Listen. I don’t know either just take it. Read it on AO3

Jack is visiting his grandma in Kentucky when he learns an important lesson about listening to your elders.

Warning: It’s got ghostys. 

Visiting grandma Lori in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Kentucky was most definitely not at the top of Jack’s to do list. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his grandma, oh no, he adorned the woman, it was just that spending the first week of summer vacation at grandma’s house with mom is not a 17-year-old boy’s favorite thing to do.

Jack sighed melodramatically as he hefted the last of their suitcases out of the suburban. His mom had, of course, decided to take everything but the kitchen sink with her making the unloading process more difficult than it needed to be. Slowly, he slogged up the driveway to the front door of the house.

Grandma’s was just what you would expect from a small rural town, a well-cared for lawn and garden, and a pristine looking house from the 50s. Against the sides of the house were flower beds that were almost choked with ornaments; pinwheels, signs, flags, and most notably was a rather terrifying cement gnome statue that had been sitting by the steps for so long that the paint had almost completely been weathered away. His name was Herbert.

The garage was packed with grandpa Jeff’s old tools and workbench. Cabinets that lined the plain plywood walls were covered in vintage collectables and filled with out-of-date chemicals and potting soil. An old stove sat in the corner next to the cabinet of assorted junk. Grandma’s van took up one half of the floor while the area grandpa’s truck once took up was now occupied by an ancient grill, the picnic table, and an assortment of lawn chairs.

Jack trudged up the stairs and into the kitchen where his mom and grandma were already gossiping as they started supper. Names of people he had met maybe once in his life were being thrown around as he dumped the luggage into the guest room and collapsed onto the couch in the living room. He listened to their banter before he finally fell asleep.

--

A figure watched the blond boy walk up the driveway. Brown eyes skimmed over the familiar broad shoulder and gold hair. A tear escaped as the figured turned from the window and walked into the kitchen.

--

The trip was going better than Jack had anticipated. The trio had spent the day a few towns over shopping in various clothing stores and shopping centers. They met up with one of Lori’s old friends and Jack was treated with some high quality old lady banter over lunch. The women folk had ended the day with a few bags stuffed with their treasures and Jack had also come away with more than a few items for himself. He was inevitably dragged off to church and a meal at the golf course that he was hard-pressed to say was ‘ok’ before they finally returned to grandma’s.

Jack collapsed on the recliner as soon as they made it in the house and pulled out his phone, desperately sending Terry and Russell pleas to save him. He was met with sarcastic replies and a gif of a man running out to his car and running face first into the door. Jack snorted before sending sad face emoji’s and opening a random puzzle game app.

“Jack, we’re going to Carroll’s house,” mom called from the kitchen.

“OK,”

“You coming?”

“No,”

“Jack.” His mother drawled his name in a warning tone causing Jack to sigh.

“I’ll walk down in a few minutes, I need to finish a couple things, ok?”

Mom shook her head before grabbing her jacket and making her way out to the garage. Jack listened for the van leaving the driveway before bolting upright and making his way into the bedroom where he proceeded to dig through the mess in his suitcase.

“Where the hell- AHA!” Jack exclaimed as he pulled out his headphones. He flipped them around and turned the power on as they synced the Bluetooth to his phone. The headphones beeped softly before music began blaring out of them, Jack paused it before meandering out to the kitchen. He walked over to the ancient looking radio that sat on the baker’s rack next to the counter.

For as long as he could remember, even before grandpa passed away, the radio played in the kitchen almost 24/7. The only exceptions were when a lot people were over, when the TV that sat below it was on, or at bed time. Even when they were in the living room watching TV or when they left, the radio stayed on.

Jack glanced out the window that sat over the sink to see if the van was gone, even when he was younger, grandma would warn him not to touch the radio, if anyone turned it off she would go right behind them and turn it back on. That was just the way it was.

He shrugged to himself before hitting the power button and sliding his headphones on. Jack worked his way around the kitchen, tidying the table, washing the few dishes that had collected by the sink, and hunting down his travel mug (it was in the garage). All the while, not noticing the fog building in the corner.

After a while Jack went back to the bedroom and took off his headphones. He ruffled his hair as his stepped out into the living room. It was dead silent apart from the windchimes ringing out front. All the lights had been switched off, leaving the dying sunlight to light the house. Jack stopped abruptly; something wasn’t right.

He stood in the doorway a moment, unease working through every line of his body before he noticed something sitting on top of the TV that hadn’t been there before. Cautiously, he stepped forward picked up the ancient cardboard picture frame. Two men in WWII uniforms stood with their arms wrapped around each other, their features were obscured by age.

Static from the TV broke the silence, the silver light from the screen was suddenly the only source of light in the house. The radio squealed from the kitchen before crackling to life. Jack dropped the frame as he spun around to face the kitchen doorway.

“~We’ll meet again, Don’t know where, Don’t know when~”

“Hello?”

“~ Till the blue skies, Drive the dark skies, Far away~”

“Grandma?”

“~They’ll be happy to know, That as you saw me go, I was singing this song~”

“HELLO? ANYBODY?” Jack’s calls bordered on frantic, he didn’t dare move from his spot in the only bit of visible light.

The light in the china hutch flickered to life before a horrendous screeching flooded the room, forcing Jack to drop to the carpet with his ears covered. He closed his eyes tight and yelled in pain before he passed out.

“~Next take, Billy, have the trumpets stand at uh- uh- at 37 as well as uhh- in the introduction~”

The sudden lack of harsh noise brought Jack back to consciousness. Jack laid there a moment, unwilling to open his eyes until he heard shoes shuffling past him. He looked up hesitantly only to find the room around him in brown and white, like the vintage photo. A man in slacks and a dress shirt stood in the archway between the kitchen and living room.

“~E 30000 211 take 11~”

The man was beautiful. Dark skinned, goatee, perfectly brushed curls, and a wicked grin curling his lips. The man’s face softened as another person stepped out of the bedroom. The new arrival was barely colored by the browns of the room, something about him was familiar. Jack stared wide eyed at him; he had no face.

“~I found you just in time, I found you just in time, Before you came my time, Was running low~”

They turned to each other and the darker man smiled as he slid an arm around the other’s waist and slowly pulled him into a dance.

“~Now you’re here, And now I know just where I’m going, No more doubt or fear, I’ve found my way~”

Jack watched in fascination as the two shuffled around the kitchen to the sounds of the ancient radio. He slowly stood and followed them into the room. The kitchen was different than the one he remembered, it was smaller, the carpet had been replaced by laminate tile and the appliances were even older than what his grandma kept. Jack glanced at the corner and dread filled his chest; the radio was the same.

“~For love came just in time, You found me just in time, And changed my, Lonely life that lovely, Lonely life that lovely, Lonely life that lovely day~”

The world twisted under Jack’s feet, the walls warped, the painting over the table seemed to melt down the wall, the only thing not affected by the sudden corruption was the radio. The dancers continued across the rolling floorboards as Jack scrambled across what was left of the floor, wood splintered and broke under his feet as he ran for the radio. He managed to grab the counter just as the floor dropped out from under him.

Desperately holding on for dear life, he looked over his shoulder to where the dancers had been only to see the darker man in the corner sobbing over the bloody corpse of his partner, a gun in his hand. Jack scrambled up the cabinet when the man spotted him, an inhuman scream escaped his throat as he fired at Jack.

Blood spattered Jack’s vision and he dropped into the void below, he fell for what felt like an eternity before he landed with a thud in the middle of the living room again, the radio still playing. He shot into a seated position and frantically patted himself down, checking for bullet wounds.

The radio crackled as the music warped and cut out. Jack hesitantly stood and tiptoed back to the kitchen, fear coursing through his body. The fog that had been building in the corner spit static and buzzed when Jack poked his head through the doorway. Jack jumped and stared wide eyed as the fog contorted into a semi-human shape, hissing pitifully as it went.

Sinatra sputtered back to life on the radio as the figure approached him. Jack stood frozen in fear as the foggy creature wrapped a gaseous arm around his waisted and tugged him closer. He couldn’t make out the song through the ever-warping speakers of the radio.

“J-Jaj-Jaaaaaaaaahhhh- CK-,” the creature spit as it forced him into step with the nonexistent tempo.

Tears spilled down Jacks cheeks as he was dragged through whatever dance the thing was trying to do. He shook violently in its arms, trying to keep in step for fear of the repercussions. They made their way around the kitchen until they were back by the radio.

“J-Jaaaaahh- C- Ck- ieeeee,” it screeched, “L-l-oOOoo-vve yOooU. S-s-sooorrRyyy,” a staticy sob burst from the cloud, “FffforrgiVe g-gaabbi?”

Jack gawked at it, trying to understand it’s words, before he nodded jerkily, “Y-yes, I forgive Gabi.”

The fog screeched again and Jack found himself face to face with the dark man. His body was slightly transparent and his legs disappeared below the knee. Tears ran down his face as he gripped Jack’s arms and pulled him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jackie. Jack. I love you. It was an accident. Jack, I’m so sorry,” the man repeated over and over, burying his face in Jack’s hair.

“I-it’s ok,” Jack stuttered, awkwardly patting the man’s back, “I forgive you. I’m sure your Jack forgives you too. You should go to him. Please, go.”

The ghost pulled back after a moment and looked him in the eye, “Thank you.”

The room blurred and Jack woke up on the floor in front of the TV. The house was quiet and the kitchen light was on. He crawled out to the kitchen to turn the radio back on, only to find it was gone. A small carving of a barn owl with two rings around its neck sat in the radio’s place.

Jack stood and picked up the carving and turned it over, reading the inscription on the bottom.

Jack Morrison & Gabriel Reyes ~ 1954

He slumped into the chair next to him and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he got up and put his shoes on before heading out the door to Aunt Carroll’s house.

[zoestagg]

What to See in Beijing...

I didn’t know I wanted to go to China, necessarily. I want to go EVERYWHERE, obviously, but the trip planning went something like this: let’s go somewhere for my birthday weekend; where can we get to in a four-hour plane ride or less; *google “what to see in Beijing vs Shanghai”*; hmm...wall, temple, market, DONE.

We had three full days in Beijing, so we picked the highlights -- A-#1 on my list was the Pānjiāyuán Antique market. After exploring and discovering breakfast youtiao (preview to a forthcoming food post) we set out for the market. (Method: the hotel wrote the destination for us on a “please take us to” card to give to the taxi driver. In a world where we had more time and all of us had longer legs, we might have tried the trains.)

Give me a huge open space crammed with aisles and tables and treasures? I’m not going to know where to start, but I will happily give it a go.

There’s a “district” of the market with stalls, one with store fronts, and one with tables and blankets of wares set up under umbrellas and shades. In the very back, against the fence, if you were wondering where you could buy a pair of 20-foot tall Chinese guardian lion statues, I know a guy.

And if someday you want to hear a story about helping a four year old learn the fine art of the Turkish toilet at an public bathroom in an outdoor venue, here’s the short version: carefully.

I really wanted a painting of birds on bamboo, framed and hanging on the end of one of the rows in the art district, but it was a set of four -- one for each season -- and I had not brought a corresponding set of four suitcases. I collected a pale jade green, small ceramic seated monk statue, and browsed.

Now we have three photographers in the family. Well, two photographers and me with my phone. Frankie snapped this one of some...indeterminate bones?

She has an eye, for sure. (Bonus rec: if you have a 3-6 year old who wants to take 500 pictures of their shoes and the door handle in the taxi, AND still have space, this camera is legit. Totally recommended for kids’ photography.)

I didn’t have my eye on bones, but I did stare longingly at this ironware -- but we saw it in the beginning of our browsing, and then I couldn’t find it again. Alas, just a photo now forever.

After some serious bargaining over an old radio the way all bargaining is done -- by typing your price onto a calculator and waiting for them to type theirs, we stopped for food for Frankie. She wanted to compare the authentic Chinese cheese pizza to the authentic Thai cheese pizza from our last trip.

See? Nobody told her it was Instagram-worthy, she JUST KNEW. Prodigy.

While we sat at the outdoor table and watched people shop and sell, we were featured in at least half a dozen family photos. As in gathered into a smiling group shot with friendly strangers who snapped their pictures and thanked us and moved on. If China had Facebook, you’d probably find us there.

One woman stopped to comment on Frankie’s hair in beautiful English. She sat with us for a while, practicing while we chatted about her daughter a month younger than Frankie, and filling us in on the different kinds of jade, about the market and the man dressed in an exaggerated monk costume that walked by, and the what the different shapes of pendants meant.

She let Frankie take this picture of her, and when I made a return trip to the market the next day, I looked for her. She’s one of the people I mean. The people who make the place.

Our next stop was fairly close, ten minutes by taxi, the Temple of Heaven park. It was hot by this time, and we found shady spots in breezy corridors throughout the park collected groups of people playing games.

Mahjong I recognized, but this card game, with its slapping and laughing, I didn’t.

In my usual method of “see first, learn later,” I found out that according to Tiānyuán Dìfāng, the temple bases are square and the temple halls are round because the earth is square and heaven is round.

The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests has pillars made of Oregon fir.

Pairing the market and the temple left room for some hotel poolside hamburgers for those who would be interested in such a thing, and time to explore the Wangfujing market in the evening -- in the next post.

The next day, we cashed in on our bargain of “you go antiquing and to cultural landmarks, and we’ll take you to see the pandas at the zoo.”

The zoo. Well, there ARE pandas there... and this is a heavily Instagrammed photo of one of them. ANYway, moving on!

We headed to the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square area. It’s iconic and emblematic, and yes -- it’s important to see the sights, but I’m really happiest seeing the life.

In another trip with more time, I would have loved to explore the older hutongs, we could see glimpses down the narrow openings into what looked like a city-within-a-city. Some of the alleys I found out running were similar, family restaurants with stacks of dumpling steamers tucked between houses and fruit stands, and looking back at some of these pictures now, I’m kind of surprised. You don’t realize when you’re in it, just how traditional or exotic things are, or how striking the juxtapositions seem. You’re just experiencing it, and it’s normal because you’re in it.

Like this woman at the antique market selling abacuses, doing her math on her phone. 

What was I expecting? I honestly have no idea. That’s kind of the beauty of not having time to plan before you get on the plane. A guidebook doesn’t tell you what a place is, the place does.

Hey Beijing. Nice to meet you.

(Stay tuned for: What to Eat, and The Great Wall...)

[gwynnew]

Why Narrating 'Born in China' Made John Krasinski So Emotional

‘Born in China’ narrator John Krasinski at the premiere of his 2016 film “The Hollars” (Photo: Jason LaVeris/FilmMagic)

John Krasinski has always been a guy who gets emotional watching nature documentaries — but narrating the Disneynature film Born in China, shortly after having his second child with wife Emily Blunt, took things to a whole new level. “I was weeping very openly,” Krasinksi tells Yahoo Movies of his experience working on the documentary (in theaters April 21), which he describes as “the entire process of parenthood in 76 minutes.” That is to say, the film’s rare footage of panda, leopard, and monkey families, as ably narrated by Krasinski, is at once hilarious, heartbreaking, adorable, and awe-inspiring, in a way that most parents will find familiar. Of course, Disneynature’s younger audience (including Krasinski’s older daughter, who, at 3 years old, is new to the movie-going experience) will just want to see the baby panda and funny monkeys. Yahoo Movies spoke to Krasinski from the set of Amazon’s spy-thriller series Jack Ryan (he’s playing the title character) to talk about crying over animal babies, his nature doc obsession, and the art of telling a Disneynature story.

Is doing this narration this a bucket list item for you? Do you have ambitions of being David Attenborough?

Oh my god, no! No one can be David Attenborough. There’s only one. But certainly the programs like his are the inspiration for why I’ve always been into nature programs, or even YouTube clips of baby pandas — I’m a sucker for all of it. But truly for me, the Disneynature movies have been a step above all of it. I’ve seen every single one of them, and I’ve gone to all of them on opening weekend. I’m that much of a nerd for them, because not only are they so beautiful and so much fun to watch, but they’re so emotional. And I think they’re as good as any narrative out there that’s scripted.

Do you take your kids? I guess they’re a little young still.

My older daughter is animal obsessed, and we did our first movie recently, so I think our second movie theater experience might have to be this one. She’ll probably not like the person narrating, but she’ll like the images.

Like you, I had a baby last year, and I found myself relating very strongly to the panda mom in the movie.

Oh my God, right? It doesn’t take much for me to cry, but with this movie I was a mess. It’s the entire process of parenthood in 76 minutes.

‘Born in China’ pandas Ya Ya and Mei Mei (Photo: Ben Wallis, Disney)

Did you see the footage for the first time while you were narrating?

They pretty much had the finished movie for me to watch, which was amazing and obviously extremely helpful… But I think the coolest thing for me was how seriously they take it. You know, I would have totally leaned into the adorable nature of the images that you’re seeing and probably read this a much different way. But instead, they really push you to feel the reality and the drama and the intensity of these stories — you know, really take it seriously and respect the landscape and the environment that you’re talking about, which was so great, because of course, that’s how you get moved and that’s how you learn something. You know, they’re fully aware that they have baby pandas in their movie. [Laughs.] But the baby pandas are part of a larger structure. And that’s what makes these movies so good and so moving.

What were the kinds of directions they gave you for your narration?

They really want you to communicate to the audience the gravity of what’s going on. Just outside of China, with all these cities and industries and people, is this whole different world, a whole different planet, for lack of a better term. I think they really want you to frame the story in that way. So right from the beginning, talking about the crane being a symbol in China of taking the souls of people who recently passed and bringing them to the other side, there’s such beautiful imagery and such beautiful poetry. They don’t want it to just be, “Aw shucks, look at that baby panda.”

There are some serious moments of drama, too — more than I expected.

It really sneaks up on you. And I don’t know if you were like me — I was weeping very openly.

I was noting in the narration that you have to pivot relatively quickly from “Look at me, I’m a silly monkey!” to “There is a force stronger than love, and that force is nature, and it’s tearing them apart.” I’m paraphrasing a bit, but that’s a big range.

What you’re saying is it’s my best performance yet. I appreciate it. Thank you. [Laughs.]

John Krasinski and wife Emily Blunt on January 29 (Photo: Kevin Mazur/Getty Images)

Is there an animal you found yourself relating most strongly too?

I think most people would think I related to the monkey the most, but we had recently had our second daughter when I had gone in to record this, and so the snow leopard story really just completely gutted me. It’s inspiring to know that this sort of love and commitment to your kids at all costs is inside each and every one of us. In human terms, everyone’s heard the story of the mother picking up a car to save her child. And to know that that’s in us is really inspiring. So seeing her go through that whole adventure with these beautiful, adorable cubs, but also this incredibly treacherous and intense situation, was really moving and powerful to me.

It’s been 24 hours since I saw the film, and I can’t stop wondering what happened to the cubs.

They’re fine, don’t worry. They’re fine. Look away!

How did working on this film affect you? Have you booked your ticket to China?

I have not booked my ticket to China. I was offered by the Disneynature folks to go over there, and sadly I couldn’t because I was starting Jack Ryan, but I would love to at some point for sure. But like I said, I really am first in line to see these movies because I find them so inspiring. It’s very rare these days to leave a movie theater and feel better coming out than you did going in. We live in a very digital, insulated world, and so there is something very expanding about seeing all this stuff and knowing that it’s right there — if you wanted to go, you could go! — and that these animals are existing like this every single day.

Well, thanks for taking the time out of your intense Jack Ryan schedule to talk to me about pandas.

Hey, it’s always nice to talk about pandas.

Watch the trailer for ‘Born in China:’

Read more from Yahoo Movies:

New Pixar Short ‘Dante’s Lunch’ Introduces ‘Coco’ Dog, Plus Director Lee Unkrich on Whether ‘Coco’ Will Make You Cry (Exclusive)

‘Beauty and the Beast’ Lyricist Howard Ashman’s Loved Ones Recall How He Brought Story to Life — And Changed Disney Films Forever

Emily Blunt’s First Photo as Magical Nanny in ‘Mary Poppins Returns’: Compare Her Look to Julie Andrews in ’64

[chocolatechiplague]

Life, Love, Katsudon, and Ramen

The second piece for Msjasu’s amazing Twin AU. This time, I focused on food and how important it is in their lives from start to end. Yuki is the ramen king and has no sense of taste buds, I refuse to believe otherwise. 

I hope you enjoy! Link towards story on Ao3

The day that Victor Nikiforov entered both of their lives in Hasetsu after Sochi, the Russian insisted they ate like two pregnant women going through cravings, promptly after he ran into the bathroom to expel his horror into the porcelain god. Their mother and Yuko agreed. The traitors.

And yet, Yuki seethed and hissed ‘traitor’ at Victor when he fell in love with katsudon(the dish, not his brother, he shipped it so fucking hard after all). He sneered they had no taste buds as he poured an energy drink and crushed up Cheetos into his ramen.

Yuki couldn’t stand katsudon. Something about having egg over fried pork bothered him, making his stomach squirm with rejection the first time he took a bite. It was so unnatural, so . . . it felt so dirty to eat it and not in a good way.

Food had become one of the more interesting differences between the twins. They always had different interests when it came to skating and music, they liked different colors, and argued over which video game series was different. But even with those things, they still enjoyed the others preference. That didn’t work when it came to food. Yuki wouldn’t go near katsudon, scrunched his nose every time, slinking away from his brothers side to sit away from the horrifying combination. Birthdays were shared with two different meals completely at the dining table, sitting across each other instead of their standard sit by sit.

Yuuri liked ramen, he did, though not in the way that Yuki enjoyed the noodle dish. The boy was dubbed ramen king, able to eat an entire bowl in half the time that Yuuri could inhale katsudon, quite the achievement. There were very few different flavors of ramen that Yuki didn’t love, and dozens more that he tried and fall for with his heart on full display. He had even started to keep a small notebook with him at all times, writing down the different kinds that he tried when they went anywhere.

Ramen also made it easier to become the messiest eater there every was, slurping noodles and broth. They gained weight easily, but ramen was empty calories for the most part, easier to keep slim with it. Yuuri may be the one referred to a ‘piggy’ for gaining weight more after a light binge of porn cutlet bowls, but Yuki ate like an actual pig.

The day that Yuuri started to travel outside Hasetsu to competitions for skating, one in a rare blue moon for ballet, Yuki took his small habit into being his second biggest dream. To try every type of ramen the world has out there, to devour, to enjoy, to conquer as the true ramen lover. He took advantage of his brothers travelling to widen his grasp on flavor. Yuuri didn’t mind, he thought it was funny and enjoyed seeing his twin so happy over something that Yuuri thought was mediocre in taste most of the time. Besides, Yuki never missed his programs, no matter what ramen craze he had going that moment. He would leave behind his blessed food to hold Yuuri’s hand before each skate, calm his nerves that only Yuki knew how to do.

They grew up finding more differences between them, what made them individuals and not just stuck at the hip. Yuuri found deep love with skating and all forms of dance, his body graceful as it swipes into every step with a natural beauty. Yuki’s idea of dancing was the funky chicken, the running man, the robot and that one dance move craze where you grip the back of your neck, your shin and then threaten to give yourself a black eye with your kneecap. Any other kind of dancing he faulted at, having two left feet when it came to coordination. The younger twin had ease flying his fingers across a piano and keyboard, easily singing to every song with the perfect pitch. The older of the two, however, well, Yuuri had an easier time scaring away wild animals with the cracked screech that was his attempt at singing ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’.

Together, with their powers combined, they either made a talented, wonderful pair that could sweep people off their feet in dance and song, or they were the nightmare that came after you down the hall at night, badly off tune child songs with pelvic thrust dance moves that have long been outdated for good reason. Either way, they were a force through the artistic and athletic world, a whirlwind when side by side, and just as strong on their own two feet.

Even as the two got older, they would find themselves slipping into the childhood language they created, a set of gibberish. It was a common thing between twins, almost every set had one. It was more natural than their first proper language, slipping off the tongue with an ease Japanese didn’t fully have. English was easier with each other to split the work of learning, Yuuri with the vocal words and Yuki the written version of the language. By the time Yuuri left for Detroit to follow his dream of skating under his coach Celestino and Yuki to Tokyo with a music scholarship, they were able to slip between the three languages. Their language though, it was always a favorite.

Yuki’s quest wasn’t held only in Japan, though Tokyo gave the younger sibling far more options, every time that Yuki came to America to stay in Yuuri and Phichit’s impossibly small dorm and then apartment, he always found something. Yuuri learned to regret it the day Yuki found ‘cheeseburger ramen’. It smelled of death, looked to be created by some satanic son-of-a-bitch reject from culinary school, and from the reluctant bite taken, Yuuri and Phichit agreed that the campus cafeteria’s mystery meat sloppy joes mexican fried rice combo tasted better. And they swore to this day that they saw the blob that was once rice moved across their plates.

From that day on, Yuki started his own concoctions of ramen. It started simple. Hot sauces across the world he collected from different countries he visited with Yuuri, but then it branched into broken hell. Exotic meats, fruits, liquids that should never touch noodles replacing the water that should go into the cheap, college microwave ramen. It got to the point Yuuri attempted an intervention when he he decided mayo was the perfect topping, his second favorite being cheap ketchup and hotdogs.

The intervention was ignored. Yuki had always been stubborn, though so was Yuuri.

To be fair to his younger brother, Yuuri had his own guilty pleasure food outside of katsudon that terrified Phichit every time he either ate it or asked his roommate slash best friend to pick the ingredients up at the grocery store.

Pickles in marshmallow fluff was a god send for the professional skater.

The day that Victor Nikiforov entered both of their lives in Hasetsu after Sochi, the Russian insisted they ate like two pregnant women going through cravings, promptly after he ran into the bathroom to expel his horror into the porcelain god. Their mother and Yuko agreed. The traitors.

And yet, Yuki seethed and hissed ‘traitor’ at Victor when he fell in love with katsudon(the dish, not his brother, he shipped it so fucking hard after all). He sneered they had no taste buds as he poured an energy drink and crushed up Cheetos into his ramen.

Yurio he was not surprised had shitty taste, the boy loved in leopard print long after it went out of style and in all honestly, he was ready to simply beat the shit out of a fifteen year old child for what he said to Yuuri. The feeling was mutual after Yurio tried to accept his challenge after Yuki screamed ‘Fight me, you punk ass bitch’ in Hasetsu Ice Castle.

There was one thing that he thought that both of Victor and Yuuri had amazing taste in. Each other. They were perfect together, their strengths and weaknesses completing the other, the other half of their heart. He witnessed their first kiss on the Hasetsu beach, a snuck photo of it still on the Yuuri’s, Victor’s, and Yuki’s phones. Also Phichit, because Yuki was a great friend. He was there in person at the public confession and kiss in China, the way they laced their fingers ever since. Their meeting at the airport after the Russian cup he stayed out of, waiting at home. He was use to being away from Yuuri once in awhile for competitions, but he had seen the way it destroyed Victor to be separated from the love of his life.

Even worse than katsudon was the first time he actually heard his brother and to be brother-in-law having sex. It haunted his every thought. It had been a proud moment when Yuuri told him he lost his virginity, overly happy for his twin. But hearing it, the moans, the hitches to breath and the way they were whimper out each others names and soft commands, he’d rather eat katsudon for a week straight.

Victor thought he was being overly dramatic when he found Yuki googling mind bleach one evening. Victor didn’t have to know how his very own twin, the person he shared fingerprints and exact genetic coding with sounded when he came.

Excluding the terrible hot pink convertible the two left in to go to the airport for their honeymoon, the wedding was gorgeous. It was everything his brother deserved, to know that Victor, his once idol turned so very human of a man he loved, at his side every day. The doves were overly dramatic, but it was Victor’s one true request so it couldn’t be ignored. Phichit and Yuki fought over who had the more embarrassing stories about Yuuri in their speeches, over who cried more during the kiss(it was their Hiroko of course who won), and who looked better in the suit they had to wear for the wedding.

Instead of the katsudon that their mother made for all at the wedding, Yuuri and Victor had both insisted on Yuki having his beloved ramen. To show their love, even on their special day to the brother that played match-maker, properly introduced them while Yuuri was sober, and encouraged them to go after their happiness together.

In a way, their lives surrounded around food, but Yuki wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Not for a world topping album, not for destroying Yurio. Not even for the ultimate ramen would Yuki concern changing a thing.

[dietarysalad]

Street War – Chapter 3

Sougo grimaced and gently felt his face, his cheek stinging. That is definitely gonna leave a mark. He glared at Kagura.

“What in the name of hell do you think that you’re doing?!” yelled Sougo, his eye twitching as his blood pressure rose. Kagura blinked her eyes a number of times, not quite believing what she was seeing. She gave Sougo a look of disgust and stepped backwards so that she stood next to Soyo. “So sorry, my bad,” Kagura’s voice dripped with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “You see, my foot was just really excited to see you. Not my fault.” “So, because your foot has some sort of attraction to my face, you’re just gonna barge in during our training session and kick me?” At Sougo’s venomous jab, Kagura scoffed and narrowed her eyes. “Should I have not held myself back?” she threatened. Seeing no reason to further associate himself with Kagura, Sougo gratefully took the ice pack that was held out to him by Shimaru Saitou and walked over to the water bottles to grab himself a drink.

The Kendo Club members alternated between looking at Kagura and Sougo in confusion and whispering amongst one another. Their gossip was halted by Sougo’s glare and a seemingly innocent question from Soyo. “Are the two of you friends?” Her question sparked an immediate reaction from Kagura. “That poop-head with the shoe-print on his face and dumb limp is my mortal enemy!” she announced, earning herself a look of chagrin – courtesy of Sougo. “’Dumb limp’?” he repeated. “This was your damn fault! And what about you? Where’re all your battle wounds? You monster.” “Ha! You’re only saying that ‘coz you’re weaker than me. Don’t be so petty!” “Weaker than you? Don’t kid yourself – you were way more beat up than I was. The only reason your scrapes and bruises are all gone is ‘coz you’re some sort of behemoth.” He smirked as Kagura snarled at him, her face slowly growing red. “Who’re you calling a behemoth?!” “If the shoe fits.”

Before Kagura had a chance to jump Sougo again, Soyo gently gripped her friend’s waist and massaged Kagura’s back to calm her down. She looked around at the training hall, hoping to find something to distract her new friend from murdering the ‘poop-head with a shoe-print on his face’, and suddenly remembered the cameras in her hands. “Um, excuse me,” Soyo asked one of the Kendo Club members that was closest to her. “Would I be able to meet the captain of the Kendo Club? We were sent by the Newspaper Club to get a few photos…” “Ah,” Sougo lifted his head up from his drink. “That’d be me.”

Kagura gave Sougo a critical glare, eyeing him from behind Soyo. “We were told he would be the best looking in club, and that obviously isn’t you.” “Well, it’s a shame that you can’t see what everyone else can.” “Ew.” Kagura tugged at Soyo’s sleeve and started pulling her out of the training hall. “Let’s get out of here, Soyo-chan. I don’t think anyone wants a photo of his messed-up face. We’ll get some photos of the Basketball Club, instead.” As Soyo walked outside, she quickly turned and gave a short bow in apology for interrupting their practise session. Kagura, on the other hand, made a rude gesture at Sougo and stuck her tongue out to blow a raspberry. When Sougo mirrored Kagura’s hand actions, Soyo quickly grabbed her friend’s hand and ran from the building before a fight could ensue.

As he watched the two freshmen girls run away, Sougo could only sigh and rub the ice pack in his hand against his cheek. He could already feel the area start to inflame and knew that a bruise would soon appear. “With the way things are going, I don’t think I’ll be the best looking in this club anymore…” he groaned at Saitou. “Call for a five-minute break. I’m gonna go wipe the dirt off my face.” He limped towards the water fountains, his face frozen in a scowl, as Saitou silently directed the rest of the club to cool off and take a break. Saitou watched in concern as the majority of the members move about mechanically, still dazed from their encounter with Kagura. Most of them crashed into the wall behind the benches, stumbling before falling in front of the drinks. The club members that managed to sit on the bench ended up dousing themselves in water as they missed their mouths with their water bottles. Saitou pulled up the black mask that hung around his neck and furrowed his brows as he watched them. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as two of the younger members walked into each other and fell into a heap on the floor. Is this club gonna be okay…?

When he got back to his shared apartment with Hijikata, Sougo crashed onto their couch in a single, tired motion. His face hit the armrest of the couch and he winced as he felt his cheek sting upon impact. He quickly repositioned himself so that he lay on his back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and soaking in the silence of the apartment.

Hijikata had been in the kitchen, making his usual mayonnaise special, when he heard the sound of Sougo crumpling onto their couch. From his position at the kitchen counter, he slowly peered into the living room area to quickly check on his young ward. That was when he noticed the dark bruise that was forming on Sougo’s cheek. “Was kendo practise that bad?” “Nah, same old,” Sougo replied. “Though – could you tell that Yorozuya boss to knock some sense into that China girl? Who greets someone with a kick to the face? Honestly.” “Hah?” came Hijikata’s guttural response. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Why should I talk to that stupid perm-head? You know, in high school he-!“ “I don’t care that he spilt your mayonnaise or dog food or whatever it was,” Sougo sighed. “Just hurry up and get into another fight with the Yorozuya soon so that I can teach that China girl some manners.”

Hijikata smirked and turned from the living room, picking up his mayonnaise special and opening the cutlery tray to find himself a pair of chopsticks. “Hmph, you don’t need to worry. Tonight, the usual time and place.” Sougo sat up from the couch and grinned back at Hijikata.

After school had ended and Kagura had parted ways with Soyo, Kagura rushed back to her apartment and all but broke the door down in anger. She kicked off her shoes haphazardly, not bothering to place them upon the shoe rack, and ran into the kitchen to find something to stress eat. As she passed the hallway, she found her brother making himself a sandwich with his back turned towards her. Swiftly, she threw her school bag onto their kitchen counter and pounced on Kamui, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Kamui grunted in surprise before leaning forward against the kitchen counter so that his sister could rest comfortably on his back. He grabbed his sandwich from its plate and began eating in nonchalance, waiting to hear what Kagura had to say. “Gah! I wanna kill him so bad!” she exclaimed, clutching onto her brother’s neck with one hand and pulling on his braid with the other. ‘“Kill’?” Kamui perked at the word, bread crumbs flying from his mouth as he spoke. “If it’s killing you want, consider it done!” “Urgh, stupid big brother!” Kagura slid down from her brother’s back and placed her hands on her hips, pouting at him. “If I ask you to take him out, then I don’t get to enjoy beating the crap out of him myself!”

The two siblings continued their conversation, neither one noticing their surrogate father arriving home and approaching them from the hallway. Gintoki narrowed his eyes at the ‘beautiful’ family bonding scene, and promptly cuffed both of his children behind the ears. “No killing,” he growled. “I’m not getting my ass hauled by the police because my kids are breaking the law. We’re already in pretty tight places with the gang fights.” Kagura stuck out her bottom lip at Gintoki while Kamui smiled and took his sandwich over to the dining table. As her brother walked out, Kagura quickly moved to the pantry cupboard to find a packet of sukonbu when she noticed a folded piece of paper in Gintoki’s hand. The yellowed white of the paper was marked with black calligraphy ink, but Gintoki had crumpled the piece of paper with his grip such that Kagura could not read what it said. However, she had an inkling as to the identity of the piece of paper in her father’s hand.

“It’s tonight?” she asked, excitedly. “Yeah,” Gintoki sighed. “But, seriously, who sends a letter of challenge these days? That stupid mayo-freak. It’s, like, 2017 – come on. Just text me or something.” As Gintoki shook his head at Hijikata’s archaic method of correspondence, Kagura skipped out of the kitchen with renewed vigour and a piece of sukonbu in her mouth. She grabbed her bag from the countertop as she hustled back to her room to find herself an outfit that was less physically inhibiting.

Upon arriving at her room and opening the door, Kagura found herself being tackled by a gigantic, white ball of fluff. Sadaharu, Kagura’s gigantic Samoyed puppy, had also been adopted into the Sakata family when Gintoki found him muddied and abandoned by the side of a nearby river. Not having the heart to leave him to die, Gintoki picked him up and took him to the local vet before bringing him home. Needless to say, Sadaharu and nine-year old Kagura had formed an immediate bond and the two became inseparable. Though Gintoki had muttered about needing to ‘stop picking up brats in the rain’, his expression softened at the happy smiles within his household and he momentarily forgot about his financial situation.

While Sadaharu had been a tiny, skinny puppy when he was first adopted into the Sakata household, he had since grown healthily and was easily larger than Kagura when standing on his hind legs. Now, a tackle from her huge dog resulted in the both of them tumbling to the ground. Gently pushing the heavy fur ball off her chest, Kagura ruffled Sadaharu’s fur with joyful mirth. “Hey, hey, Sadaharu!” she crooned. “There’s gonna be a gang fight tonight. I won’t be letting that stupid sadist get the better of me this time. Whatever he dishes out at me, I’ll throw back twice as much!” “Arf!” Sadaharu replied with enthusiasm, placing his front paws on Kagura’s shoulders and wagging his tail. “Hm? You want in on the fun too? Ah, but we can’t have this soft, white fur getting all dirty! Don’t worry about me – just stay home and hold the fort, okay?” “Arf!” “Good boy!”

Sitting up from the ground, Kagura made her way to her small wardrobe and found herself a comfortable pair of dark jeggings and a black tank top. She quickly slipped off her school’s sailor uniform and wiggled her way into her more form-fitting outfit. After a bit of deliberating, she deemed the night air cool enough to require a bit more outerwear and speedily grabbed a camo-patterned military-style jacket to throw on.

Checking her watch, Kagura decided that she would leave for the meeting place a little early so that she could fit in a pre-fight warm up. She hurriedly ran outside to notify Gintoki, only to find a note signed from her brother lying conspicuously on the kotatsu in the living room. ‘Sakamoto and Katsura needed us for some help with a last-minute job. Head on over to the meeting place by yourself and we’ll meet up with you there. Be careful not to talk to any strangers on the way!’ Kagura scrunched her nose at the message. She crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it over her shoulder into the kitchen area, not caring whether or not it made the bin basket or not. “Oh well,” she said. “Hey – maybe I’ll hit the streets earlier and beat Kamui to some of the Shinsengumi groupies. H’s always beat up, like, half of them already by the time I get there.”

Such was her plan. However, reality did not ensue the way that she had planned it to.

Having finished her warm-up run through Tokyo, Kagura had been intending on jogging over to the back alleys of the city to meet up with the rest of the gangs for the street fight. However, as she traversed the moonlit streets, she ran head-first into none other than Okita Sougo. Reeling backwards in pain from having knocked her head against his shoulder, Kagura rubbed furiously at her head as she glared up at the older boy.

Sougo also rubbed at their point of impact, staring down at Kagura as she narrowed her eyes at him, as if daring him to fight her then and there. He shook his head. “There’s no point,” he drawled lazily. “The gangs are gonna be duking it out at the meeting place. There isn’t much reason for me to wreck you face here in the middle of nowhere.” “Oh, yeah, there’s a point,” Kagura shot back. “I get to fight you without anyone interfering!” “Listen, little girl-“ “You’re only two years older than me!” “-I’d love to destroy you right now, but I also wanna destroy Hijikata. And I can’t do that unless I’m on the streets with him. So, I’m gonna get going before I’m late.” “Ah?! You get back here right-!”

A loud crash cut Kagura off before she could finish her threat. Both teenagers turned sharply towards the sound which had emanated from a shadowy alleyway. From the darkness stepped a large group of men, their faces covered by either black surgeon’s masks or bandages, each holding weapons with varying levels of lethalness. Some held iron pipes dotted in dried blood, while others had daggers and electric drills. The sea of masked men parted down the middle to reveal a beautiful woman with electric-blue hair, her face covered by a peacock-feathered fan. “What do we have here?” she announced with a slow tone. “A couple of rats from the Yorozuya and the Shinsengumi?”

Her face darkened with a sinister expression that Kagura could feel even though it was covered by her beautiful fan. Both Kagura and Sougo swallowed in silence. They recognised the men as well as the woman who appeared to be their leader. It was the Kada gang, a group of gangsters in Tokyo that operated more as a yakuza than anything else. While both the Yorozuya and the Shinsengumi did community work and helped out within the city of Tokyo, the Kada gang – led by ‘Peacock Princesse’ Kada – held reign over many gambling rings and used swindling and violence to earn their keep. They had originally been the strongest street gang in Tokyo before the Yorozuya and the Shinsengumi took their throne, fuelling a deep hatred for both gangs from the members of the Kada gang.

“Is it just the two of you by yourselves?” Princess Kada questioned, her tone ostentatious. She fluttered her fan against her cheek. “My, my – look at you. You’re only children. The ‘Kings of Tokyo’ sure have lowered their standards, haven’t they?” The men at her side snickered and sneered at Kagura and Sougo, who watched them warily. They both shifted their legs into a stance that allowed them a bit more freedom to choose whether they would fight or run. While they both knew that they were phenomenal fighters, neither of them was quite up to taking down an entire gang without support from their comrades.

Princess Kada laughed at two, allowing her eyes to rest on the shadows behind Kagura and Sougo. Sougo, having noticed the change in her line of sight, heightened his senses and shivered slightly. They’ve got us surrounded. He glanced at Kagura to see if she had noticed and found her moving her weight forward into her stance. He turned his eyes back towards Princess Kada, satisfied that Kagura was no longer moving to flee and was now poised to attack. I guess we don’t have much of a choice.

Without wasting any more time, Sougo leapt towards the men to the right of Princess Kada. He quickly pulled his right sleeve up, revealing the iron pipe that he had hidden beneath his sleeve, and made a wide swing towards the group of men. Managing to strike about four of the Kada gang members, Sougo quickly ducked as he felt a rush of wind from behind him. Using his shoulder as a springboard, Kagura leapt up and went into immediate close combat with three of the Kada men. After knocking a good number of the gang members away, Kagura hit the ground and pulled up as many rocks as she could, swiftly flinging them towards any masked man that she saw.

Sougo, on the other hand, was a couple metres from Kagura fending off the half of the Kada gang that had decided to go after him. He spun out of the crowd, swiftly catching one of the wayward rocks that Kagura had haphazardly thrown, and re-aimed it at the closest Kada member. He heard a visceral groan emanate from the man who promptly fell to the ground, clutching his eye. Sougo smirked at him before his attention was pulled away again by the onslaught of men at his heels, their weapons on a collision course with his vitals.

Noticing his predicament, Kagura quickly shook off the last few men who were targeting her and leapt backwards towards Sougo. She shoved against him using the blunt of her shoulder and managed to disentangle him from the grips of the Kada gang. Quickly, she looked for an escape path but was disappointed to find none. Back to back with one another, both Kagura and Sougo were completely surrounded by a hundred or so Kada gang members. Their leader, Princess Kada, had long since left the scene – leaving the dirty work to the grunts.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?” Sougo grinned wearily, his head throbbing from having to handle so many attacks from every direction. His pain was further increased with Kagura’s swift elbow jab to his back. “Don’t even suggest something as disgusting as that!” However, as she turned to yell some more at him, she found him shooting a fist at her face. Quickly, she dodged out of the path of his punch and aimed a kick over Sougo’s shoulder. With perfectly timed precision, both fighters narrowly missed each other and made impact with the Kada gang members that had snuck up behind them during their short moment of bickering.

They both watched as the two large men fell to the ground, their hearts pumping with adrenaline. Kagura shot a disgusted look up at Sougo. “That thing that happened? Just now?” she started. “Like it came straight out of an anime? Gross.” “For once, I can agree with you.” “Don’t do it again.” “How about you worry about yourself, then?” “Fine!” And thus, the fighting started again. However, this time, both Kagura and Sougo stuck closer to one another in an attempt to have a cover for their backs. Neither one would admit to that, though.

It did not take too long for the numbers of the Kada gang to dwindle. While the men may have been big, muscle-bound and equipped with dangerous makeshift weapons, they were too slow to keep up with the fast combat abilities of the duo they were trying to take down. Kagura and Sougo were both very familiar with quick methods of knocking out an opponent thanks to their individual training sessions with their respective mentors. Kamui had made quick work of teaching Kagura where all the human vital points were while Kondo Isao, one of the Shinsengumi’s oldest members, had wanted to make sure that Sougo was able to defend himself from a young age. Regardless of their size and weaponry, Kagura and Sougo were well-versed in a myriad of techniques to deal with the Kada gang.

With a fluid motion, Kagura side-stepped from Sougo and knocked one of the Kada gang members off his feet with a jab behind his knees. She made to plant her foot in his face when she saw a glint of silver in her right peripheral. Surprised, Kagura quickly evaded the incoming attack only to trip over the man she had knocked to the ground. She felt a weight on her back which she identified as one of the gang members pinning her to the dirt and turned her neck to reposition herself so that she could flip him over. However, she froze as her eyes landed on a polished, silver knife making its way swiftly towards her neck. A memory flashed against her eyes; her father’s body burned red as blood flowed from the knife wound in his heart. Without thinking she squeezed her eyes shut and screamed.

As quickly as the man had pinned her to the ground, Kagura suddenly felt his weight being thrown off her. She opened her eyes at the sound of metal against metal and found Sougo crouched above her, his breathing harsh as sweat trickled down his temple. Kagura blinked as her eyes readjusted to the moonlight. That’s not sweat. As the droplets landed on her face and the familiar sting of the metallic scent made its way to her nose, Kagura shot up and gaped at Sougo. Though his bangs worked well to cover it, the trail of blood that ran down the side of his face did nothing to hide the fact that he had been cut by the knife. The knife that was meant for me.

Sougo gave Kagura a lazy side-eye as she glared at him. “What was that for?!” she yelled. “What do you think you’re doing? That was unnecessary!” “Hah?” Sougo hurled back. “Some thanks I get. You can bet that’s the last time I help you out.” “Oh, yeah?” Kagura rolled away from Sougo and aimed a kick at a rock that had been thrown at Sougo. The offending stone ricocheted off her leg and flew back at the Kada member that had thrown it, knocking him square in the face. “That’s something I can be grateful for.”

The two continued their street brawl which had, somewhere along the line, evolved into a contest to see who could beat up more people. At the end of the night, when the Kada gang had retreated due to the overwhelming ferocity of both Kagura and Sougo, Kagura turned back to Sougo with a grin on her face. “I got thirty-four!” she exclaimed proudly, puffing out her chest. “Yeah?” Sougo replied, taking off his jacket so that he could stop the blood flow from his forehead. “Well, too bad. I got thirty-five!” Kagura hissed at him in anger. “Ah?! Then – I got thirty-six!” “What kind of idiot are you? You just said you got thirty-four!” “Well, I obviously did better than you. So, I got thirty-six!” Kagura stuck up her nose at him and Sougo could only sigh in response, turning away from her. “This China girl is a waste of brain space. Please, God, delete her from my memory…”

Before she could retort, Kagura’s phone began vibrating in the pocket of her jacket. Quickly, she pulled it out, squinting at the light of her screen, and answered the call. “Where in the world are you?” boomed Gintoki’s voice from the speaker of her phone. “Sorry, I was just cleaning up some trash. I’ve got one more thing to chuck in a garbage can and then I’ll be right there.” “Too late, it’s already been dealt with.” At that, Okita’s ears perked up. “Eh? What happened?” Kagura asked. “Tie, like usual,” Gintoki sighed, a tired air coating his voice. “Hurry up and get home.” “Alright.”

Kagura hung up the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket before shooting another glare at Okita. “Next time, stay out of my face.” Okita shot her a dirty look back. “I could say the same to you.”

Author’s Note

Hey! Sorry, I was gonna upload this chapter a bit earlier but I felt like it was a bit too short. So I ended up combining two chapters together to make this one. I really hope this chapter won’t be paced weirdly…

Oh, also, I didn’t have my friend read this one before publishing it for you guys. It’s, like, two in the morning where I am right now and I don’t think she would be awake. ^^;;; I have, like, an awards ceremony to attend tomorrow and I’m kinda worried that I won’t be able to wake up for it on time if I go to bed tonight. So I was just gonna try to bust out a couple of chapters tonight to keep myself awake. Which means none of them will be proof-read, so please tell me if there’s anything wrong---!

One more thing. I don’t think I’ve ever remembered to mention this, but I’ve never been to Japan and I don’t know how things in Japan work. I have no idea about how the yakuza operates, and what little knowledge I have is gleaned from my Japanese friends who I haven’t spoken to in many years. There will be inaccuracies, but I hope you won’t get too mad at me for not being entirely correct. It is just a fanfiction, after all. :)

The next chapter is a short one and I’ll probably keep it short, so expect it soon!

[ebenvt]

Introduction to Bacon & the Art of Living

The quest to understand how great bacon is made takes me around the world and through epic adventures. I tell the story by changing the setting from the 2000s to the late 1800s when much of the technology behind bacon curing was unraveled. I weave into the mix beautiful stories of Cape Town and use mostly my family as the other characters besides me and Oscar and Uncle Jeppe from Denmark, a good friend and someone to whom I owe much gratitude! A man who knows bacon! Most other characters have a real basis in history and I describe actual events and personal experiences set in a different historical context.

The cast I use to mould the story into is letters I wrote home during my travels.

Kolbroek

Cape Town, April 1886

Falling asleep on Stillehoogte, the farm of Oupa Eben and Ouma Susan is one of my most cherished memories. I still smell the sheep in the kraal next to the house as if I was there this morning. Elmar and I slept in one room. It was Oom Uysie’s room before he moved out. My mom and dad slept in the spare bedroom.  Andre slept with my Grandparents in their room on a bed at the foot end of my grandparents’ bed.

In the morning we were woken by farm sounds and smells. Maids were cleaning the house, sweeping the carpers with a broom made from long local grass. Ouma was preparing breakfast on a coal stove. Oupa just came in from the felt to get his morning coffee. Oom Uysie, my mom’s younger brother who managed the farm with his dad and our grandfather stopped by for coffee.

Whenever he arrived there was no more sleeping. He would make sure that we were out of bed by the time he left by stealing our blankets or spraying us with cold water.  It was good humor which one does not appreciate when you are 7, but when you are a bit older, one misses it.  Thinking back, I understand how much his morning visits meant for him and Oupa!

After Oupa Eben passed away it was not the same on Stillehoogte.  At church on Sunday, whenever they sing a hymn, my mom would cry.  One morning Ouma Susan was very sad at the breakfast table.  She told my mom about a dream she had.  She was standing in the church foyer, looking at the photos of the elders and deacons.  Oupa Eben was a church elder when he passed away.  In the photos where Oupa Eben stood was a large black spot. Even in the photos, his life was blotted out!  My mom was not a very emotional person but she was washing the dishes and I could see the tears running down her cheek.  We all miss Oupe Eben very much.

Oupa Eben and Oom Uysie put up four pig pens.  They farmed with large Whites.  One day Oupa Eben got home with the most adorable little pigs that one could imagine.  He said they do not have to be housed in a pen.  These were very special pigs.  They are roaming farm pigs who take care of themselves feeding on the scraps from the farming activities.  They were South African Kolbroek pigs.

Oupa Eben asked if I know why they are called Kolbroek?  Of course, I did not.  Oupa knew that I loved a good story.  I would pester him to tell me a story.  With his words still fresh in my mind I would take any of the many footpaths on Stillehoogte and, hiking for hours, I would re-tell the story to an imaginary audience.  I am not sure why I loved it so much, but I did!  It was the greatest enjoyment imaginable!  I knew that he was actually asking if he can tell me the story of the Kolbroek.

Domestication and the Formation of Breeds

“The story of the Kolbroek begins many years ago in the middle of the 1700s in the south of England.  Pigs were fed on the mast of the forest which is the fruit of trees and shrubs such as acorns and nuts.  Europeans are very fond of fattening the pigs on what was called “hard mast.”  The hard acorns and nuts from oak, hickory, and beech trees are the hard mas.  The forests were either part of common lands or royal forests.  The practice of annually fattening the pigs in the forests for around 60 days was called pannage.”

“Pigs in England were big, long-legged with menacing facial expressions.  Animals who are not penned up face preditors.  When they run they must run fast.  For this reason, they are extremely skittish.  The slightest indication of danger and they have to move quickly!  Their bite must be ferocious as must be their build and facial expression.  They are dark in appearance with stripes that resembles their ancestors, the wild boar.”

“On the other hand, pigs in China did not have these pressures.  Instead, they had a very comfortable life for thousands of years.  They were kept in small and comfortable housing close to the farmer’s house.  Being penned up protect them from predators and where European pigs went to the forest for two months, weather depending, once a year where they had to eat hard actors and nuts, Chinese pigs were fed scraps from the farming activities.  An animal who does not have to run and be on the constant lookout for predators grow smaller, fatter, shorter legs with less menacing faces.  The stripes of their wild European counterparts changed into spots. They picked up weight faster than the European cousins just like people do when they don’t have to walk long distances or do manual labour.”  This last bit Oupa added with a grin.  He enjoyed comparing pigs with people and used to say that calling some of the people he had to deal with from the Cooperative pigs is an insult to perfectly decent animals.

“It was the English East Indian Company who brought these Chinese pigs to England in the 1700s.”  Oupa Eben was a “no-frills and no-fuss” man.  He said stuff in a way that one understood it easily.  This being the case, one must still remember that Oupa was a very clever man!  He knew that any inventions first happen in the mind, not in the physical world.  This is called the metaphysical.  The interaction between what we can feel and touch and that which is, initially, only in the mind.  This we call the metaphysical.

In the late 1600s and early 1700s, a metaphysical shift that took place in the English mind. They started to see “matter” not as the unavoidable experience of nature, but as masters who control the physical.  Just as the pigs responded to the pressure from nature by either becoming smaller and fatter as in China or remained big, fast and ferocious as in Europe, the English wool industry was pressured to produce clothing for the local market in bigger quantity than could be done by individual villagers, working in isolation.  Thus, the organization of labour changed

The English Empire was taking shape and the demand from the colonies added to the mother-land for clothing added up to a demand that completely outpaced the meager output of any individual person. Imaginative entrepreneurs stepped forward who discovered how to use the forces of nature for their personal end.  They invented better and faster ways to spin wool and make clothing.  They realised that work itself can be re-organised, even without machine power.  Where they combine human power with machine power, output went through the roof!  The results were spectacular!  The fertile imagination of the English dreamt up new machines that could do what 100 people could not.  The buzz words of the time were “bigger,” “better,” and “faster.”  They used nature in a way that was never thought possible before.  Energy to drive these machines, tapped from steam and water.

As people realised that they can manipulate and harness nature, as the sciences were being invented, we became masters of nature. The most important metaphysical realisation was to re-think how we organise labour but also how we manipulated nature.  In the world of farming, this was not a new phenomenon.  It has been happening for many thousands of years but a new momentum was added through the industrial revolution.

The earliest discovery was that animals that are penned up, change! The biggest reason was that we were able to manipulate their breeding.  Animals become used to us and we found that they were more useful to us.  We create animal enclosures where we could separate those with less desirable characters from those with qualities we want.  “A good example of this,” said Oupa Eben, “is aggressive animals. We do not like aggressive animals.  The menacing bull becomes biltong.  The horse that continually breaks out and bites other horses and handlers are served as pastissada.”  It takes many generations to change a completely wild animal into an animal that is less threatening to humans; more useful.  One that can work and supply milk or become food.  The larger farm animals were domesticated first and as the industrial revolution was taking hold of Europe, it was the turn of the village pig.

Oupa Eben lit his pipe, peered out from the farmhouse over his land.  It was late afternoon.  The farmwork was done and it was the best time to ask him to tell you a story.  I sat on the soft grass outside the back door, between the back porch and the brick cooler where all the perishables were kept.  It was a simple invention used around the world.  Two layers of bricks filled up with charcoal in the middle and regularly soaked with water. This cooled the inside of the square structure with wooden shelving where the butter, eggs, cheese, and milk were stored.  Oupa Eben was sitting on a garden chair he brought from the porch to have a better view of his lands.  “I guess you want to hear about the Kolbroek,” he said smiling.

He lit his pipe again.  “One can imagine that the pigs bought from the English East Indian Company were sold to wealthy aristocrats and landowners.  Chinese boars were used by villagers to breed with sows from the village.  It meant that in a particular village, the characteristics of the boar was transferred to the entire village pig population.  This resulted in regional characteristics and in the 1800s it formed the basis of breeds.”  “So,” Oupa Eben told me many times, “on the one hand the old farmers removed animals with less than desirable character traits by either slaughtering the animal or separating them from others and not allowing them to breed, and, on the other hand, by using males with characteristics which the farmer desired to breed with the sows one gets an animal with the right look and temperament.  In the case of the Chinese pigs, imported into England, it produced a smaller animal, rounder and fat pig that picked up weight fast but much bigger than the original Chinese pigs on account of the larger size of the English pigs they bred with.”

Oom Timo

Oupa Eben stopped with his story when his younger brother walked out of the back door and joined us.  He and his wife, Aunt Thelma were visiting.  Her maiden name was Berriman.  They immigrated from Cornwall. Her father was an immigrant gold miner on the Reef. Her brother was also a miner, mainly at Crown Mines. Tim moved into Thelma’s mother (Hilda’s ) home there just before or just after they were married. Later, they owned their own home in Parkview, Johannesburg.  (1)

“I am telling Eben the story of the Kolbroek pigs,” Oupa said when Oom Timo sat down next to Oupa on a chair which he brought from the porch.  I was very small and did not know that as Oupa knew everything about raising cattle, sheep, and pigs, Oom Timo knew about ships.  Oom Timo gestured Oupa to continue which Oupa did.

Once Upon a Time in Kent

“In Kent, an English East Indian ship preparing to sail to the East via the Cape of Good Hope.  The Colebrook was one of these impressive ships.   It weighed 739 tons and was 137 feet long, 35 feet wide and had 3 decks. She was built by the most famous shipbuilders of the time, Perryard and launched in 1770. The Captain was Arthur Morris and she was on her third voyage.”

“On 6 January 1778, she loaded lead bars called lead ingots or lead pigs and provisions at Blackwall in the East India Docks on the Thames.  On 3 February, she sailed to Gravesend. Here she loaded shot, copper, stores, gunpowder, wine, guns, corn, military recruits and, very importantly, livestock. The livestock included pigs which were procured from the local pig market.  The pigs were a cross between Chinese and English pigs and since they were all the result of mating with the local landowners’ boar, they had similar characteristics.”

“On 8 March 1778, she set sail from the Downs with 212 passengers, crew and soldiers on board in the company of three other vessels, the warship Asia, the other East Indiaman, the Gatton, and the Royal Admiral.  She stopped at Madeira to load 43 pipes of wine. On 26 May, she sailed from Madeira for Bombay and China passing the Cape of Good Hope.”

Kogel Bay

Oupa was sitting at the edge of his chair, telling the story.  I remember him leaning back when he got to this part and said to Oom Timo, “You know the story well and you know all the right shipping terms.  You take it from here!”  Oom Timo put his hand on my head who was still sitting on the grass.  “The Colebrook took three months to reach the Cape!”

“She did so on Tuesday, 24 August 1778.  It was winter and she was not allowed to enter Table Bay.  She had to sail around Cape Point and dock in Simon’s Bay in False Bay.  She rounded Cape Point and turned East for Simon’s Bay.  At 11h30 she struck Anvil Rock, lurking just beneath the waves.  Anvil rock was not indicated on the Dutch Maps that Arthur Morris used.”

“The Colebrooke almost immediately freed herself from the rock.  Water poured into the hull.  The crew put on the pumps within minutes but there were already three feet of water in the hold indicating serious damage.  After a hurried conference between Captain Arthur Morris and his officers, they realised that they will not be able to nurse the ship to Simon’s Bay.  The water pouring into the Colebrook made her unresponsive and difficult to steer.”

“Instead, they decided to take her all the way across False Bay and find a suitable spot to beach on the eastern side of the bay.  This would not require any difficult maneuvering.  Still, the plan was not without risk.  The far side of the bay was, as far as they were aware, largely uninhabited.  The coast is very rocky with steep mountains coming right down to the water.  They did not know if they will find a suitable stretch of beach.”

“The Gatton and Asia despatched boats with 8 people in each to assist the Colebrook’s crew with the pumping of water. These men raced to her aid while her company ensign was flying upside down, a signal of distress.  The men dropped a weighted sail off the bows when the hole in the hull became inaccessible due to the flooding.  It was hauled under the hull where it was secured over the hole, slowing the ingress of water down.  They attempted to push the guns overboard to lighten her load, but these were already submerged and the plan was abandoned.”

“Her companion ships followed her across the bay.  Captain Morris sent the second and third officer up the mast to look for a sandy beach to run the ship onto.  The water from False Bay continued to claim the Colebrook.  As she was approaching the beach there were already 14 feet of water in her hold.  Her bow was so low that she was sipping water through the hawse holes.  These were small cylindrical holes cut through the bows of a ship on each side of the stem.  It was used to pass cables through to be drawn into, or let out of the vessel.  The situation was desperate!”

“Water started bubbling through her front hatches, signaling that her sinking was imminent.  At 4pm on the afternoon of 24 August, she 200m off the beach at Kogel Bay, she grounded.  Her topsails were let go which had the effect of swinging her stern around to bring her bow into the wind and swell.  The mizzen mast was cut away to stabilise her after which the boats were launched.”

“The first boat was a pinnace.  It had sails and several oars.  Fifteen men were aboard.  The surf at Kogel Bay is treacherous at best of times with a very strong rip current.  On that particular day, the wind was very strong making the situation even more precarious.  The boat capsized in the surf.  When the ensuing madness dissipated a smashed boat and seven bodies were on the beach at Kogel Bay.  Survivors were hypothermic from the ice-cold False Bay water, in a desperate state on the beach.  All other attempts to get people onto the beach was abandoned.  The second boat was swept into the open sea and only recovered the next day.  The rest of the crew, soldiers, and passengers were transferred to the other ships.”

  Kogel Bay, 2019.  Minette, Luan, Tristan, Eben.  Photos by Eben

The Pigs of Kogel Bay

Oupa Eben interrupted Oom Timo.  “What we told you so far is conventional wisdom, written up in history books from the testimony of the men who were there.  What follows is from testimony Oom Timo heard first hand from the great-grandchildren of people who were on the beach that day.”  I blurted out.  “But, the beach was desolate.  Nobody around!”  “So we thought,” Oom Timo said and gestured Oupa to take over the storytelling again.

“There were two additional sets of characters on the beach that day which, for completely different reasons, people were reluctant to talk about.  Hangklip became, by that time, a refuge for runaway slaves.  One of the places they made their home was Dappa se Gat which is situated right on Kogel Bay!

Looking out onto Kogel Bay from Dappa se Gat

It is an enormous cave, unaccessible during high tide but deep enough to house a community of people.  They would be able to get far into the cave, out of reach of the water.  It is quite possible that they were witnessing the entire debacle from the safety of their cave-home.  I wonder if they thought it may have been a party sent to recapture them in which case the safest thing to do would have been to abandon the cave and hide in the thick bush between the mountain and the beach.  “If they did this, as I suspect,” Oupa continue, “they would have seen that something managed to swim from the Colebrook to the beach.

“That “something” was a sounder of swine.  This was not something unusual.  The English Navy and the English East Indian Company both had it as a standard procedure that the pigs must be let out of their pens if it seems imminent that a ship will sink so that they can swim ashore to provide food for the shipwreck survivors.  This is presumably what happened to the pigs from Kent.”

“When they got to the beach, the slaves took them.  The slaves had a long history with pigs.  Pig-keeping was not very popular at the Cape.  The Dutch farmers who farmed pigs let them roam free in the valleys and gorges and when they wanted to slaughter one, they had to capture one.  The job of looking after them was mostly reserved for slaves.  At the Slaves Lodge in Cape Town where the Dutch East Indian Company’s slaves were kept, they were allowed to keep pigs to provide extra income for the lodge.”

“Not only did the slaves have a long history with pigs and pig husbandry, but they knew that they had to keep domesticated animals to survive.  There are accounts of this time where they kept cattle inside Dappa se Gat.  There are in the Cape Hanglip area several such caves where the slaves kept livestock. It is not known if the pigs were kept at Dadda de Gat or somewhere else.  What is known is that a local magistrate complained to the Governor about the slaves and local farmers who looted the remains of the Colebrook.”

“A farmer would not have dared to take the pigs in due to heavy penalties that were exacted for anyone found with looted goods in his or her possession. The fact that the pigs were kept by the slaves and farmed is the reason why they survived as a more or less uniform type of pig which later became known as a breed.”

This does not prove the veracity of Oupa Eben and Uncle Timo’s account of the Kolbroek pigs but I later found an interesting account from World War II which reminds me of the story of the Kolbroek.  It comes from the memoirs of a Latvian woman, Agate Nesaule.  When she was a child, she was an inmate of a British-run refugee camp in occupies Germany. As was often the case in these camps, inmates had to get by on very meager rations.  A local German farmer gave the inmates some piglets.  This was illegally done and the piglets were kept in various spaces in the barracks.  They were fed on food that spoiled or whatever else could be scavenged.  Agate commented that they “also enjoyed watching the little pigs – a hopeful sign of the future – thriving for their own sake.” (Nesaule, 1995)  As was the case with Agate, I suspect that this kind of human-animal interaction between the slaves and animals they kept served a greater need than simply for the slaves to look forward to a pork roast or beef steak.  There must have been a tremendous psychological benefit for the slaves to keep the animals in such close proximity.

“The sinking of the Colebrook captured people’s imagination.  For a short while, the Kogel Bay was even called Colebrook Bay.  This was changed back to Kogel Bay.  The pigs were called Kolbroek pigs, a perversion of the ship’s name.  This was never changed as a colloquial name for the pigs which was not easy to change and it stuck.”  “And that,” Oupa Eben concluded, “is how an English pig, crossed with a Chinese ended up at the Cape of Good Hope!”

Oupa Eben and Oom Timo started talking about politics.  I lost interest and left to join my brothers and cousins who started walking to the stables to help milk the cows.

I miss Oupa Eben.  I wish I asked oom Timo to tell me some of his stories.  It is why I write to you kids.  I want you to know my story.  I have been riding transport from Cape Town to Johannesburg for some time now.  Whenever I get to Johannesburg I stay at the same hotel.  I hear the merrymaking at the bar and have no desire to join them.  I much rather write to you!  Even if you are still very young, one day you will read this and understand what I am talking about.

Oupa bought a few Kolbroek pigs from a trader in Cape Town and since that day, we slaughtered and cured a Kolbroek every year.  It is not a bacon pig as the large White and the Berkshire.  These pigs have straight backs and long loins for bacon.  The Kolbroek is a lard pig, ideal for making hams, lard and, as you will see, not bad at all for bacon.  Apart from this, they have the most delicious meat.  One can taste the difference.  While I enjoyed the most delicious hams on earth, at least I also knew where the Kolbroek came from!

So it happened that bacon and farming with pigs have been in my blood from a very early age.  This is the month in which I turned 17 and still, I could not comprehend how these matters would consume the rest of my life.  It started with my dad’s secret bacon recipe and the Kolbork pigs that Oupa Eben brought home one autumn afternoon in April!

Further Reading

Read with Chapter 09.15 The English Pig where I deal with the source of pigs for Gravesend where live pigs were loaded onto ships.

Also refer Chapter 10.02: C & T Harris in New Zealand and other amazing tales where I take up the similarities between the Kolbroek and the Kune Kune.

   (c) eben van tonder

“Bacon & the art of living” in bookform

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References

The account of the Colebrook is mainly from the account by John Gribble and Gabriel Athiros from Tales of Shipwrecks at the Cape of Storms.  (Tales-of-Shipwrecks-at-the-Cape-of-Storms-Colebrook)

The theory about the slaves taking the pigs in is my own.  Read In Search of the Origins of the Kolbroek and Kolbroek – Chinese, New Zealand, and English Connections

Nesaule, A.. 1995.  A Woman in Amber: Healing the Trauma of War and Exile.  Soho Press, Inc.

Note 1

Information about Oom Timo was given to me by Leon Kok.  His mail to me reads:

“There is quite a bit about Tim, not least his SAAF war years in Somaliland, Abyssinia and the Western Desert generally. For example, he was among several young Air Force chaps from the Union that destroyed 101 enemy planes, countless lorries and other transport within three months in the most trying conditions. He also accompanied Prime Minister (General) Jan Smuts on a reconnaissance flight in the Desert on one occasion.  He escaped being taken a prisoner by Rommel and was involved in what came to be known as ‘The Graveyard of Italian Hopes’.  His maverick return from the Desert to SA in late 1945 almost constitutes a book in itself.

Tim and I spent tens of hours over about 30 years chatting about his memories of the war. Yes, he was an air mechanic and indeed a lot more. He would like to have been a pilot but was deemed too short.

Tim didn’t serve in Korea. He became an auto-electrician in Johannesburg shortly after disembarking from the UDF and had his own auto-electrical business in Bethlehem OFS for several years. He then sold out and moved to Durban and joined an auto-electrical business there. He rode a motorbike until well into his seventies, which included a fairly serious accident. He survived it and carried on with business as usual.

Thelma’s maiden name was BERRIMAN and her folk, I suspect, immigrated from either Cornwall or England. Her father was an immigrant gold miner on the Reef. Her brother was also a miner, mainly at Crown Mines. Tim moved into Thelma’s mother (Hilda’s ) home there just before or just after they were married in the late 1940s. Later, they owned their own home in Parkview, Johannesburg. Hilda, when widowed, moved in with them until her death in Durban in approximately the 1980s. Tim and Thelma never had children.

Not sure whether you ever saw the TV Series ‘The Villagers’, produced in the 1970s by Gray Hofmeyr (he and I were at school together). That typified the Berriman home.”

Timo Kok during WWII

“Oupa en Ouma het 4 kinders gehad,

Johan (Leon se pa) gebore 02 Mei 1908. Hy was die enigste een van die kinders wat op Universiteit was – Wits, as ek reg onthou

Gustaf. Gebore 12 Mei 1910 en oorlede 10 Julie 1910

Oupa Eben. Gebore 18 Junie 1911

Miempie (Bosman. Ma van Mariet en Ronnie en Jantjie) Gebore 23 November 1913

Timo is soos al die ander kinders op heilbron gebore waar my oupa jan ‘n sendeling was. Sy vrou was Engels en het NOOIT geleer om Afrikaans te praat nie. Sy het beweer Timo het eendag vir haar gelag toe sy probeer Afrikaans praat het en het toe nooit weer probeer nie

Uncle Timo and his dad before he left on a campain in North-Africa during WWII.  Photo sent to me by Oom Jan who got it from Oom Sybrand.

So ver my kennis strek was Timo ‘n vlug-ingeneur in die oorlog en het eers in Noor-Afrika  en Later in Italië geveg.

Ek dink nie hy was ooit in Korea nie. Ek dink Leon sal vir jou meer inligting kan gee. Die foto wat ek aanheg kom uit een van jou ma se albums.

Mag die feestyd vir julle wonderlik wees. Vir die eerste keer sedert Joretha-hulle in Engeland is, gaan ons op Kersdag ALMAL om een Kersmaal aansit. Marinus bring vir cathy saam en ons het opdrag gekry dat ons op Kersdag GEEN Afrikaans mag praat nie, want ons moet Cathy laat tuis voel.

Ek wens so ek kan julle klomp neefs en Niggies met al julle aanhangsels bymekaar kry om een tafel.”

Photo Credits:

Four small pigs are Kunekune, courtesy of the Empire Kunekune Pig Association of New York (https://www.ekpa.org/)  They are a close family of the Kolbroek.

Anvil Rock and Kogel Bay Map:  John Gribble & Gabriel Athiros.

Chapter 03: Kolbroek Introduction to Bacon & the Art of Living The quest to understand how great bacon is made takes me around the world and through epic adventures.