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beneaththetangles · 1 year

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Fantasy, romance, and shonen feature prominently in our reviews this week, but so, too, do two rarer releases for manga-associated brands. They include Guardian of Fukushima, a Franco-Belgian work inspired by Japanese culture and the 2011 earthquake, and Tezcatlipoca, a Japanese novel combining Aztec mythology and modern organized crime. Read on to see what we thought of these departures from the usual, as well as more typical light novel and manga fare!

Ayashimon • The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses (Vol. 1) • Guardian of Fukushima • I Kept Pressing the 100-Million-Year Button and Came Out on Top • Sweet Poolside • Tezcatlipoca • Unnamed Memory (Vol. 6)

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Unnamed Memory, Light Novel Vol. 6

FYI: this is the final volume of the series, so some mild spoilers are unavoidable. The first volume of the story introduced magical mystery man Valt…and promptly killed him. Well, he’s back in a big way. This series has often had a mystery-of-the-week feel, but certain plot threads—Valt, time travel, witches, the anti-magic sword Akashia, a pair of mysterious orbs, etc.—have helped link the various narrative episodes about Oscar the king and Tinasha the witch, and many of them come together for this finale. I found it a little confusing, but some of that is probably because it’s been too long since I read the preceding volumes, and some of it is probably because time travel is supposed to be a bit puzzling. Be warned that this is a wild ride and you shouldn’t expect everything to be wrapped up in a tidy package. I found the ending is reasonably satisfying, but it’s definitely more “and the adventure continues” than “happily ever after,” and it left me with questions. The Afterword even hints at the possibility of a sequel series. The banter/bickering and mutual trust between Oscar and Tinasha remain charming and enjoyable, and (some) mysteries get resolved. If you’re looking for a fantasy-mystery-romcom, I definitely recommend the completed series that is Unnamed Memory. ~ Jesk

Unnamed Memory is published by Yen Press.

Guardian of Fukushima

This isn’t a manga; it isn’t even Japanese. Instead, it’s a Franco-Belgian bande desinée in the tradition of Asterix and Tintin, but one that tells a very Japanese story: of the earthquake of 2011, the devastation it wrought, and the one man who arose amid the chaos as the “guardian of Fukushima,” Naoto Matusumura. He is the one who returned to the restricted zone in order to care for the animals that had been abandoned during the evacuation—pets and farm animals alike (even ostriches!)—and who has remained there ever since, breaking the law on a daily basis and becoming the most irradiated man alive in the process. But Guardian of Fukushima is not just another retelling of an inspiring true story. Instead, Matsumura’s tale here is “liberated by fiction” (foreword), as writer Fabien Grolleau and artist Ewen Blain re-envision a 21st-century hero in the context of centuries-old Japanese folk tales, legends, and spirituality, in a manner reminiscent of Studio Ghibli’s eco-activist films and Kawatsura’s The House of the Lost on the Cape. The work draws on a rich tapestry of references: from yokai and guardian spirits to the giant catfish Numazu whose thrashing is responsible for earthquakes, to the tale of Urashima Taro, the fisherman and champion of sea life who returns home to find a world transformed—much like Matsumura himself, as the foreword points out. And it works really well, most of the time (the yokai sequence being the exception—it’s not very well integrated into the overarching narrative). Matsumura’s story is moving, but the volume wisely resists becoming overly sentimental and instead emphasizes the protagonist’s steadfast commitment to his conviction that the value of animal life is on par with that of humanity. The graphics are stunning, with the brilliant color work characteristic of bande desinée and a charming hand-drawn feel, right down to the quavering panel lines. The animals are full of personality, and much care has been taken to render the natural landscape with the vibrancy of spring, even amid the destruction. All in all, this volume is a treat for the eye and the heart as well, and a fitting tribute to a man who has laid down his life for creation. ~ claire

Guardian of Fukushima is published by TOKYOPOP.

Tezcatlipoca, Novel

A bold attempt to mix ancient myth with a modern crime tale, Tezcatlipoca is creative, heavy, and for long stretches an absolute page-turner. But it’s also ultimately underwhelming. The modern-day myth traces the lives of a number of characters caught up in a horrifying crime trade (I won’t spoil it here except to say that it’s very 21st century), but two men in particular: a neglected boy with extraordinary strength who is confined for an act of violence he committed as a juvenile, and a drug lord whose family has been assassinated by another drug cartel. The latter, Valmiro, is fueled by his grandmother’s stories about the Aztecs and their great warrior kinsman, as he bides his time in building a new empire with ancestral determination and through cruel, ritual killings; his is a story of revenge against those who killed his family. Tezcatlipoca is an epic tale, beginning decades earlier and an ocean away from Japan, where the main story eventually moves to. It reminds me of another novel involving cartels, Clear and Present Danger, in how absorbing the straight-forward explanation of events are in both novels and how deep the authors dive into character descriptions. Unlike that Tom Clancey book, however, Kiwamu Sato’s similarly lengthy tome spends a great deal of time in the abstract world of Aztec myth and religion, as Valmiro creates a “familia” that is centered on that fierce and brutal culture. In fact, Sato spends too much time on the Aztecs. As compelling as they are, the gangsters’ imitation of the ancient warriors becomes a bit repetitive in the tale, and there are too many gods and terms to follow along closely. While weaving the past with the present, the author seems to lose sight of the drug lord, who is the most interesting character in the novel; it’s a major oversight, particularly because the entire book hinges on weaving together his story with Koshimo’s, and it doesn’t happen with the same care as how their backstories are crafted. Instead, that and most of the elements in Japan are rushed, including a slam-bang climax and a final scene that is wonderfully poetic but would have made a deeper impact if given more time to develop. It’s a disappointment because if Sato had written the final act with as much patience as he did the earlier ones, Tezcatlipoca very well may have been a special novel rather than the mixed bag it ultimately is. ~ @animepopheart

Tezcatlipoca is published by Yen Press.

Ayashimon, Manga Vol. 1

One of newest entries into the “beat-’em-up” category of shonen manga, Ayashimon is bursting with energy while sticking to the tried and true of the genre. And it appears that the formula has produced a winner. Ayashimon‘s protagonist is Maruo, an impossibly strong young man who is dissatisfied with life since it’s nothing like the shonen manga he adores. His worldview totally shifts when he encounters Urara, the daughter of the deceased leader of the now-fractured Enma crime syndicate, who contracts with him to be her muscle in a quest to take power. The one-on-one battles, which take place within the concept of “ritual” duals, are cleanly drawn and dynamic. The characters are stylish and the world is creative, flipping Kabukicho into a den of demonic yakuza—the titular ayashimon who wear human faces to disguise their monstrous identities. It’s a violent series, featuring beheadings and amputations, but it doesn’t feel graphic, perhaps helped along by the ayashimon “dying” for only 99 years and their bodies transforming into cash upon “death” (I’ll let you make the symbolic connections there). Meanwhile, Urara and Maruo make for intriguing anti-heroes, criminals who are not-so-bad compared to the awfulness around them. Volume one ends on a cliffhanger involving what appears to be one of the series’ main antagonists, creating high stakes for a series that feels like it shouldn’t have any because of the immortality of the ayashimon and the OP qualities of Maruo. It just goes to show what a talented mangaka can do with an entertaining concept. What a great start! ~ @animepopheart

Ayashimon is published by VIZ Media and releases on March 7th.

The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses, Manga Vol. 1

I never expected Miss Miyazen Would Love to Get Closer to You to have a potential rival when it comes to shonen romcom cuteness, but The Girl I Like Forget Her Glasses is a worthy contender! Komura is excited about his new homeroom and the cute girl next to him…who happens to forget her glasses all too often! While he is happy for the (multiple) instances when he can talk and help his crush, he feels his heart might give out way too soon from how close she has to get to him so she can see his face! This was such a cute read! I was surprised by how fast I read it, but Komura is so, so, so adorable that it was hard not to look ahead to see what his expression would be on the next page! Ha! His reactions are always worth seeing, especially when Mie gets very close to his face. Mie was also pretty funny, and I loved how she would talk like a samurai sometimes because it honestly just added more to her cute charm. After reading this first volume, I’m so excited this will be getting an anime, as I think it’s going to be such a delight to watch onscreen! Definitely recommending this series if you like sweet and wholesome romances with some great art! ~ @lauraagrace

The Girl I Like Forgot Her Glasses is published by Square Enix.

Sweet Poolside, Manga

Shuzo Oshimi’s first weekly serial has finally been published in a bound volume. Nearly twenty years after it originally ran and followed by many other successes (The Flowers of Evil, Happiness), this one-volume work exhibits Ochimi’s talent but is deeply flawed, as the author admits himself in a cute side manga at the end of the work. Sweet Poolside is about the relationship between two swimmers, drawn particularly from Ota’s point of view as a boy whose body is less mature than some of his classmates. In fact, he has baby-smooth skin and no hair on his body other than atop his head, which is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the beautiful Goto, who feels enough of a kinship with the boy to ask him to help her improve her confidence by shaving her. Strange, yes, but you could see how such a storyline could develop into a warm and meaningful series, can’t you? And there are nice moments in this limited-run manga, mostly in the awkwardness that Oshimi puts on full display through Ota’s thoughts and actions, but there are not enough to make it as warm and sweet as I would have hoped from this coming-of-age story. Sweet Poolside also features erotic elements meant for the male gaze, as Goto is illustrated in sexually charged ways—while Ota, though arguably shown more graphically, is drawn as such only to add to the adolescent awkwardness of the story rather than to its eroticism. Sweet Poolside would have been better and sweeter if Goto was treated more fully like Ota. As it is, we’re left with a story that doesn’t quite come together and a female lead who’s nothing but her body—not a manga I would recommend. ~ @animepopheart

Sweet Poolside is published by Kodansha.

I Kept Pressing the 100-Million-Year Button and Came Out on Top, Light Novel Vol. 1

Volume one of I Kept Pressing the 100-Million-Year Button and Came Out on Top serves as a reminder that sometimes an adaptation exceeds—in this case far exceeds—the source material. I called volume one of the manga a “pleasant and unexpectedly fine read,” but the original light novel which it adapts is dreadful. The story is precisely the same—Allen, a bottom-tier, no-talent swordsman, punches a “100-million-year-button” that takes him to an alternate dimension where he trains for that amount of time (and then again and again), leading him into OP-hood before he begins to attend a special swordsman academy. Yes, the idea is silly, but the manga tackles it with optimistism and fun. The light novel has the same tone, but the writing is too atrocious for me to enjoy the cute characters and funny events. The narration is only slightly better than “And then I did this…and then I went here…and then this happened…” as the story moves from one scene to another without rhyme or reason. More visual media are able to hide these issues, but awful writing is more obvious in a light novel. Other substantial problems, like a lack of characterization and creativity in the world-building, also derive from the weak writing. I encourage you to skip this volume, but if you want a fun and upbeat fantasy/school story, check out the manga adaptation—it features all the good parts without being weighed down by the bad. ~ @animepopheart

I Kept Pressing the 100-Million-Year Button and Came Out on Top is published by Yen Press.

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“Reader’s Corner” is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works they’re reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works, and those older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

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ninja-muse · 2 years

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September is my birthday month! So naturally I had a proper book haul. I’m very excited to now own the pretty editions of Nettle & Bone and The Goblin Emperor, and also a new bookcase (not pictured). The downside of having a birthday month is that people want to do things with you to celebrate it, which cut into my reading time. Storygraph is now cheerfully reporting that I’m behind, and I think I’m behind enough on my pages goal that I’m not going to manage to catch up. I’m trying to be stoic about it because 50,000 pages in a year is, in fact, quite a lot. Probably too much for anyone sane.

It also doesn’t help that even though I hit a normal number of books read, a good number of them failed to totally engage me or otherwise proved slower than expected. I had a DNF this month as well, my second this year. Oh, and I’m also behind on my reading because I’ve started writing again, and I’m trying to milk the inspiration for all it’s got before I inevitably conclude I’m everything wrong with the publishing industry. Or the internet concludes that for me. Again.

I took two books off my TBR shelves this month, though one is kind of cheating because I got it for my birthday.

And as always, in order of how glad I am to have read them:

The River Ki - Sawako Ariyoshi with Mildred Tahara (Translator)   The lives of three generations of Japanese women during the first half of the 20th century.  - Japanese cast, Japanese author, #ownvoices

The Diary of Dukesang Wong - Dukesang Wong with Wanda Joy Hoe (Translator)  and David McIlwraith (Editor) The only known first-hand account by a Chinese railway worker.  - Chinese author, Chinese-Canadian translator, #ownvoices, 🇨🇦  - warning for descriptions of racism

Rogues - Patrick Radden Keefe  Long-form true crime journalism.  - warning: mass shooting, plane bombing

Half-Blood Blues - Esi Edugyan  A jazz band in Nazi Europe. A guilty conscience. And the biggest unanswered questions: just who are Hieronymous Falk and Sid Griffiths? -  largely Black cast, Jewish secondary character, Black author, #ownvoices, 🇨🇦  - warning: Nazis

A Taste of Gold and Iron - Alexandra Rowland  When Prince Kadou is publicly humiliated, he takes on an investigation into counterfeiters. Unfortunately, he has attacks of nerves and his new, by-the-book bodyguard isn’t helping them—until he is.  - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonists, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, protagonist with anxiety disorder, 🏳️‍🌈 author

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow - Jerome K. Jerome Amusing essays on various topics, proving that nothing much has changed in 140 years. - warning: misogyny

What Moves the Dead - T. Kingfisher  Lt. Easton arrives at a crumbling manor after news that kan friend is dying, but there’s more wrong on the estate than that. Starting with the mushrooms. - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist  - warning: body horror

A Mirror Mended - Alix E. Harrow  Zinnia is burned out from saving Sleeping Beauties. Now the Wicked Queen has come calling.  - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters, protagonist with chronic/terminal illness

Notorious Sorcerer - Davinia Evans  Siyon is a street alchemist with ambition, but when he commits an obvious act of magic, he’s thrust into unwanted limelight. And of course, the city’s in turmoil. - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character

The Book Haters' Book Club - Gretchen Anthony  When Irma announces she’s selling her bookstore for pennies, her daughters and other interested parties band together to save it at any cost.  - 🏳️‍🌈 ensemble characters

The Half Life of Valery K - Natasha Pulley  Valery has been reassigned from the gulag to a top secret nuclear city. Something is seriously wrong with the local environment, but everyone insists that It Is Fine Actually.  - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character

Epically Earnest - Molly Horan  Janie likes Gwen, who’s way out of her league. Algie likes Cecil, who Janie thinks is far too good for him. Janie has a chance to find her birth family. Prom approaches. A retelling of The Importance of Being Earnest.  - 🏳️‍🌈 cast

DNF

The Oleander Sword - Tasha Suri  Priya is trying to hold Ahiranya together nearly by herself. Malini is trying to hold an army together long enough to take down her despotic brother. Then a new threat looms.  - 🏳️‍🌈 protagonists , South Asian cast, Indian-American author, #ownvoices - warning: death by burning, misogyny

Currently reading:

Echoes - Ellen Datlow (editor) Ghost stories by modern SFF writers.

The Curse of the Marquis de Sade - Joel Warner The history of 120 Days of Sodom, and a French financial scandal. Out February 2023.

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories - major disabled character  - warning: colonialism, racism 

Stats 

Monthly total: 12  Yearly total: 116 + 1  Queer books: 6.5  Authors of colour: 3  Books by women: 8  Canadian authors: 2  Off the TBR shelves: 2  DNFs: 1

January February March April May June July August

#reading wrap-ups #read in 2022 #stacks of books #books #booklr #bookblr #book covers #book photography #my photos

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tictac-murder-spaghetti · 11 months

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Finally got this working! I wrote this in October for Whumptober Day 2, and it's some good old Strychnine whump and hurt/comfort! This obviously happens after their friendship is fairly well established! As I post more I'll get an actual timeline going.

Content Warnings: Implied lab whump, implied (past) child abuse, nightmares, muzzles, dehumanization, minor horror elements, cages, nonhuman whump (he's made of goo???) Writing under the cut!

Strychnine was in the alley. Really, he had been in many alleys throughout his life, for various reasons, but tonight he had no idea why he was here. He pushed himself into a standing position, brushing the dust off his pants as he looked around, absolutely confused. How the hell had he gotten into an alley at night, just sitting on the ground? He didn’t seem hurt, besides the growling prickles of terror at the back of his neck. The stars sparkled above him, but he couldn’t seem to see the end of the alley in either direction, a feeling of cold dread washing over him. Strychnine began to run. As he did, the terror really kicked in, his heart pounding as if he was being chased, but he couldn’t see anything behind him besides the dark void of the alley and the same in front of him.

“Clunk!” Something hard and metal made contact with his knees, causing him to tumble to the ground with a cry of surprise. He tried to push himself back up, see what he had run into, but before he could he felt cold metal clamp around his neck and push his body back down onto the cobblestones. He’d seen this weapon before, he knew the man who wielded it, his best friend.

“Ambrose?” “Oh? How’d you guess it?” Strychnine had never heard his voice with such a chilling tone to it, full of malice. “Ambrose, what are you doing? Why am I here?” “Strychnine, don’t you really think it’s high time the ruse is up? That’s why you’re here. As for what I am doing, I’m doing my job. I’m arresting you.” “What?!” Strychnine was beginning to panic again, trying to figure out if there was any way for him to worm his way out of the clutches of the man catcher. Noticing his struggles, Ambrose leaned on the handle almost nonchalantly, pushing the metal band farther against Strychnine’s throat. “Ambrose, we’re friends!” “Strychnine, I’d never be friends with a criminal! And even worse, a monster! That’s what you are, Strychnine.” “What? No- no Ambrose, don’t say that. I thought we were friends.” Ambrose hadn’t said that, he couldn’t. Strychnine wasn’t a monster. He tried too hard to convince himself he wasn’t a monster, Ambrose knew that, Ambrose wouldn’t accuse him of that. The crimes? Yes, he’d committed crimes, he knew that, he was a criminal, but a monster? No, no.

Ambrose, or the thing that looked like Ambrose (Strychnine couldn’t believe Ambrose would say that to him, he couldn’t) noticed his distress, the condescending smile on his face widening, “Yes Strychnine, you thought. That’s the keyword there buddy.” “But- we hung out! You let me into your house, we did things together, we worked together!” “You broke into my house. You’re a wanted criminal, what you think I’m just going to kick you out of my house when you could kill me? Now I know you wouldn’t, you’re too weak for that, but I just went along with it. What would you do? If a little criminal bastard started following you around and wouldn’t leave you alone? I couldn’t call the rest of the police, they’d be much too suspicious of why I hadn’t taken you in in the first place.” Tears stared to well in Strychnine’s eyes, black and goopy- unnatural, but he still wasn’t a monster. Biologically different from every other mortal? Yeah, but he-he still wasn’t a monster, even if he had black radioactive goo running down his face instead of tears. “Then- what are you going to do?” He sniffled, “You said you were going to arrest me.” “Well… I am. But since I can’t bring you to jail, I know someone else who’ll take care of you. She really wants you back, you know.” Strychnine's eyes widened in fear as a mean smirk crossed Ambrose's face. “No- No Ambrose!! I’ll turn myself in, please don’t, please.” He pleaded, eyes wide, how-how could Ambrose have known? He never told him about his past, he’d considered him a friend, yes, but Strychnine couldn’t even think about what he’d gone through most of the time, and definitely couldn’t talk about it to anyone else. Ambrose released the mancatcher and Strychnine tried to make a desperate lunge away from him, but he reached out and grabbed Strychnine by the back of his shirt, painfully yanking him back and dragging the smaller man across the cobblestones. Strychnine struggled, trying to get out of Ambrose’s grip, but he wouldn’t let go no matter how much Strychnine rolled or flailed, making the dragging all the much more uncomfortable. Since he wasn’t restrained, Strychnine looked down at his gloves, considering. He could get out of here, just slip his gloves off, grab Ambrose around the ankle and Strychnine would be out. And Ambrose would be missing a foot. Even if he was mistreating him, the thought made Strychnine sick. He would have been a monster if he’d done that. He couldn’t. He told himself he wouldn’t hurt anyone like that after- her. She was the last person he’d done that to and he was going to keep it that way.

Instead he twisted around and grabbed Ambrose’s trenchcoat, trying to drag the taller man down. Ambrose swiveled around, roughly yanking the hem of his coat out of Strychnine’s grasp before letting go of his shirt and dropping him. Strychnine’s head painfully smacked against the cobblestones, letting out a wheeze of surprise. Dazed, he was helpless to even try to run again before Ambrose once again grabbed the back of his shirt and continued to drag him. The alley just kept stretching on, Strychnine’s vision blurring as his head rang, he was normally quite tolerant of pain but tonight... it hurt so bad. All he could see was dark stone wall after dark stone wall, feeling like they were falling in on top of the two of them. He clutched his head in his hands, just trying to get the pain, the tears, anything to stop, but it wouldn’t. He tried to dig his boots into the stones, slow Ambrose down, all he wanted was this hellish nightmare to stop, for this friend to be his friend again. The movement stopped. He tried to twist around, see if he could see what caused Ambrose to stop, but he couldn’t see Ambrose anymore. He couldn’t see anything anymore, just black void above and below him. And he fell.

Strychnine hesitantly opened an eye, and immediately regretted it. It was her- well, her legs, as he couldn’t see the rest from where he sat on the floor. His “mother”, the woman who had created him, and the very last woman he’d ever wanted to see. He scampered back, feeling cold metal underneath him, but he didn’t get far before cold metal pushed into his back as well-bars. He was in a cage. He was in a fucking cage. He looked down at his wrists and while his gloves were still on he couldn’t get them off, his only way to fight back taken from him by a thin strip of metal wound around each wrist, pinning his gloves to his body. He started to breathe fast, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“I really appreciate your friend here bringing you back to me #07. I missed you so much.” She kneeled down to look at him through the bars of the cage, a cruel smile on her face, sparks buzzing between her horns, showing that she was truly more happy to see him again then her voice betrayed, but Strychnine didn’t really like her view of “happy”. He watched as Ambrose passed the cage as well, his “mother” standing back up to meet him. “Really sir, thank you. My son here has been quite the menace, and after I lost him so many years ago I thought I’d never get him back. He’ll be… properly dealt with.” “Good,” Ambrose spat, with more hatred in his voice then he’d ever heard, “That's what it deserves.”

Hearing his friend- his best friend say something like that about him, he had to ask why, Ambrose why? All that came out was a pitiful whimper, as he couldn’t open his mouth fully, only now realizing part of his ringing headache was the straps tightened around his head holding a muzzle in place. His “mother” had muzzled him and thrown him into a cage like he was some sort of wild animal or… like he was a monster. He grabbed at the strap, trying to find the buckle but fumbling as his hands shook. “Oh #07, I’m so sorry I had to do that,” She leaned down again, “I was just worried you’d react like this. Last time you got angry with me you did this-'' She rolled up one of the sleeves of her lab coat and Strychnine saw the full extent of what he’d done as a child… but something was wrong, her arm was covered in deep gouges and chemical burn scars, but they still dripped with black goo just like his own hands. She reached into the cage, Strychnine desperately trying to back away from her grasp but being stopped by how small the cage was. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him towards the front of the cage and holding him in place.

“I didn’t want you doing that again when we continued where we left off-” she poked him hard in the chest, right above his heart, “Such a shame the experiment had to be delayed so long. In the last 19 years I’ve made plenty of advancements, but I kept everything how it was back then just for you.” She pulled him up to the bars of the cage again, pushing his face against them as she hissed in his ear. “I’m not letting you ruin this, or me, ever again.” The black goo started to run down her face, dark tears burning through the flesh of her face. She dropped him as more black dripped down her face, her scarred arm. Even Ambrose, who had been coldly watching him from the side of the room started to melt, black dripping out his eyes and the sleeves of his coat. Strychnine gasped in horror, scrambling back once again trying to get away from the horrific forms of his “mother” and best friend. He curled into a little ball, tears pouring from his own eyes as he tried to pretend this isn't happening. It couldn’t be happening. He tugged at the muzzle more, maybe if he could get it off- maybe if he could just scream it’d all be better. But anything would be better, anything would be better than this, prison would be better than this, he just wanted out- he wanted out- please, please could it just stop-

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Strychnine woke up in his bed. His heart still pounded, his pillow and cheeks both still wet with black goopy tears. Just like- no. He rolled over, staring up at his ceiling. It was just a nightmare. It hadn’t happened, though the way his gloved hands were clutching the sheets and the tears wouldn’t stop coming told him the fear was so very, very real. He wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. Strychnine swung his legs off the bed before he stood up, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He slowly made his way to the window before cracking it open and stepping out onto the roof.

Ambrose woke with a start, looking around wildly, trying to find out where the assailant was coming from, trying to figure out who was breaking into his bedroom. That was until his eyes landed on Strychnine, crouched on his windowsill, eyes glowing yellow in the dark. Normally he’d just shoo the other man away like he was some sort of feral cat or a raccoon, it was the middle of the damn night after all, but something was wrong. Strychnine was usually so smiley, even when he was being an annoying little menace, but he wasn’t now. Black lines ran down his face from his eyes, looking like tear tracks, if tears could stain black. He got out of bed, throwing a robe over his shoulders before cracking open the window.

“Strych-” He was cut off as Strychnine barreled through the window as fast as he could, the smaller man wrapping his arms around Ambrose’s waist in a hug. Ambrose was a little shocked, but put his hands on Strychnine’s shoulders in a supportive gesture. Strychnine was shaking. “Strychnine, what’s wrong?” “Ambrose, I’m not a monster, right?” “What? I mean, you’re weird but you’re not a monster. What happened Strych?”

He held the smaller man close to him as he sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. Ambrose led him over to the couch in his bedroom, sitting down besides Strychnine. Strychnine was in his pajamas but still had his gloves on, Ambrose wondered if he ever took them off. “I-I had a nightmare. You were in it. You… said some horrible stuff. And I could kind of tell it wasn’t you… something felt so wrong, but it still hurt. Then some stuff from my past came up-” Tears started welling in his eyes again, “And it was scary. So-so scary. And dehumanizing, and just… it was bad. I thought I’d forgotten those things but… I hadn’t.” Ambrose pulled Strychnine into a side hug, “I’m sorry Strychnine. You don’t need to tell me what happened, if you don’t want to. But I’ll assure you, I am your friend. And I don’t know what nightmare Ambrose told you, and I don’t need to know, but hey, I’d go and get him for you. And you’re not a monster.” Strychnine sniffled, “You suck at fighting though.” A slight smile crossed Ambrose's face, “Hey, if I had to fight myself but meaner I think I’d win still. We’d both suck.” Ambrose gently grabbed Strychnine’s gloved hands with his own, “Like I said, you’re a bit… odd, but you’re not a monster. And the weirdness is what makes you fun, anyway. Who knows if we’d be friends if I didn’t find your weirdness so endearing but I do. And we are.” “Thank you Ambrose. I feel kind of bad, I just broke into your house and woke you up in the middle of the night, but could you just sit with me for a little bit longer? I’ll go back home but I just- I need to sit for a bit and it’s better to have company.” “No problem buddy.” Ambrose sat with Strychnine for a while, until the smaller guy's breath began to slow and Strychnine fell asleep again, slumped over on the couch. Ambrose carefully got up so he wouldn’t wake him and tossed a blanket over his best friend before yawning. The sun wouldn’t come up for a few more hours, and he was tired, but he didn’t want to disturb Strychnine. Another night sleeping in his office wouldn’t hurt. He hoped Strychnine wouldn’t have another nightmare but even if he did, Ambrose would be around this time. And real Ambrose would be there for him, since really Strychnine wasn’t a monster, he was his best friend.

Taglist @a-crumb-of-whump (Please ask to be added or removed!)

#whump #whump stuff #whump story #lab whump #hurt/comfort #muzzles #non human whump #he’s made of goo so… yeah?#implied child abuse #dehumanization #cages #nightmares #my writing #Ambrose&Strychnine #Ambrose (oc)#Strychnine (oc)#Dr. Belladonna (oc)#Lifetime Achievement Award(story)

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libidomechanica · 6 months

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“And whyne”

A kimo sequence

And her together. And whyne. But in her Eyes half an hour dear is a great enfranchisement.

And as for the paths which, lightens, and also; and made he, of bigamye? Sicker sike another.

III

As fills with convinced.—Thus through the door was fals; I dremed of some people mad, for each endear’d.

And so stands and when I err a bit. Three bands of freres er I come to bid thee in loue and pure.

The grey-hair’d creature wept. Of some chilly midnight should mingle with scorn his name; and frugal life?

On that same gan so to scorn, good sureties will be false theef? She vow’d and not set my high rate.

VII

But you out. What it appears milking a stay, then that command, if that she did but must bear it.

VIII

Prefer a spouse away. The ruling Stars by Night; or suck them for a fair wrought! This bosom dies.

Has nought the time prefer thee thus to the mere splendid than solemnity. And stupid stamp: yes!

And my own child. A weary woe. Thus ending, on the cooler air they change, and eternal joy.

And wound wherewith my filial joy? Love are few, and place, all fears to perfection for sings.

XII

To blend and panting of her care. Perhaps the wo, Ful giltelees, by Loues Standard beare: what, he!

XIII

Queen Virtue—as they obey the sea of ocean. How many kisses, whose might decreed in peace.

XIV

But you on you and man, that Philo- genitiveness. With me tie are humble looks increased.

Sweet western glooms, the bed a tent, and deeply ground; and that moment bent, i’ll tell you why you out.

XVI

Ay me, such wild barbarous middle. Loving, not a pincushion, seem’d full of hous al of gold.

XVII

No more—Oh! So much—to give back the tables, what a gift prevailed, as principle will or save.

XVIII

The breezy shade and strife, nor long endure they? To see her in a Whispers said, I see around?

XIX

Poor Frederick may do. The little shall renew, clipt from over stumps and heateth kindles red.

All youth—but with a dissipated life. The truth, and liking, yet, lilies, as though Heaven knows?

XXI

Was—at least it rhymes to comply. As some years of a flowers decay: and young, whose tame leopards.

XXII

Nor mark’d by the slender was fortune sha’na steer thee; but yet I pray you tell. To Arms, to Arms!

XXIII

Pan, I care nor thunder’s face, fell down amber plains. That euer she drank they continued battling hands.

XXIV

The teeth of winter hoar. You lose my playmates; shapes committing drunk himself the sky and watches.

XXV

What shalbe the Guadalquivir. When Musick steals men’s days we wounds euen now for love; or if her hair.

XXVI

Thus seyde that sit in mageste: of alle men his way, a portion joined. Then for a lover’s Tongue.

XXVII

Flaming, fill high triumphed, or at the Doctor! She would Prudence’ direst bodements halcyon.

XXVIII

Dolphins were soft, unseen as the solve is the sea-nymph’s home. These my night on thy heart most beware!

XXIX

Her heard the potently? And if I have sought, that they surveys his rightful bride, and t’ other.

XXX

Rape: unpraised by dignity. For their golden head, crowned without a shout most, and though the fair.

XXXI

And forest, and rams up the lady’s case. To golden brooch: beneath the swollen at the palms. Earth!

XXXII

My own peculiarly be seen; the calm oblivion passeth. Whom thou love these poor weakness!

XXXIII

Voice, and then how vast a word the other pull of fearful, and crime, and would flow some fragments lie!

XXXIV

’ Set out. To give him quickly to the way with calm words he told her arms, with a moonlight bower.

XXXV

As much amiss,—love is dumb. Does not be, nor had ponderous silence scandal’s my aversion.

XXXVI

Thirty-two and twenty-first of sin; but never such serenity her bed. The stormy sea!

XXXVII

Bet is, quod the Virgin’s height delights are banquet of my tongue; use power to love you go. Stems.

XXXVIII

Light; in various tasks of summer weather win. The Hebrew noun which he smoothly to my tale.

XXXIX

If I, indeed who quake to stand to; they liv’d or lasted plains speckled and curse. Affirms your bed.

And fixed on her. And one in silence the hall, the vent’rous youth’s hot wishes crown, that fears below.

XLI

Close by, began to muse for support in al. God grant but thou guess so, but if it came too late!

XLII

And when she is, bitter, but did entreat one spare. One could with heavy poem again the pool.

XLIII

Thus ended she. As if still her grinders bland; her husband, not you again. And exorcise theef?

XLIV

He yaf my lust, that thus low! Languish and me: for woman seated on through opposite of what sweet.

XLV

Not her proper spheres. The steep rough some frail success, no doubt, if I don’t even bury a man.

XLVI

And so late, or elles oftentimes that was ironed with grace obtaining fairly gained. Fair Nymph!

XLVII

On the wolf and the first the winds blowing! To signified: the Daughters of your flowery nest.

XLVIII

Tis beauty’s successe confirm my speculative hit, but Heaven! Appeared, the wildered you!

XLIX

Till it whisper I looked as if they toil’d, alfonso’s swords his bigamye? The grief itself is dawn.

That lord the good hearts bleeding hair. Her Eyes she prayed she might turn their nuptial exercised in black.

And shakes those eyes, except in pondered hart. Would melt at Abydos, the bust of metaphysics!

LII

How shall wed. And found the better that beautiful, her own and far beyond expressive Embleme.

LIII

His horse to flow. Again she sees, and none at all. Bug with no great experience t is true.

LIV

Banquets, Doric mother is brought: of all duns! Think no man wole, and many a moonlight star!

For thee that next I make, I weep afresh love’s use the last. Like is like to Cymon was her name.

LVI

They lived with the dearest dinner. They cry The Babe! Husband, and still surveys his relinquish’d foes.

LVII

A God finger with the rites in which is the old price, because, yet might be kings were a decree!

LVIII

He scarcely woman else, and stupid. These flowers, and wake up and get new, a strange matter hours.

LIX

A league being fires love light! Fault at last, mind’s eye doth lie. And duty duty, cleared, than—Oh shame!

Woman with a peculiar superstition. For the sea of ocean? As breeze this vaine scuse giue?

LXI

He wished, murder, to be counted by human frailty, follow’d, as no doubt of Rome. Catch her hair.

LXII

The same who I am, entirely— for he stood the Fray. He sholdė wedded to this a time.

LXIII

The kindred of hers follow’d upon him now be still we will I be at home. Besides alas!

LXIV

Rascal to person appear, and that’s like a roundle neuer sene? Dead, long divine, and pity!

LXV

The man was denied! Those poets gave the trophies of affliction, and young men should sink thus load.

LXVI

The wild echoes, and the smoot me on a beauteous roof to ruinate which derive. To name they twitch.

LXVII

These he wants the Silver Thames. Tis the old oak tree. Mine in parfitly, and hail with Samian wine!

LXVIII

)— I say, a thousand times are in the Fight. Of grace, shriek of sage Miss Reading, prickling these treasure.

LXIX

In all Spain. Sixteen the women what is the sun was strook. A vigil or dream’d that he craved it.

LXX

Since we have cost his promise after all at once, all her stood. Meantime, or add a Furbelo.

LXXI

And Theotormon on my flessh so deadly blind: these field-flower! Smile as infant’s grave understand.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #178 texts #kimo sequence

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dostoyevsky-official · 2 years

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Re: Yesterday’s discussion of Russia as a state sponsor of neo-Nazis, you may have heard about the Wagner Group private military company (PMC) in the last few years. Wagner, more of a network of troops tied together by commanders and one ultimate financial source than a discrete company, was first active in Crimea and the Donbas in 2014-2015, then went to fight in Syria (where they famously got blown up by an American airstrike) and Libya, and are now running around committing war crimes in the Central African Republic and Mali. Investigations have uncovered that Wagner Group officially gets its paychecks through various shell companies ultimately linked to Yevgeny Prigozhin, an oligarch known as “Putin’s chef” due to his monopoly on catering contracts, who’s most famous for running Russia’s online disinformation effort. He also profits from this venture: a shell company of a shell company secured mining rights in the Central African Republic after Wagner got involved (so much for contemporary Russia supporting anti-imperialism). These investigations led to three Russian journalists’ deaths at the hands of the Russian police. The Russian government officially denies that it and Wagner group are connected in any way, but the ties are obvious beyond the financial connection to Prigozhin, because they suddenly pop up wherever Russia has a geostrategic interest.

The company is deeply mired in the Russian neo-Nazi scene. Wagner was originally founded by a longtime Russian Spetsnaz soldier by the name of Dmitry Utkin. Utkin, who has a “deep interest in Third Reich history,” chose the name because Wagner was Hitler’s favorite composer. He also has tattoos of the Nazi Reichsadler eagle on his chest and the SS uniform tags on his collarbones. A mercenary’s tablet recovered in Libya housed a small library of books including Mein Kampf and Henry Ford’s (yes, that Ford) “The International Jew.” The same tablet allowed journalists to figure out the identity of a few soldiers beyond their nom de guerres (some of which are Nemets (German), Ariets (Aryan) and Gimler (a misspelled Himmler). Here’s a description for a social media page (VK) for one of the soldiers in Libya:

The site provides a screenshot of the same social media account under Metelkin’s name, with a photograph of a German World War II soldier. The “Anton Kulikov” version is headed by the German phrase “Meine Ehre heißt Treue,” or “My Honor is called Loyalty,” a motto of the SS. Scrolling down, the profile reveals an interest in Vikings and Valhalla, metal and Celtic rock bands. One retweeted message reads, “These days it’s fashionable to watch what you eat and your appearance. I look forward to the day when it’s fashionable to watch your tongue and your actions.” This quote is accompanied by a picture of a large man with an axe standing in a forest. His T-shirt has a “kolovrat” wheel — a folkloric, so-called neopagan symbol associated with the far right today in Russia and elsewhere, known as the Black Sun in Germany and famously commissioned by the SS head Heinrich Himmler as a mosaic in Wewelsburg Castle in Germany.

[...] The Libyan campaign also left unmistakable traces of this bizarre Third Reich-Valhalla marriage. Photographs have emerged on social media of Wagner soldiers — some dressed in German World War II uniforms — supposedly reenacting scenes from Gen. Erwin Rommel’s campaign against British forces in Libya in 1942. The charred walls of the burnt Niffati Mosque in Ain Zara — reportedly destroyed by Russian soldiers — bear “White Power,” Islamophobic and racist graffiti, in Russian, as well as a thunderbolt-like rune that matches other neopagan symbols found on the walls of houses used as bases by Wagner. (x)

Alexei Milchakov, commander of Wagner’s “Rusich” unit, first formed in the pro-Russian Donbas territories, describes his unit as more than a mercenary company: “We aren’t simply a unit, but friends united by a common idea.” Milchakov and Rusich were photographed in Homs, Syria. Yuri Petrovsky, a sub-commander of Rusich, was also photographed giving a Hitler salute in Syria. Other photographs from Syria show a Wagner commander—possibly Utkin—wearing a Nazi field cap adorned with another Reichsadler eagle. The social media of another Wagner mercenary covered in Nazi tattoos who died in Syria was traced, finding that followed and shared a ton of neo-Nazi pages. There is a whole litany of photographs showing Wagner units wearing gear with various neo-Nazi symbols, or vandalizing houses in Libya with the 14 words. Members of Rusich, by the way, have recently slipped up and posted about their probable deployment to Ukraine on social media, meaning they’re about to commit some war crimes in Ukraine.

To summarize: a Russian mercenary company founded and manned by Russian neo-nazis, obviously funded by the Russian state, goes to fight in conflicts the Russian state considers strategic, resulting in lucrative extractive contracts for its handler, and it commits horrific war crimes in every location along the way.

#wagner #russia #'photos' with a link shows the actual photos

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kyotakumrau · 3 years

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GIGS No519 Interview 京 [Voice]

GIGS 2021 JUN released on April 27th (interview itself was done on April 6th)

The last solo interview is with Kyo. In the previous interviews, all band members from the music instrument squad all mentioned ‘simple’ in reference to Oboro. Yet how did he perceive the song and what feelings were put into the lyrics? Let’s discuss it thoroughly.

The most important thing is that I want to be able to let out honestly what I want express, what I see, what I felt or thought that one moment.

text: Yukinobu Hasegawa photos: Reishi Eguma translation: kyotaku (pls let me know if you see any mistakes!)

You can get GIGS 6月号 on Amazon Japan or HMV or CDJapan or TOWER RECORDS or other shops!

――It shows in the footage enclosed in the deluxe and first press editions of ‘Oboro’ that the songwriting for the new album started quite some time ago.

京 I was probably working on various things without thinking about a single, so I don’t really remember when was it. I’m working on songs aaaaaaaall the time (laughing). I don’t really grasp when each song was done or which one will become a single, so honestly speaking I don’t really know.

――You’re also doing sukekiyo. I have many chances to speak with sukekiyo members and they were surprised that ‘Kyo will be sending new songs ideas or melody anytime’ (laughing). Is your pace of coming up with ideas as high with DIR EN GREY?

京 On the contrary, I’m not saying much in case of DIR EN GREY. Just about ‘I’m looking forward to it’. I’m not writing songs, so upon listening to the demo of the song sent by other members I just give them my opinion like ‘how about we change it a bit like this?’ or ‘this way is good’.

――At the time you started writing songs did you already have an idea what you wanted for the next album?

京 I didn’t. Not at all, I felt I could read this and that about the album from the direction we were going from the atmosphere of the songs the members brought in earlier. In our case we often don’t have talks like ‘let’s make an album like this’. So, on the contrary I usually don’t say much about things like album image, I think we can make more irregular thing if I keep a flat position.

――So even you are looking forward to what kind of response you will have when listening to the song’s demo?

京 I am.

――Because of the spread of COVID-19 it’s hard to move around now, so how do you get input for the music, art and so on?

京 Nah, I don’t really do anything. If you ask about input... the most I do is watching various news.

――Do you feel that the things happening around you and around the world are something that drive you when you’re expressing yourself?

京 I’m sure they do. What I think when I see and feel various things, how I communicate that, it’s about that.

――The single ‘Ochita koto no aru sora’ you released last year had a digital release only thus there were no lyrics included, but fans listened to the song many times to try to understand the lyrics. As a result, I think they realized that it’s a song with a dreadful/intense message. Because lyrics include a such date as ‘㋇㏥・August the 6th’ among other things, there was a reaction also from fans around the world.

京 Frankly, I don’t check fans reactions. I don’t know what people will think after listening, but I don’t want to talk about the atomic bomb. In the end, the fighting continues, the same things keep happening again and again...like that. I think there are many issues, but there’s no right answer to them, it’s all just collisions of what we ourselves think is right and just. That’s why you can’t say that something is bad as a rule. It’s just one way of thinking, there are many ways we can look at things. For example, currently during the pandemic holding a concert is the right thing to do or not, won’t the answer and the way of thinking be different for every person? Now more than ever we got a situation when it’s very difficult to say ‘this is the way’. It’s the way I feel now seeing various things.

――Because of COVID-19 there’s a lot of hate crime against Asians in the US. It’s a crime, but the people who commit it may see it as an act of justice.

京 That’s true. There are also many other issues like the gender discrimination, in all of them Japan is seen as lagging behind. It can’t be simply denied because the situation now and in the past is different, depending on the country or culture the way people feel or think is also different. It’s a difficult issue, isn’t it?

――I think you write many lyrics that make us think about that. There’s not only grieving in ‘Ochita koto no aru sora’, there’s a positive message at the end. That really resonated with me. Do you feel like the way you express and communicate things has changed?

京 No, I don’t think anything changed.

――I’d like to talk about ‘Oboro’ now, it seems like it was a pick out of few songs. What was your impression when you listened to the original song?

京 It was like all demos felt more like the album songs than a single. It’s normal as we originally didn’t start working on them thinking about creating a single, most of the songs were intended for the album and we decided to finish one as a single. Recently we had many up-tempo singles, so I thought it would be a good idea to release a ballad, not as epic as previous ones, but a ballad that could be included on the album.

――What kind of response did you have when you listened to the original song for the first time? Talking about the lyrics, I thought that because of the pandemic it became difficult to move around, and the thoughts have turned inwards. You told me [at t an interview] some years ago that you had some traumatic events, I thought [lyrics] relate to them.

京 In terms of the worldwiev and lyrics, recently there were no lyrics directed at one person, a lot of them had a message from a very broad perspective, that’s why first thing I wanted to do was to have a narrower worldview. So when I listened to the original song and the scene emerged [in my mind], the past songs videos are very broad. This isn’t a continuation but it was a start for me to want to put something like that together. It’s not about my own trauma, it’s a narrow worldview inside a big worldview. And without using grotesque expressions, I wanted to depict various feelings like love or hatred, and wrote lyrics with that in mind.

――The past songs you mentioned were also songs that had music videos made for them at the time. I was actually watching the video and having a flashback. The pain and agony of a woman, and I dare say her feelings about her aborted baby. That’s what gives a shape [to the new song]. At the moment is your expression or the direction of what you want to bring up in your lyrics changing?

京 I don’t mean it like we all should try being positive (thinking about the future) together, but as one should think about various things, I always want to write about what we think is the right path or what is just. But as I said before, what is right varies per person. It’s something I want to write about on the next album in the future.

――In other words, like stabbing/piercing each person’s feelings?

京 Well, yes. I think I’ve been thinking like that since the last album The Insulated World, but this time I’d like to go further into that direction... I mean it’s not like I have something precise I want to convey or I want to bring up this and that. The most important thing is that I want to be able to let out honestly what I want express, what I see, what I feel or think that very moment.

――As your age and work experience accumulate, I think people’s ideas and thinking will also change. What can you think of [that has changed] in the last few years?

京 Nothing (laughing). It’s not something you know about yourself. On the contrary I want to stay without changing. To change because the world is becoming a certain way is really not like me, I was always my own type of person, so I want to continue as I am. This is something I’m saying all the time, but I hate fixed ideas, I want to be always free to express myself. But there’s not much freedom in the world nowadays. Besides the problem with COVID-19, many countries have civil wars. That’s where we learn the importance of freedom again, and I also wondered if having a lot of freedom is not justice. When you start thinking like that it messes with your head, but I want to be free just in the world of expression. I feel like this is a one right no one can take away from me.

I think the most negative thing, for fans, for the band and for me, is not being able to show our real selves at the concerts.

――Are you taking that stance now as well when you’re writing for an album?

京 Nah, I haven’t written anything yet. We’re in the early stage of pre-production, so it’s not the point where I write lyrics yet. The songs are still in the middle of being changed, so it’s like I want to see more of them. Also, most songs don’t have a melody decided for them. And what I feel and think, what I want to express, things inside of me are changing every day. I want to be able to pack as current me as possible into [the lyrics], and to put into lyrics as recent images from the songs as possible, so I haven’t decided on them yet.

――Did you write the lyrics for ‘Oboro’ just before song-writing time as well?

京 Yeah. After the length/scale of the song is mostly decided in pre-production next is a step when I’m inserting temporary lyrics and then start recording.

――You have a [recording] vocal booth at home, so did you record ‘Oboro’ deciding the vocal direction by yourself?

京 If it was different, I probably wouldn’t be singing. I don’t want to go to a studio outside (laughing).

――Do you sing creating an environment for the song’s world like getting your room all dark when recording?

京 Nah, I’m a person who doesn’t do things like that, I can do it anywhere as long as I have a vocal booth. Just, I sing when I want to sing. When using a studio from what time and until what time is decided, engineers have their schedules, so even if I’m not happy with something and want to rerecord it, it takes time to get ‘let’s listen to it’ or ‘I’m gonna organize data’. And sometimes that timing doesn’t match my own rhythm. And, there are times when I want to sing soon after waking up or want to sing when I’m anguished not being able to sleep. I value this kind of speed so I can’t record outside my house anymore.

――In ‘Oboro’, even the trembling of your throat when your voice comes out got recorded, which helps the listener to get into the song even more. What were you looking for in terms of singing?

京 It’s a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it? In the past I was singing with my emotions so my mannerism/habits would really come out hard. After that I tried to get rid of them as much as possible, and as much as possible tried singing putting emphasis on the pitch and timing. For example, when the timing of each sound in first A melody and second A melody didn’t match perfectly, I would be unhappy, but now I just sing naturally so the timing can be a bit off. I deliberately sing with the feelings that were matching the flow of the song, so I don’t record with the intention of singing perfectly.

――You absolutely prioritise the emotions?

京 That’s right. But in case of ‘Oboro’, the lyrics don’t have a worldview where the emotions get stirred up to just burst out. They are hidden inside, I thought it would be interesting to sing in a restrained way without exploding. With that point, I recorded the song with the emphasis on the flow of the song. And I think I will keep that point the same when recording the album.

――There was a time when you were thinking like drawing a blueprint with many different voice tones and the arrangement of the choruses, it was interesting for you to play tricks with them, right?

京 There was a time when I pulled that out as a part of me, but now I want to pull other parts out. Increasing the things I can pull out, if I think the approach you just described is good, I just have to drag it all out. When I listen to the album as a whole, if I think there’s not enough appeal, I’d try a more gimmicky approach. In the end I won’t be satisfied with myself. I want to keep searching for more and more new ways, not only sing the way I’ve sung before.

――You had this kind of attitude from the start. As a coupling song for the single you have a customary self-remake song. This time it’s ‘TDFF’, to listen to the original song from the past again... ah, you don’t do it. I’m shaking my head for jumping into your answer (laughing).

京 I just briefly look at the old lyrics and decide I want to keep this part, I don’t need this part and so on. To some extend in myself I’ll just extract some part and from there extend the image and add things to it.

――Is it like breathing new life into a song?

京 Nah, it’s just the 2021 version. If we redid it now it’d look like this. We wanted to keep as many good parts as possible, but there were also parts where we felt ‘here it’d have been better to go with this’, so they got changed in the current version.

――By changing the song to a newest version can you see your attitude towards the singing or your thoughts?

京 I’m always putting in the things I’m feeling at that time, so I think to an extend I can see it. But it was originally a simple song, so it was easy.

――It was also recorded in your vocal booth at your home, right? I think I’d actually like to have a peek at you singing to see what’s it like (laughing).

京 Ah, it’s a really simple booth about the size of the phone booth. There’s a small thing working as a desk and I put my computer there, singing while sitting down and using a hand-held mic. I don’t want to use a recording standard stand mic. I want to sing as much as possible the same way I sing at concerts. But there’s no space for me to stand up so I sing sitting down (laughing). But in my case, it doesn’t matter if I’m singing standing or sitting down or sleeping (laughing).

――It doesn’t really affect your concentration.

京 I usually can finish recording one song in less than 2 hours, so I think anyone can concentrate for about 2 hours (laughing).

――The 3rd song on the single is a live track. How do you feel about performing without the audience?

京 Honestly speaking the songs that require a response [from the fans] were a bit tiring, but there was no change with the songs focusing on the worldview or the songs that just explode. Doing it naturally is about doing it naturally. I haven’t listened to that live track yet, but yeah.

――But yeah (laughing). Did you choose the song that got the most votes?

京 Nah, I’m okay with any live track. Like ‘please choose whichever you want’, I leave it to the other members or the people in the company. Concert is a raw thing (=unedited, live), I had many live tracks in the past where my voice was all messed up or where I was singing cleanly. That’s why now I don’t have anything that would make me go ‘wait, this is a bit...’. I think the me from that time is packed there so anything is fine.

――You’re soon going to have a first in a while concert with the audience on May the 6th. I think you might answer ‘not at all’, but how are you approaching it?

京 Today I was at the concert film screening event in Osaka, and we talked there about the concert. And I said there that because it’s still a month away I don’t think about it (laughing). Listen, if you were told you will be having this and that for dinner in a month, you would listen with only half an ear being ‘yeah got it’ (=you’d forget it next moment) (laughing). I start thinking about it about a week before the concert. I’m not the type of person to go ‘I’ll do my best!’, I’ll just let out my honest feelings at the time.

――During the time when you didn’t have the type of space or time that is a performance with the audience, were there any moments when you started wondering ‘what are concerts?’ and so on?

京 No, there weren’t. There were moments when I felt like I’d like to do a show, but I didn’t really think about things like ‘why are we doing concerts?’ or ‘what are concerts for me?’. It’s not like all my music activities stopped, so I didn’t have a moment to think that deeply about it. If anything, rather than us I think it’s the fans who were thinking about it.

――Because for many people concerts are something they live for. Kyo, you’re looking healthy.

京 There were times when it was very hard for me mentally, I don’t know what was the reason. Now... I’m trying not to think too much about unnecessary things. I’m trying to only think about what’s in front of me or about things I’m able to do now, I’m trying not to push myself too much. I’m trying to accept myself as I naturally am. But even then, there are still things that keep piling up, making me worry endlessly. I wish I would be able to let them erupt at concerts. I think the most negative thing, for fans, for the band and for me, is not being able to show our real selves at the concerts.

#dir en grey #kyo #京 #GIGS #interview #translation

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fade-and-loathing-in-thedas · 3 years

Text

MERRY BAND OF WARDENS

Okay, so I'm actually going to do it. I'm gonna promote/share my fic on tumblr. I always feel awkward about this but ya'll seem interested in my Merry Band of Wardens so here goes :)

Summary: What if none of the potential wardens died? What if they had to fight the Blight together and how would that look?

This will be a series of mostly one-shots, from the various OCs perspectives, that follows the DA origins storyline and how this group of deals with the Blight and each other.

I have the first two intro fics up and posted on AO3 and if you want to learn some more about the OCs or see some snippets of what I'm writing before it's posted you can check out my Merry Band Of Wardens tag

The Hunter and The Fugitive

Viera Tabris has committed a grave crime. She's killed the son of an Arl and now has only two choices, die at the hands of the guards or flee to the Brecilian Forest and beg the Dalish for refuge. She chooses to flee, but instead of the Dalish Camp, she finds a wounded Dalish warrior. Are things finally looking up, or will she ruined her chances at refuge by being unlucky enough to have one of the people die in her care?

The Prince and The Pauper

Prince Declan had always assumed Lady Luck would forever be on his side, I mean who doesn't love a extremely handsome and charming rogue with a silver tongue, but when his younger brother stages a coup he ends face down in the dirt and getting blamed for his eldest brother's murder. Now he's stuck in a jail cell with grumpy dwarf, who if they had the chance would rip the tongue from his mouth, facing banishment in the Deep Roads. Things were certainly not going well for him.

#merry band of wardens #my writing #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age: origins #everybody lives au #warden aeducan #warden brosca #warden tabris #warden mahariel

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 3 years

Note

How would describe shameless to someone who never heard of it? How would you describe the specific characters?

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve these super fun asks, but thank you so much! :D It’s funny that you sent this because I did actually describe the show to someone not too long ago, and I didn’t like how I did it in hindsight. I felt like I didn’t do it enough justice. So, I get a second chance to try again!

“How would you describe Shameless to someone who never heard of it?”

Shameless is a show about how life doesn’t always go our way, we don’t always do the right thing, and we’re all imperfect beings—but we still deserve a chance regardless. The Gallaghers begin the series nearly at rock bottom, doing anything they have to for their literal survival, but also to keep their family together. Sometimes that means supporting each other when they’re in a difficult spot, banding together to help their neglectful father even though he doesn’t deserve it, or even committing petty crimes to sustain their meager way of life. As they get older and have more agency in and control over their lives, the nature of their problems shifts, and they learn from their own mistakes rather than reacting to their parents’. The same trends unfold for the people and families in their orbit, showing that various trials and tribulations can impact anyone of any social standing. Not everyone gets a happy ending; not everyone gets what they want. However, they grow and learn how to manage both the hand that they’ve been dealt as well as the bed they’ve made for themselves. That, after all, is life.

Shameless is a “dramedy” where the comedy elements utilize primarily satire, which sets it apart from the popularity of slapstick and dry comedies over the last decade. By nature, the show therefore addresses difficult, uncomfortable, and controversial topics in manners and utilizing methods that are designed to make us laugh at the absurdity while forcing us to think about these topics in ways that we may have avoided otherwise. This format has been established since the pilot episode and certainly is not to everyone’s taste. I wouldn’t recommend this show to anyone who prefers that such issues be addressed with a deeper analysis on the part of the characters rather than the audience, which is the general tendency in drama pieces rather than shows of this genre.

“How would you describe the specific characters?”

For this, I’ll focus on the main Gallagher family, Kev, V, and Mickey, as they’ve been the constant presences on the show since the start. I’ll also keep it relatively short since I could write essays on each one, and that would bore anyone who hasn’t heard of Shameless (and 95% of those who have) to tears.

1. Frank Gallagher is the stereotypical “deadbeat” who plays the system for every penny so that he doesn’t have to work, choosing to fund his addictions rather than support his family. He will go to any lengths if it means preserving this lifestyle—mild, absurd, and even heinous. He functions as something of an anti-hero, being more a threat to the family’s stability in early seasons than a boon and gradually sinking into obscurity because of his children’s growing indifference as he burns one bridge after another with them. Frank prides himself on espousing only the values that will get him what he wants in a given circumstance. In specific instances, that has meant showing a measure of love and affection for his children that evidence has proven exists deep, deep below the surface. In others, he’s a wild card. Frank’s various fatal flaws have included arrogance, addiction, selfishness, and an avoidance of any and all responsibility.

2. Fiona Gallagher is the eldest and began the series as the rock of the family because, to put it simply, she was the only person able to do it. She selflessly cared for her younger siblings so that they wouldn’t be scattered into foster homes or adoption thanks to her parents’ neglect, even to the point where she gave up portions of her life and blurred the lines between her roles as sister versus caregiver, which became a sticking point in later seasons when her siblings didn’t need or want a mother-figure anymore. While Fiona was initially very responsible with regards to raising her siblings, she therefore sacrificed a lot of opportunities that were important for her development as a young adult and exhibited an immaturity typical of people her age that impacted other arenas of her life, especially relationships. As her role as caregiver dwindled, that immaturity and the norms prevalent in her environment became more pronounced with her newfound freedom, and she struggled greatly in the face of what she viewed as making up for lost time. Fiona’s various fatal flaws have included ambition, a “martyr complex,” and viewing her family as an impediment to her ambitions later in life instead of a support system.

3. Lip Gallagher is the oldest son. He began the series with a hefty chip on his shoulder. Intelligent, quick-witted, and calculating, Lip was constantly referred to as a sort of diamond in the rough and clearly came to believe it. This led to a very fascinating dynamic within the family and his other interpersonal relationships as his love for and desire to protect his family was balanced by a sense that his way was the best way—the only way, really. A combination of poor choices and unfortunate circumstances beyond his control resulted in a very real “fall from grace,” by South Side standards, and Lip has worked hard to claw his way back from where he was in the middle of the series. Where Fiona spiraled further as she withdrew from her family, Lip leaned on them and others in his support system—and it saved him. Lip’s various fatal flaws have included arrogance, contempt for power structures in which he is not at the top, and trying to solve other people’s problems at the expense of dealing with his own.

4. Ian Gallagher is the middle child and something of an outlier in his own right where his family is concerned. He began the series seeming to have his shit together: he balanced school, ROTC, and work, excelling in all three at just fifteen years old. He was plagued by his status in the family at times, not old enough to have more control over his situation while not young enough to shrug off a lot of it on Fiona and Lip, and wanted something for himself more than anything. It’s that combination that put him in an extremely vulnerable position, because while he was the picture of responsibility and didn’t orchestrate as many scams as his siblings (though he was involved in plenty—he is South Side and a Gallagher, after all), it gave him—and his family—the false impression that he was more mature and in control than he was. Multiple older men preyed on him because of that, and in his thirst to find something that was solely his and someone he could care for outside his household, he viewed them as relationships rather than abuse. Like Lip, Ian truly hit rock bottom in a different manner, although the causes of his descent were more heavily skewed beyond his control. In true Ian form, however, he remains driven to find the straight and narrow—and stick to it as much as he can. Ian’s various fatal flaws have included ambition, a “hero complex,” compartmentalizing to the point of narrowmindedness or naïveté, and ignoring his own needs in pursuit of fulfilling others’.

5. Debbie Gallagher is similar to Lip in that she has always been clever, cunning, and driven to get what she wants. Debbie began the series in a difficult position, going to school and contributing to the household while ultimately not in control of anything that was going on. From the start, all she wanted was a functional family, and it colored her behavior throughout the first six seasons of the show. In many cases, that meant doing whatever she could to hold everyone together: investigating Fiona’s lying boyfriend, running a daycare so that Fiona could work all night and still find time to sleep, prompting Fiona to more actively worry when Ian ran away and helping Lip locate him, and caring for Liam a lot of the time while he was a baby. Over the years, as the dysfunctions racked up, she sought an escape through boyfriends and a baby of her own. The means by which she attempted and ultimately failed to achieve these goals were at times reprehensible and spurred on by both her immature ignorance and the culture in which she was raised. Debbie’s various fatal flaws have included self-centeredness, envy, manipulative tendencies, and not thinking or caring about the implications and consequences of her actions for herself or the people involved.

6. Carl Gallagher began the series as a real mess. The word “sociopath” comes to mind. He was the stereotypical “wild child” whose behavior embodied the dysfunctional nature of the family and their environment. He destroyed toys for fun, tortured animals, physically bullied children at school, and was held back multiple times for poor academic performance. Carl was never as academically bright as the other Gallagher siblings, but his street smarts were nigh unparalleled and, like Lip, he could probably survive anywhere. Over time, Carl underwent a remarkable transformation: embracing the negative stereotypes of his environment, he dove towards rock bottom with gusto only to realize that the thug life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Once again, he paralleled Lip and Ian’s trajectory in leaning on his family when it became too much, and he’s turned his entire life in the opposite direction to pursue a path that he hopes will lead to helping people rather than hurting them for his own gain or reputation. Carl’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, a penchant for violence, and ignorance.

7. Liam Gallagher is still very young and therefore tougher to fully characterize as his development isn’t as extensive. Right now, he’s the same age Debbie was when the show began, and we’ve seen just how far she’s come. So, for the time being, Liam is extremely bright and has grown up with a great deal more privilege than his siblings. He doesn’t remember saving for the squirrel fund with fears of not being able to eat all winter in mind. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to worry about Frank or Monica’s actions having an enormous and lasting impact on them. He doesn’t remember Lip dropping out of school and moving out of the house, Monica’s actions at Thanksgiving, Fiona crying over crumpled bills from working at the sport bar, Ian going missing for four months and coming home a different person, or Debbie lying about Patrick just so they could keep a roof over their heads. Liam didn’t grow up with those things, and so he has the luxury of being a kid a bit more of the time. However, because his parents aren’t around and Fiona left the house a long time ago despite being his guardian, he has matured quickly in lieu of any real supervision.

8. Kevin Ball and Veronica Fisher have been the Gallaghers’ closest allies in the neighborhood all this time. Kevin isn’t the brightest academically or in terms of common sense, but he has a good heart and makes the best decisions when he uses it. He has been through a lot, between foster care as a kid, a crazy ex-wife, trying to keep the Alibi afloat, and raising twin daughters that they definitely didn’t have the means for when they discovered that they were expecting two kids. And Veronica… Well, she’s quite literally his other half. She’s savvy and smart, intelligent and assertive—they complete each other. They began the series as an established couple experiencing some growing pains, especially when Veronica was giving the Gallaghers everything from use of their shower to their toaster while Kevin insisted that they needed to focus on themselves before they could help Frank’s kids. (He talked a good game, but when the chips are down, Kevin has always been there for them too.) They’re good people who’ve been given a few bad shakes and taken a few wrong turns, but their love for each other, their kids, and the Gallaghers has made them a surprisingly strong heart of the show. Kevin’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, ignorance, and not standing up for himself. Veronica’s various fatal flaws have included avoiding communication about her feelings and indecisiveness.

9. Mickey Milkovich is the stereotypical personification of their environment. He began the series as a poor thug—and a dirty one, at that—who exuded such a presence in the neighborhood that he instilled fear at a mere glance. His family functioned as a foil to the Gallaghers, perhaps what they would have been if Frank had been a different person or they’d fallen even further. Mickey didn’t benefit from an emotionally supportive family that banded together to provide for more than merely monetary concerns, not to mention that his father was openly and violently homophobic, so it took a great deal of time and overcoming numerous internal and external hardships for him to come to terms with who he is on many levels. Over the years, Mickey was self-employed or acted with his family as a drug dealer, a pimp, and a prison hitman; worked for a drug cartel; and has engaged in any number of other scams and illegal activities in order to make ends meet—and he has been quite happy to keep doing so as it plays to his strengths. Mickey is remarkable, however, because he has always been a multifaceted character whose problematic decisions, abrasive mannerisms, and questionable lifestyle didn’t and don’t negate that he cares very deeply and will do literally anything for the few people he allows to get close to him, specifically Ian. Mickey’s various fatal flaws have included lack of foresight, avoiding communication about his feelings, and not reaching out for help when he needs it.

~*~

That was quite a bit longer than I initially intended, but I had a great time putting this together. Thank you again for the ask!

#shameless us #gallaghers #you asked #this was so fun #shameless #shameless meta

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Peace: Clowns to the West

Previous: Would It Be Enough?

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse/manipulation, Mentions of rehab, Scandals, Mention of fighting

Summary: Across the globe, Big Hit grapples with Jungkook’s outburst.

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift

This is officially the last chapter of peace. Mirrorball follows. Illicit Affairs precedes.

Peace Master List

“We can’t make them break up,” Mr. Cho, a Big Hit lawyer, told Bang and Sejin.

“Why not?” Bang asked.

“Both sides signed an agreement.” Ms. Lee, a second lawyer, reminded them.

“It’s in his contract, they have to remain secret,” Bang responded.

“They’ve been together almost three years and they’ve never had a slip up,” Mr. Yang said.

“This isn’t a slip up! This is a total disregard for decorum! For rules! For boundaries!” Bang yelled, voice echoing against the walls of the conference room.

“Do we know why Jungkook punched him?” Sejin inquired.

“Not yet,” Mr. Cho answered, eyes moving to Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang, conferring in silent glances.

“His hand is okay though,” Ms. Lee responded. “We got confirmation.”

“Good, who is posting it?” Mr. Yang asked.

“A few tweets have surfaced, no one on Weverse has said anything, and it doesn’t seem to be sold to anyone, yet,” Ms. Cho informed them. Her spectacled eyes stayed glued on her screen as she fielded emails, tweets and Weverse posts, mining for a hint that anyone knew what transpired.

“Do we have the name?” Bang wanted to know.

“We’re working on it, the lawyers in LA are fighting the clock to get the footage and receipts from the restaurant so we can narrow it down, we’ve got a team working on tracing him,” Mr. Cho said.

Mr. Cho, Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang had worked for Big Hit for all of three years. They had joined when Namjoon had led the insurrection, when BTS had demanded new contracts and lawyers that worked for the good of everyone, not only the executives of Big Hit. They worked closely with the band, fought for them, protected their rights and stood by them when Bang and Co were unreasonable. They had combed through the agency, ridding it of lawyers whose integrity was compromised, whose morals allowed them to turn a blind eye when discussions of what had happened to Jungkook occurred. They were poison, and Cho, Lee and Yang were resolute in their decisions to rid the company of them.

“The LA lawyers are arguing it was a hate crime, the man attacked first and Jungkook defended himself and y/n,” Mr. Yang said.

“No one knows about his fight with Namjoon, do they?” Sejin inquired.

“It’s been three years, sir, if someone knows, they would’ve sold it by now,” Ms. Lee told him.

“This cannot get out.” Bang reiterated.

“What if it does?” Sejin questioned.

“Jungkook pays for having it scrubbed from the web,” Bang responded quickly.

“What will ARMY say?” Sejin pushed. The ever-present fear, the thorn in their side, what would ARMY do?

“They’ll be livid,” Bang responded, looking at Sejin.

“Angry at the person who assaulted Jungkook, or Jungkook for having a secret relationship?” Sejin asked.

“Both, they want Jungkook for themselves. Not only is he in a committed relationship, which he has lied about for nearly three years, but he met her when he was sent to rehab, and he’s punching men over her,” Bang ticked off each reason on his chubby fingers, not pausing when Sejin wanted to interrupt. “They’ll find the man and harass him until the day he dies.”

“Are they closer to getting married?” Ms. Lee interrupted.

“We should ask,” Sejin said.

“We asked when Jungkook came to us the first time,” Bang reminded him.

“He didn’t have an answer,” Sejin shrugged.

“He specifically asked that he be given the chance to see where it could go,” Mr. Cho had pulled up the initial agreement, signed years ago, never amended.

“They’d already been dating for six months at that point,” Mr. Yang said.

“He was too good at hiding it,” Bang whispered, eyes drifting from Sejin to the pictures that lined the office, images from concerts, award shows, when they received their medals and spoke at the UN. Images of their accomplishments, of their status, of their power.

“Namjoon told him he had to tell us,” Sejin spoke softly, pulling Bang from his reverie.

“They gave us answers to our questions,” Bang responded, voice still soft.

”I’ve never met a woman so angry before,” Mr. Cho said laughing.

“She was rightfully angry with us,” Sejin stated.

Bang’s eyes grew wide, creases in his forehead appearing as his glare bored into Sejin, “She nearly tore them apart.”

“We nearly tore them apart” Sejin corrected.

“We?” Bang’s voice had gone from a docile whisper to a yell, a change in decibels that surprised Sejin.

“We asked Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon to ask those questions. We gave them the list, we told them when they had to do it. We manipulated Jungkook for years. We have nearly torn them apart so many times, it’s a miracle they are standing.” Sejin was fuming, the total disregard for their behavior sickened him. He hated the way Bang ignored their actions, hoping no one would notice if they were quiet about it. They signed the bands new contracts, they agreed to allow Jungkook to date and ease up on their restrictions. They made plans to be better and now, with Jungkook hurting, they were discussing the possibility of hurting him again.

“And out of the ashes, Jungkook’s relationship,” Mr. Yang replied.

“Out of the ashes, Jungkook rises, again and again,” Sejin corrected.

“They came back with nothing,” Bang repeated.

“Disdain and anger,” Again Sejin corrected Bang’s revisionist memory. “They felt that before they spoke with her.”

“They’ve done a good job keeping their relationship quiet. Can’t we extend them a little grace?” Ms. Lee said, bringing the men back to the conversation at hand.

“No, they signed a contract,” Bang snapped.

“It was self-defense,” Mr. Yang reminded him.

“No one will care,” Bang said.

“They’ll want her name, how long they’ve been together, how they got together,” Mr. Cho listed the questions they too had asked.

“We tell them that Jungkook met her on contract mandated anger management and rehab? That we sent him to an outpatient treatment on the ruse of working on music and choreography in LA, when he was really in therapy because of the decade of abuse he endured at our hands?” Sejin countered Mr. Cho, angered that they continued to gloss over these inalienable truths.

“Don’t forget that Namjoon went out there too,” Mr. Yang added.

“Yoongi and Seokjin as well,” Ms. Lee aforementioned.

“They met at a restaurant by chance, that part is true,” Mr. Cho took a sip of his water, tired from the hours long meeting.

“While he was in rehab,” Mr. Yang amended.

“That we drove him to,” Sejin interjected. Unlike Bang, he kept his fury under the surface, simmering, bursts of steam the only sign that he was angered.

“Or that our agreement stated if he attended treatment, he could date,” Mr. Cho shrugged, tossing back a few aspirin with his water.

“Him and Namjoon, two relationships,” Bang muttered.

“Both Americans,” Sejin added.

“It’s less of a headache, less to hide,” Bang stated.

“How long until the rest come knocking?” Sejin asked.

“We’ll have to deal with their, sexualities,” Mr. Yang reminded them.

“They can’t be gay and a pop star,” Bang scoffed.

“They can in almost every other country in the world,” Ms. Lee told them. She had been a lawyer in Korea for years, and never had she been so conflicted about the integrity of her career as she was working for Big Hit.

“They can’t leave us, do we have enough to stand upon?” Bang’s mind was moving to the worst-case scenario, Jungkook breaking his contract, the other six following. They were a unit, they were a team, they couldn’t stand without each other. They didn’t have to, and they never wanted to.

“Financially? Yes, for a while,” Mr. Yang answered.

“But what will our name mean?” Sejin pondered aloud, “Our legacy if the seven of them decide either after their next negotiations, after service, or before, that they don’t want to be represented by an organization that denies them love, relationships, a family?”

“We follow the same policies as every other agency,” Bang said.

“Yes, but do they have as much power and clout as we do?” Sejin questioned. “Who will we be if we don’t let them date who they want, love who they want, marry who they want?”

“Page Six,” Ms. Lee called.

“Who?” Bang asked, temper rising.

“Page Six and TMZ, they’ve got it,” Ms. Lee clarified.

“Get it down!” Bang roared.

“What if they won’t?” Mr. Yang asked.

Bang took a deep breath, regaining his composure before he spoke, “No amount of money is too much.”

“How much is Jungkook willing to pay?” Mr. Cho inquired.

“Call and -

“Don’t call, get it down and we can negotiate with him later,” Bang instructed.

“They’ve got video,” Ms. Lee told them.

“Video!” Bang and Sejin yelled.

“Let me see it, now!” Bang roared.

The video was tossed on the screen, and in grainy footage, they could see the man approach you. They could see him grab you, Jungkook telling him to back off. In fuzzy audio they heard bits and pieces of the various slurs and they watched as you and Jungkook froze before his fist collided. The video was coupled with dozens of bad photos, none miraculously, capturing his tattoos. In the rush to leave the bar, there was a single instant, a moment, where the undercut can be seen, the earrings flash, a slight blur of ink, and a side profile that looks almost, almost, like Jungkook flashes across the screen.

The team sat, clicking through the photos, watching the video over and over. For what it’s worth, and it’s worth a lot, you never yell his name. You never identified the man you’re with, and other than a blur of skin, your face couldn’t be made out. The only thing that was obvious was the man spewing hate. His volume louder than anyone else’s.

It’s in the moments of watching the video over and over, looping the audio, sending it to engineers to enhance, that more photos began popping up, better quality, videos with clear shots of Jungkook’s face.

Bang and Sejin are on the phone with lawyers and conglomerates, trying to pay by the hundred thousand, reaching out to their already made contacts in hopes of stopping this.

They could barely admit it, but they were scared.

Scared of ARMY’s reaction.

Scared of what this means for Namjoon and the others.

Scared for the safety of you and Jungkook.

Scared their stocks will tank.

Scared that BTS will walk.

Scared that their lies and manipulation will come to light.

Scared that hate speech and racial slurs will spill out from the dark corners they’ve been hiding.

Scared of the power they created.

Scared of the dynamic they were breathing in.

But more than that, they’re scared that they have, again, in an attempt to control him, given Jungkook too much.

It never matters what Big Hit has taken from him. Only what he’s given, and the promise of more in the future. A scandal of this size, a hidden lover, unsure if Jungkook would do anything to stop it, was enough for them to pay extra to have teams monitor for the next several hours, weeks, even months to ensure it doesn’t get out. It’s enough for them to put Jungkook on stricter orders, to attempt to amend his contract, to attempt to cage him in. They’ve got him on his tiptoes, spinning, shining for them with the threat of shattering looming above them all.

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vesperstalksclones · 4 years

Text

What will you do after Mandalore?

Rated teen

Ingredients: kissy kissy, pining, angst, oogling, heavy petting, Rex likes using the F word a lot and thinks plenty about his tool

Sketch by @i-got-no-bones

He spotted her across the sky plaza that they had commandeered as a landing platform. Arms crossed, feet spread, back arched into her posture; every inch of her shining with pride as she watched her men tend to their business.

Rex was content to merely stand and observe for a moment. Ahsoka Tano had disappeared over a year ago, radio silent. Furious and hurting, no doubt, after the Jedi council, men and women she had called family, had handed her over to the republic judiciary system to be tried on circumstantial evidence for a crime she didn't commit. Her name had been cleared and the culprit caught, but when the council invited her back sheepishly, after her humiliating excommunication, she graciously told them to shit in their hat, turned heel and walked away. He respected her for that, also envied her the freedom to be able to do so. If he stuck his birds to the GAR and turned his back, his parting gift would, at best, be a blaster shot to the shebs. Property didn't get to make choices like that.

He could have tracked her down, but she hadn't left him so much as a scribble in parting. He had not taken it well. First came panic - she was alone, who would have her back? Then anger - the 501st and Torrent squadron weren't good enough to stay for? Fuck her!!! The pain of abandonment - didn't the years fighting side by side mean anything, the men who had died protecting her life? Blind fury at the council that had driven her away - he had demolished several training druids to cope with that. Jealousy; that perhaps she had retreated somewhere… to someone… someone male... to lick her wounds and seek comfort. Like that litte Bonterri fuck stick.

"No, old man, you turned yourself pretty inside out over Ahsoka's nonexistent good bye", Rex mused, a wry smile spreading over his lips. After about four weeks of stewing in his own volatile pit of self-pity and rage, during a particularly long night of insomnia spiced with bourbon whiskey, he realized why he was so angry. Fuck the Jedi, they didn't return the loyalty she had always offered. Fuck the GAR. They would carry on fighting and killing and invading and dying with or without her.

Rex had realized, in those oppressive pre-dawn hours, that he agonized because she had left him. They had been companions for more than three years! She had grown from a bratty youngling, to a capable warrior, to a leader almost without match. They loved her, the 501st. Torrent, the battering ram of the esteemed legion, especially worshipped her. If General Skywalker was the spearpoint of the forces, the Troopers were the rigid staff,, and Ahsoka was the sinews and lead and nails that held the two together. They had adopted her as their blood sister, named her Vod'ika, and taught her their words. The squadron had cracked a little from their loss. The center of the chasm had been their CO. Rex was drowning in despair when he had heard his own voice quietly wimper…

"Why did you leave me?"

It hurt, to hear it out loud. It made the pain more real somehow. He had curled inward on himself, hating that he desperately needed his friend to help him cope, and yet she was the one he was mourning.

By the time he had crawled from his bunk, all vestiges of anger had burned away. Left behind was only depression, and empty bitterness. Everything became harder after that. Skywalker also suffered her loss, and he and Rex began to severely grate on each other's nerves. Rex flung himself into work and training for the distraction, earning a multitude of grumbles from his Vod as he expected them to keep up his grueling pace.

And then… Skywalker commed him. The General spoke as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the soy loaf at dinner. There was a mission to be had, to Mandalore. Bo Katan Kryze was in need of assistance, unseating the Sith lord Maul who had claimed the planet for his own. She would be meeting them in roughly 72 hours, with her comrade at arms. A certain Lady Tano.

Rex had leapt from his desk, pacing a circle for nearly an hour. Skywalker said that they would accompany her, Rex in command of as many men as she needed. His stomach was clawing inside him like a trapped loth cat, with anticipation, excitement, and anxiety.

He needed to tell his boys. Her boys. Their girl was coming home. He had stood there smiling like an idiot, loving the feel of those words in his weary brain.

He called Torrent to attention in their barracks, briefly explaining the mission. They were going to fight for their father's home. Serve the warrior people that had created all that the Vode held dear. He could see the energy beginning to rise from them, the promise of a fight that really did belong to them in some way.

He savored a pause, keeping her his precious secret for a second longer, before he flung her name to his troops like fresh meat to hungry dogs. The resulting roar was deafening, with a string of particularly loud expletives from Jesse, who had become his de-facto Captain, as Rex had taken on the Command of the 501st in purpose if not in official name. It warmed his tired heart to the core.

Excusing himself he strode away to his quarters. The energy that the mere mention of her name generated had put the spring back in his strut. He didn't sleep that night either, for the boyish excitement inside.

By the following evening, several hundred men were sporting orange blazes on their helmets, and the indoctrinated eye would recognize the white jagged stripes that swept down over their visors. The men had shined every inch of their armor, oiled and cleaned every gun, sharpened every blade. He allowed them to fight it out for their spots at review. A few black eyes were given over the choicest front row positions.

Then came the day of her arrival . General skywalker commed him for assembly. The men jogged to the meeting point, a large liaison space on the 3rd level. He had counted the length of his breaths carefully, willing himself to be calm and composed, as if this was really any other inspection. He was screaming inside. He felt like his stomach was trying to fall out of his ass.

The door chimed and slid open. And there she was. But she wasn't the girl he remembered. She seemed to have grown over the past year. Taller yes, he noted the distinct curve taking shape in her Montrails. Not just vertical growth either; she had expanded in all directions. Her hips were no longer angular, but smoothly bowed outward. Her waist tapered in and climbed upward to... what used to be pert little breasts - polite things that barely moved when she vaulted across the training mats. Now… well… they weren't polite anymore. In her absence Little'un had become a woman. How the hell did all this happen in a year?

He called the men to attention, unable to suppress the absolute shit eating grin of joy that had plastered itself there. She had traded the skirts and tights of her padawan youth for the dignified garb of a warrior. Smart armored combat boots covered tight breeches, and disappeared under a slim fitting, high collared shirt which proved both modest and profoundly flattering at the same time. Having discarded her Akul tooth headdress when she left the temple, Ahsoka now wore a variety of tiara that looked like hand hammered durasteel. Numerous arm bands and leg holsters carried her various kit. Best of all, he noticed, she had outfitted herself almost entirely in the cobalt blue of the 501st.

Ahsoka stepped towards him. Hesitantly, uncertain of her place in the scheme of things, her eyes searching his face for a cue. He was positively giddy at her approach, glad that his full body armour could dampen the sight of the tremors that ran through him.

"Beautiful, fierce, brave girl… don't look at me like that. You'll always belong with us" he didn't say the words, they shone from his eyes. Her gaze landed on the helmet clutched in his hand, and he was certain they moistened as the orange and white design drove its message home. They were hers and she was theirs.

Moments later, things got complicated, as they were wont to do when Skywalker was involved. He had loaded about three thousand odd men on to another venator. Anakin had named him official CO of the 501st (could've done that a fucking year ago) and they left with their Lady. A jedi no longer, now only a civilian advisor. Whatever, she was still their angel.

Now, about 48 hours later, they had Maul's forces on the run, and had taken a few hours to regroup, gather sit-reps, and organize the city wide hunt for the criminal. His duties were tended for the moment so Rex had gone on the search, hungry to see her face again. He spied her by the transports, wearing her pride of possession, as she watched her Vod do what they did best.

He jogged across the pavement and slowed to a swaggering stroll as he neared her. She beamed at him, blue eyes reflecting the city lights.

"All right there, Lil?"

"Rex, this has gone off smoother than I had hoped. The citizens are disgusted, but at least things didn't de-evolve in to violence."

Gah, her voice! It was like a cool breeze on a shitty hot day.

She retreated a little way between the LAATs

and retrieved a canteen of water, drinking deeply. He took the opportunity to appreciate what nature had wrought upon the Togrutan.

He couldn't pretend to be an expert on her race's anatomy, but he could definitely see that the physical changes in her had stopped being about adding physical size, and began to be about physical allure. The hard muscles of her youthful form had gained some softness via artistically placed plump cushions. Her rump… hips… bosom. Her face had exchanged youthful roundness for a pointed chin and angled jaw, and instead focused the fullness in to her plum colored lips.

It wasn't until after the initial excitement of the reunion when they were en route to Mandalore that he could privately reflect upon her changes. As she bent over to adjust her boot straps he was certain the thirty or so Vod in the room must have heard his cock slam against his cod piece as he reacted to the sight of her peach shaped rear offered up like a feast before him. Since that moment he had remained at nothing less than half mast, his member ready and waiting for the off chance that he might need it, while his brain begged it to behave itself and not act a fool..

How the hell had he come to this? His sweet friend had become a veritable sex pot, her body shedding the trappings of youth and preparing her to recieve a male. The notion that had began to grow in his mind that night in his lonely bed so many months ago, had born fruit and ripened in that moment.

He Loved her and not as a lad should love his dear friend.. He had pined away for months, struggling to function through the void created by her absence. Moments of privacy had tormented him either with loneliness for her presence or aching for her touch. Often his mind wandered too far in her direction and he was forced to take matters in to his own hands… well hand…. And release brought guilt as well as relief.

When he closed the gap between them she offered the drink, and he happily chugged some just to taste her on the rim. He was so desperate, he thought. So fucking pathetic, but he couldn't help himself… and frankly didn't want to. As he regarded her, Ahsoka fidgeted nervously and her face fell, a mask of anxiety appearing. He knit his brow at the change, capping the canteen and setting it aside.

"Rex… I'm sorry."

He frowned. This was happening now, she was ready to explain to him her actions. In the middle of a mission. Fucking hell. He continued to watch her, his face calm and professional.

"Im sorry I didn't say goodbye. It was a shitty thing to do to you. It was cowardly and I was wrong, and I've regretted it every single day." Her sapphire gems stared in to his amber ones, searching them for his reply.

Rex sighed heavily. He had a few things to tell her, and he'd be damned if she was going to run away this time before he heard each and every one of them clearly.

"Ahsoka…" he reached for her, and with only a little hesitation she snaked her arms around his waist and leaned against his armored chest. Resting her cheek near his pauldron. He wrapped her up in his embrace and stole a moment to sniff deeply of her scent. Spice, and something herbal - like tea. Leather. And her own subtle musk, which reminded him of the sun warmed straw field he had walked through on Naboo. How he had missed that smell.

"I wont lie Lil. I hated you for about a week. When I got over that, I stayed pissed off for at least another month."

She trembled a little, her face hidden from view.

"Then, during my fifth week of insomnia and self loathing, I realized why I was so angry, and that it definitely wasn't because I hated you."

He tilted his head down, seeking her eyes, but she was still hiding them on his shoulder.

He nudged her lekk with his nose, gently demanding her attention. She shyly met his gaze, the blazing blue stars beginning to blur behind tears. Stop this at once Lil, you're not the crying type, and especially not over me.

He dipped his face to hers, capturing her lips. She was rigid with shock for a moment, but then relaxed against his touch. He barely broke away, only to come back for a second helping, kissing her with more force in order to drive his message home. She tasted like honey, hints of cinnamon, and the poor quality caf they all survived off of on the Venators. The feel of her petal soft lips against his was enough to make his knees shake, and his heart pound, and, thinking back on every fantasy he had entertained about her, he would come to realize what a poor imagination he had.

Pulling away, she dashed at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"The truth is that… I didn't dare come to see you that day. I knew that it would upset you and I couldn't cope with that. I wouldn't have been able to go make myself leave, even though it was the right thing for me. Its ok that you hated me for a while.. I hated myself."

She sucked in a shaky breath, regarding him silently for a moment as if she was trying to choose her next words carefully. Apparently, her voice had left her, so she framed his face with her sienna colored hands and returned to his kiss almost violently. He spanned her waist with his hands, pulling her closer to him, all the while cursing his protective armor that denied him the pressure of her firm body.

"I wouldn't have let you go" he growled, biting at her lip for punctuation. With a breathy whimper she opened her mouth to his caress. He tasted her lips, and her tongue, twisting his head for a better angle. His gloved hands groped their way blindly up her back, and then back downward to her waist, one daring to sneak to her rump, palming the cheek boldly, but hell she could shatter his bones with her mind if she objected and he wouldn't be upset. She answered by chasing his tongue with hers, uttering a low moan of approval.

Rex pushed her backward against the cold side of the transport, pinning her there with his bodyweight. His mind spun with surprise and delight that not only had she not broken his face, but was mouthing and pawing at him with equal desire. He sucked in a quick breath and claimed her mouth again, leading the charge with a velvet tongue. He was determined to display for her every ounce of frustration she had left him in for the past year. To convince her that she should not leave him again.

He nipped at her chin, scraped his teeth along her jawline, and caught a hitch in his breath as he tasted the salty skin at her neck. She rolled her head away, crooning gently, and he surprised himself at how quickly he one handed the top few frogs of her shirt. Bearing her neck down to the shoulder, he sucked and kissed at her offering, cherishing her closeness, his mind racing at the willingness with which she came to him. His right hand had found its way to her breast, caressing the sleek fabric covered mound and searching the telltale hardened peak he found there. She was arched backward over his opposite arm, her legs astride his armoured thigh, all the while he was inwardly cursing the confines of his pelvic armor; his member had sprung to full solute at the attentions of his Lady Commander. When she rolled her hips he dared to arch to his boot toe, giving her a hard surface to press herself against.

She stiffened under his touch, suddenly going quiet and still.

"Kriff." she whispered.

His eyes snapped open, alarmed by the sudden change in her demeanor. He was about to speak when…

"OORAH! COMMANDER!"

A chorus of hoots and howls joined the first voice, and Rex dropped his forehead to Ahsoka's shoulder, hand still splayed across her chest, thigh pressed to her besh… his index finger tracing the crease of her perfect ass….

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jesse. Kriffing Jesse, and about fifty of his men. Standing there watching him grind on Ahsoka like they were a live action porn holo.

"Fuck my life" he growled in disgust.

"GET SOME VOD! OWWWWW!!!"

Dammit Jesse.

The fondling hand shot to his hip and raised the blaster just in time for his head to snap up and choose his target. The bolt screamed by Jesse, missing his temple by the length of a finger.

Wide eyed, he screamed and cackled and ducked, the other troops reacting similarly.

Rex contemplated shooting them all, and was choosing his next target when….

"FUCKING JESSE! QUIT COCK BLOCKING ME, YOU STUPID PENIS WRINKLE!" Ahsoka roared at the clone, and with a violent sweep of her arm she flung the entire corps out of sight further down the plaza. Rex couldn't help but grin at the satisfying shouts of pain and the clatter of armored bodies bouncing on the cement.

They both sighed as he returned his DC to its home, and met each other's gaze.

"Is that what he was doing, Commander? Cock-blocking you?" He teased.

Ahsoka's blue chevrons darkened in the Togrutan equivalent of a blush.

"Im not your Commander, Rex, not GAR, nor am I a Jedi. I'd prefer if you'd address me properly."

"And how's that?" He cocked his head, smirking at her.

"Anything but. You decide, cyare."

She pushed her forehead against his. He flushed from the thrill. She had used his "native" tongue, never before had anyone called him "beloved", and the forehead "kiss" was a touch of the purest loving affection among Vod.

"Do you mean that? "Cyare"? Rex's head was spinning. The delicious heavy petting could have allowed him to die happily, but she had done something far more wonderful to him. Cyare was not a name for a piece of meat used to scratch an itch with.. did she understand that? "Are you sure, Lil?"

"Yes, I mean that. I want you, Rex. I think I have for a long time, but I was afraid to call it what it was. I didn't think you'd ever look at me the same way."

"What? Why wouldn't I?"

"Because your a grown man!... Who happens to be younger than me… and I've always just been this idiot kid." She frowned, the dusky colored pout did terrible things to him.

"I don't think you've been a kid for a while now Sokka." To emphasize his statement, he kissed her like she was a woman. His woman. "What happens…" he didn't know if he dared to hope… "What will you do after we are done here?"

"I haven't really thought about it. I guess it depends on our success."

They heard shouts. Troopers were gathering on the plaza, getting ready to depart for their search.

"Than let's find the hut'uun quickly."

He gave her a final kiss and a squeeze, and backed away step by step until her hand dropped away.

#rexsoka #captainrex #captainaccidentlysexy #ahsokatano #seige of mandalore #clone wars fanfic

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 3 years

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Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Christ's Trial before Pilate (Mark 15:1-15)

We speak of Christ's trial before Pilate. But really, it is Pilate's trial before Christ that is described in our Scripture. The narrative holds up the Roman governor in such a blaze of light, that all the world can see him. The story of this trial begins in the early morning, when Jesus was led to Pilate. During the night, the religious rulers had informally condemned Him to death - but they could not carry out their own sentence without bringing their prisoner to the Roman governor. This was one of the humiliating conditions of their subjection to the Romans. Meanwhile Jesus had been kept under guard during the morning hours, and had been cruelly mocked by the soldiers.

It was during this time - that Peter's denial occurred, and the pain of the disciples' words as they fell upon Christ's ears was more severe than all the mockeries of the heathen soldiers.

As the first streaks of dawn appeared in the east, the members of the Sanhedrin were together again to hasten the formalities, so as to get Jesus on the cross at the earliest possible moment.

When Jesus was taken to Pilate, He was bound. The rulers supposed that their cords would hold Him. Knowing as we do who this Prisoner was, we are sure that no chains of earth could have held him, if He had put forth His power, and therefore, that their bonds were useless. We understand also that this quiet submitting to be seized and led away was entirely voluntary. He was led as a lamb to the slaughter, not resisting, exerting no power in His own defense, though omnipotence was His - because he was laying down His life for us.

But what a strange picture this is - the Son of God bound, manacled as a common prisoner, and led away under arrest! What humiliation! But did they shackle the arms of His power with their chains? Did they stain the radiance of His glory with the shame they put upon His name that day? We know that while He Himself wore chains, submitting to them - He is able to break our bonds and set us free.

The rulers had told Pilate, that Jesus claimed to be a king. They thus sought to secure Pilate's consent to His execution, as one who was disloyal to Rome. "Are You the King of the Jews?" asked the governor, referring to what His accusers had charged. Jesus did not look much like a king as He stood there, His hands tied and a cord about His neck. Pilate's question sounds like ridicule. Yet Jesus answered calmly, "Yes, it is as you say." Where was His kingly power ? Where was His throne ? Where did His kingdom lie? These questions are not hard to answer today. Millions now bow to Him and worship Him as King of their souls. In heaven He is honored and adored as King of kings. On earth, too, His sway is felt even where He is not acknowledged. His influence has permeated all lands. Righteousness, truth, love, and grace - are the characteristics of his reign, and these qualities are entering more and more into the life of all the world.

When the chief priest accused Jesus before Pilate, Jesus made no reply. Pilate could not understand His silence, and so endeavored to induce Him to speak. "Behold how many things they witness against You." But still He was silent. "Jesus made no reply," the record says. We cannot too often remind ourselves of the wisdom of silence under false accusation .

It is told of one in the olden times, that when most grievously and falsely accused by enemies, he refused to give even one word of denial or to offer any proof whatever of innocence, saying that God knew all about it, and that if it was God's will that he should live under the shame, he would do it in silence, like his Master on his trial. This is what a Christian should usually do when falsely accused, perhaps not even offering explanation.

Jesus at least answered nothing - but "committed Himself to Him that judges righteously" (1 Peter 2:23). That is, He left His name, His life, and the whole matter of His vindication to His Heavenly Father. There is no spot now on His name, though He died as a malefactor. So we may trust ourselves in God's hands when we are wrongly accused, answering nothing - but committing the whole matter to Him who judge us righteously.

Pilate was aware from the beginning, that the rulers really had no case against Jesus. If he had been courageous and just, he would have delivered Him out of the hands of His enemies. But he could not forget his own personal interests, and tried in various ways to circumvent the question of decision. He saw clearly the motive of the rulers. "For he knew that the chief priest had delivered him out of ENVY." The rulers were envious of the influence of Jesus with the people. Envy has led many to a crime. It was envy that led Cain to slay his brother Abel. It was envy that caused Joseph's brothers to hate him and to sell him as a slave, to get him out of their way. In many a school a bright scholar is disliked and even persecuted in many ways, because of the envy of his schoolmates. In business the successful man is followed by the envy and the enmity of rivals. In society a popular young person is often assailed by those who are outshone. Many a good name is blackened by envy. We should be on our guard continually against this sinful tendency in our hearts.

One of the expedients to which Pilate resorted in his effort to release Jesus indirectly, without exerting his own authority, was to get the people to choose Him as the one prisoner to be set free at that Passover. But the rulers, determined on the death of Jesus, insisted upon the release of Barabbas, a noted criminal. "Jesus - or Barabbas?" was now the question. Barabbas was a robber and murderer. He had been engaged in an insurrection against the Romans, probably was chief in the band. His condemnation was just. Jesus never had done anything, but bless men and do them good. No enemy could say a word against Him. No witness had testified that ever He had done the least unkindness to any human being. Yet the people did not hesitate in their choice. They chose the guilty, blood-stained criminal for friendly recognition and freedom - and sent the pure, holy, and gentle Jesus to dishonor and death! Every one of us has to make a similar choice between Jesus, the holy, blessed, living glorious One - and sin. Which are we choosing?

This determined choice of Barabbas for freedom, still left Jesus on Pilate's hands. He was disappointed. He had hoped to get clear of deciding in His case. He was compelled now to do something, either to assert his power and set Him free - or yield to the people's clamor and send Him to the cross. "What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews ?" Pilate's question is a question which every one of us must answer - we must do something with Jesus. We take Him to our hearts, to the highest place of love and honor - or we must reject Him. What shall we do with Him? Before every one of us - He stands waiting at our door, and we must ask and answer this very question, "What shall I do with Jesus?" He comes to us in every gentle and gracious way - to be our Savior, our Friend, our Lord, our Guide - and we must either accept Him or reject Him. We may postpone our answer - but delay does not rid us of the question - it only pushes it forward, and when we go on a little - we shall meet it again. The question must be answered either by our acceptance, or by our rejection of Christ. Not accepting, is really rejecting; and, therefore, while we think we have not answered the question, we really have answered it. We should think seriously what the rejection of Christ involves. We know what it involved for Pilate. What will it involve for us? Would we crucify Him afresh?

At length Pilate yielded to the pressure of the rulers and gave sentence that Jesus should be crucified. He did it, we are told, wishing to calm the multitude. That was Pilate's opportunity. He was the one man in all the world, who could send Jesus to the cross. No other one could do it. It was a fatal and terrible distinction that was his, among men. Whether Jesus should have justice and be set free - or should die innocently, he had to settle. The Jews could not touch Jesus without Pilate's consent.

We know what he did with his opportunity. He had not the courage to be true, to be just to protect the innocent, to maintain right. He knew well that Jesus had done nothing worthy of punishment. He struggled feebly for a time with his conscience, and then gave way, sentencing to death as a malefactor, a man he knew to be without sin or fault! Thus he lost his opportunity to do justice and to win for himself an immortality of honor. He went through the farce of washing his hands before the rulers, saying that he was not responsible. But the stain upon his soul - no water could wash off; the brand of dishonor marks his name with an immortality of shame. The lesson is for us. We have our opportunity to stand for truth and right. What shall we do with Jesus, who is called the Christ?

#Christ's Trial before Pilate #Mark 15:1-15 #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #J.R. Miller #June 29 #2021

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trainthief · 4 years

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hey i'm one of those aforementioned "only-heard-blake-shelton" people - do you have any recs for better country music? i like finding new music but country is hard cause i don't really know where to start

I think the best way to explore any genre is to abandon the feeling that you’re obligated to develop an academic-level base of knowledge in the different foundations and aspects of it. If that’s something that actually interests you then by all means go for it, but despite how pretentious and rude people can get about music, it is at its heart just a form of expression - and while knowing which specific sounds might have influenced others can enhance the listening experience for some people, it’s not like there’s a prerequisite course load you need to take before you can start telling people you like country music at parties.

Anyway, that point aside, here’s some basics: country itself is a really broad concept, and was initially defined more by its ideology and source than any specific structural musical qualities that it tended toward (although its creation was most heavily influenced by Irish, Mexican, and African musical traditions). The common use of instruments like guitars, banjos, and fiddles is more to do with the ease of accessibility and portability for poorer Americans of the late 1800s, who - especially in the West - tended to be at least somewhat nomadic. Thematically speaking, it was most often centered around the experiences of blue-collar workers, including but not limited to cowboys. Subsequently, it has suffered under the combined efforts of corporations and politicians to market a parody of rural America’s own culture right back at them, and that’s why - especially if you’re only in your 20’s or younger - it’s very possible your knowledge of it is defined by commercialized Bro Country (which in my opinion is almost always antithetical to the actual spirit of country music itself, and also from a musical perspective tends to be uninteresting bullshit).

As far as subgenres go, the ideas quickly become so vague that it’s really up to the listener to decide how they want to categorize their music. Region and era can influence sound quite a bit, so that’s one way. Subject matter is another. Actual musical structure is a further one. I’m not going to bother and try to give you a comprehensive idea of all the options, because that’s impossible to do in anything shorter than an essay. Instead I’ll just fill you in on some of my favorites, and some song suggestions to go with them:

Country Music You’ve Been Listening to This Whole Time Without Knowing It: this is an easy one to start with. Lots of folk music is also country music, whether you were aware of it or not. James Taylor, John Prine, John Denver, Bob Dylan…. You’ve been here this whole time.

Outlaw Country: Tends to be either dark or mournful, but regardless it’s dramatic and fun. Usually framed around some fictional crime the singer has committed, which they have either been sentenced for or are on the run from. Good examples are Kate McCannon by Colter Wall, Mama Tried by Merle Haggard, Late July by Shakey Graves, Gallows Pole by Willie Watson, and Hell’s Canyon by Lost Dog Street Band

Spirituals: I’m definitely not going to tell you how to feel about religion itself - but given that music has been such a deeply rooted part of spiritual expression for as long as we’ve recorded history, and has very often evolved in tandem with or in response to religious movements, I think you’re really cutting yourself off from some good tunes if you try to ignore it entirely. Johnny Cash’s later stuff, especially, has the same dark overtones of his earlier Outlaw music but with the addition of gospel stylings and a religious severity that comes together in a way that’s honestly just straight up sexy to listen to. Ain’t No Grave and Redemption Day are probably the best two examples of this. On the other side, there’s the simplistic and heartfelt kind of spiritual country found in stuff like Hank Williams’ I Saw the Light, or I’ll Fly Away as performed by Gillian Welch, which I find really moving.

Honky Tonk: On the subject of Hank Williams, honky tonk is really fun music, and I deeply resent the fact that it’s been incorporated into the classist caricature of rural stupidity. At its heart, honky tonk was just designed to be a good time, and the vocal techniques it employs are actually really difficult to master, so it deserves a lot more respect. Hank Williams, in particular, also tends to use it to get right at the heart of subjects I really enjoy (although don’t confuse him with his son Hank Williams Jr, who writes Bro Country and unfortunately seems to be a terrible person). Anyway, Mind Your Own Business is one of his (and one of my favorite personal anthems), and Wealth Won’t Save Your Soul is a powerful one too. Regarding more modern honky tonk, my favorite up-and-coming musician is named Nick Shoulders, and I’d recommend his songs Rather Low and Snakes and Waterfalls.

Nice Comfortable Country Music Sung By Ladies: this is definitely a genre specific to just me, but it’s a type of music I grew up listening to a lot as a kid and I really love it. Like the title says, it’s just country songs by various very talented women who make you feel like you’re warm and at home. I Have a Need for Solitude by the great Mary Chapin Carpenter, Across the Great Divide by Nanci Griffith, Traveling Alone by Tift Merritt, Angel from Montgomery by Bonnie Raitt, Hammer and a Nail by The Indigo Girls

Poor Boy Blues: again, not a definitive stylistic subgenre so much as it is an opportunity to show off a few different songs of a few different styles that all follow a common and relatable theme, specifically one that is important to the overall genre itself. Dead End Street by Blake Mills, Crop Comes In by Chatham County Line, Thirteen Silver Dollars by Colter Wall, My Rifle My Pony and Me by Dean Martin, Cowpoke by Dave Stamey, Automobile by KALEO

Love And Heartbreak: have you really lived if you haven’t rocked out to Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks? No, you haven’t. You’ll also be happy to hear that I recall a poll that listed Cowboy Take Me Away as being the number one song every cowboy will sing along to on full blast whenever he’s alone. Anyway, there’s also Buddy by Willie Nelson, Crossing Muddy Waters by John Hiatt, Morning by Jim Ed Brown, Every Time I Hear That Song by Brandi Carlile, Gentle on My Mind by Glen Campbell, Kathleen by Townes Van Zandt.

Experimental: if you’d like to get a little weird with it, I’d recommend The Gold is Deep by The Dead Tongues (which uses some really ambient reverb and a small church organ for a more psychedelic sound), or Familiarity by The Punch Brothers (which compositionally borrows a lot from modern classical chamber music with its rhythmic systems and pacing).

There’s lots more we could get into here, like bluegrass, slow dancing music, spaghetti western soundtracks, and the fact that not all country pop-rock is bad, but I’ll stop myself here…. If you’re looking for a more general source for a lot of country all at once, here’s my favorite of my country playlists. Hope that was helpful!

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hadarlaskey · 3 years

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Why Dario Argento’s Deep Red remains a trashy masterpiece

A sweet children’s song, a Christmas tree in a cosy domestic setting, silhouettes on the wall showing one person viciously stabbing another, and then a blood-stained knife falling to the floor, by the shoes of a standing child. This is the prologue to Dario Argento’s Deep Red, and also its primal scene – the source of a trauma that keeps resurfacing over a decade later. It is also a piece of shadow play in the theatre of a disturbed mind, leading us to draw certain connections and inferences, while being open to more than one interpretation.

Indeed, much of Deep Red will involve the discussion and reading of minds and art. “Really, that’s good, very good,” pianist and music teacher Marcus Daly (David Hemmings) tells jazz band in the present scene that immediately follows the past prologue. “Maybe a bit too good. Too clean, yes, too precise. Too… formal. It should be more trashy.” Here Argento may as well be laying out the aesthetics of his own film, which comes meticulously crafted, operatic even in its baroque mannerisms, but which is nonetheless aiming low.

For the director is still working within the trashy sensationalism of the giallo genre in which he had already established his name and signature style with the ‘animal’ trilogy The Bird With the Crystal Plumage, The Cat O’ Nine Tails and Four Flies on Grey Velvet. Deep Red was originally intended to belong to this series, and its working title was the more bestial-sounding The Sabre-Toothed Tiger. But even if the film was briefly rereleased in America during the early ’80s as The Hatchet Murders, Deep Red eventually stuck.

After recognising that there is a “twisted mind” with “perverted, murderous thoughts” in her audience, Lithuanian telepath Helga Ulmann (Macha Méril) is later killed in her apartment. Her screams draw Marcus, her upstairs neighbour, to the scene, but he is too late. When questioned by the police he becomes convinced that one of the macabre pictures he saw in passing on Helga’s walls is now mysteriously missing. “Maybe,” fellow pianist Carlo Manganiello (Gabriele Lavia) suggests to Marcus, “that painting was made to disappear because it represented something important.” Yet as Marcus tries to remember, the mysterious killer wants a past crime to remain forgotten, and commits many more murders to cover a bloody trail leading all the way back to the primal scene.

It is not just a painting that must be found, but a supposedly haunted house, and a missing window (with a missing room behind it), and various infantile reproductions (whether on paper or fresco) of that first killing, all to piece together the identity of the killer. Barely helped by the incompetent police, Marcus reluctantly joins forces with ambitious journalist Gianna Brezzi (Daria Nicolodi), and as they become both investigative partners and lovers, the chauvinistic pianist learns the price of underestimating women. Much of this couple’s relationship was excised by Argento himself for the film’s original 100-minute theatrical version, but has been reinstated for a 126-minute edit whose additional scenes have never been dubbed into English.

It is well worth watching them. For while these scenes’ comic tone may sit oddly with the rest of the film, there is something about the sight of Marcus sunk into the broken passenger seat of Gianna’s barely functioning little car, that perfectly encapsulates the folly in Marcus’s posturing masculine superiority. Here it is Gianna who is both positioned above her male passenger, and very much in the driver’s seat – and from this a more general lesson can be drawn about the film’s inversion of gender norms, at least according to the sexist Marcus. “Men and women are different,” he will tell Gianna, “Women are delicate, fragile.” Yet the film will repeatedly challenge his assumptions and prejudices about woman’s capabilities.

Deep Red was a transitional film in Argento’s career, bridging the gap between his earlier gialli and his later leanings towards the supernatural in features like Suspiria, Inferno and Phenomena. Indeed, much as Helga has the uncanny ability to read minds, in one scene here, her colleague Professor Giordani (Glauco Mauri) describes the telepathic powers of insects, and in so doing, practically predicts a key point of Phenomena’s plotting, a good decade before it was made. All the grotesquely bloody murders of Argento’s previous detective stories are here present and correct, while this is the first in a long musical collaboration with Italian prog rockers Goblin and their front man Claudio Simonetti.

As both Marco and the killer try to reconstruct the primal scene in their different ways – the one to solve a crime, the other to recreate its circumstances – Argento pulls off a genuine coup de cinéma by revealing the killer’s face remarkably early in the film, but in such a way that if you do not know what you are looking for, you will not see it, even though Argento plays entirely fair in the relevant sequence and the face is most certainly there. This film is very good, but also distinctly trashy, as the elegant art gallery in a Helga’s home hides a cleaver-wielding presence determined to paint and repaint everything deep red.

Deep Red is released on Limited Edition 4K UHD Blu-ray, DVD and soundtrack CD from 25 October via Arrow Film.

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