#new photo klaxon

[worstjourney]

'Dear Google,' said I, 'please show me what a shear crack in sea ice looks like.'

'Do you mean T. Griffith Taylor's unpublished stereograph of the shear crack between Inaccessible and Tent Islands, which he and Wright admired on the day Wright wanted to shoot Teddy Evans (who he thought was a penguin), which is probably why you're searching for shear crack reference?'

'Why yes, Google, that will do nicely, thank you.'

[concealed amongst hundreds of other random photos on the National Library of Australia's Flickr. There are also some Hurley photos from the Australasian Expedition but this is not a Mawson blog.]

[worstjourney]

Hot diggity, never seen the middle one before!

Terra Nova expedition survivors return to New Zealand, 1913

[usafphantom2]

SAC Crew Dogs: The Elephant Walk, The Wing Commander, and the Boom

T Campbell

@tcamp202

·

4h

… as the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car parked right at the main entrance to the shack. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away… somebody was gonna get a chuck taken, that much was sure…

This is the retelling of a story I heard as an A1C (Airmen First Class) while pulling SAC Alert at Loring AFB when I was a Boom Operator in the KC-135 A model. It was probably embellished when it was told, and I might embellish it even more… cause you know, that’s how Alert Stories go. I do hope that I do it justice in my retelling.

In order to understand the humor in this small fairy tale, I first need to explain a couple of technical details about KC-135 operations. It’s a lot of background to tell a silly old story, but please bear with me… the story is funny (or at least I think it is.)

Engine Start: The KC-135A was equipped with the Pratt and Whitney JP-57-P/F-43W, good solid engines, but they required a lot of tender loving care, and if they didn’t get it, they let you know in a hurry. There were a few different ways to start the engines.

The most common was to have an air cart connected to the aircraft. It would supply air to the bleed air manifold and would be used to start all four engines.

Another way we could start the engines was often called a Cart Start. Using a Cartridge, a canister about the size of a large coffee can, filled with a slow burning explosive, which could create enough air to turn the starter long enough to start the engine. All four engines could use Cartridges.

If you had any single engine running, you could use bleed air from that engine to start the others, however, you had to push up the power a bit to generate enough air pressure in the bleed air manifold.

Image

Gases escaping after turning the engine starter during a Cartridge Start on a KC-135A.

Photo from https://www.airliners.net/photo/USA-Air-Force/Boeing-KC-135A-Stratotanker-717-148/666058/L

Hot Starts: One thing that these engines did not like at all was being started with an insufficient amount of bleed air, whether from a ground cart, or the other engines. Failure to get the engine turning fast enough when adding fuel often resulted in hot starts with flames shooting out the back of the engine, kind of like an afterburner, but these flames weren’t blue… they were a reddish yellow, like fire and could reach out to the tail of the aircraft. Sometimes flames would even shoot out the front. They were dangerous. Fire bottles were always on hand for engine starts, just in case.

Engine Shutdown: After landing, the pilots would stow the spoilers, retract the flaps (otherwise, tower might think we’d been hijacked) and shut down two of the engines, usually the inboards to avoid accidentally sucking up anything from the taxiways into the engines, and also, so that when the ground crew chocked the tires, they wouldn’t have to walk closely to a running engine.

However, on Alert, we always shut down the outboard engines first, so the ground crew could install a new Cartridge in the #1 engine (furthest to the left.) The cartridges were dangerous, and the last thing the crew chief wanted was a running engine behind him and no escape route if there were any problems. Once the cartridge was installed, the other engines could be shut down because we had the ability to restart the jet if required.

Ok… if you’re still with me… great! Last thing you need to know is about Elephants walks on Alert. An elephant walk is where a group of airplanes get all configured for a mission, start engines and taxi out, but instead of taking off, they just taxi down the runway. Kind of like a parade.

For elephant walks on Alert, this process is started with the Klaxon going off and the brass inspect the aircraft as they are taxing to ensure they are all properly configured for takeoff. Think of it as your typical military inspection… you know, “Trim those nose hairs” type of affair, but with airplanes.

Last thing to remember… SAC took Alert VERY seriously. Everything had to be done by the book, and if it wasn’t, there’d be hell to pay. The aircraft always had to be ready to launch on the nuclear mission to refuel B-52s. As they say, failure was not an option.

So… now that you are armed with some knowledge on how the KC-135 normally operates, it’s time to tell our story.

Image

An Elephant Walk. KC-135 R models (bigger engines), not A models... but it gives you the idea... imagine a car driving between the aircraft to inspect them. Our ill fated crew was somewhere in the middle of the line.

Once upon a time, there was a crew… we’ll call them R-113 with Captain William Bligh as the commander, the co-pilot and nav shall remain nameless, but the Boom Operator was SSgt Fletcher Christian. They were on Alert, spending another seven days cooped up in the Alert facility, and serving their country. Breakfast started the day followed by a mandatory briefing at oh eight hundred. After this, maybe some ground training or bon bons and the Price is Right, and then it’s lunch time. A combat nap would take up most of the afternoon, followed by dinner around five. All the while, waiting for the Klaxon to sound off. Not exactly riveting stuff, let me tell you.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, KLAXON KLAXON KLAXON”

One day, our fateful day, the Klaxon went off and the crew sprinted out to their aircraft. This is a hectic event. Get the covers off the engines, get the door opened, rush up into the cockpit, check all is clear, and fire up those Cartridges to start the engines. Black smoke is billowing everywhere and it’s hard to see, but the engines get started, the crew chief makes his way up the ladder into the aircraft, and they button up to the aircraft, ready to taxi.

On the sidelines, the Wing Commander is proudly watching his KC-135s do what they do best. He watches the rolling clouds of thick black, toxic smoke as the engines start.

“FOR ALERT FORCE, FOR ALERT FORCE, MESSAGE FOLLOWS… SIERA NOVEMBER ALPHA FOXTROT UNIFORM…”

The message from command post… it’s an elephant walk exercise. The aircraft will taxi out of the Cage, the Alert pad for the KC-135s, and out to the runway. There, they will taxi about halfway down the runway, turn off and line up, nose to tail, on the returning taxiway waiting to be inspected by the Wing Commander.

While sitting in line, with a tanker just in front of him, and another just behind, Captain Blight decides to save some fuel, he’s going to shut down two of the engines. This is normal. However, instead of shutting down the outboard engines, as was normal in this situation, he shuts down the inboard engines as if he’d just finished a normal flight.

As soon as the throttles were in the cut off position, he realizes his mistake, but there’s nothing he can do. He announces his dilemma over the crew’s intercom… so the boom, SSgt Christian says, “Hey, just restart them, what’s the big deal?”

Meanwhile, at the end of this line of KC-135s, the Wing Commander starts inspecting the aircraft. He drives by each jet, taking a zig zag route through the jets, looking to ensure the flaps are set correctly, the stabilizer trim (the horizontal portion of the tail) is trimmed to the correct position for takeoff. He’s quite proud of his jets… maybe he’ll get another promotion and get the h*ll out of this sh*t hole base.

Captain Bligh says, “In order to start the engines, I’m gonna have to push up the outboards a bit to get enough bleed air, but I don’t want to FOD (foreign object damage) out the jet behind us, but ok, let’s do it.” He pushes up the outboard throttles as much as he dares and starts the engine start sequence for the number two engine (left inboard). He turns on the ignition, and then after the engine has just barely enough rpms, the turns on the fuel.

Right about this time, the Wing Commander has finished looking at the jet behind our ill fated crew, and he is crossing behind Captain Bligh’s number two engine, when a huge flame, at least forty feet long come shooting out of the back of the engine, right onto the hood of his car.

As you might be able to imagine… the radios come to life and the Wing Commander starts screaming about the jet with the flames coming out of it… followed by “Everybody report to the briefing room (at the Alert shack) after re-cocking the aircraft.”

It was pretty quite for the next thirty minutes or so, while Captain Bligh and crew got their aircraft re-cocked for Alert. After they wrap things up, they get in their Alert truck and head back. There was a little discussion though, they had to get their story straight.

As the crew pulled up to the Alert shack, they could see the Wing Commander’s Chrysler Reliant K-Car (remember, we bailed out Chrysler) parked right at the main entrance to the shack. Oh sh*t… this wasn’t going to be good. The Air Force blue car was still smoking a bit, and most of the paint had been burned away from the front fender and hood. There was no doubt, the briefing room was not going to be a pleasant place to be.

As the last crew sat down, somebody called “Attention”, and everybody stood up at attention. The Wing Commander walked down the center isle and up to the podium. “Crew 113… get up here!”

The Wing Commander addressing Captain Bligh asked, “Why on earth were you restarting your engines?”

Captain Bligh responded, “My Boom Operator said to.”

Lesson learned… if you are the lowest ranking guy, always look be on the look out for sh*t rolling downhill.

@tcamp202 via X

[stesichoreanpalinode]

New Photos Klaxon

These are FABULOUS Queen in Japan era photos

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CsCTpUetREB/?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

[lublas1138-blog]

Martian City Blues (wip)

 Spanning two and a half kilometers across the flat and dust-choked surface of the crater, beginning at the palace gates, through the center of Kyototown stretched a smoothly paved road of white plasteel aptly titled The Avenue of Emperors. From the palace, the straight highway led to a massive pit dug deep into the surface of Mars.

 In the pit lay New Saigon, the capital of the Solar System and the most populated city in the Sankari Dynasty. An excavation one kilometer across and fifty kilometers deep.

 A colossal, manufactured metropolis burrowed straight into the Martian rock; New Saigon consisted of 799 levels all stacked up on top of each other like dirty dishes. This architectural marvel was unanimously referred to by its inhabitants as City Hole; an abyss of filth and despair where a hundred million people lived. A hundred million simmering to a boil.

 Encircling the rim of the pit was an array of air traffic control towers and landing pads with accompanying spaceports. Lined along the wall interior itself, from the surface downward, were a multitude of art-deco constructed apartments with lavish hanging gardens, chic restaurants, sparkling fountains, and high-end boutiques where the ultra-rich resided in luxury and security. This was Level One, known as Shangri La.

 Continuing downward, the architecture took on a shabbier and more disorganized appearance. Plastered with neon signs, billboards, and graffiti, the imposing shaft was crisscrossed with hazy vehicle-choked highways and congested pedestrian bridges cluttered with garbage damp in last week’s filth.

 Even lower, the stagnant, tepid air of the shaft was oversaturated by darting police drones, a never-ending kaleidoscope of blinking, buzzing neon, the klaxon of sirens, the cries of the helpless, and the occasional crackle of blaster fire.

 Along the sides, down level upon level, grey, concrete terraces and promenades were perforated by decaying dwelling cubicles and shoddy cafés, some a few feet deep, others extending out of sight into a maze-like network of dank rooms and graffitied corridors, hidden by pungent mist and steam - smells of refried proto-beans, scorched synthomeat, human shit, and urine wafted along the teeming masses.

  Farther below the air became stifling toxic. Untreated water and filth trickled from upper levels via leaking pipes and sewage mains giving the noir impression of a continuous drizzle of fetid rain.

 The homeless, the destitute, and the addicted lay in their own waste as apathetic citizens bustled down dank and dimly lit walkways dressed in 1930’s retro-style clothing. Many carried umbrellas or used breath masks to protect themselves from the toxic waste dripping into incandescent pools of stinking water on cracked, garbage-filled sidewalks.

 On level 759 in a district aptly termed Ratbottom, sat a small soot-covered chop suey joint. Behind the dusty café, down a damp concrete alley wide enough for one person, past bent, overfilled trash cans, stood a bullet-ridden door.

 Above the door, a red neon light buzzed and flickered into the perpetual night: Blake Skylark, private detective.

 Inside the small office, Blake Skylark sat at a dented, metal desk mounted with files, paperwork, cigarette butts, titty magazines, and empty whisky bottles.

 The wall to his left was a printed map of Level 759 and its accompanying districts obscured in sticky notes, faded photos, and pinned scraps of paper scribbled with anecdotes and leads which led nowhere.

 To the right of the desk, a door led to a small, windowless room offering an unmade cot, sink, and toilet; roaches included.

 Behind the detective displayed a floor-to-ceiling soot-streaked window with a panoramic view of City Hole. A large, blue and red neon sign advertising noodles buzzed constantly as nearby; a vertical monorail rumbled by every half hour.

 The dull ceiling lamp illuminated a rugged face of an Anglo man in his mid-fifties. Square of jaw, stern brow, and a scowl that wouldn’t quit, Skylark wore a grimy, black fedora, and, as was common with current fashion, a buttoned shirt and long tie; both wrinkled and stained from tobacco and sweat.

 Skylark smashed a butt into the overflowing ashtray and leaned forward to a speakwrite that sat on the bulky desk.

 The speakwrite was a complicated-looking apparatus. The exposed keyboard were similar to a vintage Underwood typewriter. Naked wires and dusty glass vacuum tubes connected the keys to an uncovered, eleven-inch, cathode-ray monitor. Jutting out of the side was a chrome microphone on a collapsible coil arm.

 He adjusted the dusty microphone and, as he spoke, his words appeared on a small screen perched on top of the mechanism.

 Skylark rambled off in a graveled voice, both tired and monotone, “Filing police report. Janus 04, 3167. Blake Skylark. Badge number 459902k. New Saigon. Level 759.”

  As he spoke, the speakwrite whirred and beeped and clicked as it recorded.

 He sloshed a fifth of whiskey into a glass tumbler and continued, “Two weeks back on the twenty-third of bīngyuè, I received an anonymous call which led me to a part of City Hole I don’t particularly like going to, even during the day. It concerned a weaselly goon I helped put away ten years ago named Dudley Kobayashi. Known on the street as “Fingers”, he was a slimy motherfucker whose chosen profession was to make pre-teen adolescents into porn stars.”

 Skylark threw back the whiskey in one loud gulp.

 “The job was 400 azulos a day plus expenses and me being two months late on back rent with the landlord up my ass harder than a fag on viagra, I wasn’t about to turn it down. I agreed to take the job. I told ‘em straight up: cash, no checks – I already gotta file drawer full of fucking checks…”

 Skylark leaned back in his office chair and lit up another cigarette. Pensive, he blew grey plumes toward the slowly revolving ceiling fan.

[writing-for-life]

Right, it’s the Easter weekend. Any other day, I would have written an essay about my man James and his style, but I’m short on time, so this will mainly be image-bombing.

JH Williams III rules. That is all.

JH is one of my favourite Sandman artists. I love Overture. I spent a small fortune on the friggin’ Gallery Edition so I can stare at the unlettered art (both b/w and colour). He draws one of the most beautiful versions of Dream (and also some of the weirdest ones).

Slight spoilers ahead because I didn’t scrub the lettering in any of these…

This panel gets me every time (if you think about it a bit deeper):

Then there are these (some will still land separately via my queue):

His work for Batman is equally out of this world:

His covers and splash pages are ALL works of art I would hang on my wall.

Btw, if you own the online version of the new Netflix stickered books of The Sandman (Overture is in Book 6): They actually missed some pages (the foldouts under the flatline), and I think that’s an absolute joke. Someone well and truly slept.

He even gave us Tom as a new aspect when the Netflix series landed:

He gave us fem!Dream (I’m counting on someone posting it because I’m out of space). His Death is one of the most beautiful depictions, too:

Check out his Flickr page, he has some unlettered art on there:

He also won the Eisner award four times and was nominated countless other times. And he honestly deserves it because his art is simply magnificent.

I don’t even have to think about this one, it’s an absolute no brainer.

Sorry, Stan Woch.

Stan draws quite an attractive Dream for Thermidor though, and potentially one of his most… interesting rear views (thirst-trap klaxon 📣).

But that’s really all I have to say today.

As usual, here come the faces behind the art:

Who’s your favourite? Show them your appreciation via posting what moves you about their art, sharing a favourite panel or even some work that isn’t Sandman-related.

You still have until 6pm/London to cast your vote for either Woch or Williams III before the next pairing lands.

Round One/7, Poll

Stan Woch, penciller #29

VS.

JH Williams III, artist Sandman Overture

Both Stan Woch and JH Williams III have given us a very good-looking Morpheus in period clothes, but their style is vastly different.

If you would like to refresh your memory:

Stan Woch: Fables & Reflections #29—“Distant Mirrors – Thermidor”

JH Williams III: The Sandman Overture

And remember, you are voting for your favourite version of Dream, not the particular storyline.

Who is your favourite and why? Let us know in the comments/reblogs. Share your thoughts about their art, your favourite panels from their issues, or even other art they created and help us turn this into an artist appreciation post.

Here’s the poll to vote for your favourite if you want to see them again (you can find the whole bracket and some additional info here, and feel free to check out previous matches via the tag #sandman march mania):

Event organisers: @writing-for-life and @tickldpnk8 (who also created the logo)

[rz-jocelyn]

[NEWS] The Brow Beat: The Goods for The Brow Beat's 2022 Nationwide Tour "404" are Now Available Online

GOODS LIST

Pamphlet

A4 size

48 pages

Includes photos and an interview with Ryuji x HAKUEI

Price: 3,500 yen

Photoset A / B

6 L-size bromides per set

Price: 1,200 per set

Gacha

Can badge: Set of 2, 4 types

Mask strap: 4 types

Price: 1,100

Face Towel

Approx. 34cm x 85cm

Price: 2,400 yen

Eco Bag

Approx. W39cm x H64.5cm

Price: 2,200 yen

SALES INFORMATION

To purchase the goods, please refer to the links below.

Pamphlet: HERE

Photoset A / B: HERE

Gacha: HERE

Face towel: HERE

Eco Bag: HERE

NOTE:

[1] To view the items, please switch the language option to "Japanese".

[2] For more information about the proxy services available in Japan, please refer to this link: HERE

OTHER DVDs, ALBUMS AND GOODS

The DVDs, albums and goods from previous lives for The Brow Beat are also available on this site. To view the rest of the items, please refer to the links below.

DVD: HERE

Albums: HERE

Goods: HERE

NOTE:

[1] The DVD for the "The Brow Beat Extra 'Ragnarök' ~Welcome to after party at Yaon~" is included with the Limited Press Edition B of The Brow Beat's 2nd album "Hameln".

[2] The Blu-ray for the "The Brow Beat ~KLAXON PARTY 2019 at Yaon~" is included with the Limited Press Edition B of The Brow Beat's 3rd album "Adam".

[mytarnishedsilver]

Dodie: # - Lizzie

contact saved as - "Scout's Sidepiece"

contact photo - 

contact ringtone - loud klaxon horn

last text - [txt:Scout's Sidepiece] yo. that new skate paint u wanted came in

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Daniel Johnston who Died: September 11, 2019 in Waller, Texas

Daniel Dale Johnston (January 22, 1961 – c. September 11, 2019) was an American singer-songwriter and visual artist regarded as a significant figure in outsider, lo-fi, and alternative music scenes. Most of his work consisted of cassettes recorded alone in his home, and his music was frequently cited for its "pure" and "childlike" qualities.

Johnston spent extended periods in psychiatric institutions and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He gathered a local following in the 1980s by passing out tapes of his music while working at a McDonald's in Dobie Center in Austin, Texas. His cult status was propelled when Nirvana's Kurt Cobain was seen wearing a T-shirt that featured artwork from Johnston's 1983 cassette album Hi, How Are You.

Beyond music, Johnston was accomplished as a visual artist, with his illustrations exhibited at various galleries around the world. His struggles with mental illness were the subject of the 2005 documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston. He died in 2019 of what is suspected to have been a heart attack.

Johnston was born in Sacramento, California, and grew up in New Cumberland, West Virginia. He was the youngest of five children of William Dale "Bill" Johnston (1922–2017) and Mabel Ruth Voyles Johnston (1923–2010). He began recording music in the late 1970s on a $59 Sanyo monaural boombox, singing and playing piano as well as the chord organ. Following graduation from Oak Glen High School, Johnston spent a few weeks at Abilene Christian University in West Texas before dropping out. He later attended the art program at Kent State University, East Liverpool, during which he recorded Songs of Pain and More Songs of Pain.

When Johnston moved to Austin, Texas, he began to attract the attention of the local press and gained a following augmented in numbers by his habit of handing out tapes to people he met. Live performances were well-attended and hotly anticipated. His local standing led to him being featured in a 1985 episode of the MTV program The Cutting Edge featuring performers from Austin's "New Sincerity" music scene.

In 1988, Johnston visited New York City and recorded 1990 with producer Mark Kramer at his Noise New York studio. This was Johnston's first experience in a professional recording environment after a decade of releasing home-made cassette recordings. His mental health further deteriorated during the making of 1990. In 1989, Johnston released the album It's Spooky in collaboration with singer Jad Fair of the band Half Japanese.

In 1990, Johnston played at a music festival in Austin, Texas. On the way back to West Virginia on a private two-seater plane piloted by his father Bill, Johnston had a manic psychotic episode; believing he was Casper the Friendly Ghost, Johnston removed the key from the plane's ignition and threw it outside. His father, a former U.S. Air Force pilot, managed to successfully crash-land the plane, even though "there was nothing down there but trees". Although the plane was destroyed, Johnston and his father emerged with only minor injuries. As a result of this episode, Johnston was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital.

Interest in Johnston increased when Kurt Cobain was frequently photographed wearing a T-shirt featuring the cover image of Johnston's album Hi, How Are You that music journalist Everett True gave him. Cobain listed Yip/Jump Music as one of his favorite albums in his journal in 1993. In spite of Johnston being resident in a mental hospital at the time, there was a bidding war to sign him. He refused to sign a multi-album deal with Elektra Records because Metallica was on the label's roster and he was convinced that they were Satanic and would hurt him, also dropping his longtime manager, Jeff Tartakov, in the process. Ultimately he signed with Atlantic Records in February 1994 and that September released Fun, produced by Paul Leary of Butthole Surfers. It was a commercial failure. In June 1996, Atlantic dropped Johnston from the label.

In 1993, the Sound Exchange record store in Austin, Texas, commissioned Johnston to paint a mural of the Hi, How Are You? frog (also known as "Jeremiah the Innocent") from the album's cover. After the record store closed in 2003, the building remained unoccupied until 2004 when the Mexican grill franchise Baja Fresh took ownership and decided that they would remove the wall that held the mural. A group of people who lived in the neighborhood convinced the managers and contractors to keep the mural intact. In 2018, the building housed a Thai restaurant called "Thai, How Are You". Thai How Are You permanently closed in January 2020. The building remains empty

In 2004, he released The Late Great Daniel Johnston: Discovered Covered, a two-disc compilation. The first disc featured covers of his songs by artists including Tom Waits, Beck, TV on the Radio, Jad Fair, Eels, Bright Eyes, Calvin Johnson, Death Cab for Cutie, Sparklehorse, Mercury Rev, The Flaming Lips and Starlight Mints, with the second disc featuring Johnston's original recordings of the songs. In 2005, Texas-based theater company Infernal Bridegroom Productions received a Multi-Arts Production/MAP Fund grant to work with Johnston to create a rock opera based on his music, titled Speeding Motorcycle.

In 2006, Jeff Feuerzeig released a documentary about Johnston, The Devil and Daniel Johnston; the film, four years in the making, collated some of the vast amount of recorded material Johnston (and in some case, others) had produced over the years to portray his life and music. The film won high praise, receiving the Director's Award at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival. The film also inspired more interest in Johnston's work, and increased his prestige as a touring artist. In 2006, Johnston's label, Eternal Yip Eye Music, released his first greatest-hits compilation, Welcome to My World.

Through the next few years Johnston toured extensively across the world, and continued to attract press attention. His artwork was shown in galleries such as in London's Aquarium Gallery, New York's Clementine Gallery and at the Liverpool Biennial in 2006 and 2008, and in 2009, his work was exhibited at "The Museum of Love" at Verge Gallery in Sacramento, California. In 2008, Dick Johnston, Johnston's brother and manager, revealed that "a movie deal based on the artist's life and music had been finalized with a tentative 2011 release." He also said that a deal had been struck with the Converse company for a "signature series" Daniel Johnston shoe. Later, it was revealed by Dick Johnston that Converse had dropped the plan. In early 2008, a Jeremiah the Innocent collectible figurine was released in limited runs of four different colors. Later in the year, Adjustable Productions released Johnston's first concert DVD, The Angel and Daniel Johnston – Live at the Union Chapel, featuring a 2007 appearance in Islington, London.

Is and Always Was was released on October 6, 2009, on Eternal Yip Eye Music. In 2009, it was announced that Matt Groening had chosen Johnston to perform at the edition of the All Tomorrow's Parties festival that he curated in May 2010, in Minehead, England. Also that year, Dr. Fun Fun and Smashing Studios developed an iPhone platform game called Hi, How Are You. The game is similar to Frogger, but features Johnston's art and music. Johnston played it during its development and liked it, although he was not familiar with the iPhone.

On March 13, 2012, Johnston released his first comic book, Space Ducks – An Infinite Comic Book of Musical Greatness at SXSW, published by BOOM! Studios. The comic book ties-in with the Space Ducks album and an iOS app. Johnston collaborated with skateboarding and clothing company Supreme on numerous collections (consisting of clothing and various accessories) showcasing his artwork.

On March 1, 2012, Brooklyn-based photographer Jung Kim announced her photo book and traveling exhibition project with Johnston titled DANIEL JOHNSTON: here, a collaboration that began in 2008 when Kim first met Johnston and began photographing him on the road and at his home in Waller, Texas. On March 13, 2013, this photography book was published, featuring five years of documentation on Johnston. The opening exhibition at SXSW festival featured a special performance by Johnston along with tribute performances led by Jason Sebastian Russo formerly of Mercury Rev. The second exhibition ran in May and June 2013 in London, England, and featured a special performance by Johnston along with tribute performances by the UK band Charlie Boyer and the Voyeurs with Steffan Halperin of the Klaxons. On October 10, 2013, Jason Pierce of Spiritualized hosted the New York City opening of the exhibition, which included special tribute performances led by Pierce and Glen Hansard of The Swell Season and The Frames.

In November 2015, Hi, How Are You Daniel Johnston?, a short documentary about Johnston's life, was released featuring Johnston as his 2015 self and Gabriel Sunday of Archie's Final Project as Johnston's 1983 self. The executive producers for the film included Lana Del Rey and Mac Miller.

In July 2017, Johnston announced that he would be retiring from live performance and would embark on a final five-date tour that fall. Each stop on the tour featured Johnston backed by a group that had been influenced by his music: The Preservation All-Stars in New Orleans, The Districts and Modern Baseball in Philadelphia, Jeff Tweedy in Chicago, and Built to Spill for the final two dates in Portland and Vancouver.

On September 11, 2019, Johnston was found dead from a suspected heart attack at his home in Waller, Texas, a day after he was released from the hospital for unspecified kidney problems. It is believed that he died overnight.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Blocked Number

Part Three of the Calling Series

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Violence, including past domestic violence, stalker behavior

* * *

The phone tucked into the seat beside you vibrated. None of your colleagues noticed as they discussed the latest news over prime rib sandwiches and cobb salads. Pulling the device up enough to see the screen, you fought to keep your face neutral.  

A ‘Thinking of you’ text was followed a picture of Bucky’s wrist disappearing into the waistband of his generously tented sweatpants.

He knew your lunch today would be with work friends. You’d discussed it last night when he called. The team was on an assignment in Japan at the moment so it had to be close to two o’clock in the morning there. Bucky planned this. The shit.

Another buzz. You looked down. ‘You’d better respond, Doll.’ the message said. ‘Or I’ll have F.R.I.D.A.Y. override the silent feature on your phone.’ The small video attached showed just a close up him stroking himself.  

You shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing together. Damn him.

Holding your phone in your lap you sent back, ‘Asshole. You know I’m in public. I fucking miss you.'

‘I want to bury my face between your legs.’ Came the immediate response.  

‘You’re making me wet.’  

‘I’ll make you scream when I suck on that tasty cunt.’

“Y/N, is everything okay?” You jumped when Jackie drew your attention.  

You could feel your face redden. “Sorry. I, uh, I just got some classified information that I have to deal with. Would you excuse me for just a minute?”

The phone buzzed in your hand twice before you made it to the alcove by the bathrooms.

‘Tell me how wet you are.’

‘I need an answer, Dollface.’

You responded, ‘So excited I had to leave the table. Damn you.’  

A moment passed before another video clip came through. His metal hand was lubed up and glistening, cock pumping in his tight grip. You felt your panties flood. Damn that was gorgeous. You dared turn the volume up just enough to hear him moan your name. Fuck.

You leaned a little closer into the dark corner, tapping away at your phone. ‘So. Fucking. Hot. Just want to come all over you.’  

‘Tell me.’

A wicked smile crossed your face. ‘Can’t wait for you stretch me open and sink your cock in me. Will you be able to wait until we’re home or will you just fuck me in hanger as soon as you arrive?’

‘Hanger.’

‘Fuck, yes. Just press me against the wall and fuck me hard. Don’t care who hears. I want your cock in me. Make me scream.’

‘Yes. Need you. Dnt care wo seees. Your mine.’ His fingers lost dexterity.

Smiling, you imagined every move. ‘Yours. Fucking pound me. Want it so bad. Make me come all over you. Fuck yes. Come for me.’

Staring at the screen you could feel the slick between your legs. Damn.  

‘Damn, Doll. I think I need a bath towel to clean myself up.’

‘Lol. Happy to help, except now I’m dripping.’

‘Yum.’

‘You’re going to make up for this when you get back tomorrow.’ You smirked at the phone.

‘Without a doubt. I know I’ve got the best dame on the planet,’ came his reply. Mind blowing great sexual connection aside, you’d never been with a man who treated you with the respect and reverence that Bucky did. He showed it in actions and told you in his words. It may not be traditional, but it was damn special.

‘Can’t wait to see you.’

‘Go eat lunch and try to act like a good girl. Leave that pussy wet for me.’

‘Asshole.’

‘Miss you too’

* * *

Popping into a little bakery on the way back from a quick trip to pick out some new shoes, you decided to grab something to have on hand when Bucky got back. While you waited for the plum tarts to be boxed up your phone rang with an unfamiliar number.

“Dr. Y/L/N”

“You went back to your maiden name.”

The shopping bag hit the floor. Your eyes darted around. All the other patrons and the two people behind the counter looked curiously back at you. Bending over slowly to pick up the bag, you turned toward the wall.  

Taking a calming breath, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you finally responded. “How did you get this number? You’re not allowed to call me.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear. I’m out.”

Bile rose in your throat.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you missed me?”

You hung up the phone. A hand touched your shoulder. You jumped, letting out a choked gasp. The kindly looking woman held both her hands up. “Sorry to startle you, dear. You alright?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Ma’am. Here’s your order.” The kid behind the counter handed the box to you.  

“Thanks.” You shuffled out of the way. Before leaving the you took the opportunity to block the unknown number from your phone. That voice need never be heard again. 

The walk back to the tower happened in record time.  Weaving between people, keeping a sharp eye out for a face burned into your memory, you just wanted to be in the safe confines of Bucky’s apartment.  

You were in the elevator, leaning back against the cool brushed steel wall, when your phone buzzed. The text message read, ‘It won’t be as easy as blocking a number. You should know better.’

“Fuck.” Tears burned your eyes, but you fought them back. No, he does not get to play these sick games. You blew by the empty common areas and straight to the apartment. Not pausing to put anything away, you pulled up both numbers and searched the area codes, one from Denver and one from Eugene. Great.

As the night went on, you received picture of the motel in Santa Cruz where you first slept together from a phone with a Phoenix area code. You blocked it. You got a text message as you brushed your teeth with the lyrics of the Guns N’ Roses song he’d sing whenever he’d get drunk. You blocked that number from Tulsa. As you were lying in bed, wearing Bucky’s shirt and holding his pillow to your chest, you receive the texted picture of an avocado green bathtub. Stomach roiling, remembering a tub like that covered in your blood from the beating.  Your fingers shook when you blocked the New York City number.

* * *

Bucky opened the door silently at a quarter to four, fully expecting you to be sound asleep. Instead, he caught you up in his arms as you flew over the back of the sofa. His duffel hit the floor and he laughed.  

“Hey, Doll.” He squeezed you tight. When you didn’t let go right away, he pushed you back. Cupping your face in his warm palm, blue eyes studied you carefully. “You okay?”

Nodding, you did your best to smile as you lied. “I just had a bad dream and couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m so happy you’re back.”

He stared a bit longer, doubt gnawing at his gut. He saw the fear in your face, knew there was something you didn’t want to say. But he didn’t talk about his nightmares either. So, he just kissed you slowly, thoroughly.  

You’d spent hours agonizing over what to tell Bucky. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to admit who you were back then. The thought of him looking at you as weak or stupid; it would be unbearable. That bastard just got off on scaring you. It was likely all a bluff anyway.

Still, sleep eluded you all night. So, when Bucky took you to bed, instinctively being attentive and gentle as he worshiped your body, releasing all your tension and finally wrapping you in the safe cocoon of his arm, you fell into a deep sleep.  

He watched you, wishing he knew what was wrong.  

A while later, just as his eyes began to drift close a buzz drew his attention. Your phone vibrated. He picked it up. From the lock screen he saw multiple call attempts from multiple different blocked numbers. Alarms went off in his head. What the hell?

He debated rolling you over and seeing if the facial recognition worked on your sleeping face, but he decided if there was a problem, he would rather have better resources. Looking at your sleeping face, Bucky just didn’t understand why you weren’t saying anything.

* * *

Having the day off, you slept in and Bucky got up to make you coffee. After pulling on your favorite tee shirt of his and a pair of boy shorts, you curled on the sofa with the remote. You left your phone in the bedroom, Bucky noticed. It wasn’t normal for you.

“Doll,” Bucky looked at his own phone. “Do you have anything important going on the first week of October?”

“I don’t know. Why?”  

He gave you a coy smile over his coffee mug. “Don’t be nosy. Could you be free if you needed to be or not?”

“Let me see.” You disappeared into the bedroom with a grin on your face. When you flipped your phone over seeing more attempts from the last blocked numbers, and a new texted photo. A 1998 4Runner, just like the one he crashed into your Honda. You blocked the number and put the phone screen down on the nightstand.

“Well?” Bucky asked from the door.

“Um.” You swallowed, realizing you never looked. “That week is great.” You plastered a smile on your face, “I’m going hop in the shower.”

He watched you go, face falling. Damn. The alarm bells in his head were increasing to full on klaxons. Throwing on jeans and a tee shirt, Bucky popped his head in the shower. “Y/N, I’m running down to clear my gear. It’s only going take a couple minutes. Do you want me to bring breakfast back here or do you want to go out?”

“Can we just hang out here?”

“Anything you want, Doll.” You kissed him, soaking his face. He only grinned. “I’ll be right back”

Bucky left, heading straight to Natasha’s door. “Barnes.”

“I need your help.”

“With?”

“I think someone is harassing Y/N. I need to see her phone records.” When her eyebrow arched, he continued. “Every instinct I have says she scared and she’s not telling me for some reason.”

“You might not like the answer.”

“Don’t care. Here safety is more important.”

“Good answer.” She held the door open more. “Get in here.”

Within minutes Nat had multiple numbers, text messages, and time of the brief phone call the day before. “You’re right, Bucky. Something is up. They’re all burner phones. They were all bought with cash or cash cards. All the calls did ping off towers in Manhattan though.”

“What do all the texts mean?”  

“You could ask her.” Bucky scowled in response. Nat sighed. “Or... F.R.I.D.A.Y., please perform a confidential analysis protocol Romanoff Beta Zulu Four Six Alpha.”

“Proceed.”

“Please run an analysis of the blocked calls and messages of Y/N’s phone from the last 24 hours and cross reference with her profile for any correlation.”  

It only took a moment. “There is an 87% probability the messages are originating from Dr. Y/L/N’s ex-Husband, Richard Vance. There is a 98% probability the message are pertaining to Richard Vance.”

“Explain.” Bucky ground out through a clenched jaw.

“According to police and court files the images in the text messages correspond to the cases of assault filed by Dr. Y/L/N. The California State Department of Corrections reports Mr. Vance has been released to supervised living facility but failed to report back after work release seventeen days ago.”

“Cases.” Bucky closed his eyes. He wanted to break something. “As in plural.”

“Yes, Seargeant.”  

“Shit.” Nat huffed angrily.

Bucky opened his eyes, wishing he hadn’t. The case files filled the screen, including the pictures taken of you at the hospital. Black eyes, split lip, bruised jaw. Other pictures show bruised ribs, defensive marks on your hands and arms.

“Where is he?”  

“Barnes, if you...”  

“Traffic cameras have identified him 16 time around the W 42nd Street area in the last 72 hours.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“Thanks.” Bucky turned to leave.

“Barnes.” Nat grabbed his arm. “Has she told you about any of this?”

“No” His chest tightened. He should have known.  

“Listen, tread carefully. She’s likely...”  

“Scared? Yeah. I get that. I intend on fixin’ it.” Bucky growled.

“No, ashamed.” Natasha sighed. When he just stared at her, she continued. “Aside from the guilt of what you did, what is the worse thing about your time under Hydra? How many times have you told yourself you should have been stronger, should have fought against it harder, should have broke free sooner? I get you want to kill that bastard. I’d help you. But you need to push that shit down for her sake. You need to help her, not feed your need for revenge.”

Bucky nodded in silent agreement, leaving without another word. The walk back to the apartment took longer than expected. He kept having to stop, suddenly not able to breathe. That bastard hurt you and now he was taunting you. Bucky felt the Soldier surge, wanting to commit cold blooded murder.

Opening the door, he suddenly remembered breakfast. He never stopped at the kitchen to get anything. It didn’t matter. He found you sitting on the edge of the bed in a towel, tears streaking your face.  A dent marred the wall and your broken phone littered the floor.

“Y/N.” Bucky approached slowly, quietly, dropping to his knees before you. “Dollface, tell me. Please.”

“My ex is out of prison. They were supposed to let me know. They didn’t. He...” Tears filled your eyes again. “I should have never gotten mixed up with him.”

His hands cupped your face. Full soft lips pressed against your cheeks, your forehead. “Is he scaring you? Threatening you? In any way?”

“I don’t want you in trouble.” A sob broke from your chest.  

Something snapped. Bucky bolted from the room, leaving you gasping. Shit. Grasping the towel around yourself you dashed after him. However, he was long gone. The door down the hall opened, Steve’s head popping out. Another sob, escaped. There was hope.  

Rushing forward you grabbed Steve’s shirt. “Buck is going to kill him.”

Just then Nat turned the corner from the common area. “Y/N,” She took your hand from his shirt. “I just ran into Barnes. We’ll talk him down. You go get dressed, okay.”

It was all overwhelming. Feeling lost, you just did what she said.  

Natasha turned to a very confused Cap. “Come on, Rogers. We have to help Barnes hunt down the asshat that’s threatening her.”

It didn’t take long. 

Bucky heard the girl scream from two floors down. His feet carried him the distance before she could take another breath. Busting through the pitiful door, he found a too skinny redhead curled up in the corner under a piece of shit table. Broken glass and spilled beer covered one side of the room.  

Bucky grabbed the man by the throat, hauling him off his feet. “Hiya, Dick.”

Steve came in, scooping the woman up and tell her it would be okay. She in turn screamed that “that motherfucker owes me money” despite her bruised jaw. Neither the woman or Vance noticed the female with the phone camera recording everything.

Bucky lowered Vance to his feet, barely. “There’s a bounty on you, Dick. Why would you be stupid enough to come here?”

“None of your fucking business.” Vance tried to strike at Bucky’s face, but got his fingers broke for the effort. He screamed. Then begged when Buck didn’t let go of his hand.  

“You gonna try to hit me again, you pansy-ass? I think I’ll hold on to these for now. Why are you here?”

“Looking up an old friend.” He whined.

“Friend? Bullshit.”

“Ow! My ex! Okay! I’m just looking to get in touch with my ex.”

Bucky’s teeth ground together.

“You have a no contact order with Dr. Y/L/N,” came Natasha voice. “You’ll be placed under arrest for breaking the conditions of your release, assault of that woman, breaking your no contact order, attempted assault of federal agent...” Bucky smirked at that stretch of their status. “and credit card fraud.”

“What?!”  

About that time several SHIELD agents came in and took him into custody. After he was handcuffed, Bucky leaned in close to growl in his ear. “I’m the assassin that assassins fear. You even think of Y/N again and I will find you. I will take my time killing you. It will be terrifying. It will be beyond painful. No one will ever catch me. No will ever find any proof. And I will have no sympathy. No one hurts what’s mine. Ever. Do you understand?”

Vance went very pale. Bucky smiled, feral, before walking away. Natasha got a little closer. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Who the fuck are you?”  

“Doesn’t matter.” She leaned casually against the wall. “You’re just going back to prison. You could have easily end up as human mulch in a landfill. Lucky you.”

“You’re fucking nuts. I’m going to tell my lawyer you’re threatening me.” Vance cowered.

Steve stepped up, Vance getting a good look at Captain America for the first time. “You go right ahead. I’ll be there to tell him about the beat-up woman I pulled out of here, and all the great stuff she told me about how you’ve been stealing credit cards. But you go on and tell them how you’re treated unfairly.”

Down by the SHEILD van, Bucky was on his phone when Steve and Natasha stepped up. He slipped in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Steve’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

“I wanted to break his neck.”

“I know, me too.”

“You better get back.” Nat sighed. “We’ll handle all the red tape.”

“Okay.” He didn’t argue, hopping in the spare car and taking off.

 * * *

You stared at the television not really comprehending what was on. Bucky had been gone for hours. A million regrets poured through your mind. All the lost opportunities to tell him the whole truth about your past. How you skirted around the details and glossed over the uglier parts. You’d done it so much in the last five years, it’d just become habit.  If anyone deserved to know, if anyone would be supportive, it was Bucky. You felt like you really fucked up.  

The Bucky’s text tone buzzed on your phone. ‘Don’t worry, Doll. It’s okay. Be home soon.’

‘Thank heaven. I was so worried.’ You replied.

Then a picture came through. It was a document. You zoomed in. Holy shit. It was a Federal Arrest Filing for Rich. You read through it. They tracked him down and busted him. Sending him back to prison.  A knot released in your chest.

Bucky walked in the door as you were reading the final page of the document. Leaping to your feet, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He held you tight for a moment, before his lips found yours. Foreheads together, he stroked you jaw with his thumb.  

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” Your eye closed against the tears. You didn’t want to cry anymore. “I should have, and I’ll make it right. Anything you want to know.”

“You can tell me anything, absolutely anything. But it’s got to be in your time, in your way. I won’t force it.” His strong hands combed through your hair.

“I thought you’d kill him.”

“Wanted to.” He admitted. “But figured you don’t need to live with that. This way is better.” A wicked smile crossed his face. “Of course, I warned him if he steps out of line, he’ll wish I just killed him quick.”

You had a perverse image of Bucky threatening that dickhead for you and curled closer into his strong body, purring. “My hero.”  

That not only filled his chest with pride, but went straight to his cock. Picking you up, he carried you back to the bedroom. He wanted to wipe away any memories of tears. He breathed against your lips. “Damn, Doll. I love you.”

[lovemesomerafael]

Cinderella of Chicago                Chapter 5:  The Alarm

For my good friend Anon who loves Otis, too.  Thanks for your patience; this didn’t quite come out how I’d hoped, but OTIS.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Part 1  Chapter 4 Part 2 

 Also read on AO3

Almost from the moment they met, Brian and Meg knew that there was something special between them.  Now, after dating for several months, neither had any doubts.  Their relationship was serious.  They’d taken their time with sex, and it had been worth the wait.  But more than that, they understood each other.  They got each other’s jokes, and liked a lot of the same things.  Each instinctively knew what the other needed when they’d had a tough shift at work which, given their jobs, could mean anything from sheer physical or emotional exhaustion to psychological distress from the kinds of things they saw in their work.  

Sometimes they just needed to laugh, to be distracted.  Other times, they needed to pound out their frustrations with exercise or let off steam with a heated battle in one of their games.  Comforting each other could mean just providing an opportunity to talk it out, or soothing each other with hugs and kisses.  At times, solace took the form of sex, which could be either soft and slow, or hard and frenzied, depending on what they needed.  The point was, they’d found in each other a source of strength and calm that allowed them to heal and recharge so that they could go back out and do it again the next day.

Depending on his mood, Brian could be so romantic and emotional in bed that Meg got tears in her eyes.  He could also be playful and fun, which was absurdly sexy, too.  Brian seldom called Meg anything but “Pupsic”, which is Russian for “baby” and made Meg’s knees weak every time he used it.  Meg had never felt for anyone what she felt for Brian.

Even several months in, Brian had trouble going very long without making himself crazy thinking about Meg and how it felt to be with her, and the things she did and said when they were in bed together.  As important as that was to him, though, he knew it wasn’t the best part.  The best part was the man he was when he was with her. He worked harder, took better care of himself, made better choices, all because he wanted to be worthy of the way she looked at him, the way she felt about him.  

They were both seeing forever when they looked at each other.  But aside from their feelings, their relationship was usually the opposite of serious.  They loved to make each other laugh, and just found each other entertaining in general, no matter what they were doing.

Meg’s family adored Brian, although most of Brian’s family was reserving judgment on Meg.  His Baba liked her as soon as Meg tried out the polite Russian phrases Brian had taught her, but his parents thought that Brian was the best and brightest, and had very definite ideas about the woman who could be good enough for their son.  A slightly dweeby nurse wasn’t necessarily what they had in mind.    

Brian didn’t care what his parents thought, for two reasons.  First, Baba was teaching Meg Russian.  She’d never done that before with any girl he’d ever brought home.  Which meant his parents would, in the end, be overruled. And second, Brian was in love.  He hadn’t quite found the courage to tell Meg that yet, but he’d begun to float tiny suggestions about moving in together to see how she would react.  They’d figured out how to make their work schedules mesh so that they had more time together, and Brian thought he might be the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

This morning, which promised a lovely spring day, was the beginning of a three-day shift for Brian, which meant a bit of reluctance to part as they kissed good-bye to go their separate ways.  They stood next to Brian’s car, hugging and nuzzling before he drove to the firehouse and she took the El to the hospital.  

“Have a great day, Milyi,” Meg whispered as she stole one more kiss.  

“You, too, Nienaglyadnaya.”

Meg laughed and kissed Brian’s cheek.  “Show off.”

She disentangled herself from him, taking a couple steps backward to grin at him before turning around to cross the street.

“Call me when you get a chance,” Brian called after her, smiling from ear to ear.

“I will.  Be safe.”  She waved while he unlocked the door of his car, whistling.    

They exchanged a few texts that day, as always.  Brian sent a picture of Mouch and Tuesday asleep together in front of the TV, with the news that Tuesday had learned absolutely nothing at obedience school again that week.  He also said he was taking major flak for the asiago chicken pasta he’d made for lunch, which he’d feel bad about, except that there wasn’t a morsel left.  Meg, in turn, sent a picture of Maggie pretending to catch Will in a compromising position with a CPR dummy.  Brian and Meg had a friendly competition going, each trying to outdo the other in sending the goofiest pictures, and their coworkers had gotten involved so that it was evolving into a photo war: Firehouse 51 vs. Chicago Med ER.  The best one so far had been of a line of firefighters, including Chief Boden, taken from outside the Chief’s office with all of their faces smashed up against the glass from the inside.  No one had any idea how Brian had convinced Chief Boden to participate, including Chief Boden.

Brian was deep in a comic book when his cell phone played a snippet of the Princess Theme from Battleground Jupiter, which made him smile before he really even thought about it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, blushing while all the firefighters and paramedics in the common room teased him.  

“Privyat, Vozluyblennaya,” he said quietly as he scooted out toward the bunk room.

“You’re killin’ me with that,” Meg purred, smiling into her phone.

“You’re such a sucker!  It doesn’t even matter what I say, as long as it’s in Russian.  Last night? That was the words to ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’.”

“It still worked for me.”

“I noticed.”  Brian’s low, soft laugh made Meg squirm.

Meg giggled.  “I just wanted to call and say good night.  I used to like my bed, but it’s lonely in here without you now.”

“Count yourself lucky, Pupsik.  Cruz made burritos.  Lonely beats the hell out of a house full of guys who had refried beans for dinner.”

“Oh.  My.”

“Tell me about it.”

They were able to laugh together for about two seconds before Meg could hear the klaxon go off in the firehouse.

“Gotta go.  Sweet dreams.”

“Be safe, talk to you tomorrow.”

Meg smiled as she pushed the “end” button and burrowed between her covers.  She had been amazed at how warm Brian always felt – too hot, sometimes – but she was so used to snuggling up to his warmth that now, when he was on shift, her bed felt cold.  She said a quick prayer for his safety and was half asleep before she finished.

She was awakened by the sound of screaming.  When she opened her eyes, everything Meg could see was on fire.  

Meg was instantly completely awake, which was not a good thing.  Rather than breathing shallowly in sleep, she sucked in her breath in shock, inhaling a deep lungful of thick, soot-filled smoke.  Her throat spasmed and she began to cough.  The good news was that she knew where everything in her apartment was, even in the dark, so she thought she could navigate to the front door.  The bad news was that between her and the front door was a wall of flame.  

Her entire respiratory system clamped down, refusing to take in any more of the hot, acrid smoke that saturated the air.  She was terrified, but after the fire safety courses nurses were required to take annually, Meg instinctively tried to get as low as possible, where there was less smoke. She threw herself off the bed and onto the floor, coughing and wheezing as she prepared to crawl to safety, wherever that was.  

The windows, she thought.  The one in her bedroom was a sheer three-story drop from her top-floor apartment to a concrete driveway, but maybe the bathroom?  She coughed convulsively, blinded by tears now rolling out of her stinging eyes, and began to slither her way across the floor on her belly.  That was no good.  Her dresser, which was against the burning wall, was a mass of flame that cut her off from the bedroom door.  She tried to think, but the heat, the desperate coughing and gasping for air, the burning pain in her eyes, and the deafening roar of the fire blasted at her so fiercely that she could only stare, stunned, at the impenetrable barrier of fire between her and safety.  She whimpered and backed up the way she’d come.  

She wondered if she could tie sheets together into a rope and climb out the window.  At least she could get closer to the ground, so her fall wouldn’t be so long.  She reached up and pulled at the bedsheets, but found that the far corner of the top sheet was already on fire.  She recoiled and left the sheets where they were. Meg had no idea how to make a rope out of bedsheets, anway, and it was getting so hard to inhale, and the constant, helpless coughing hurt so much that she really had all she could do just to keep breathing.  She could see nothing except the frenzied onslaught of the flames, now consuming her bed, forcing her ever further into the corner.  Already, she saw, the flames were between her and the window.  No!  She was now pinned in the corner, surrounded by fire.  How was she going to get out?

Meg’s mind suddenly grasped that she was probably going to die.  It was hard to focus on even such a horrifying thought, competing as it was with the overwhelming sensations of terror of the ravenous fire consuming everything with a speed she would not have believed possible, and her frantic desperation to see anything but the furious glow through eyes tortured by the smoke.  She felt her feet hit the wall as she pushed herself backward along the floor.  For a second, just a second, she put her head down and tried to take a breath of clean air.  But there was none.  She tried again, thinking to breathe more deeply this time, but her irritated lungs refused to open.  She tried to focus her mind, but she was so starved for oxygen that she could only think how black everything was starting to go.   She was surprised to find that she was glad.  The fierce light of the fire hurt her smoke-irritated eyes.  The dark was better.  And the roar was fading away, too.  Good.  

 Brian jumped from the truck before it had even stopped moving.   Everyone on the truck had known he would, and Mouch jumped right after him, reached out, and caught the collar of his turnout coat.

“I know, Otis, but we’re doin’ this right.  Wait for orders.  We’ll get her out safe.”

Brian thought of nothing but getting to Meg.  He struggled against Mouch, but before he could make any headway, the rest of Truck 81 was out and beginning to gather equipment.  

“Otis, I’m not gonna be able to stop you, so you and Mouch get your gear on and take the top floor. But you do not go in until Mouch has checked your gear, is that clear?”  Casey said, hands on either of Brian’s shoulders and face right up in his grill.

“Got it, Captain,” Brian shouted and grabbed the breathing apparatus Mouch was already holding out to him.   They suited up, checked each other’s gear, and headed into the building at a dead run.

Chief Boden rounded the truck at that moment, seeing their backs as they disappeared through the front door.  

“That a good idea?” He asked Casey.

“We need everyone we got. I can’t spare anyone to hold him back, and that’s what it would’ve taken.”

“Yeah,” Boden grunted, turning toward the building, smoke pouring from every window, with flames visible in many. “This is a pure rescue.  We’re gonna lose the building.”

“I know.  Lemme get the rest of the crew searching.”

It took an eternity for Brian and Mouch to make their way up all three flights of stairs to Meg’s floor, partly because of all the equipment they were wearing, and partly because much of the railing and parts of the stairs themselves were burning.  While Mouch went to the apartment next door, Brian wasted no time breaking down the door to Meg’s apartment, noting with horror that the flames were already beginning to diminish as they ran out of readily-available fuel and concentrated on devouring the building itself.  He could see almost nothing through the smoke, but he knew exactly where Meg’s bedroom was.

“Meg!  Meg, call out!   Meg, Pupsic, where are you?”

It was a tiny apartment. There were not many places she could be. Brian almost screamed when he saw that the bed was fully engulfed in flames, but at the same moment, just beyond the fire that was rapidly consuming the carpet, he saw a small, dark shape on the floor.  Limbs curled defensively around herself, Meg was lying in the corner at the foot of her bed. Brian half shouted, half wailed her name, ignoring the flames as he stepped through them to her.  His turnout gear would protect him, he knew, long enough to get to her before the fire did.  

He lifted Meg from the floor, cradling her as tightly as he could so that he could protect her head with his gloved hands.  As he did, she let out a soft, strangled cry, at which Brian simultaneously sobbed and swore vehemently, relieved beyond anything he would have imagined to find that she was alive.  He squeezed her even tighter as he stepped backward through the flames again.   When he’d gotten through, he turned and ran to the hall, calling for Mouch.

“Mouch!  I got her!  She’s alive! You find anyone?”

“No,” Mouch shouted above the sound of the fire and the building beginning to lose its structural integrity. “They musta got out.  We gotta go!”

As Brian led Mouch down the stairs, Mouch radioed to the rest of the team that they were bringing out a victim, unconscious but alive.

The team did what they could, but the building was so old and so fully involved that the best they could do was to control the fire so that it didn’t spread.  All of the residents had gotten out or been rescued, but there were two people already on their way to Med - one with severe burns.

Brian emerged from the building, cradling Meg protectively in his arms, and carried her to Ambulance 61, where he laid her gently, lovingly on the waiting gurney.  After that, all he could do was watch helplessly as Sylvie Brett and Emily Foster worked feverishly to assess Meg’s condition, then embarked on a frantic burst of activity to stabilize her enough to transport.  

He was so desperate to help her that he would have gotten in the way, but the whole firehouse knew the situation, and Severide had dispatched Cruz to see what he could do for Otis.  Right now, what Cruz could do was hold him back, out of the way.   He let Otis lean on him through the agony of watching the paramedics place a breathing tube in Meg’s throat so that they could ventilate her scorched lungs through her swollen airway.  As they watched Brett insert an IV in her arm and do other things that should have been painful and annoying, there was absolutely no response from Meg.

“Cruz, man, I don’t think I can take it if…”  Brian’s voice failed.

“Don’t say it, Bro. She’s gonna be fine.  She’s not burned, and she’s gettin’ treatment from the best.  She’ll be fine.”

“She can’t die.  She can’t.”

“She won’t.”

“I love her.  I want to marry her.”

“I know you do.”

“But she doesn’t!  I haven’t told her yet!  I was too damn scared-“

“Otis.  Look at me.”  Cruz forcibly turned Brian to look at him, leaning down so that they were eye to eye. “She knows.  Everybody knows.  So she knows.”

Brian’s eyes were wild with fear as he gripped Cruz’s forearms hard enough to hurt.  Someone who didn’t know Brian as well as Cruz did might not have seen how close he was to losing control.  “Joe…” he mumbled quietly, “I want to marry her.”

“And you will.  The two of you are gonna raise a whole houseful of little Russian nerds, and name them all after me.  There’s gonna be Joe, of course, and then Joella, and Cruz, and, uh… Cruzine, and…”

Cruz went on, desperately trying to distract him.  Brian didn’t hear a word he said, but he did hear the confidence and caring in his voice. He saw the certainty in his best friend’s face, and it gave him something to hold onto until, ten agonizingly long minutes later, Brian and Cruz helped load the stretcher into the ambulance.  Cruz helped Brian take off his bulky gear, which wouldn’t fit in the small space in the back as he rode with Meg while Foster cared for her.  All the way to Med, Brian sat, holding Meg’s hand, pouring his heart out to her in whispered Russian so that Foster wouldn’t know what he was saying.  But her guesses weren’t far off, and she had to fight the tears that threatened, seeing the depth of his love and fear.

Brian realized in the endless, excruciating hours that he waited for news and battled his fierce need to see and touch Meg, what it is to have your brothers rally around you in a situation like the one he was in.  He’d been part of the crowd in this room more times than he could count, because it’s what you do, and because he cared.  But now, trying to hold it together and find any way to endure the interminable hours while the ER staff at Chicago Med worked on Meg, he realized for the first time why firefighters and cops do it.  And he realized that he needed his brothers around him right now more than he had ever needed them in an inferno.  In a fire, he knew what to do.  In a fire, there was something he could do.  Here, he could only stand, helpless, imagining one horrific scenario after another and trying to hold on from one breath to the next.  He vowed in that moment that he would always be there when one of his fellow firefighters was in this position, for as long as it took.

Meg’s parents and her sister sat in a tight, terrified knot on one side of the waiting room.  Brian went to sit with them as much as he could, but he was far too restless to stay in one place.  Except for Brian, Meg’s family spoke to the firefighters only when spoken to.  Chief Boden and Captain Casey were as polite and helpful as they could be, but the Armstrongs weren’t in a position to do much more than answer simple questions. All of the firefighters had been here before.  Meg’s family had not.  

Brian found himself scrolling through pictures in his phone, just for something to do.  He and Meg took an insane number of selfies, just smiling, or making ridiculous faces, or enjoying someplace fun.  She was so fucking beautiful.  How the hell had a guy like him found such a perfect woman, let alone been lucky enough to be her boyfriend?  What was a smart, sexy, accomplished woman like that doing with him?  Brian stared for a long time at pictures of himself and Meg, aching for the easy, simple happiness of those moments.  

In addition to their selfies, Brian snapped pictures of Meg all the time, whenever he wanted to remember the way she looked at a particular moment, or just because he felt like it. In some of them she was laughing, in some smiling happily, and in some she was looking at him with what he hoped was the same love he felt for her.  The adorable girl who caught his eye wearing a Tabiti costume and then disappeared.  He remembered his profound joy when he’d found her again, standing outside Molly’s under a streetlight, just looking up at the snow.  How astounded they’d been to learn that they’d been right under each other’s noses all along. He thought about how he’d have felt at that moment, had he known how precious she would become to him.  

And now this.

Brian felt as if nothing was real.  It was as though he was watching an old movie as he and Meg’s family followed Ethan Choi into the treatment room where Meg was lying, white and still, a ventilator tube separating her pretty lips.  Not one word of what Ethan said made any sense.  Brian knew no more of what was going on with Meg, and what Ethan expected in the next days, than if Ethan hadn’t spoken at all.  

What he knew was that, now that he was next to her again, now that he could see her and hold her hand, he wasn’t leaving Meg’s side.  As he leaned over to kiss her cheek, he noticed how strongly the smell of smoke still lingered in her hair.  

“She’s sedated because of the breathing tube.  She’s stable, so we’ll be sending her up to ICU as soon as they’re ready.  Any questions?”  Ethan looked at the group expectantly.

“How long?”  Meg’s mom asked.  “How long will she be like this?”

“We don’t know, Mrs. Armstrong.  I expect at least a few days, longer if it takes her airway longer to heal and the swelling to go down.”

When Meg’s family had no further questions, and Brian just stood, gazing down at Meg with her hand in both of his, Ethan moved toward the door.  “I’ll be here if you need anything, and we’ll be in to take her up to ICU in a few minutes.”

Meg’s sister Jodie stood next to Brian with her hand on Meg’s leg.  On Meg’s other side, her father held her other hand, an arm around his wife.

“Thank you, Brian.  For saving her life,” Meg’s father said gruffly.

Brian didn’t know how to respond to that.  It was his job, but he would have run into that burning building to rescue Meg no matter what he did for a living.  

Jodie briefly touched his hand as he held Meg’s.  “She loves you, you know.  She told me.”

Two fat, hot tears overflowed Brian’s eyes at that.  He just let them roll down his cheeks.  “I love her, too.  I haven’t told her yet.  But I do.”

The four of them stood, just looking at Meg’s ghostly pale face, thinking their own thoughts, until Dr. Choi came back into the room with a team of nurses.  “They’re ready for her in ICU,” he said.

The family was ushered out of the room while a brisk but controlled rush of activity took place around Meg.  Quickly, the group began to move, rolling the gurney between them.  

“Come with us,” one of the nurses said, gesturing for Brian and Meg’s family to follow.  Behind the group heading for the elevator, several of the ER staff exchanged worried looks.  They all knew how serious their colleague’s condition was.  

 The next three days were the longest of Brian’s life.  Chief Boden wasn’t at all surprised when Otis told him that he couldn’t leave the hospital while Meg was in such bad shape; he told Otis just to call with updates and not to worry about work.  Brian’s coworkers stopped by as much as they could, but they were still on shift and couldn’t stay.  Brian and Cruz texted at least hourly, and usually more.

Meg’s family took turns sitting with her, but Brian fought a constant battle with well-meaning people who kept trying to get him to go home to sleep.  He had to explain again and again that he simply couldn’t.  The best anyone could do was to get him to stretch out on a couch in the ICU waiting room when Meg’s family was with her, since she could only have two visitors at a time.  Cruz brought him a gym bag with fresh clothes and things, and the staff let him use the shower in their locker room, but he looked like hell and felt worse. Out of sheer exhaustion, he managed to sleep a solid five hours during one late night and early morning, but the rest was a series of fitful naps cobbled together.  

He sat, holding Meg’s cold hand, for hours on end.  Waiting. Just waiting for whatever it was the doctors were looking for before they would know it was all right to take out that damn breathing tube.  Watching and listening to her breathe.  Praying as hard as he ever had in his life.  

On the third day, his Baba came and insisted that he go down to the hospital’s chapel with her.  They prayed silently for a very long time, then prayed out loud together.  After an hour, Brian couldn’t stand it anymore.  He collapsed against the back of the pew and began to cry.  Baba said nothing, simply sat next to him and pulled him toward her so that his head was on her lap.  He wept for what felt like a lifetime, just letting his Baba pat his shoulder with one hand and pet his hair with the other, quietly crooning Russian hymns to him in her soft, gravelly voice.

It helped.  Brian felt lighter afterward, grateful beyond words as he sat up to let his Baba hold him against her and pat his head as she’d done when he was a child.  He wanted to take care of Meg.  All he wanted was to take care of Meg.  But it was nice, for those few hours, to let his Baba take care of him.

It was late in the morning of the fourth day before Meg’s doctors decided that it was time to lighten her sedation and attempt to take her off the ventilator.  They had to do it in a series of slow steps, watching to see how she tolerated each before moving to the next.  Finally, after over twelve hours of progressively weaning her from the ventilator and the breathing tube, the tube was removed and Meg was allowed to awaken fully.  At first, she was groggily conscious but not able to do much more than respond to commands. She couldn’t even keep her eyes open for more than a second or two at a time, but she did make eye contact with Brian and he could see that she knew he was there with her.  

Her parents crowded around her, hugging and kissing her, telling her how much they loved her and how glad they were to see her awake again and breathing on her own.  Her throat was still too damaged to speak back yet, not to mention the frequent coughing fits she had now that she was awake; she could only smile weakly and nod or shake her head.

Brian patiently waited his turn, giving Meg’s parents and sister all the time they needed.  Now that the worst was over, he was content to sit and watch her, just knowing that she was all right.  Soon, though, Meg’s father stepped back and motioned Brian over.

“I know you want to see Brian,” he said.  “He hasn’t left here since they brought you in.  You know it was him who rescued you from the fire.”

Meg’s eyes, still sleepy and slightly bloodshot from the irritation of the smoke, nonetheless sparkled as she looked at Brian and held out her hand to him.  Her smile, while weak and tired, took his breath away.  He didn’t bother trying to stop or hide his tears as he took her hand in both of his and kissed it.

“Pupsik,” he choked. “It’s so good to see you awake. You have no idea.”  

A tear streaked down her face as she sat up and pulled at the front of his shirt until he leaned over and put his arms around her.  She squeezed him as hard as she could, while he did the same, their embrace lasting for so long Brian felt a twinge in his back, although he wouldn’t have let go for all the riches of  the world. She turned her head into him, so that her mouth was near his ear.

“I love you,” she whispered hoarsely, squeezing him even harder as she did.

Brian heaved a quiet sob. “I love you, too, pupsik. I love you, too.”

Although Meg’s parents and sister were standing next to her bed in the bustling ICU, everyone but Brian and Meg might as well have been on another planet as they clung together for long, long moments.

Meg didn’t have much strength to visit with her family and Brian for long, so her eyes soon began to drift closed again.  The Armstrongs decided that, since Meg was off the ventilator and they couldn’t convince Brian to leave the hospital, they would go home for the night and return in the morning.  By that time, Meg was practically asleep.  They said good night, hugged and kissed her again, and softly left the room.

Brian pulled his chair next to the bed and sat down, preparing to hold Meg’s hand again while she slept.  She opened her eyes a crack and gave a huge yawn, which caused her to cough a little, but when she had recovered, she put a hand on Brian’s arm, looking into his face with what he thought might be expectation.

“What is it?  What do you need?”

To Brian’s delighted surprise, Meg grinned a little and crooked a finger for him to come closer. Gently but gladly, he leaned toward her as she put a hand on his shoulder to pull him to her.  Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss.   She collapsed back on her pillow afterward, and she fell asleep with her lips ever-so-slightly curved in a private smile.

[worstjourney]

NEW PHOTOS KLAXON

Or at least new to me!

The Canterbury Museum in Christchurch has the photos of J.R. Dennistoun, friend of the Expedition and the Kiwi who joined the Terra Nova for her relief trip in 1911, in charge of the mules.

Annoyingly I can't copy/paste the link to the collection directly, but if you go here and click on an object, then scroll down on the object details to "Named collection: DENNISTOUN, James R" you can click on his name and see all his stuff that way. I think some of the photos might have been taken by others, such as the product placement ones, but our pal JRD has been quite good at labelling people!

[worstjourney]

Birdie and Rennick being pals in the front, aww.

3 different versions of the same potato quality newspaper image, Australia 1910

[sutekiyomitsu]

[NEWS] The Brow Beat: 3rd Album “Adam” and Ticketing for the 2020 Zepp Tour

The Brow Beat 3rd ALBUM “Adam”

Release Date: 1 January 2020

Versions:

Limited Press Edition A

Includes a DVD with 3 music videos

Price: 3,850 yen (tax included)

Limited Press Edition B

Includes a Blu-ray with the complete recording of “The Brow Beat ~KLAXON PARTY 2019 at Yaon” on 8 June 2019 at Hibiya Open-Air Concert Hall

Includes a 40-page photobook of “The Brow Beat ~KLAXON PARTY 2019 at Yaon”

Price: 7,150 yen (tax included)

Limited Press Edition C

Includes a mini poster jacket

Includes a bonus additional track that is only found on Edition C

Price: 2,640 yen (tax included)

Pre-order Bonus from silkroad store:

silkroad store also includes a store-exclusive bonus of two 2L-sized photos of The Brow Beat. 

For every item that is purchased, there will be one set of these same photos. 

Pre-order Duration: Now until 17 November 2019, 23:59 JST

To pre-order the album from the silkroad store, please refer to the link here.

(Please find more information about The Brow Beat Live Tour 2020 “Adam” under the cut.)

The Brow Beat Live Tour 2020 “Adam”

Producer and Guest Vocal: HAKUEI

Support Members

Drums: Kado Shuntarou

Bass: CHIROLYN

Guitar: Narukaze

Schedule

Date: January 10, 2020 Venue: Zepp Divercity Tokyo Capacity: 2,473 (all-standing) / 1,102 (seating)

Date: January 13, 2020 Venue: Zepp Namba (Osaka) Capacity: 2,513 (all-standing) / 1,206 (seating)

Date: January 14, 2020 Venue: Zepp Nagoya Capacity: 1,864 (all-standing) / 741 (seating)

~Ryuji BIRTHDAY LIVE~ Date: January 17, 2020 Venue: SENDAI GIGS Capacity: 1,560 (all-standing) / 809 (seating)

Date: January 24, 2020 Venue: Zepp Fukuoka Capacity: 1,526 (all-standing) / 669 (seating)

Date: January 31, 2020 Venue: Zepp Sapporo Capacity: 2,009 (all-standing) / 723 (seating)

~Tokyo Gaisen LIVE~ Date: February 21, 2020 Venue: LINE CUBE SHIBUYA (Shibuya Public Hall) Capacity: 1,956

Date: February 22, 2020 Venue: LINE CUBE SHIBUYA (Shibuya Public Hall) Capacity: 1,956

Ticketing Information

Ticket price (for all venues and types): 6,600 yen (tax included)

Ticketing through the Gekidan Himawari OFFICIAL FAN CLUB Ticketing Period: 18 October 2019, 15:00 to 27 October 2019, 23:59 JST Ticketing Limitations: For the first 5 performances (excluding the Sapporo live on 31 January and the Tokyo Gaisen lives on 21 and 22 February), you’re allowed to select your seats up to two options/applications.

Ticketing through HAKUEI☆bros. Ticketing Period: 30 October 2019, 15:00 to 4 November 2019, 23:59 JST Ticketing Limitations: For the first 5 performances (excluding the Sapporo live on 31 January and the Tokyo Gaisen lives on 21 and 22 February), you’re allowed to select your seats up to two options/applications.

Ticketing through HAKUEI☆bros. Ticketing Period: 30 October 2019, 15:00 to 4 November 2019, 23:59 JST Ticketing Limitations: For the first 5 performances (excluding the Sapporo live on 31 January and the Tokyo Gaisen lives on 21 and 22 February), you’re allowed to select your seats up to two options/applications.

Ticketing through CLUB EUCLID Ticketing Period: 30 October 2019, 15:00 to 4 November 2019, 23:59 JST Ticketing Limitations: For the first 5 performances (excluding the Sapporo live on 31 January and the Tokyo Gaisen lives on 21 and 22 February), you’re allowed to select your seats up to two options/applications.

Ticketing through Official HP Ticketing Period: 5 November 2019, 15:00 to 11 November 2019, 23:59 JST Ticketing Limitations: Only 1st Floor standing tickets for the Tokyo live on 10 January and Sendai live on 17 January / For Osaka, Nagoya and Fukuoka, you may choose one ticket type from any of the three options.

General Ticketing Ticketing Period: 30 November 2019, 10:00 JST onwards Ticketing Limitations: Only 1st Floor standing tickets for the Tokyo live on 10 January and Sendai live on 17 January / For Osaka, Nagoya and Fukuoka, you may choose one ticket type from any of the three options.

The Brow Beat Official Website: HERE

The Brow Beat Official Twitter: HERE

Sato Ryuji Official Twitter: HERE

HAKUEI Official Twitter: HERE

(Sources: x, x)

[dukereviewstv]

Duke Reviews Tv: Smallville 1x19 Crush

Hello, I'm Andrew Leduc And Welcome To Duke Reviews Tv Where We Continue Our Look At Smallville And On Today's Show We're Looking At Episode 19 Of Season 1, Crush

This Episode Sees Chloe Falling For A Former Artist For The Torch Named Justin Gaines (Played By Seth Cohen/Captain Marvel Jr. Or Is It Shazam Jr. Now Because Of The Whole Captain Marvel Copyright Thing?) Who Because Of A Hit And Run Accident Has Lost The Ability To Draw With His Hands But Has Gained Telekinetic Abilities...

Ok, How Many People In Comics Have Lost One Thing But Gained The Ability To Do Another Thing Because Of An Accident Of Some Type? Honestly If Anyone Knows Please Write It In The Comments...

And So With This Miraculous New Ability What Does Justin Do With It? He Decides To Get Revenge On The People Who Ruined His Life...

After Killing The Doctor Who Botched His Surgery In The Hospital, Justin Searches For The Hit And Run Driver That Ruined His Life, Can Clark Stop Him?

Let's Find Out As We Watch Crush...

The Episode Starts At Metropolis Children's Hospital As Justin Gaines Draws To Get His Hands Back To Peak Condition But To No Avail As The Doctor Comes In To Check On Him As He's Being Released Tomorrow...

Upset That Everything Has Gotten Better Except His Hands, The Doctor Tells Justin That He Did Everything He Could Despite Justin Discovering That The Doctor Has 5 Patients Who Have Filed Malpractice Suits Against Him Which Leads The Doctor To Tell Justin That When One Door Closes Another Door Opens As He Leaves To Have Dinner With His Wife...

Using His Powers, Justin Messes With The Elevator Trying To Kill The Doctor, With The Elevator Stopping On A Floor, The Doctor's Wife Manages To Get Out But The Doctor Doesn't As The Elevator Goes Crashing To The Ground Floor...

A Few Weeks Later At Smallville High, Clark And Pete Are At The School's Job Fair As Clark Briefly Talks With Principal Kwan's Son Who Works For The Air Force Before Reuniting With Pete Who Got A Summer Job At Mayor Siegel's Office Working On His Re-Election Campaign...

Running Into Chloe Who Is Trying To Get An Internship At The Daily Planet Despite Lex Offering To Get Her Job At The Inquisitor, Pete Tells Her Maybe She'll Be Able To Try Again On Saturday At The Student Journalism Conference With Clark...

However, Clark Has Been Working On A History Project With Lana All Week To The Point That He Forgot To Sign Them Up...

Upset That Clark Is Spending More Time With Lex And Lana Than He Is Her, Chloe Stomps Off As Pete Sides With Her Saying That She Wanted To Ask Him To The Spring Formal Which Has Clark Realizing That Chloe May Like Him...

Though With What We Know About Alison Mack Now I Don't Know If That's A Good Thing Or A Bad Thing...

Running Into Justin At Her Locker, He Thanks Chloe For Some E-mails She Sent Him While Telling Her The News That His Drawing Hand Is Shot And He Won't Be Able To Draw Again For The Torch...

Asking Her Out For A Coffee, Chloe Only Accepts Because She's Trying To Make Clark Jealous...

Visiting His Mother's Grave On The Anniversary Of Her Death, Lex Is Soon Confronted By His Former Nanny, Pamela Jenkins Who's There For The Same Reason Lex Is, Despite Lex Being Mad At Her For Disappearing Nine Years Ago Because Lillian "Bought Her Off"...

(Start At 4:26)

Going Over Old Comic Strips That Justin Worked On For The Torch, Clark Enters And Asks Justin About His Accident Only For Justin To Tell Him That He Doesn't Remember Much Only Part Of A Licence Plate With The Beginning Letters Being DDI...

With Chloe Offering To Help Justin, Clark Believes That They Should Let The Police Handle It Which Leads Chloe To Bite Clark's Head Off Saying Any Information They Find They'll Give It To The Police...

I Mean Even When Clark Tries To Fix His Mistake By Getting Tickets To The Conference With The Help Of Lex, Chloe Is Still A Bitch To Clark Saying That Justin Is Already Signed Up And She's Going As His Guest...

You Know This Whole Fight Started Because Clark Started Because Clark Didn't Get Tickets To This Dumb Conference And Now That Clark Has Tickets You're Not Going To Drop Justin And Go With Clark?

Did I Miss Something Here!?!

Dropping Some Of His Drawings In His Portfolio, Justin Picks Them Up As Clark Discovers A Newspaper Clipping Of Justin's Doctor's Elevator Accident...

After School, Lana Drops By The Farm To Get Some Pies For The Talon From Martha Only To Talk With Clark About What's Going On Between Him And Chloe..

(Start At 1:41, End At 2:11)

The Next Day At School, Clark Talks With Pete About Justin As Clark Shows Pete The Newspaper Clipping He Found In His Portfolio...

Discovering That The Doctor In The Photo Was Justin's Doctor, Clark Finds It Weird That Justin Had That In His Portfolio But Then Overhearing Their Conversation, Justin Enters Telling Clark That He Liked The Tragic Irony Of It...

Believing That Clark Is Talking Behind His Back, Justin Tells Clark That He Had His Chance With Chloe And To Let Him Have His...

(Justin) And If You Don't I Have Friends In Gotham That'll Make Sure You Do!

Meanwhile At The Luthor Mansion, Lex Is Visited By Pamela Jenkins Despite Him Still Being Upset At Her And Looking At Her Like She's The Ghost Of Jacob Marley...

(Start At 3:17)

While Delivering His Mom's Pies To The Talon, Clark Talks With Lana About Chloe While She's Going Through Issues Of Her Own With Whitney, Who's Making Up For Lost Time Because His Father Has Been In The Hospital But Because Of This She Wants To Redefine Their Relationship And Figure Out Where It's Going...

But Back To Clark, Who Honestly Has No Clue What To Do About Chloe Except That He Doesn't Want To Lose Her As A Friend As Once They Cross That Line There May Be No Going Back...

Back At The Torch, Justin Gives A Drawing To Chloe That He Worked On All Night With The Help Of His Powers And Admits That He Not Only Had A Crush On Her But He Thought Of Her When He Got Hit By The Hit And Run Driver...

You Mean To Tell Me After You Got Hit You Didn't Think " Oh, God, Oh, God I'm In So Much Pain Somebody Call An Ambulance" First, Justin?

Seeing This As Their Second Chance Justin Kisses Chloe Causing All The Pencils And Stuff To Float In The Room...

Eh, Some People's Feet Pop, Others Cause Things To Levitate, Go Figure...

Eventually Seeing Everything Float In The Air, Justin Tells Chloe About His Powers And She's Surprisingly Ok With It Despite The Fact That Nearly Every Person With Powers She's Come In Contact With Has Tried To Kill Her Or Worse...

Either Way They Go Back To Kissing Only For Clark To See Them As He Asks Chloe To Have A Word With Her In The Hallway But As He Does, Justin Gets Ahold Of Chloe's Fax From The DMV Which Gives Not Only The Licence Plate Number Of Who Hit Him But Who Did It...

Telling Chloe His Theory About Justin Killing His Doctor, She Doesn't Believe Clark Because She's Too Blinded By Love Instead Of Looking At This Like A Reporter And Jumping On It...

Later That Night, Justin Pays A Visit To The Driver That Apparently Ran Him Over Only To See That It Was Principal Kwan...

(Start At 0:18)

Visited In His Barn By Lex As He's Reading "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" Clark Asks For Advice On Lana And Chloe Only For Lex To Tell Him That Love Isn't About Playing It Safe But About Risks And Unless He's Willing To Put Himself Out There He'll Never Know...

But As Clark And Lex Talk, Martha Enters To Tell Clark The News That Principal Kwan Is Dead...

Nooooooooooooo! How Was He Really Connected With Clark Aside From Being His School Principal?

Visiting The Torch The Next Day, Pete And Chloe Are Putting Together A Memorial Issue For Principal Kwan But As They Do Clark Discovers That The First 3 Letters Of Kwan's Licence Plate Matches Justin's Hit And Run Driver And What's Worse The DMV Sent A Fax At 4:43 Yesterday Afternoon When Justin And Chloe Were Talking...

But Despite All That Evidence Chloe Still Isn't Putting 2 And 2 Together! You Know What Chloe If You Can't See The Big Picture Now Then...

Back At The Luthor Mansion, Lex Gets A Visit From Lionel Who's There To Tell Him That He's Selling Cadmus Labs But Lex Knows That That's Not The Real Reason He's There...

(Start At 0:45, End At 2:14)

Visiting Kwan's House, Clark Talks With Kwan's Son And Discovers That He Was The Hit And Run Driver And That His Father Died Protecting Him...

But As Clark Gets The Truth, Chloe Finally Comes To Her Senses When She Discovers A Comic That Justin Drew That Shows Not Just The Murders Of Justin's Doctor But Of Principal Kwan As Well. So, Going To Clark's Barn, She Calls Clark At The Talon To Tell Him That He Was Right And Justin Is A Psycho Only To Be Followed By Justin...

(Start At 2:26)

While Clark Finishes Off Justin, Lex Visits Pamela Jenkins In The Hospital...

(Start At 0:23)

Later On In The Series It Would Be Revealed That Pamela Had An Affair With Lionel And Gave Birth To A Daughter Who We Would Come To Know As Tess Mercer, Who Would Take Over Luthorcorp In The Wake Of Lex's Disappearance In Season 7 And Eventually Become The Second Version Of Watchtower In The Last Season...

The Next Day At The Talon, Chloe Discovers That Justin Is Being Placed In The Psychiatric Ward Before Apologizing To Clark As She Blames Herself For Not Spotting Wall Of Weird Material From A Mile Away...

To Which You Have Every Right To Blame Yourself, You Badly Written Moron...

But Believing She Was Just Being Trusting And Willing To Take A Chance On Love...

Clark Asks Chloe Out To That Student Journalism Conference As He Still Has Tickets So She Says Yes...

Wow, Talk About Getting Over A Guy Quickly...

But As That Goes On, Lana Tries To End Things With Whitney Only For Him To Tell Her That His Father Has Just Passed Away Before She Can...

(Start At 1:38)

And That's Crush And It's...Ok...

Don't Get Me Wrong It's A Good Episode It's Just Chloe's Idiocy Throughout The Episode That Ticks Me Off Otherwise I Enjoyed The Story, Most Of The Characters Well Written And The Effects Were Ok So I Say See It...

Till Next Time, This Is Duke, Signing Off...

[dustedmagazine]

En Attendant Ana — Juillet (Trouble in Mind)

Photo by Chloé Lecarpentier

Juillet by En Attendant Ana

“How do I deal with words, when they turn out to be that heavy?” sings Margaux Bourchaudon in “Words” with her customary airy directness, her tones high and calm without the slightest hint of vibrato, a bit of melancholy lightly fuzzed over. She’s got the sweet pure blurriness of other European artists—Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier, for instance, or the Sundays’ Harriet Wheeler—but if you think you’re going to be allowed to zone out in a hypnotic nod, think again. The single almost immediately goes full on rock, with a pulverizing thump of drums, a buzz of bass, an antic dance of trebly guitar.

Juillet is En Attendant Ana’s third album, its name reflecting the torpid summer month in which it was recorded, far from Paris, during a historic heat wave. For this record, the band added a new guitarist in Maxence Tomasso, but otherwise kept its line-up—and general aesthetic—the same. Specifically, a fearsome, joyful racket of garage top topped with surprising mellifluence, i.e. Bourchaudon’s serene vocals and Camille Fréchou’s luminous runs of trumpet.

At its best, En Attendant Ana delivers a sugar high with a hard kick. Adrien Pollin, the drummer, plays with a punching, pummeling exuberance that pushes energy levels high. The headlong drum roll that opens “Do You Understand?” is like the adrenaline-spiked lead-up to a parachute jump; Bourchaudon’s verse opens up like the sail and wafts you gently down. It’s a volatile mix, and it could tip either way, but it doesn’t.

Anarchy can come from any number of directions, though, not just drums. In “In/Out” it takes the shape of a rattling guitar riff, whose klaxon-y alarms shake up the smooth rise of trumpet and amplify the mobile jitters of bass. The cut falls apart in a beautiful way between verses, with trumpet tones swooping and cartwheeling atop frenzy, and then everything falling in line again behind the melody. Even the languid “My Bruise Is an Island” gets jacked before long, its lucid vocal opening giving way to thunderous gallop of drumming, the feverish pitch of guitar.

Juillet is not so very different from 2018’s Lost and Found, an album my review called, “pretty close to pure pleasure, with its walloping drums and bubblegum-sugary refrains.” It feels a bit more assured with a touch more control, but that’s all. And, that’s a good thing, because too much control might ruin this volatile mix of sweetness and chaos, lyricism and bludgeoning force. Don’t wait for Ana anymore. She’s here.  

Jennifer Kelly