#a single singed well worn photo

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Our time spent together♡

There are twenty-four hours in a day, eight of which are devoted to school. So you might think it's near impossible to spend a decent amount of one on one time with your thirteen children in a single day.

Well... you're wrong. See, it doesn't matter the order or how long you spend with each child as long as they know that they are seen and heard by you. That they can come to you even if you're busy. You wanted to encourage their interests and be a rock that could lean on.

Now, for some, it was extremely easy to bond with, childs play. Others, it was harder to understand. You sometimes weren't sure if you were getting through or if you were slipping up. But you supposed it took patience on both ends.

Iruma

On a technicality you spent the most time with Iruma, you lived together 24/7, so it would be ridiculous if that wasn't the case. Still, though, you made sure that you were available for him the most because he was your "son." And he mattered more to you than any free time you might desire.

It was the little things that made Iruma the happiest you noticed. Eating together, asking about each others day. And lots, we're talking a whole mountain of physical affection. Not that you minded you gave as much as you got.

Of course, it did help that you always had the love of Irumas life. "Snacks." You made sure to always have something on hand just in case and in large abundance knowing certain individuals' appetite.

Sleeping in the same bed sometimes occurred as well when Iruma was feeling lonely or scared. How could you say no when he asked so cutesy like? Plus, waking up and seeing him try to burrow beneath you, and the covers was so precious.

Alice

Alice was... very passionate. And while you did like how he was protective of Iruma, you had to remind them every now and again that obsession can be dangerous.

Other than that, you found that Alice had very refined taste outside of his iruma obsession. They knew much about high society and edicate. They were interested in studying magic.

Alice had been inspired by the fireworks Iruma had suggested and asked you if you knew of other such wonders. So you experimented a lot with his fire abilities playing with the temperatures and colors.

You would also find times to dance and share photos with him. Encouraging his closer friendship with his peers, including Clara, much to his dismay. You laughed and teased him about that, reminding him of all the times he would say never only to be slowly worn down by her outlandish charm.

Alice was such a sweet child and genuine with their feelings. Sometimes, you worry about how often they put their heart on the line. But from what you've witnessed in hell so far, emotions were pretty much all or nothing.

Clara

Speak of the little devil, and she shall appear. She was by far the easiest one to spend one on one with. She constantly asked to play games, or she would climb all over you, seeking her own fun.

You knew instantly that Clara wasn't the type who liked to be alone. That you could deal with easily because you ensured that Clara never felt alone or used by others. You had found a few older students trying to get free stuff from Clara once, and that made your blood boil.

After saving your little jelly bean, you would just hold her and start rambling made-up stories or games you used to play as a child. She was quick to learn all the rules of those games and loved showing them to her classmates.

You would let her play with your hair and do your makeup. You would sing songs to her and watch as she drew pictures. Clara had a creative imagination. Sometimes you would lose all sense of time when with Clara and that was the best part. You didn't want your time together to end.

Elizabetta

A sweet girl, the gentle sort who didn't favor one person but preferred to treat all with a sense of love. It was a bit difficult to wrap your head around. But she was still young. She didn't need to have partners or go on dates just yet.

Elizabetta's aware of her beauty. How could she not be from all the constant stares and drooling messes she leaves in her wake. She made sure to use it to her advantage.

She shone brightly in the music festival, which was great. Her confidence was winning over her classmates and the crowd. Still, you couldn't help but wonder. Was this the real Elizabetta or an act? Ment to trick others into believing someone like her did not have issues.

Elisabetta was a fashion-forward girl. She made the trends, and she looked good in anything. So, during your one on one times, you would help her practice with makeup or style her hair. You even sewed cute patches on her bag of all of classmates, which had caused her to happily ask everyone for their bags so that you could both make more.

She had looked so proud as she handed back each bag, and it honestly made you want to laugh. So cute. All of your kids had a cute side!

Soi

Soi was well ... very shy at first. But once he got to know you, boy, did he not hold back what was on his mind. He was curious and often had questions.

He liked that you held conversations with him even when he had rapid-fire questions. You often relaxed as he played his horn, sometimes humming along with the melody.

He liked being involved in things, so you were glad that once his classmates were aware of him, they had invited him to join anything and everything they were doing. Though sometimes when he wanted to be alone, he would just cling to you as he hid. You found it adorable and didn't discourage the behavior. It was a lot better than you constantly wondering where he was.

Much like the rest of your kids, Soi did like physical affection, and sometimes, you would shower him with praise. You would, on occasion, be handed his phone. The first time, you didn't understand until you heard his father's voice on the other end.

That started a whole thing where if Soi's father crossed whatever line Soi had drawn, the phone was given to you so you could verbally tear the older demon to shreds. Which Soi seemed to like about you? You decide it's best not to question that.

Lied

Lied was happy enough playing games all day, but as his designated parent, you had to draw a line somewhere on the amount of time he spent playing. You didn't want to be the bad guy. You just wanted to make sure that Lied took his classes seriously and did his homework.

Which meant most of your one on one time was spent studying. Not forcing him to look at the textbooks and stare blankly at pages, he didn't understand for hours on end. No, the way to get Lied to study was to make it a game.

You make triva cards and developed a point system. If Lied got a certain amount of points, he would earn rewards. You made sure to change the rewards every week or so that way he would keep interest. This actually became a popular method to encourage all the kids to study, so you often did large group compitions to for bigger prizes.

But when after an hour or so of doing homework and studying, you would play games with Lied or watch movies. His tail would wave excitedly around before it would settle wrapped around your arm or loosely at your shoulders. The biggest Cheshire cat grin on his face.

Kerori

Twirl, spin, step, step, twist. You and Kerori kept to the beat of the music as you helped her rehearse for her latest show or event. Kerori was extremely dedicated to her craft you would give her that.

A merciless tyrant when it came to her own performance and the perfection she must show. You both would end up sweating buckets as you went over several routines and nitpicking lyrics. As long as Kerori was happy in the end, it didn't matter much to you.

This girl was constantly climbing up some imaginary mountain she had conjured up for herself. You could only hope she'd be satisfied with whatever she found once she reached the top. Constantly climbing on your own can be so lonely.

You would rest your feet with her and relax your sore muscles chatting away about the latest rising star and so forth. Kerori seemed to shine as she spoke more and more of her passion. Hopefully, she would always shine.

Goemon

One on one time with Goemon was a constantly changing event. Something different every time. It was somewhat what amusing to know he had so many interests.

The little swordsman was such a bright and cheerful soul that it made you wonder where he got so much positive energy. Especially in Hell of all places. Either way, he was very eager to try everything.

Sword training, arts & crafts, cooking. There were times when you would have to slow him down a bit to complete one project at a time. Ensuring he doesn't overwhelm himself.

And frankly, you thought the young demons' goal of making 100 friends (followers he always corrected) was sweet. Although he definitely had some kind of rose tinted glasses on if he thought they would always get along with each other.

Either way there you found yourself now teaching the excited extrovert how to knit. Observing as he made pleased sounds of triumph or huffed a little on tricky loops. What a peaceful moment.

It was almost familiar. Something about it reminded you of your old life. But it felt warmer somehow. Like replacing an old memory with something similar, yet newer.

You wondered if one day you would forget ever being human. Watching as Goemon proudly showed off his new "scarf" to you. Accepting the gift with a smile, you offered him a new ball of yarn for his next attempt.

Picero

Sleepy grouchy baby. If Goemon was your extroverted child, then Picero was your introvert. Even Soi wanted to spend more time with people than Picero, who would fuss about being around noise and people.

But that was fine, wasn't it? Picero just wasn't the social kind, and devi knows Goemon forces him to interact with enough people. So when it came to spending time with the little dreamer, it was really basic.

Snacks, cuddles, naps, and lullabies. Not necessarily in that order. It was quite soft moments of tender care that was soothing. Although the only lullabies you knew were human and you had to be careful not to slip into your old tongue while humming the melodies.

So sticking with some of the darker songs just in case the words did slip out in hopefully demonic speech. ☆If the seven hell's collapse, although the day may be my last. You will be okay~ When I'm gone, you'll be okay.☆

Kamui

To be frank, you weren't entirely sure what to make of your one on one time with the small avian. Your little baby bird who insisted he was a gentleman but also acted like so lecherous even by demon standards. At times, he would amuse you greatly with his antics, but as a parent there were some actions that you would not tolerate.

Not if they were to be dubbed as one of your children at least. You found it a little difficult to discipline Kamui, though. He was still a teenager, still learning and developing. You didn't want to discourage him from expressing his desires or that finding others attractive was wrong.

Yet, you didn't want him to behave so crudely and certainly not wanting him to be attacked by several women for his behavior. Granted, he did get a little tamer after all that training, but also worse... you weren't entirely sure how that was possible, but you certainly gave Mr. Hat a piece of mind for locking your children up in cages with wild, untamed animals.

Regardless, though, most of the time spent with Kamui was over tea and a game of cards. Gossiping over the latest rumors floating around the netherworld. His feathers puffed up with pride as he poured you tea.

Weren't you so lucky that all of your children had a cute side. Sipping tea in the gardens while listing to Kamui reveals the latest scandal. 'Yes,' You thought for a moment. 'So lucky.'

Allocer

Debates... to some it all into one word, that was how you would find your time spent with Allocer. Your child who absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Thank Devi, you had some practice when it came to battles of the mind.

In order to prove to Furcas-San that you were right on many occasions, you had to find the demonic equivalent to what would have been your human resources. And you found that it came in handy when speaking with Allocer as well. The boy loved to discuss everything.

Curious child, precious son. So you found your time spent as though it was a lesson itself. Discussion of laws and magics, theory, and hypothetical actions. Theology, biology, philosophy, and endless amount of material brought forth as you went. Raiding the library as you went to reference your sources.

Sometimes, you both could be found surrounded by a large pile of books with papers spread about both asleep. Others would find you both talking a mile a minute about some complex theory that probably only Furcas-San could understand. But that was to be expected.

Allocer was a beast, after all. A beast of knowledge that devoured any and all info. Sometimes, there were days you'd worry he wasn't getting enough mental stimulation in classes. You would probably have to go over that with Kalego-San at a later date.

Sabro

Sabro was a proud child. He seemed to bear no shame, and the first few months you knew him, he did not care much for authority. Yet, he had grown. He had learned to respect his teachers, and he was aware of certain boundaries, unlike some of your children who sadly still needed to learn.

Sabro was intelligent as he was strong. It seemed that spending time in his battler had helped him to grow in wisdom and understanding. You were very grateful for that. As long as he had something that kept his interest and encouraged him, you found no wrong with it.

Sabro wasn't used to being coddled. Even from a young age, he had things expected from him. And yet, for some strange reason, there you were. The guardian of his rival tended to his cuts and scrapes. Asking if he was having fun or if he wanted water.

He thought it strange that even though you were smaller than him, you would stretch up and pat his head. Not demanding he get stronger or become faster. No insisting that he needed to be the demon king.

It was refreshing. During your times together, Sabro found himself relaxing more. Just enjoying that someone didn't want him to be anything other than himself. And when he did speak of becoming demon king, you never corrected him or said iruma would be instead. You never told him he couldn't be the next demon king.

You just listened and gave small comments here and there. "You've thought about this a lot, haven't you" or "I'm sure it will be wonderful." You were proud that he actually put real thought into what he would do if he became king. Besides, it was such a long way away and a hard goal to reach. You wanted him to try his absolute best in reaching for it.

Jazz

Jazz loved living with you. Ever since you took him home, he loved every moment of it. He liked how everyone knocked on his door and waited instead of barging in. He liked that he wasn't forced to do all the cleaning and cooking anymore. Most of all, he loved not seeing his stupid older brothers face.

Jazz liked being an unofficial older brother of sorts to iruma and the attention he received from you. Sometimes, though, he'd worry you might change your mind and send him back. And on those days you decided he needed to spend time with you the most.

You would show him a sort of tricks to use. You knew better than to try and stop him from being a thief. Jazz was always gonna have sticky fingers. But that's just what made him one of your boys.

You got him an advance lock picking set and showed him how to use the tools he didn't recognize. Practicing slight of hand moves that had tricked him before. You made sure he'd recognize the art of creative wording. You wanted him to know all about what the world could throw at him.

You knew better than any seeing as humans were cunning enough to survive in a world of demons before the two worlds became separate. It wasn't always about brute strength or power. Even money did mean much when it came down to pure survival.

Jazz seemed to recognize your willingness to teach him. A way of saying, "Now you'll always carry a part of me with you." The complete opposite of his brother, which usually meant. "You're on your own."

Jazz was shy about affection, but it was the little things that made him the happiest. Stroking his cheek, forehead kisses, welcome homes. Those made him over the moon as he would sit down and tell you about his day.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #reader #welcome to demon school iruma kun #iruma suzuki #clara valac #asmodeus alice #shax lied #ix elizabetta #caim kamui #crocell kerori #jazz andro #allocer schneider #agares picero #gaap goemon #sabnock sabro #soi purson

[tomorrowxtogether]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER is defining a new generation Three analyses of the wavering youth in The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION

A different kind of youth

Kang Myungseok: “Dude, what’s you dream?” So goes the first verse of BTS’s 2013 debut song, “No More Dream.” Ten years later, TOMORROW X TOGETHER sings something different in “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” off their new album, The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION: “Been a long time since that shiny dream wore off.” When BTS got their start, they didn’t know what their dream was, but they came to figure it out by calling out to people of the same generation as “dude.” TOMORROW X TOGETHER, meanwhile, were handed a dream when they started but now laugh bitterly at themselves for having worn-down dreams; in the same song, they define themselves as a “rockstar minus star, just a rock.” TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s first chapter, and the one that introduced them to the world, was Dream, with their debut album fully titled The Dream Chapter: STAR. From that album and up to and including their most recent release, The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, the history of the group is characterized by a paradoxical rejection of their duty. The world has changed during that time. BTS, in their song “Silver Spoon,” criticized a society that forces the young to always try harder; by contrast, the concept has fallen out of favor in the time since TOMORROW X TOGETHER debuted. The rise in popularity of the TV series Reborn Rich, in which a poor protagonist is reborn as the grandson in a conglomerate family, is a perfect reflection of the fact. When the devil whispers in “Devil by the Window,” the opening track off TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s new album, it even comes across as a critique of how what’s happening today is actually temptation in disguise: “He’s whispering, ‘Give up, don’t you put up a fight!’” It’s easy, in other words, just to give up. Just as in the lyrics to “Happy Fools” (feat. Coi Leray), the older generation tends to tell the young ones that “the future’s always more important than now.” But for TOMORROW X TOGETHER and their generation, it’s the kids who are well-off now who go on to continue to lead a good life. Leave all the worrying to “myself of tomorrow” and bask in “this moment that will never come back” and its “sweet taste of laziness.” And why should anyone resist such temptation? A small change of perspective, and the real world becomes Neverland. With effort or not, you can never grow up quite as much as you’d like.

Consequently, the titular temptation in The Name Chapter leans toward one of intense rebellion. The members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER actually want to keep idle, even labelling themselves “just rock” as opposed to rock stars, in an apparent attempt to redact all evidence of their own existence, including their own name. In “9 And Three Quarters (Run Away),” the lead single off The Dream Chapter: MAGIC, meanwhile, they pose the suggestion, “Should we run away?” It’s a rather impactful declaration to define their own identity as people who don’t want to do or be anything; for them, the only option is to escape reality. They try to pull others into their Neverland, too, like in “Sugar Rush Ride,” their latest lead single (“Come here more, let’s play more”). Maybe Neverland is actually “the little island” where “a little secret began,” as they sing in “Magic Island” (The Dream Chapter: MAGIC). Where they were running from reality in “9 And Three Quarters,” now they are Peter Pan figures turning that little island in Neverland and tempting others their age to join. As in the four sets of concept photos released in the lead-up to The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, TOMORROW X TOGETHER is now something akin to a mystery Peter Pan figure, whispering in languid, attractive tones in “Devil in the Window.” The group goes beyond temptation and into the realm of pure delight in “Sugar Rush Ride,” singing, “gimme gimme more,” in the most upbeat and bright track off the album. By contrast, there’s hints of wistfulness in the boys’ vocals in “Happy Fools” (feat. Coi Leray) and “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” that give way to lively bossa nova and Latin rhythms in each song respectively, and “Farewell, Neverland” starts off with a light, guitar-backed rhythm that at some point moves on to something more intense (“Neverland, my love, bye bye / And I’m free falling / Stars, go to sleep now”). They know that their days in Neverland are numbered and, like it or not, reality will unavoidably catch up with them. The song foregoes the intense vocals typical of a lot of K-pop and instead works toward a climax made of whistles and sharp exhales. Laid-back vocals and upbeat music make up the majority of the album, but there’s also a current of dark and anxious emotions running in parallel all throughout. The combination of the music with the group members’ appearances, a mysterious mix of the bright and the sensual, creates a distinct aesthetic—one that represents the generation to follow BTS. TOMORROW X TOGETHER personifies the idea of giving up as a form of youth in rebellion. Calling themselves “rocks,” these young people come together to create their own island. What name will the world give those rocks when they leave Neverland and return to the real world?

Temptation, thy name is Peter Pan

Yoon Haein: In the classic novel, Peter Pan is described as a being a boy forever, never growing up as time moves on. Neverland, his home, is a fantastical place where adventures unfold—a dream island where children come to stay and adults are barred from entering. TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s latest album, The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, borrows these elements from the original story but puts its own spin on the fairytale. Like heads or tails on a coin, remaining a child forever gives up the potential to move forward in favor of being complacent with the here and now. For example, the devil in “Devil by the Window,” the first track, whispers, “Give up, don’t you put up a fight … Dream on, dream on, good night!” He’s saying that it’s better not to put in the effort for your dreams and simply enjoy falling deep into sweet reverie. It’s just like Peter Pan, who looks to enjoy adventure forever in “a place where we will never grow old, with no worries,” knowing that, once you leave Neverland, you become an adult and can never return.

The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION is not akin to a song of someone in eternal boyhood like Peter Pan. TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s teenage years, singing of “looking back at the empty school” in “Way Home” and the “endless final exams,” are gone, with the kind of worries they sing about changing naturally as they grow. Just like in their real lives, the group today delicately paints the complex emotions experienced by young adults living life somewhere between boyhood and adulthood. But there’s a price to pay for passing through the boundary that exists somewhere between adult and grownup. To move on requires grappling with the helplessness of the world and making numerous choices regarding internal struggles. On the other hand, it’s simple just to give up. The lyrics of “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” are a tightrope walk between self-acceptance and justification, calling themselves a “rock” rather than a “rockstar,” and they mockingly say that their dream was never attainable anyway and so they’re fine with who they are now. At the same time, their generation experiences a feeling of hopelessness in a world where material wealth is considered the only path in life and where they’re forced to choose to give up if they can’t achieve it. Even with so much on their plate and plenty to worry about, they try to be “Happy Fools” who “leave it to myself tomorrow” and enjoy “this moment that will never come back,” sometimes tempting others, singing that “it’s me who’s bad” (“Sugar Rush Ride”). Instead of reducing the struggles experienced by their generation with cursory terms like “Gen Z” and “youth,” TOMORROW X TOGETHER depicts them in detailed pictures using specific language. It’s here where we see that the title of the album and the theme throughout, temptation, doesn’t stop at its conventional meanings tied to romance and the challenging of taboos. They prevent the world of boyhood from progressing to that of the adult, as represented by Peter Pan, and cover their own eyes (“No, I can’t tell what is fake in my reality”), extending the meaning of temptation in a way only TOMORROW X TOGETHER can.

Released in the lead-up to the album, the concept trailer for The Name Chapter ends with HUENINGKAI jumping out of a collapsing house and into the void. Whether he falls, or soars like Peter Pan, we can’t say for sure, but the final track off the album, “Farewell, Neverland,” implies the result of his choice. After facing various temptations and the choices they lead to, TOMORROW X TOGETHER realizes Neverland, which at first appears like a kind of utopia, can never truly be home, and bid Peter Pan farewell. In the novel, Peter playfully explains to Wendy that she too can fly if she thinks of something pleasant, then heads off to Neverland with the aid of Tinker Bell’s magic. Contrary to the sweetly magical  image of lightly flapping down to the ground, leaving Neverland is more like a crash landing, “heading toward the ground at full speed.” But even after this, the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER, choosing the less-than-sweet truth, will, unlike Peter Pan, become adults after all and begin a journey of their own—standing on their own two feet.

He who strives on and lives to strive can earn redemption still

Kim Doheon (music critic): In Goethe’s Faust, the devil Mephistopheles tempts the titular doctor with sweet words: “Come, bind thyself by prompt indenture … What no man ever saw, I’ll give to thee.” Faust, a highly studied man who falls into terrible boredom, is fascinated by mysterious magic and this voice offering him the thrill of chaos. In return, he wagers his soul in this dangerous bargain: “When thus I hail the Moment flying: / ‘Ah, still delay—thou art so fair!’ / Then bind me in thy bonds undying.” As soon as he decides to stay in the intoxicating excitement of the moment, the great scholar loses his name and becomes an eternal servant to Hell.

The devil similarly comes for TOMORROW X TOGETHER, who goes to bed as a child who has far to go. Here, the devil isn’t some conceptual metaphor for the chaos of growing up, as in the song “CROWN,” nor is it in line with the romantic language of learner wizards in “Angel or Devil.” The devil’s voice creeps in through the window at midnight, sweet as sugar. The drowsy daydream begins as dream they don’t want to wake up from, moving beyond artificial reality and into the realm of alternate reality. By the time they let go of reason and repeatedly jump through fantasy worlds like some scene out of Everything Everywhere All at Once, the five young boys take a breather, lose the colourful kaleidoscope and take a moment to reflect on themselves. It’s a big issue. In their house way up in the sky, the boys are stuck in their beds, only ever dreaming. To make matters worse, the house is crumbling to pieces. Soon it will be nothing more than a rock. By the end, they can’t say anything more than, “Thou art so fair,” and their laughter is written out in a dry “ha ha ha” on screen. Thursday’s child finally takes a hard look at his fate, and comes to a forlorn conclusion: My life can’t be to soar through the air; I have to jump from this collapsing house and land onto the ground on my own two feet.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER enter a whole new world in The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION. It’s more romantic and fantastical than the miraculous, imaginative world of The Dream Chapter: MAGIC and yet colder and more sophisticated than the frozen world of The Chaos Chapter. In the dark pop song “Devil by the Window,” the devil slyly approaches like a monster from under the bed, whispering, “Don’t you put up a fight … Dream on, good night!” The boys then give us the dizzying disco pop song “Sugar Rush Ride,” feeling like something right out of the movie Wreck-It Ralph. The song is written in part by salem ilese, the romantic behind “Anti-Romantic.” In this track, the members sprint across an up-tempo, danceable disco pop beat in the same tradition as “New Rules” and “No Rules” but with a taste of a glitchy dark trap beat. The song warns that all these places could exist only in an artificial reality. But the boys, unable to resist the temptation, become “Happy Fools” who play mindlessly to their hearts’ content. The sky-high piano chords are “locked in a sweet moment” and give a proper picture of “a sweet taste of laziness” and “dream-like guilty pleasure.”

Soaked in elation, the boys of TOMORROW X TOGETHER give their bodies over to the springy reggaeton rhythm in “Tinnitus” as the music rings in their ears. They choose to abandon the rock and roll image they built up with songs like “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You),” “LO$ER=LO♡ER” and “Good Boy Gone Bad,” wanting to simply be rock, and roll. Fortunately, the devil is unable to simply take away a young person’s soul, heard in the bitter gypsy guitar in “Farewell, Neverland,” which reawakens the forgotten value of growing up and trying new things.  It’s a solemn way to close the album, symbolizing the fate of a boy who has to overcome all temptation and, in the end, move on.

The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION organically intertwines mystic Arcadia and the precarious present day to inspect the ennui of today’s youth as they give way to temptation and indulge in pleasure, giving up on life without realizing it. From the choice of genre to the lyrics, the album is full of meaningful details, organic music and solid narratives. The experience of following TOMORROW X TOGETHER as they wander about enjoying the fantasy is as beautiful as it is dangerous. It would’ve been a perfect place for their journey to reach its end. But as we reach the thumping “Farewell, Neverland,” we come to realize that the group’s growth and adventure, and our future, don’t stop here. No one stays a child forever. Paradoxically, an innocent, uncorrupted child is more easily swayed by false morals and by brutality. It’s often forgotten that, in the original Peter Pan, the rule in Neverland is to kill off any child who becomes an adult. Faust, who signs a deal with the devil to gain the power of ambition, never loses his passion or sense of self-realization, and is therefore saved by God at the last moment. Redemption comes to who strives on and lives to strive. Goodbye, Neverland.

#txt #tomorrow x together #230130 #article #weverse magazine #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #The Name Chapter #The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION

[foundationhq]

all the skeletons as aesthetics?

oooh, fun! obviously, don't feel beholden to these as you prepare your app - these aesthetics are just what came to us as we pondered our open skeletons!

[𝐶𝑂𝑊𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐺𝑅𝐸𝐸𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺]

the  soft  reverberation  of  an  acoustic  guitar  in  an  empty  room;  the  tingling  in  the  fringes  of  your  mind  knowing  you’ve  forgotten  something  important  but  not  being  able  to  remember,  no  matter  how  hard  you  try;  a  tea  kettle  whistling  shrilly  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.

[𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻 𝐹𝐼𝐷𝐸𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌]

giddy,  breathless  laughter  escaping  the  confines  of  a  hand  clasped  over  lips;  over-sugared  coffee  sloshing  over  the  edges  of  a  cracked  porcelain  mug;  a kaleidoscope spinning lazily, its patterns esoteric and mesmerizing, meanings locked beyond conscious reality.

[𝐾𝐼𝑁𝐺'𝑆 𝐺𝐴𝑀𝐵𝐼𝑇]

a  bright  flash  of  light  bouncing  off  the  gleaming  edge  of  a  dagger  hidden;  a  shattered  glass,  a blood-red  drop of wine  clinging  on  a sharp piece,  crimson  pool  growing  on  a  pristine,  white  rug;  the  tarnished  surface  of  a  well-worn  silver  ring.

[№2 𝑃𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐼𝐿]

handwritten notes  crammed  into  every  corner  of  a  far  too  small  desk  cabinet;  the  scratch  of  a  fountain  pen,  leaving  behind  mathematical  notations on graph paper  in  crisp  loops;  the  rhythmic,  rapid-fire  typing  on  a  mechanical  keyboard  with  sculpted  caps.

[𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐹𝐸𝐶𝑇 𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅]

the  first  golden rays  of  sunlight  piercing  through  the  veil  of  night, stirring scuttling creatures into renewed action ;  a  delicate, downy  feather  somersaulting  in  the powerful current of a summer zephyr;  the  light popping of fizzy  carbonation  frothing  over  the  lip  of  a  soda can.

[𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸 𝐸𝑁𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐸𝑅]

ink-stained  fingers flipping through a set  of  index  cards, painting ghostly blue-black marks on stiff, lined card stock;  the  soft, worn  edges  of  a  beloved  book,  its  once stiff cover now curved after countless re-readings;  an  antique  cabinet  filled  with cherished  photo  albums  and  vintage  tchotchkes.

[𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅]

dried  flowers  pressed  in  every  page  of  a  scientific  tome, their fragile preserved  petals, breathing new life into the  dense text in  pinks  and  golds;  the captivating flash of a sparkler clutched between two fingers, it's scintillating lit end slowly making it's way closer and closer to the digits;  the intermittent tings of a  wind  chime  choir singing and dancing  in  a  springtime gale.

[𝑉𝐸𝐿𝑉𝐸𝑇 𝐺𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸]

a  painstakingly  tailored  wardrobe,  every  single  item  free  of  wrinkles;  the  homey,  lingering  sweetness  of  clover  honey;  the  perfect  release  of  a  wax  stamp  on  an  envelope,  its  copper  monogrammed  seal  enclosing  personal  matters  of  the  heart.

below, you'll find aesthetics for the admin characters (marked with an asterisk) and our reserved skeletons, from their players!

[52 𝑃𝐼𝐶𝐾𝑈𝑃]

the  fiery  end  of  a  matchstick  carrying  a  white  plume  of  smoke  through  a  starless  night;  a  heart  calcified  from  rage;  a  stack  of  documents  fastened  and  meticulously  arranged  to  conceal  any  vestige  of  sin;  a  false  smile  that  does  not  quite  reach  one's  eyes.

[𝐷𝑌𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐸𝐷]*

the soft and sharp of an owl, tousled feathers so fringed they’re silent, talons and beak that tear like meathooks; a can of so-sweet tinned peaches, eaten slowly, savoured to the last sip of syrup; windblown, cowlicked hair pulled through carefully darned sweaters, smelling of carbolic soap and Camel cigarettes; laugh lines that most people never see used and tattoos patched by scars with untold stories; the comfort of a woodfire - even as the glow of it pools in dozens of eyes, all so close, all so hungry.

[𝐸𝐿𝐸𝑉𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 𝑀𝑈𝑆𝐼𝐶]

steady  hands  glistening  with  life;  kind,  intelligent,  whiskey  brown  eyes  that  so  often  look  far  away;  faith,  maddening  and  undying,  to  one  who  runs  from  her;  a  fawn  hiding  beneath  an  evergreen  branch,  waiting  in  the  snow  and  pine  needles.

[𝐹𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐹𝐿𝐴𝑀]

plump  peaches  freshly  picked  off  the  tree;  delectable  French  pastries  on  a  white  porcelain  plate;  the  daybreak  that  allows  light  to  creep  in  through  the  night  sky.

[𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑊𝐼𝑅𝐸]

a frayed trail of poorly-managed bandaging that leaks red; the frozen beads of condensation clinging to bare branches in an early winter morning; crows bearing gifts; stretched out cuffs on sleeves too long bunched in hands that have always been clenched; dust motes catching the light through a window; when the appliances click off their idle humming to leave absolute silence in a house that is not a home.

[𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇]*

the first page of a new notebook, unblemished, unassuming, unknown; the end credits on a film reel, little names passing across the screen, recognition in microseconds; white noise blending in and out, the background bleeding into the fore, the oscillating hum of a mechanical cicada — coil whine, the excitation of invisible electromagnetic forces, audile magnetic noises — piezoelectric boogaloo.

[𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅]*

the sharp tang of smoke from an extinguished match; the blend of cool and warm hues in a still healing bruise; the slight static buzz of a voice coming through a payphone speaker; a well-loved traveler’s journal — its pages tattered and warped — held together by a taut rubber band.

#new rp #skeleton rp #original rp #literate rp #lsrpg #fhq.faq

[some-little-infamy]

You Don’t Want What You Saw, but You Saw What You Wanted

(Read on AO3)

Steve never imagined he’d be playing a festival - an honest-to-god popular music festival and not just some local country fair bandstand - in a million years. This is just a fun hobby for him, a side project he hadn’t seriously planned on turning into an actual career. It just sort of happened, the pieces falling into place until one show led to another, and now, well, here he is.

At a festival.

The best part of it all is that he can wander the grounds before and after his set with little-to-no recognition. Wearing a wig and sunglasses on stage started off as a prank of sorts, the aftermath of a lost bet to his best friend Nancy. It worked for him, strangely enough, and turned into a whole thing that he continues to this day. It has the added benefit of making him virtually unrecognizable to casual fans who haven’t managed to track down photos of him without the disguise.

“This is insane,” Jonathan says from a foot in front of him, spinning around to walk backward in front of Steve as he talks.

“Thanks for the tickets,” Nancy adds.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says, shrugging off the gratitude with an easy smile. There’s no one else he’d rather have here, which is convenient because there’s also no one else he could have as his guest since no one else even knows he’s in a band.

“You two wander, have fun, and I’ll find you after my set, alright?” Steve asks.

“As if we won’t be there,” Nancy says, sounding as enthusiastic as the first time she had the opportunity to see his band live.

Steve shakes his head. Nancy’s seen his set almost as many times as he’s performed it but he can’t blame her for being particularly invested in seeing this one. After all ---

“It’s your first festival, man! We wouldn’t miss it,” Jonathan exclaims.

The two head off in the direction of the main festival stages while Steve glances around to make sure no one’s watching him before ducking back toward the performer staging area. He pulls his badge out from where it’s tucked into his t-shirt, the holographic PERFORMER label shining in the sunlight as security waves him through.

It’s surreal. Steve has to use every single ounce of self-control not to completely lose his mind over the number of musicians he passes from bands he idolizes. These are famous musicians. These are celebrities. He can’t help but feel seriously out of his league here.

The crowd during his set proves otherwise. It’s easily the largest group he’s ever played for, with Nancy and Jonathan loyally at the front singing every word. Not for the first time, Steve reconsiders his decision to perform in a wig as the sun practically bakes him the entire hour he performs, but he’s committed to the vibe at this point and he isn’t about to change it now.

The second Steve gets backstage he takes the wig and sunglasses off, stashing them in his guitar case just in time to turn around and walk directly into someone behind him.

“Shit, sorry-” Steve starts, but the words drop abruptly when he locks eyes with the man he just bumped into.

Eddie Munson. The lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, and Steve’s current biggest celebrity crush. It isn’t a genre he listens to often, and honestly, it was Eddie’s charisma and presence during interviews and fan meets that really drew Steve’s attention to him and his band. Steve knew Corroded Coffin is playing the festival but he somehow never imagined a scenario where the two of them might actually meet - and now he’s gone and run into the guy.

“No worries,” Eddie easily dismisses, eyeing Decide’s van that Steve just put his guitar case down in front of. “You here with Decide?”

Eddie knows his band.

Steve takes a second for that to sink in. Eddie stands in front of him, black leather pants tucked into black boots, paired with a simple white t-shirt tucked into the waistline. There’s a jean jacket slung over Eddie’s arm, the one he always wears when he performs, and up close Steve can make out some of the well-worn pins and patches.

“Uh, yeah. I… yeah.” Steve manages, cursing his sudden loss of any ability to be suave and debonair.

“I should be the one saying sorry to you then,” Eddie says with a light, amused laugh. “No, that’s mean. I shouldn’t say that. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean they aren’t… objectively decent.”

It feels like Steve’s heart plummets into his stomach at the words. Eddie Munson knows his band and hates them. Well, fuck.

It also occurs to Steve that if Eddie’s saying this to him then there’s a solid chance that he has no idea who Steve is, exactly. He probably just thinks Steve’s a random roadie.

“I don’t think they’re that bad,” Steve offers, seizing the opportunity to try and sway Eddie’s opinion.

“And I’ll forgive you that lapse of judgment because you’re hot,” Eddie says with a wink and a smirk. That Munson charm Steve’s seen through a screen countless times is life-altering to hear in person.

Any negative emotions Steve feels over the knowledge that Eddie hates his music are immediately replaced by the rush of endorphins brought about by the fact that Eddie thinks he’s hot. He could die here and now and die happy… or he could live to flirt back, which seems like the superior option. Regaining a little more self-awareness now that most of the shock has settled he couples the offer with the slightest shift in his posture, standing up a little straighter, jutting his hip out slightly, and running a hand through his hair to bring a little life back to the wig-flattened locks.

“You know, I could give you all the inside info on the band you want. Maybe after your set? Over drinks?” Steve offers impulsively, a hopeful smile on his face.

Eddie looks interested and considers the offer. Every millisecond of silence from him feels like a lifetime while Steve waits for a response.

“I’d rather learn about you,” Eddie counters.

“That works, too,” Steve agrees, grinning like a goddamn fool.

“Hey, Munson! We’re on in five, get a move on!”

Steve and Eddie both turn their heads toward Gareth Emerson, another member of Eddie’s band who stands several yards away waving a guitar in the air exasperatedly.

“Duty calls,” Eddie says, turning back to face Steve. “Be here when I get back?”

For the briefest of moments, Steve thinks he sees a flicker of uncertainty on Eddie’s face at the question, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Steve promises as Eddie leaves to join the rest of his band.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #me posting a wip? more likely than you think #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

[icestarphoenix]

Is this a good time to ask for Mississippi headcanons? Btw are his eyes white as a style choice or do you actually headcanon they're white?

Oh yeah, it’s fine! It’s more from my Team Spirit AU and to add some cool contrast, as well as an excuse to make Mississippi look cool and to make his eye visible.

Mississippi Headcanons

Mississippi’s State Spirit is a white magnolia flower crown. When his emotions become more intense, more white flowers and branches begin growing from various parts of his body. [#FAF8F2]

Mississippi’s state flower is the southern magnolia, and one of its nicknames is the Magnolia State. 

Mississippi’s fake human name is Mason-Fisher Stephen Patterson.

Mississippi is a looong name for a state. So his fake human name is long too. Many S sounds. He often drops the F in his monogram, so it’d be MPS.

Is really good at ballet, and he likes it quite a lot. As such his body is very flexible and nimble. 

Based on how Jackson, Mississippi is sanctioned to hold the USA International Ballet Competition, only one of four cities.

And if you know anything about male ballet dancers, man’s is jacked.

Although, he’s still quite chubby in the middle no matter how much he works out. Having the highest obesity rate in the country isn’t doing him any favors in that regard. ‘Sippi’s pretty fine with how he looks though.

‘Sippi has a small scrapbook filled with photos and autographs from all the celebrities that were born in his state. He’s got pretty fun stories if you ask.

Mississippi often plays blues music on his slide guitar, especially when he’s feeling down. He’s a very talented musician owing to all the legendary musicians that came from him and the state’s claim of being the Birthplace of America’s Music. 

Mississippi is the birthplace of American blues music starting out as delta blues in its earliest version.

When he’s drunk, he’ll start playing and singing dirty blues songs.

He has an old and worn teddy bear on his bed. Her name is Maggie, and he talks to her when he’s feeling down and doesn’t want to deal with the reactions of other people. Her make is more like older versions of teddy bears with a squarer head, longer snout, and longer limbs.

The hunting trip incident where Theodore Roosevelt refused to shoot a black bear that was trapped for him happened in Mississippi. That incident inspired the teddy bear, and it’s also the official state toy.

The first teddy bears were made in Brooklyn, New York and Germany around the same time in 1902. The two makers had no relation to each other, although candy shop owner Morris Michtom in New York was the one who was inspired by the story.

Can do a perfect Kermit the Frog impression, and he has the puppet for it too. He can do a lot of various voice impressions, and he also has a light interest in puppets.

Jim Henson, the creator of the Muppets, was born in Mississippi.

At this point I might as well just make Mississippi a big plushie enthusiast. He’s the type of guy to have a large pile of a single kind of plushie like for Pikachus, Kirbys, Garfields, etc. But, his hoard is just for catfish plushies (plus one Whiscash). Whether realistic or cutified, or mass produced or handmade, he is enthusiastically collecting them all.

Belzoni, Mississippi is the Catfish Capital of the World. The state is also first in catfish production.

‘Sippi always feels slightly guilty for a moment when he returns to his room after a good meal of fried catfish and sees all his catfish plushies staring at him.

I’m imagining a scene where Mississippi’s room gets barged into by some Southern states (presumably to find something), with ‘Sippi already taking the precaution of stuffing all his catfish in his closet before his colleagues find out about this “unmanly” hobby of his. Cue his closet comedically exploding with catfish plushies when one of the states inevitably opens the door.

#replies! #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #ben brainard #wttt #wttsh #wttt mississippi #headcanons

[born-to-lose]

can u go thru when i dont have u line by line please ... so interested 2 hear the choices behind each bit

Full heartbreaking analysis under the cut

What will I do

When your scent on your shirt disappears

For Valentine's Day, my love gave me a sleeveless shirt he's had for years so it smells like him a lot. It feels like home and good memories because the sheets of the holiday home where I spent my summers at the North Sea as a child smelled the same. Since I got it, I've been smelling it every night before going to sleep in an attempt to memorize the scent and when it's not too cold, I sleep in it. But I've also been worried about the scent fading over time and about me forgetting how he smelled at some point.

When your lipstick's all used up

For my birthday, he gave me a dark pink/red lipstick, which has sort of become my signature shade when I go out. I can't get this brand and exact lipstick in my country, so I would have to get it imported from the UK when it's used up (it also accidentally melted a bit and broke off after a while ago and I somehow fixed it but the cute little pattern isn't there anymore). Even if I did get a new lipstick in that shade, it would still not be the same as applying the one that was hand-picked by the love of my life.

When I want new pictures of you

Because I've looked at the old ones a million times

I still keep a framed photo of him on my bedside table because I can't bring myself to put it away in a box or even just my desk or shelf. In addition to that, my usual way of coping with missing him was (and still is) looking at the pictures I have of him on my phone, but after a while you want new ones because you just miss their face so much, you know?

What will I do

When I don't have you anymore

The main question of this whole poem, and also of this whole week. Actually, what will I do now? I'm still trying to figure that out.

When I can't call you every week

We used to have weekly video calls and every week without a date (because one of us was busy or didn't feel well) was rough for me and the thought of them never happening at all kills me.

When I can't hear you laugh and sing

I'm absolutely in love with his singing voice. He used to sing a few songs on request for me and even recorded some so I can listen to them whenever I want. His laugh is my favourite sound in the world and I was always so happy when I could make him laugh.

When we don't stay up late talking about everything

Especially in the first months and on weekends, we stayed up really late on some nights to talk about all kinds of things and I enjoyed those conversations more than I can say.

What will I do

When you're not in my arms

Sadly, I never got the chance to have him in my arms, but I literally dreamed of that and still crave it so much. If I could hold him just for a moment, I would never let go.

When I miss your face next to mine

As we were long distance, I didn't actually have his face next to mine, but sometimes when we nearly fell asleep on video call, both of us wrapped in blankets, it just felt so nice and cozy.

When I don't feel your hands on me

Again, I never really did and this is too intimate to discuss, but a single touch from him, no matter in what context and with what intention, would make me melt.

When I can't play with your hair as you lay on my chest

Another thing I really wish I could do. He has beautiful hair and I've always wanted to play with it or braid it while we're cuddling.

What will I do

When your tapes are worn out

He made two mixtapes for me, which I think is the most romantic thing ever, especially because he used actual cassettes and didn't just create a playlist (although he also did that and it's almost 9 hours long). The parts where he talks in between the songs to explain why he added them or what we were talking about at the moment always make me smile, and I keep rewinding to the parts where he sings along so they're ingrained in my mind forever. He told me several times not to wear them out, but I'm afraid they will be eventually, so I'll need to get them digitalized just in case.

When the ink on your letters fades

We wrote each other letters and cards and I love rereading the ones he sent me. They still have their place in a letter rack on my desk and at some point in the future I'll put them in a box and keep them until I die, hoping they'll still be legible decades from now.

When your scented candle stops burning

For Christmas, he gave me a white pear and patchouli scented candle. Sometimes I light it so my room smells like him and it always makes me feel better when I do. It's a jar candle and I really hope it will last for a long time because like with the shirt, I have a thing for scents and associating them with people I love and if there's nothing like that left of him, I'll be devastated.

When the blood in your vial necklace turns brown

He made a blood vial necklace for me and I tried to make one too, but I couldn't get enough blood out without actually relapsing into cutting. I never leave the house without it because I want to carry part of him with me at all times and show him off a bit. The fact that it's his own blood and that we had a thing for blood and talked about literally giving each other our hearts makes it even deeper and more intimate to me. When it arrived by mail, the blood had already clotted a little and by now it's turned into a very dark, almost black, shade of red, which looks really pretty in sunlight.

What will I do

When you're gone and all I have

Even if for now, he isn't actually gone and still in my life, and most importantly not dead, it's still hard to shift from the blissful life together I've gotten so used to in the last 7 months to the situation I'm in now.

Are the things you've sent me

I'm scared of the day when he's not with me in any way and literally all I have are his gifts he sent me.

Your soft voice and pretty face in my head

As mentioned above, I adore his voice and he's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. I'll never get that out of my head; even when I'm old and can't remember anything about myself, I hope he will always be in my memory.

And the memory of you and our time together

Over the course of our relationship, we made quite a few amazing memories (as far as possible when you live two countries apart) that I'll never forget, even if we had so many more plans for the future. Our time together was the best time of my life and he's by far my most important relationship I've ever had and ever will have. I'm pretty sure he's the love of my life and I will never be able or want to call anybody else than him "my love" because he will always be that to me. Honestly, I don't think I could ever love as deeply again as I love him.

#sorry this took so long but god i really put everything into this and now i'm crying #ask #zigmentality #barbi

[ourdailybill]

To Be A Pilgrim

Originally posted on Patreon, 21 June 2021

A few weeks ago I was asked to contribute to a series wherein people would introduce a favourite hymn and tell why it's significant to them.  The date of my presentation happened to be the anniversary of the Winter Journey, so the subject matter, and the hymn, chose itself.  It will be no surprise, then, that the following gets a bit churchy; if you would rather not read it, you are welcome to turn around and do something else with your day.  For my part, it was a good chance to lay out some things I've wanted to communicate for some time, but hadn't had the avenue to do so.

For the record, yes, I would like this one at my funeral too, but I hope that's far enough away that everyone will have forgotten this article by then.

This photo was taken 110 years ago today, on June 27th, 1910.  These three men set out from base camp, to trek 60 miles through the deep dark cold of Antarctic midwinter. Their destination was an Emperor penguin colony, where they would collect, for the first time, eggs with embryos inside them, to learn something about the evolution of birds.  Three and a half weeks later, having pulled their sledge sometimes only a mile a day, slept in frozen sleeping bags in -77° cold, and stumbled through a maze of ice cliffs in the dark, they had their eggs, and took shelter in a stone igloo roofed with a sheet of canvas.

Then a blizzard struck.  They had seen many blizzards, but this one was fiercer than any of them, and after a day of hurricane-force winds, the roof of their igloo tore off.  All they could do was to get deep into their icy bags and let the blizzard rage overtop of them.  Sometimes they would thump each other to let the others know they were still all right, and sometimes, when the wind lowered enough to hear anything, they would sing hymns to keep their spirits up.  It happened to be the 39th birthday of this party's leader, Edward Wilson, known to them by his nickname “Bill.”

I met Bill Wilson 13 years ago, and he has completely changed my life.  I grew up in the rapacious 1980s, with the belief that humans were fundamentally callous and self-serving; you could try to be better than that if you wanted, but that was really all you could expect of others, especially when times got tough.  Wilson single-handedly proved this wrong. He was a paragon of selflessness and generosity of spirit, and when times got tough, he only shone brighter.  He showed me that we don't have to be limited by our weaker natures, and a better way to live was not only possible but achievable, if only one made the effort. Wilson's character was shaped by his profoundly spiritual Christianity, and the simple observation that if one claims to believe this, then it follows that one must behave thus.  And so a lifetime of self-perfection was undertaken.

There is no privacy in the Antarctic, but his comrades were still shocked to discover, well after his death, how religious he was.  Coming closer to God through knowledge of Creation was as valuable to Wilson as prayer or scripture, and his scientific work as well as his watercolours were, to him, acts of worship.  His faith was not worn on his sleeve, but worked behind the scenes and came out in what he did.  His sledging companion Apsley Cherry-Garrard wrote: “You must not think of Bill as a 'religious' man. ... When we were going to die on the slopes of Terror we sang hymns because they were easier to sing than La Bohème and it was a good thing to sing something. ... [W]e knew little of those deep feelings which are revealed in his letters and diaries and which were the foundations of his character. ... Whatever was the matter you took your trouble to Bill and, immediately, he dropped what he was doing, gave you his complete attention, and all his help.  If you were doing your best he would do his best for you: though maybe you could not reach his standard, he was immensely tolerant of your shortcomings; he treated you as an equal even if you were not so.” [Introduction to Edward Wilson of the Antarctic, pp.xiv and xvi-xvii]

The inspiring thing about Wilson is that he didn't start out perfect.  He was standoffish, anxious, judgemental, and snarky.  But he saw these not as integral features of his personality, rather as faults that could be improved, and he set about doing so, with great effort, over the course of many years. He did not seek to erase himself, but rather to become a better version of himself.  For him, it was a journey towards a more perfect imitation of Christ, with many setbacks and sloughs of despond, but he kept himself on that path and saw it through, even to the point of laying down his life for his friends.

Wilson was in the party with Captain Scott, who reached the South Pole in January 1912.  As things started to go wrong on their return journey, he put all his time and energy into tending the ill and injured, forfeiting his own rest to do so.  When, in their last camp, they were stuck in a blizzard, running out of food and fuel, Wilson and Bowers were prepared to walk 25 miles to the nearest depot and back while Scott stayed in the tent with a frostbitten foot.  This would almost certainly have been suicide, but it was their only hope.  The weather was too bad for them ever to set out, though, and a few days later they were facing their end.  Scott wrote to Wilson's wife, “His eyes have a comfortable blue look of hope and his mind is peaceful with the satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of the great scheme of the Almighty.  I can do no more to comfort you than to tell you that he died as he lived, a brave, true man – the best of comrades and the staunchest of friends.”

We tend to think of a pilgrimage as spatial: a journey from one geographical point to another. But, of course, its real purpose is spiritual – the journey transforms you; you are not the same person when you finish that you were at the beginning.  The refinement of character is a lifelong pilgrimage of the soul: starting where you are, every day you put one metaphysical foot in front of the other and try to get a little closer to your ideal.  Some days you get further than others, but the main thing is not to stop.  So long as the spiritual journey is undertaken, one can be a pilgrim without leaving home.  For many of us, Lockdown has been a pilgrimage, journeying through unfamiliar situations and confronting aspects of ourselves we have never had to face.  We will none of us come out unchanged.

On the winter journey to the penguin colony, Wilson, with his long legs, set the path through the deep cold snow, and Cherry-Garrard followed literally in his footsteps.  My pilgrimage has been much the same: As Christians, we are called to imitate Christ, but exactly how to get there, when one is not a first-century Jewish carpenter who is also God, is hard to figure out.  Wilson, who lived in a world very much like our own, and who I'm pretty sure was fully human, is an invaluable guide.  I am more grateful than I can say for every step he has placed for me in the snow.

No pilgrimage is easy, but it is always worthwhile.  Cherry-Garrard survived the expedition but was traumatised by the loss of his friends.  Nevertheless, his memoir ends with an exhortation that we go out and explore. “If you are a brave man you will do nothing: if you are a coward, you may do much, for none but cowards have need to prove their bravery.  Some will tell you that you are mad, and nearly all will say, 'What is the use?' For we are a nation of shopkeepers, and no shopkeeper will look at research which does not promise him a financial return within a year.  And so you will sledge nearly alone, but those with whom you sledge will not be shopkeepers: that is worth a good deal.  If you march your Winter Journeys you will have your reward, so long as all you want is a penguin's egg.” [The Worst Journey in the World, pp.577-578]

No one knows which hymns they sang in the blizzard on the slopes of Mt Terror, but one of the hymns at Cherry-Garrard's funeral was “To Be A Pilgrim.”  It's about the spiritual journey through darkness and strife towards a better existence, gaining strength through hardship along the way.  And it's a proper belter, so what better to sing in defiance of a howling gale?  It always makes me think of Wilson and his pilgrimages, spatial and spiritual. Perhaps that's why it was chosen.  I hope his story makes it meaningful to you, too.

#bill wilson #edward adrian wilson #terra nova expedition #character #self-improvement #inspiration #heroes #hero #uncle bill

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

Hi, Rune, congratulations on your milestone! Your idea of a celebration is really interesting, so I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring, give this a go!

Name: Cerys (she/her)

Colours: red/grey

Vibes (if this is what you're looking for): an old library full of well kept but all the same worn books, a vinyl with a single skip etched into the markings, a voice like the clear air after rain

hello and how are you?

Thank you so much for wanting to participate in things, Nova! We are happy to know that even if it is something new, you wanted to jump in! Thanks for being our first participant! c:

And this is a wonderful example of good inspiration! We can already see beautiful Cerys among the Libraries, finding herself before a dragon, giving her beloved books as offering and gathering around herself a new hoard, entangled in her reading, and drowning in her voice!

But without further ado, may the Worlds welcome Cerys!

"To think, that one day, I would be more than just the thoughts of another; may the Worlds forever know that my place is among the books, not the people."

All Photos Can Be Found Here! c:

Thoughts Of Her Creation,

Full Name: Cerys Ferdinand Rodriguez Associations and Titles: Daughter of the Gracious Matthew Rodriguez, New Owner of The Evening Hour Library, Storyteller of the Smoldering Dragon Strawberry Blonde | Hidden Moles | Piano Fingers | Ink-Stained Hands | Orchestra Music | Book Notes Among The Margins | Pockets of Candy | Pencils Behind The Ear | Favorite Tiny Notebook | Forever Singing | Watches Along Her Neck

A Snippet For Her Arrival,

Sun and Nature hold their claim before her, but she can see the Library, even under everything. This whole World sits before her, both protected and entangled in the Nature that gave it solace after Humanity thought it of no more value. Vines and dust cling to the air and furniture, the books keep themselves tucked neatly in the shelves, the Library still holds itself in calm and solid respect even after the Worlds gave up on it. And among the remnants of the marvel, sitting calmly and proudly among the rubble and memories, a Dragon holds its stance. Cerys stops dead, everything in her freezing at the Beast before her. She almost chokes, her Fear growing and consuming instantly, the small thoughts of rumors and lies spreading throughout her head in a single moment. She opens her mouth, stops when only a soft noise comes. The Beast seems to focus on it, but Cerys watches as it slowly rises, red and gold shining brightly against the sunlight, soft speckles of reflection flooding the forgotten space as Cerys keeps track of the grey irises. It shifts forward, head swinging around so one of its eyes can take her in completely. She stands still, more captive than anything, and shivers as a breath rolls through; the Dragon bringing her to the reality that it is there, more real than even the dust shifting in its wake. She almost allows her Humanity to show through; the Dragon moves away from her, granting her a breath, and she gulps for a moment as the Beast moves to settle back into its spot, centered and imposing and keeping her from moving forward in any way from the doorway.  “What is your offering?”

Thank you so much for letting us create Cerys into this wonderful woman of marvel and wonderful, our beloved Nova! This was so so so much fun and we are so excited to get into the others that have come along! c:

p.s. we actually ended up writing SO MUCH MORE of this "little" scene, but bc Tumblr is terrible to writers and word counts - we have had trouble at least with these things - we can always send you the Google Doc, or maybe post it a bit later, if we can fit Cerys' entry into the Worlds in one snippet. φ(゜▽゜*)♪

In Reference To This Post! c:

until we write again,

#50wandererspecial #writeblr events #milestone events #character creations #Cerys Ferdinand Rodriguez #bookish-galaxy #Runes of the Wanderers #writing snippet #writingcommunity #writerscommunity #rune ⊹ writings #rune ⊹ beloveds

[that-weird-marvel-addict]

SHADOWS FALL AMONG US

———————————————————————

EARTH NEO 616

GERMAN AND FRANCE BORDER

1944

LATE SUMMER

__________________________________________

CHAPTER 1

Dusk was arriving quickly, the sounds of many voices quaked from a canvas tent lacking any protection from the sides. The lights flickered slightly due to low energy as the lights were rigged carelessly through the camp. Zoom into the tent and a collective of men sat while rummaging through papers and listening to radios filled with static German voices. The single woman dressed sharply in an earth tone button down 3 piece suit and skirt was managing an evidence board. It had red string plastered across each little snippet of paper and small black and white photos. She sighed and looked over to the man done up in an American themed uniform with a hardened cowl. He was hunched over a map of the area of Germany and seemed to be pulling out locations right from his memory.

“Captain…are you sure you know where this base is? You have only a little intel and a hunch.” He snickered and looked up from the masses of paper swimming through anxious hands “miss Carter sometimes all you need is a hunch. I promise I wouldn’t do something I didn’t feel confident in.” Bucky, a man with groomed brown hair swooped to the side and in a worn in faded green soldier outfit looked towards his best friend, Captain America, or Steve as he called him “you know you make rather questionable decisions on hunches. Honestly saving me from that maniac with a red face probably wasn’t such a great approach at the time”

“You know what?” Steven interjected “you came out alive and got a tank, I would consider that a successful mission”

“YOU GOT MORE THAN THAT ROGERS!” boomed out a rather curvy, yet strong redhead, bearded man. He held onto his cap as he roared once more “you got us! Honestly you would have been hopeless without us!” He slammed his fist onto the table shaking the radio that a stashed gentleman was listening to. He began to swear in French at him before continuing to listen to the German seeping through it.

“Look, miss Carter. We are a strong team of 7 brave men. Whatever we have seen is all we will continue to see for a while. We can handle this and we will make Schmidt regret his decision to rule with an iron fist, isn’t that right Howlers?” And within a matter of seconds every single man lifted their heads and called out “WAHOO!”.

Agent Carter scoffed and rolled her eyes so intensely that the laughter of men went silent “well-“ she quickly adjusted her blouse before going back to the board “-you will need to be prepared. The intel we have received is dodgy, if it weren’t for Gabe here we wouldn’t have gotten even a grain of information”. The dark skinned gentleman, who was probably the most well dressed man in the crew saluted to miss Carter before he went back to translating more of the German coming through on the radio.

“So far what I have translated is that this new location of hydra is deep within the black Forest. Now, I must warn you this Forest is known for its ability to twist people around. It’s large, it’s confusing and it’s dark, not only that but it is known for its high count of predators. It may be silly but the German boar in these woods are most likely the most dangerous, and with the black coat you won’t be able to see them. The best equipment to bring is a few frags and sawed off shotguns. We also will need handguns and Barnes we need your talent as a sniper. And yes, dum dum, you may bring that new heavy hydra weapon you stole alongside the tank.”

Dum dum slammed his fist on the table one more time before aggressively pointing a finger at gabe.

“Hey, you know I only took it as a precaution. Plus I’m rather fond of my big girl Betty boop”

“Oh…you did NOT name your gun after a cartoon character” Bucky groaned in disbelief.

“Listen! She’s gorgeous, she sings and she brings men to their knees. How could I not name her after a cutie like that?” Dum dum began to chuckle a little before reaching towards his worn down m2 browning. Clearly loved through years of battle in this obnoxiously long world war.

Rogers cleared his throat rather loudly “I think we are getting off track here? Gabe’s trying to explain the next phase of our attack. Plus we are losing daylight” and with those last words all of the howling Commandos leaned in closer to gabe, chairs scraping across dirt ground. Now they were really ready to get the ball rolling.

“Well I’ve decided we need to split into teams. Team 1 will be dum dum and i, we kinda bonded over in hydra-”

“We sure did, bother” dum dum interjected quickly.

“-ladies, am I right? Okay okay, team 2 will be captain and Bucky of course. Team three will be Jaques, pinky and Jim. With the separations we will be able to cover more ground and find the base more efficiently. The black Forest is large so don’t underestimate how exhausting this journey will be. Now, any questions?”

Peggy Carter smiled softly before she raised a delicate hand into the air “yes, what exactly are we looking for? Is this base above ground? What other obstacles may be in store for your team here?”

Gabe paused as he pondered every question Peggy threw at him. He shook his head in disappointment and shrugged his shoulders “you know, Peggy? I have absolutely no idea what else to expect out there besides heavy guard patrols and the number of soldiers around the base. I have listened to this broadcast for hours and still haven’t discovered anything else. Whatever it is, Schmidt doesn’t want anyone to know a single thing….not even his own men.”

Rogers sighed heavily with conflicting emotions before rocking his chair back onto its two hind legs, supporting himself solely on balance “this could be a trap ... .Schmidt isn’t known for subtleties….trust me. We really need to stay in close contact. Also we need a location to meet if we can’t find anything before the first light of day.”

Everyone glanced over at Bucky who already seemed to be way ahead on planting a location on the map. He placed it right in the dead center of the Forest where a clearing was sitting. Bucky smirked, flashing a few teeth “well, since we have that figured out, how ‘bout we go kick some hydra ass?”

“Oh I have been anxiously waiting to bury my steel into some hydra soldiers, let’s get this show on the road before we miss a good opportunity” Jim spoke up, an exhausted japanese American with a five o’clock shadow and dark hair that nearly brushed his brow. He passionately slammed his fist into the palm of his left hand.

Moonrise, Black Forest border

The sound of crickets rose through the lingering woods that creaked in the sound of sharp breezes. The shadow of the trees loomed upon the men, the only light that escaped through the branches was little floating green fireflies and shards of broken moonlight. The sound of the wind howled like a wolf, bringing a sense of fear and wariness to the squad of men that stood in the outskirts of the Barrier of trees and moss. The dread of something unknown hung strongly upon them, if a hydra base was within these woods why was it so eerily quiet?

Captain America took a few steps forwards and fluidly spun on his heels to look at the 6 men that were going to fight all night for his cause. He let out an exasperated sigh before straightening out his stance “men…..we have already experienced near death together, and I am ashamed to ask you to do it again, but I would not choose a different crew to be by my side. Remember, you are howling commandos, you are the Spartans of this age. Do not let this darkness wrap around your mind, do not forget we will come running to your position as fast as possible if any trouble occurs. When we enter this Forrest we must remind ourselves why we are here. We are here to end the continuous abuse of control Schmidt has decided he deserves to have. Do not cave in, do not surrender”

All the men stepped closer, lifting arms in salute “yes captain” they all said in unison with big smiles. Of course they think his speeches are a little dramatic, but it still brought a sense of peace to the men, especially because the dread of the Forrest was leaching onto their souls.

“Now let’s head out. No time to waste, hydra gets closer to victory the longer we wait” captain added with a tinge of courage as he led his team into the Forest. The others followed suit and broke off into different directions. It was now time to leave no stone unturned.

“SEE YOU FOR DRINKS AFTER ROGERS! Remember you’re paying! Must have made a lot of money from all those showgirl tours you were on!” Dum dum roared with laughter as a way to get one more joke in before he could no longer see the rest of his company.

“Must be nice Steve. I’ve been serving in this military longer than you and gained the title of Sargent, but you got way more money than I did in a quarter of the time” Bucky huffed with sarcasm. Of course he didn’t truly mean it, but whatever makes his friends gears grind for a second. Rogers only let out a single laugh before shoving him slightly.

“I thought it wasn’t all about the money. What was it? For glory?” Steve bickered back.

“Pffft, glory? No, it was to impress the gals back home.” Bucky puffed out his chest and adjusted his tired wool and cotton blend sage green uniform.

“You and all these men, that’s all you think about is girls”

“What? And you’re not eyeballing agent carter?” Bucky snarked with a cheerful grin.

Rogers' smile left his face for a second as he gave his friend a warning filled glare, it only lasted a brief moment before he looked ahead and realized they were finally in the belly of the beast, the shadows all around them consuming the vision they had. Bucky and Rogers both pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, hoping to reach through the dense fog that was beginning to brew. From here on out they knew a silent and well adapted presence was needed to lurk through these unrelenting woods. Only god knew what was in store for the howling commandos now, and from the looks of it…..the plan wasn’t riddled with riches and success. It was drowning in pain, misery and lack of faith in humanity.

“To the end of the line, captain?” Bucky spoke as soft as a mouse, for he got the captain 's message.

“Till the end of the line, buck”

#shadows fall among us #chapter 1 #dark captain au #fanfic #marvel fanfic #captain america: first avenger #captain America first avenger fanfic #I don’t own these characters or story

[demospectator]

Long Ago and Far Away: The Last Mission of Kenny Kai-Kee

By Douglas S. Chan 

(Published previously by AsianWeek newspaper in four parts, starting June 25, 2004)

Where have all the soldiers gone?

Long time passing Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time ago -- Pete Seeger © 1961 Fall River Music Inc.

This year, on the 60th anniversary of the D-Day landings in Normandy, the survivors of what General Dwight D. Eisenhower called the “Crusade in Europe” against Hitler and fascism gathered across the country for what was for many of the veterans a final summer of reminiscences.  Time’s winnowing of the ranks of the citizen soldiers has accelerated with each passing year.  The 16 million men and women who served during the Second World War have been dying at the rate of 1,500 per day.

The surviving old soldiers and airmen of the Second World War will congregate at the reunions, many of them for the last time.  They will lift a glass to “absent friends.” Others will summon again the strength and the will to journey to far-flung places of the world where they will remember and lay flowers or wreaths at gravesites or large and small monuments, some bearing the names of fallen comrades or military units who passed that way in a grievous, global conflict.  

Family members, widows, and former fiancées will pause and recall the day they heard the news spread from War Department telegrams.  Some may retreat to quiet rooms and listen to well-worn 78s of Artie Shaw’s orchestra punching out “Begin the Beguine,” Tommy Dorsey’s trombone playing “Getting Sentimental over You,” or a young Sinatra singing “I’ll Be Seeing You.”  The worn albums of old photos and yellowed clippings will be brought out again, and hearts will turn to a time long ago and far away.  

A Soldier’s Story

He was neither the first, nor the last, of the thousands of young men who flew in the skies over Europe during the terrible summer of 1944.  He was a native son of California whose courage and sacrifice remained a mystery for two generations and whose name has been forgotten except by his family and the small, tightly-knit community of East Bay Chinese Americans who came of age during the Second World War.

He was, and will be forever, a beloved son, friend, classmate, boyfriend, bomber pilot, and a Chinese American original.  Long forgotten except by the dwindling few who counted him as a friend of their youth, he deserved better because he was one of the best Chinese America had to offer.  

His name was Kenneth Burton Kai-Kee.

Chinese Americans Go to War

Almost 50,000 Asian Americans served in the U.S. armed forces during World War II.  A 1982 Veterans Survey Report by the Chinese Historical Society of America estimated the number of Chinese American military personnel ranged from 15,000 and 20,000.  Since 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act had created a bachelor society with no dependents.  Many single Chinese men were the first to be drafted.  The first real generation of native-born Chinese American men was also called up for military service, if they had not already volunteered.

According to the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs and researchers at the Oakland Museum, 13,499 Chinese American men fought in the armed forces.  Approximately 75 percent in the U.S. Army, with units such as the 3rd and 4th Infantry Divisions in Europe and the 6th, 32nd and 77th Infantry Divisions in the Pacific, and 25 percent in the Navy.  Counted together, they represented 20 percent of all Chinese American men in the continental U.S.  In the words of historian Iris Chang, “ethnic Chinese men gave their lives disproportionate to their presence in the country.”

In the AAF

Kenny Kai-Kee joined the Army Air Force on October 1, 1943, while war was raging in Europe.  The Army Air Force (the “AAF”) was learning hard lessons about the perils of daylight “precision” bombing.  Bomber pilots and crews were needed to replace staggering losses suffered in massive bombing raids against the ball-bearing factories at Schweinfurt in the German heartland.

Kenny shipped out to Europe in 1944 to join the 15th Air Force based in Foggia, Italy.  Once in Europe, he started flying B-17s with his unit, the 32nd Squadron of the 301st Bomb Group (Heavy), which had shifted its flight operations to Lucera, Italy.  Kenny completed his first combat mission in the summer of 1944.

The Mission

On July 26, 1944, the 301st Bomb Group, including the 32nd Squadron, was ordered to bomb a factory complex at Wiener-Neustadt, located in a suburb of Vienna.  Allied intelligence had reported that the factory was manufacturing aircraft parts.  The bomber crews of the 32nd based in Lucera, Italy, knew that the mission was perilous.   Vienna was heavily defended by fighters and antiaircraft fire because of its status as a major industrial center for the German army.

Several days before Kenny’s last mission, the commanding officer of Kenny’s unit, the 32nd Squadron, held a briefing for all flight personnel about new German fighter tactics against bombers.  The ability of the German Luftwaffe to maintain its force of operational fighter aircraft had declined.  Replacing aircraft lost to age or enemy action had become increasingly difficult because of the strategic bombing campaign that was waged against German industry by the bombers of the 15th Air Force based in Italy and the 8th Air Force based in England.  

As a result, the squadron’s C.O. informed his men, the Germans were only sending fighters up once a week to challenge bomber squadrons.  By keeping its fighters on the ground to repair and re-arm for ten-day periods, the Germans were able to assemble combat-ready fighter groups of two to three hundred planes to shoot down American bomber formations.  The new tactics had already been used against the 8th Air Force, and the bombers of Kenny’s 15th Air Force would be the next recipients of the new fighter swarms.

“For those of us at this meeting, the numbers of 200 or 300 fighters attacking seemed unreal, since most of us had seen relatively few fighters on any one mission,” wrote Tech. Sgt. Bill Brainard, the radioman on Kenny’s old B-17F.  “What I had seen before on other missions was at the most six fighters, always using the standard evasive tactic of flying in at you firing their machineguns until they maneuvered away by rolling over and putting their belly armor plate up as your target.”

An Old and Slow Plane

“That was a difficult mission, as the clouds built up to the point that we could not properly bomb our target,” wrote Bob Piper, a former Army Air Force captain.  Piper, who lives in Richmond, Virginia, was a B-17 Commander with the 32nd Squadron.  He was the squadron leader for the raid over the Weiner-Neudorf aircraft works that included Kenny’s bomber.

As a leader of a seven-plane squadron in a 28-plane group, Piper only had incidental contact with the Chinese American second lieutenant because Piper had the responsibility to call the squadron roll on the “fateful day” as he now refers to July 26, 1944.  He confirmed that Kenny had been assigned to a plane that was an older B-17F.  The plane, nicknamed “Laura,” was slower, and it also did not have a chin turret of twin, forward-firing .50 machine guns mounted under its nose.

“She was pretty patched up from numerous previous missions,” wrote radioman and Tech Sgt. Bill Brainard in his memoir 50 years later, “and slower than the later models in the squadron, especially when her bomb bay doors were in the open position.  Therefore, she had to fly in the rear so as not to fall back in the path of another B-17.  On a bomb run this could prove to be a hazard.”  

By coincidence, Bob Piper had flown the Laura on three previous missions, including a mission that bombed Vienna’s railroad yards earlier that month.  On that seven-hour mission, the 15th Air Force attacked in force and encountered no fighter planes because of cloudy conditions.

On that July morning, Technical Sergeant Bill Brainard, the radioman for Kenny’s bomber, recalled rising early, eating breakfast, and attending the usual pre-mission briefing about the expected intensity of flak and the numbers of fighters that might be sent against them.  After the briefing, the crews were driven in trucks out to their planes.

That day, Kenny discovered that the plane to which he had been assigned was the Laura, bearing the serial number 157, the oldest plane in the squadron.  The ground crew had already mounted the plane’s load of bombs.

A “Make-up” Crew

In addition to being assigned a slow plane, Kenny’s crew for the mission was a “make-up crew.”  With the exception of Bill Brainard (who knew the navigator for the day’s mission, Thomas Steed), none of the crewmen who boarded the Laura that morning had met each other prior to the mission.  After a few minutes of conversation to get acquainted with each other, Kenny and his crewmates climbed on board the aging bomber.

As the Laura taxied down a runway consisting of thousands of perforated iron mats, the plane and crew bounced as the bomber’s wheels rolled over dents in the runway for a long time.  Takeoffs on imperfect, mat runways were often violently accomplished as the plane gained speed.  Planes with full bomb loads that could not gain the speed to lift off might be in danger of falling back to earth and blowing up.

Kenny’s plane made it off the ground that day, climbing into the sky over the Adriatic Sea and gaining altitude steadily.  From his seat in the co-pilot’s position, Kenny would have seen the Swiss Alps.  Sitting in the middle of the fuselage, his radioman Bill Brainard searched the sky and felt a sense of calm as the engines droned.

For all of the bombers of the 32nd Squadron, the takeoff and rendezvous into formation in the early morning of July 26, occurred without incident.  Bob Piper’s plane, “Miss Tallahassee Lassee,” was the leader of a formation of seven planes assigned to the “Diamond,” the rearmost position of a four-squadron group of 28 ships.  Since Kenny’s plane lacked speed, the Laura flew in the lower left position of Piper’s flight of bombers.  This “coffin corner” position was considered the most dangerous place in the formation because of its vulnerability to attack from enemy fighters.

The flying conditions on the morning of July 26 consisted of towering clouds and unstable weather.  However, Bob Piper, Kenny Kai-Kee, and their comrades did not know that the other bombers from the 15th Air Force would not join their flight group.  The weather conditions had forced the rest of the 15th Air Force to turn back.  Kenny’s group leader, however, never received the radio call to abort the mission.  

The mission should never have occurred, but the planes of the 32nd Squadron still flew on and, in so doing, produced the terrible confluence of events that changed forever the life of Kenny Kai-Kee, and the start of a mystery that would endure for a half century

[end of part I]

(Second of four parts)

I’ll be seeing you In all the old, familiar places That this heart of mine embraces All day through . . . -- Lyrics and music by Irving Kahal and Sammy Fain

Kenneth B. Kai-Kee was the son of a pioneer family and a native-born, Chinese American in an era when there were few.  Even his surname was an invention of the Chinese American West.  

Kenny, as he was known to his friends, was a grandson of Ching Hin Kim, a legendary Chinese pioneer who had settled in Ione, California.  Ching Hin Kim ran the “Kai Kee” general store that served the Chinese miners of Amador County.  Grandfather Ching and his American-born wife, Mo See, had nine children, eight of whom were sons born in Ione.  All the townspeople of Ione called the eight sons the “Kai-Kee Boys,” and the name stuck.  The Ching family was a long way from On Doong village, Heungshan County, Guangdong province, so why not invent a new name in an adopted country?  In Chinese California, the family adopted the Kai-Kee store’s name as their American moniker.

Kenny’s father, Lock Kai-Kee, was already a longtime resident of Oakland, California, when Kenny was born on October 21, 1921.  Lock and his wife, Ida Margarita (a.k.a. “Rita”), worked hard and bought a home at 927 - 45th Street in north Oakland.  Lock was a member of the Wa Sung Athletic Club, and his picture as the third base coach of the Wa Sung baseball team of 1931 appeared recently in the Wa Sung Community Service Club 2004 Community Directory.  Lock and Rita represented rare breed of Chinese Americans who reflected a new sophistication from their youth spent in the Jazz Age of the 1920s.

“I do remember meeting Kenny’s parents whom I admired,” recalled family friend, Dolores Wong, “because they were so modern and acculturated.  They were part of a group of friends who enjoyed dancing, knew how to enjoy life, wear stylish clothes, and travel.”

Swing Time at Cal

The Kai-Kee’s only son, Kenny, was a natural athlete in a family of prominent sportsmen.  Kenny’s Uncle Sam played varsity football for the “Wonder Team” of 1918 at UC Berkeley.  Uncle Mike played varsity baseball for Yale University in the 1920s.  Another uncle, Mark Kai-Kee, earned a letter as a member of the boxing team and Stanford’s Class of 1934.

To his grade-school classmates, Kenny was an easy-going and fun kid who grew into the personable young man who is remembered today.  He had little problem attracting his fair share of female attention.  Dolores Wong, who entered UC Berkeley in the fall of 1938, remembered her fellow collegian, Kenny, as a likeable, social and friendly student and the old boyfriend of Phyllis Soohoo -- my mother.  

Kenny Kai-Kee (right) with Phyllis Soohoo (center) outside Sather Gate at the University of California Berkeley, 1940.  (Photographer unknown from the collection of Doug Chan)

Alice (Chue) Lew, who joined the Cal gang in 1939 as a new generation of Chinese Americans started to attend college in force for the first time, recalled the good times before the war and the young adults living in the tempo of swing-time.  

“In those days, all Chinese students came together.  It was something we felt, close together as Chinese.  He [Kenny] was really a fun-loving person.  He had a great personality.  I remember him as a really nice guy to be around,” recalls Alice Lew.

At Cal Berkeley, Kenny Kai-Kee had been a student-athlete on the move.  He was studying accounting and “good at everything.”  He was a memorable feature of the campus social scene, as he often planned the getaway trips to Santa Cruz for all of the Chinese kids.  Snapshots of Kenny at Lake Lagunitas, relaxing with the gang at Cal, and walking the grounds of the World’s Fair on Treasure Island, show a relaxed, confident young man with an easy smile.  

Kenny Kai-Kee (left) and Phyllis Soohoo (center) with friends at the World’s Fair on Treasure Island, July 22, 1940. 

By all accounts, Kenny Kai-Kee had a bright future.  One friend recalled that he had the highest I.Q. test score and always seemed to have his homework done.  This left him plenty of time to enjoy the outdoors and organize his share of the swim parties at Lake Temescal and Lake Anza, the double-dates, and the big bands at big hotels such as the Palace, the Claremont and the ‘Drake.  Kenny was in the middle of it.  After all, he also was one of the lucky guys on campus who owned a car -- a two-seat Model A.  

“[H]e was a very up beat young man with a mischievous sense of humor,” recalls Maggie Gee, herself a legendary pilot for the WASPs during World War II.   War Comes to Oakland

In 1940, the U.S. Census counted 3,201 persons of Chinese ancestry living in Oakland, California.  Lock and Rita Kai-Kee must have been proud of the family’s good fortune before World War II.  They had worked hard to own their house on 45th Street, and their only son, Kenny, was enrolled at UC Berkeley.  He was a natural athlete who would soon earn a letter jacket for one of Cal’s varsity teams.

According to CalBear81 at the Cal Bears FanPost here, “Kenny enrolled at Cal in 1939, he would want to be part of a sports team. At that time, Cal sponsored basketball teams for players 145 pounds and under, and for players 130 pounds and under, in addition to the Varsity team. These teams had their own league, and even a post-season tournament, sponsored by the A.A.U. Kenny Kai-Kee played on Cal's 130-pound team throughout his years at Cal.”

Kenneth Kai-Kee playing basketball for the University of California. He is #21, standing in the back row, second from left. (Photo courtesy of the University of California Berkeley)

When the war came to America’s Chinatowns, the young men of Oakland’s Chinese community answered the call.  Men such as my uncle, Clayton Soohoo, and Alfred Fong and Wilfred Eng, both of whom, as they told the Oakland Tribune last year, were inducted into the Army on the same day.  The Army Air Force took 25 percent of the Army inductees, including Kenny Kai-Kee.

“I remember Kenny Kai-Kee as a student at Cal, a talented athlete, very popular, with a good sense of humor,” said retired Judge Delbert Wong who would later serve with the AAF as a bomber crewman.  

On October 1, 1943, Kenny Kai-Kee entered the service of the United States Army Air Force as a pilot-trainee.  

Kenny Kai-Kee behind the wheel of a jeep probably at Dyersburg Army Air Force base in 1944.

Kenny’s training did not pass without incident.  AAF records indicate that he had survived a landing accident at Dyersburg AAF base in Tennessee on February 24, 1944.  Kenny and the pilot of the B-17F suffered a landing gear collapse after landing.  

Kenny’s uncle, Mark Kai-Kee, recalls hearing from a friend of Kenny’s that the accident occurred in part to an error by Kenny in hitting the gear switch instead of the flap switch after completing their landing roll.  The oversight was understandable because Kenny and his co-pilot were distracted after having been lost, and they were excited to have found their way back to base.  

In spite of receiving a reprimand for the bad landing, Kenny qualified as a bomber pilot in 1944.  The stateside snapshots of him taken for the relatives back home show how easily he wore the snappy uniform and the pilot’s wings of the AAF.

“He was one of the few Asians to become a bomber pilot,” recalled fellow collegian and retired judge, Delbert Wong.  Wong survived 30 missions with the AAF as a navigator with the 401st Bomb Group.  “Since the pilot was the captain of the crew, there many on the selection board who thought Asians would not be good leadership material,” “Most Asians on combat air crews were navigators, bombardiers, or gunners.”

Kenny Kai-Kee, was a handsome and popular, All-American Chinese college kid who answered the call of service to his country.  The only son of Lock and Rita Kai-Kee of Oakland, California, had grown into manhood with the Army Air Force.

[end of part II]

That’s the way it is in war.  You win or lose, live or die -- and the difference is just an eyelash.

- Gen. Douglas MacArthur, Reminiscences (1964), p. 145

When Kenny Kai-Kee received his commission as a second lieutenant in the Army Air Force in October 1943, the tide of the Second World War in Western Europe had not yet turned against Nazi Germany.   The air offensive conducted by the bombers of the AAF during daylight, in concert with the night-bombing campaign by the RAF against Germany and Italy is credited with the helping defeat the Axis powers during World War II.  

The AAF paid a high price for its successes.  Losses from all causes totaled 27,694 aircraft, including 8,314 heavy bombers, 1,623 medium and light bombers, and 8,841 fighters destroyed in combat.

Daylight Bombing

The casualties incurred by the strategic bombing campaign over Germany’s industrial heartland were particularly horrific.  American military planners had simply assumed that the bombers “would always get through.”  AAF brass had further assumed, according to military historian Tami Biddle, that “the speed of bombers such as the B-17 “Flying Fortress” and its multiple guns would enable bombers to fly in self-defending groups -- without long-range fighters to fly alongside as protective escorts.”  

The daylight missions by the 8th and 15th Air Forces killed and wounded thousands of men.  According to US Air Force Museum historians, total AAF battle casualties were 91,105 personnel -- 34,362 killed, 13,708 wounded, and 43,035 missing, captured or interned.  

Even when long-range escort fighters using jettisonable fuel tanks were introduced in the winter and spring of 1944, the air forces of the U.S. and Germany were locked in a brutal war of attrition.  Given American numerical superiority in aircraft, the resulting degradation of German industrial capacity and Luftwaffe interceptor aircraft had assured effective Allied air supremacy by the D-Day landings in June 1944.

Into Austria

The flight of the old and slow bomber, nicknamed “Laura,” took its co-pilot, Kenny Kai-Kee and his crewmates north from Italy in the midsummer of 1944.  The Laura was part of a 28-plane group from the 32nd Squadron of the 301st Bomb Group *Heavy) that had flown without incident across the Alps, and into Austrian airspace on July 26, 1944.  The bombers intended to rendezvous with other planes of the 15th Air Force to bomb an aircraft factory complex at Wiener-Neustadt.  

Unknown to the bomber group, the 15th Air Force had cancelled the mission and recalled all bombers.  The group leader’s plane, however, never received the recall order. Thus, Kenny’s plane and the other ships from the 32nd Squadron flew on toward the heavily-defended, industrial suburbs of Vienna.

“The 15th Air Force cancelled and recalled the planes,” squadron leader Piper revealed in an e-mail message to Kenny’s cousin a half-century later.  “Somehow our group did not get the radio message and we continued on alone.  The fighter planes were waiting for us.”

From his station in the middle of the plane’s fuselage, Kenny’s radioman, Bill Brainard, waited for the usual number signal at 11:00 a.m. from the base radio station. At 10:55 a.m., Brainard was scanning the skies out of the radio room window when he saw on the horizon dozens of contrails – the strands of vapor left by planes rushing toward the bomber formation.  Brainard immediately switched on his plane intercom and called over the system to ask if the pilot had seen approaching group of planes.  

“I hope they are our escort,” answered the Laura’s pilot, 2nd Lt. Leo J. McDonald, “they’re late!  Everybody, keep your eyes on ‘em.”  

Fighter Attack

Brainard, assuming all was in order, switched off his intercom and back to his radio to wait for the base radio signal.  Feeling uneasy, Brainard switched back to his intercom to find out what was happening outside.  As he did so, he heard through his headphones a gunner’s quiet remarks.  

“They look like ME-109s,” a voice said matter-of-factly.

“GOD DAMN IT, THEY ARE 109s!” blared the same voice, and Brainard heard the gunners start firing their Browning .50 caliber, air-cooled machine guns. According to squadron leader Bob Piper, approximately 50 Focke-Wulf fighters descended at once on the lumbering flight of American bombers about 50 miles south of the target.  The results were horrific to the air crews who witnessed the carnage.

“They were waiting for us,” Piper recalls.  “The fighters started at the back of the squadron, and worked up to the front.  Planes #3 (on my right wing), 5, 6, and 7 (the three trailing ships) went down almost at once.  Plane #2 (on my left wing) and #4 (trailing just behind me) were hit.  We did not see any of them completely destroyed.”

During the ten-minute attack, the gunners of Piper’s ship, Miss Tallahassee Lassee, shot down eight of the FW-190s and damaged a dozen more.  The aircrew of Piper’s #4 plane destroyed another nine and damaged five of the German planes.

“Twenty-millimeter cannon shells were bursting between the lead squadron and me, a hundred of them, from the rear, right in front of my face,” Piper recounted.  “I remember ducking, and then remembering that my seat back included armor plate.”

A few minutes after fighting off the German fighters, Bob Piper’s bomber flew into a cloud.  When his ship emerged, bombers #4 and #2 were nowhere in sight.  The Miss Tallahassee Lassee was the sole survivor from its squad flew on for another 20 minutes in the clouds, dropping its bombs at random because of the thick cloud cover, avoiding flak and midair collisions with other American bombers, and rejoined the other survivors of the group for the trip back to Lucera.  Piper’s plane had endured the ordeal unscathed.  His #4 plane, which had returned to base after the fighter attack, was the only other ship from Piper’s Diamond.

The Laura, co-piloted by Kenny Kai-Kee, was missing.

Death Spiral

The tail-gunner on board the leading plane of the bomber group saw Kenny’s ship pull up suddenly from its lower, tail-end position to an altitude slightly higher than the lead bomber.  When it could ascend no more, the Laura began to roll over and head downward.

On board the Laura, Kenny and his pilot, 2nd Lt. Leo J. MacDonald, were coping with the catastrophic damage to their ship.  Machine gun or cannon fire from the Luftwaffe planes had torn into the American bomber’s wing, setting on fire its right wing tanks.  The ship had started going down in a “right peel.”  A ball turret gunner in another plane saw the Laura pass overhead -- on fire.  

“It appeared as if the Pilot pulled it to one side to spare other ships in the formation,” Staff Sergeant Albert Bernard, Jr., reported later to the AAF.  “157 was to the rear of us at five o’clock when it dove straight down, spinning as it went down.”

As Kenny and his pilot fought to regain control of their ship, the damaged bomber was seen by witnesses to level off momentarily.   “It pulled out for a moment then continued to dive,” Sgt. Bernard wrote. “When it was a 1,000 yards below us, it blew up. One chute was seen to open.” Radioman Bill Brainard had been firing his machine gun and watching another bomber from its high-right position in the formation fly over Kenny’s plane, missing it by inches and finally going down.  Brainard continued firing while clipping on the parachute that he had forgotten to wear.

Ten Minutes

At the moment when the Laura exploded, the sudden lurch of the plane slammed Brainard’s face onto the floor.  Centrifugal forces pinned him there momentarily.  When he could move, Brainard pulled himself into a squatting position at the bulkhead door to the bomb bay, looking forward.  He could see nothing but sky; the bomb bay had blown away.  From his position, Brainard saw the entire front portion of the Laura descending with its full load of bombs, its propellers still spinning.  Kenny and the pilot were still strapped into the cockpit, at the controls.  The nose of the bomber had blown out, blowing the bombardier out of the plane without a parachute.

The same opening in the nose allowed the navigator, Thomas J. Steed, to escape.  Prior to the explosion, Steed became the last living person to hear Kenny’s voice.

“Is everything all right, navigator?”  Kenny asked.  A second later, the plane was spinning downward, and Shallcross was trapped at the escape hatch.  At about an altitude of 1,000 feet, Shallcross was able to pull himself out of the plane’s nose and deploy his parachute about 500 feet above the ground.  As the Laura fell to earth, Shallcross realized that Kenny and his remaining crewmates were either dead or dying from enemy gunfire or from the centrifugal forces exerted on the plane’s contents as it plunged toward earth.

In the meantime, a very scared Bill Brainard was looking aft.  The concussion from the onboard explosion had also blown out the tail section of the plane. Unknown to him at the time, both waist gunners and the tail gunner had been able to parachute safely.  Seeing nothing but daylight at both ends of his part of the fuselage, Brainard jumped out from his section of the shattered aircraft.  He delayed opening his parachute in order to avoid having the falling wreckage rip his chute’s canopy.  As his chute deployed, Brainard was pulled up and saw the section of plane from which he had just exited hurl past him to the ground.

Brainard landed safely in the Austrian countryside at 11:05 a.m.  As he looked up, he saw the rest of the bomber group continue on its way to the target.  He also saw fighter activity in the sky and realized that the American escort fighters had apparently shown up -- too late for Kenny and the Laura.   The entire air battle from the time Brainard first spotted the German fighters had lasted a mere ten minutes.

As he gathered in his chute, Brainard could hear numerous gun shots.  He had landed near the crash site of the Laura.   The front-section of the bomber had slammed into the ground and was burning.  The bomber’s onboard ammunition was “cooking off” in the ensuing fire.  As he listened to the sounds, he heard and felt the massive explosion of a 500 lb. bomb detonating.

After evading contact with local search parties and hiding all night, Brainard was discovered and befriended by an Austrian farmer and his wife.  They led Brainard to the Laura’s crash site on the following day.  

The Laura had been flattened by the force of its impact with the ground.  The corpse of the ball turret gunner was visible in the plane’s fuselage.  He had not been able to winch himself out of gun position and jump out of the plane in time.  Little remained of the two pilots.  The bomber’s gas tanks had ruptured, setting off a fire that had consumed the front section and wings of the aircraft.  The 500 lb. bombs had detonated and left a ten-foot hole near the wreckage, scattering human remains and more debris around the crash site.  Twenty-four hours later, the rim of the blast crater was still smoking.  

Kenny Kai-Kee was not coming home.

[end of part III]

These endured all and gave all that justice among nations might prevail and that mankind might enjoy freedom and inherit peace.

– Author unknown, Normandy Chapel (inscription on exterior of the lintel of the chapel).

In a corner of San Francisco’s Chinatown, families and veterans congregated in February 2004 to celebrate the restoration of one of the few monuments devoted to Asian American veterans.  The recently restored plaque in St. Mary’s Square commemorates the Bay Area Chinese American service personnel killed in the line of duty during World Wars I and II.  

A reading of the names on the plaque will not disclose the name of 2nd Lt. Kenneth B. Kai-Kee, of the 32nd Squadron, 301st Bomb Group (Heavy), 15th Air Force.  The omission is not surprising because the disappearance of Kenny Kai-Kee sixty years ago was a mystery to all except a few family members.  His name has rarely, if ever, appeared in the lists of Chinese Americans who died in service to the United States since the time of the Civil War to the present. In fact, the circumstances of his passing remained a mystery even after the war.   When the War Department published its World War II Honor List of Dead and Missing for the State of California in 1946, the entry beside his misspelled name merely stated a “finding of death.”  

His name, however, mattered to the young woman who would become my mother and to the small community of native-born Chinese Americans who grew up in Oakland Chinatown or attended UC Berkeley before the war. Survivors

As the sole witness to Kenny’s death on July 26, 1944, Sgt. Bill Brainard spent the rest of the war at Stalag Luft IV.  Five decades later, he would discover by reading in an ex-POW newsletter that a fifth crewman had miraculously survived the downing of the Laura.

“We lost 12 planes from our 28-plane Group,” wrote Bob Piper, the leader of Kenny’s bomber squadron.  Piper and the survivors from the 32nd Squadron were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for their efforts on the costly mission over Wiener-Neustadt, Austria.

“You and your family have my sympathies,” Piper wrote to one cousin who was researching Kenny’s fate years later.  “I thank God that I have survived to tell some of the story.”

Dreams Deferred

Kenny was one of the bright members of the first wave of Chinese Americans to enter the university.  Many of the students who entered Cal before the war had grown up in Chinese communities, lived through the Depression, and were graduated from American high schools.  On the eve of war, they were poised to strive for genuinely American futures beyond the confines of the ethnic enclaves that had circumscribed their parents’ lives.

“We were going to get married in ‘42-‘43,” said Jane Lim Ligh, who became engaged to Kenny while a student at Cal.  “Kenny had it all set up.  We wanted to get married all through Cal.”  Unfortunately, Jane fell ill in 1943, and her subsequent hospitalization caused the couple to postpone their plans.  By the time she had recovered, however, Kenny had been shipped overseas.

Kenny Kai-Kee and Jane Lim Light, c. 1944.

Homefront Sorrow

As the terrible summer of 1944 drew to a close, word of the shoot-down of Kenny’s plane spread quickly among his college mates and the tight-knit Oakland Chinese community.  The bad news traveled quickly around the world, reaching Mark Kai-Kee, Kenny’s uncle, in India, where he was training Chinese troops in the art of firing 4.2 inch-mortars for General Stillwell.

“The family was hit very hard,” recalled Alice Lew, “the mother especially, Kenny being an only son.”

Sadly, the details of Kenny’s death, and the series of misfortunes on one horrible day, remained largely unknown to family and friends.  

“I returned home in July 1944 to learn that Kenny was missing,” the future and now retired Judge Delbert Wong recalled.  Wong, a veteran of the 401st Bomb Group, had finished his 30th mission over Europe one week before D-Day.  “When I was in the Bay Area, I visited Janie Lim, who read me Kenny’s letter to her after his first mission, in which he said, ‘One finished, and 29 to go.’”

As the days stretched into months, and it became clear that Kenny was not going to return.  Lock and Rita Kai-Kee were devastated and lonesome with their only son gone.  For a time, Jane could not visit them.  She had been hospitalized for a year with a serious illness, and there was the denial born of a parent’s grief.

“Also, it was hard to go there,” Jane remembered.  “They thought he was still alive, but we all knew otherwise.”  

Although he was later classified as killed in action, Lock and Rita probably never knew all of the facts relating to their son’s death.

Coming Home

Kenny’s remains had been interred initially in a distant plot.  The German records recorded a burial first on July 27, 1944, in the cemetery of St. Jakob i. Walde, Austria.  More than five years later, Lock and Rita were notified that Kenny’s remains were coming “home” to be re-interred at the Jefferson National Cemetery Barracks.  His parents traveled back to St. Louis, Missouri, to witness the re-interment, which occurred on May 15, 1950.

Kenneth Kai-Kee is buried together with two of his crew mates at a military cemetery in St. Louis.

Kenny’s fiancée, Jane, recalled her brother telling her “you gotta join the living; you gotta face the truth.”  Kenny was not going to walk through the door again -- ever.  She later married.  In the decades that followed, she and her husband would regularly get together with Kenny’s parents to talk of the old times and the people Kenny had left behind.

Marcia Kai-Kee, a younger cousin of Kenny, remembered the day when, after Lock Kai-Kee’s death, she and other family members entered the room at the house on 45th Street that had been Kenny’s bedroom.  The closet containing Kenny’s clothes had not been disturbed for years.  His uniform, medals, and letter jacket from Cal remained where they had been stored in 1945, as if Lock and Rita expected Kenny to come home any day.

My mother, Phyllis Soohoo, was a compulsive archivist.  She kept all of the half-dozen photos of her and her old boyfriend, Kenny Kai-Kee, and sent a Christmas card to Lock and Rita every year thereafter.  Years later, when her own family went out for dinner in Oakland, she would meet and greet Kenny’s parents on the sidewalks of Chinatown as the old-time families usually encountered each other going to or from dinners at the old Silver Dragon.  

No one can recall if Lock and Rita Kai-Kee ever revisited their son’s lonely grave in St. Louis, so far from family, friends and loved ones.  If my mother knew of the location of Kenny’s grave when a cross-country motor trip with her family drove her through St. Louis in the summer of 1964, she never mentioned it.

My late mother would probably deny it, but a close observation would have detected the fleeting, faraway look whenever she talked about Kenny or if his name was mentioned in conversation.  She, Jane Lim and millions of other Americans knew first-hand not only the young men who never returned from the great global conflagration of the 1940s, but the loss, grief, and the waste of war.

Rita carried the bitterness of her loss and the cruelty of war’s cost until her death in August 1983.  Lock died seven months later.  

Honor and Remembrance

If the task of reclaiming the history of Chinese America must begin anew with each generation, then the stories of gallantry and sacrifice should also be told again, if only to call on new generations, native and immigrant, to engage in a singular act of faith.  To retell such stories to reaffirm a hope that the mere utterance of the names will sustain the memories of the lives, the valor, and the sacrifices of the Chinese Americans who also served.  Such is the heavy burden on ethnic historians and our storytellers to remember the community’s forgotten men in unforgettable ways.  

Thankfully, many of Kenny’s generation of fighting men returned to become community leaders in their own ways.  Without the retelling of their stories, we would never have known about Army Air Force veterans from all over California who flew in B-17s, such as Oakland’s own Sgt. Thomas Fong; 1st Lt. Fred Gong, recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross; pilot and 1st Lt. Victor Schoon; and 1st Lt. (and later judge) James Sing Yip.  They deserve to be honored and remembered.

The loss of Kenny Kai-Kee, the only son of a pioneering family, was doubly bitter because he exemplified the first All-American generation of Chinese.  He would never realize that the Second World War proved to be a watershed event for Chinese American youth.  The war coincided with the making, and spurred the rise, of the first Chinese American middle class.  As the image and condition of the Chinese in America changed, so did its economic opportunities.  By 1943 -- the year the Exclusion Act was repealed -- 15 percent of the shipyard workers on San Francisco Bay were Chinese.

The young men and boys who flew in the B-17s of the 8th and 15th Air Forces came home to a Chinese America not fully free of the strictures of white racism, but well on its way to equal rights for Chinese Americans, freed from the Chinese Exclusion Act.  During the war, Chinese American men and women were working real jobs for the first time in the world’s only industrial behemoth and gaining new respect from their fellow citizens.  

Kenny would have heard the laughter of unprecedented numbers of children in the Nation’s Chinatowns.  He would have seen his buddies buying houses in the desegregating neighborhoods, resuming college careers on the G.I. Bill, and wading into the social and cultural mainstream of postwar America.  

We will never know what Kenny could have accomplished had he lived.  Had he stayed in Oakland, he probably would have married the love of his short life, raised a family, and grown old.  We would have seen him as another 80-year-old senior citizen; he would have stood alongside my uncle Clayton Soohoo, another AAF veteran, serving up fifty years’ worth of his easy banter along the stacks of pancakes at the Wa Sung Club’s annual Easter breakfast.  As a member of one of Chinese America’s greatest generations, he would have made his own contribution.  

Instead, we are left only with the perplexing example of the incredible selflessness of Kenny and the thousands of other young men who never made it back home.  Such selflessness demands that we ponder the meaning of his brief life and how in our time, beyond the words and through our own deeds, we as Americans can make his death meaningful and us worthy of such a sacrifice.

Wayback links to web versions of Parts 2 and 3:

https://web.archive.org/web/20060830170206/http://news.asianweek.com/news/view_article.html?article_id=019c51686f3a4380e8c1ac8c572b8b96

https://web.archive.org/web/20061021050227/http://news.asianweek.com/news/view_article.html?article_id=232bcbea8f0b8baeb40352043d91c9e2

#Kenneth Kai-Kee #15th Air Force #Chinese Americans in WW II #Mark Kai-Kee #Delbert Wong #Oakland Chinatown #Bill Brainard #Bob Piper #301st Bomb Group #32nd Bomb Squadron #Kenny Kai-Kee

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

DRIVE TO THIS TUNE WITH CAUTION: OTIS WARNS THERE'S A BREAK AHEAD WITH LATEST SINGLE

Reviewed by: Lyssa Culbertson

Photo by MM Photography

In the fast track that is music, cover songs can be a dime a dozen akin to those massed produced metal shells you puttering down the road, but a quality cover song is well worn like a beautiful, vintage car—recognizable, comfortable, and enjoyable as it eases right on in and parks itself in the mind, triggering warm memories of good times had to the soundtrack of that particular tune. However, to me, the true mark of the *perfect* cover song is one where an artist reinvents the wheel so well that it is utterly unobvious that the track was previously cut before. Kentucky’s bonafide scholars of the rockin' blues, OTIS, recently accomplished that feat (the feat of pulling the wool over my eyes, that is) with their cover of Betty Harris’s 1969 release of the southern-fried, soulful funk tune, “There’s a Break in the Road,” penned and produced by the incomparable Allen Toussaint. Although I love all things blues, country, rock, and more from the 50s era on, I have to admit the area of soul music isn’t quite my expertise. With hearing OTIS’s rendition, I was stoked to dive further into Harris’s history and ultimately wished she had continued making music and found the success she craved, though her mystique and legacy were certainly left with her final recording. 

Moving onto the absolute gem that OTIS created as they lent their talents to the long-revered tune, I'm chomping at the bit to let readers know they need to not only take the tune for a test drive, but also buy it for life! if I could step back in time and take Boone Froggett (frontman) to the recording booth with Harris, I’d love to see how his husky, bluesy vocals juxtapose against the raw, brassy power packed in Harris’s. I can imagine it would be literal fire—and I don’t even mean proverbial flames. Literal. How the studio wasn’t set ablaze during the live, full band take that the single was recorded in is beyond me! With that being said, the monstrous punch packed in their voices is ultimately where the similarities end, and that is a beautiful thing. Froggett and his bandmates took a borderline raucous, yet swinging soulful classic and brought it into the 21st century by adapting it into a driving, heavy—but not overbearing— banger with a hint of blues that sonically fits into their style, yet also skyrockets them into another aural sphere altogether. From the 0-60 beginning where you get a few seconds of a riveting guitar riff before hit hard with the first lines, I t’s still soul—and I believe quality rock cannot exist outside the realm of being fueled by a little soul food, but man…it’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard from the band before. With a fresh new lineup (Boone Froggett as frontman/guitarist, John Seeley on bass, Alex Wells playing guitar, and Dale Myers on the drums), it’s plain to see that OTIS is back and ready to rock and roll out some long-awaited new music in ‘24.

Now—back to the single. Lyrically, the tune is written from a jilted lover’s point of view and likens the lover to an obsolete car (“like the last years model…you put me down”) as it cautions the leaver of the misfortune to come by picking up the new, shiny model and throwing the former dependable devotee to the wayside. As he sings from the POV of a now forlorn inamorato, Froggett bellows the warning woven throughout the verses with an intense passion as he bemoans being left behind for a ritzy paramour by “the only girl who could turn [him] on and make a bad man out of [him].” By the end of the track, the man has become resolute in the fact that the woman would experience the same ol’ game that was ran on him, the karma of her wicked ways. Listeners can be clear on the fact that the caution isn’t given out of the goodness of his heart, but out of a taste for revenge served cold—as it sometimes happens after a fervent affair. From a songwriter’s stance, I always love a quality jam that plays into the depths of metaphorical phrases that make you think—the title itself is a perfect example, and that line about the windshield wipers?! Come on now, what a play on words...so good! Either as an early warning, a last lament or simply a statement in general, the repetition of the phrase “there’s a break in every road” foretells the existence of the choices we have in life that can quickly alter our worlds with the positive or negative consequences that follow. Or, if you were to take the meaning as less of a fork of choices in each road taken in life and more of a Deep South viewpoint that every road is plagued with potholes (the breaks) and no road is bump-free, you can still find the merit in the message: be careful what you wish for. Froggett and his bandmates succeeded in making the whole song sound like a sultry, sassy admonition wrapped up in a well-meaning, albeit vindictive, farewell to a lost partner. First listen, you’re swept up in the music; fingers tappin' and heads bangin' are imminent. Perhaps you'll hop in your car and hit the road on a sunshine and 75 kind of day, windows down with it blaring on your speakers—hopefully avoiding all the potholes, er breaks! Then, you hear the words and get to decide whether there’s anyone you just might need to spread the gospel of OTIS (and Betty Harris) to, if you catch my drift. Even if there's not someone who needs to heed the warning in your life, HHMR thinks it merits being taken for a drive and shared with the world.

Watch the music video for “There’s a Break In the Road” below:

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Abandon the Fall & Dreamhouse collaborate for powerful alternative single ‘Matches’, an anthem that provides a guiding light in the dark

Created as a solo endeavour, the emerging at Abandon the Fall finds itself fronted by Juan Espinoza, taking hold of his musical inspirations and turning them into collaborations with other artists on the scene. Reigning out of Houston, Abandon the Fall sounds reminiscent of icons like Linkin Park and Deftones, as well as an even wider range of influences under the rock umbrella as of late.

Their newest single ‘Matches’ looks to continue the momentum they’ve already so heartily began, working alongside the group Dreamhouse to bring their joint visions to life. With a bright introductory electric guitar riff that reverberates through the vast open sound, ‘Matches’ resonates through straight to the soul, solitary and atmospheric in a way that lingers in the air untouched. Easy-going thudding drums add a soft tempo pushing forward, championed by a female vocalist that dances through the gently stripped-down sound with an instrument of her own. Gliding into airy higher tones, her cascading vocals fill you with such a comforting serenity, offering a respite to shield you from the world’s constant turmoil.

The chorus sets things alight from this calmer core, breaking free and thundering through crashing drums, gritty electric guitar strums and a bright backing riff, delivering an amalgamation of both pop and modern, alternative rock. Their vocalist shifts her tone to match, angstily bearing attitude in lower-toned spoken-sung lines before rising back to the heights of her impressive range. It’s hard not to hear the influence from acts like Paramore to We Are The In Crowd, but together Abandon the Fall and Dreamhouse delight with something impressively individual.

A poetic lyrical narrative is weaved between this ebbing and flowing auditory journey, finding comfort in the metaphorical comparisons of our hearts to matchboxes, a tangible way to express the cold and empty aches that stir from within when left without a flame. With the matches that fill our hearts desperate to be set alight, ‘Matches’ sings of everything from loneliness to rejuvenation in a way that anyone and everyone can relate to. Opened up by the admissions that ‘I feel no motivation, I can’t be awakened from a state of being still’, ‘Matches’ at first finds itself tender and fizzled out like a worn-down campfire left to freeze in an abandoned woods. Struggling to push through alone, the hook of it all yearns for more: ‘It’s so cold I don’t know where to go, so light me up 'cause I need the heat and help me get back on my feet.’ As mental health issues become all the more common in our modern day, ‘Matches’ really powerfully touches on the impact that can be found in simply leaning on a friend, finding ourselves kept sheltered from the storm by a guiding hand.

The music video is just as gorgeously depicted, carrying through natural, outdoor imagery while incredible shots performing the release are scattered throughout. Added snippets of burning matches and buildings alight keep the core themes carried through, marking this single as one that doesn’t just deliver an incredibly integral message, but also a solid sound and video to match. Don’t forget to give it a listen fully yourself here!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

#tatiana

[ktsumu]

AM I THE ASSHOLE?

pairing: ghostface!osamu miya x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

cw: MDNI 18+ NSFT, dubcon, unintentional cheating on your part, rough sex, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, ghostface!samu, ooc osamu

synopsis: the miya twins have worn the same costume every halloween since they were born — it’d be pretty easy to get them mixed up, right?

note: this is my contribution to @k9nto's reddit collab! find the masterlist for the event here!

“Miss me?”

Atsumu’s hand rests on your shoulder from behind, and he snickers when you jump from his sudden reappearance. He hands you the cup you asked him for. “Ooh, Halloween’s got ya jumpy, has it?”

“Or maybe it’s the guy who never announces himself when he’s coming up behind me?”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that, princess?” he teases, his finger tugging at the fishnets beneath your little dress and belt. “Mm, still hot even with an eyepatch.”

“You got a thing for pirates, ‘Tsumu?”

He pulls you in closer by your lower back, making sure you can hear the lust in his voice where you can’t see it in his eyes. “I’ve got a thing for pretty things in tiny dresses,” he murmurs, “especially when I get to take it off—“

“Woah, slow your roll there,” you giggle, pulling his hand away from where it tried to sneak beneath the hem of your dress skirt. “Remember that we’re in public, Atsumu?”

“So? Half the people here are either waitin’ for a bathroom to fuck in or are already doing it on the couch, we’re nothin’ special.”

You roll your eyes when his hands start to wander again, swatting them away with a glare. Well, as much of a glare as you can show with one eye.

 “I thought you wanted to find your brother, hm?”

“Oh, yeah! Gotta get the annual Halloween Twins Pic,” he remembers. He and Osamu always get their routine picture of them in their identical costumes, every single year — they both dread it in their own way, but you think it’s sweet. “Have you seen him?”

“It’s like a needle in a haystack.”

“Okay, not that many people showed up as Ghostface.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Fine, so it’s a popular costume! Whatever — I can recognize my own brother.”

“Good luck, ‘cause I can’t.”

Atsumu says something in reply, but you really don’t hear it under the mask or the music. You follow him around by his back, letting him lead you blindly through the house until you eventually end up in the kitchen. 

You hear insults being traded and assume that they’ve found each other well. 

“About time I found your ugly ass,” Atsumu grumbles, playfully smacking the back of Osamu’s head. Osamu raises a hand and Atsumu dives away with a yelp. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Osamu mutters, before his head turns to you. He’s got the same mask that Atsumu has on. “Hey.”

“Hey!” you greet back with a smile. 

“Ain’t her costume cute, ‘Samu?” Atsumu sings. “Pretty.”

Osamu leans on the counter like he’s tired. “That’s a trick question.”

“Ooh, yer gettin’ good at this.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and holding out your hand, empty palm facing up. “So, whose phone am I taking the photo with?”

“Right! Here,” Atsumu hands you his phone, shoving Osamu into place so they’re back-to-back, arms crossed. They’re clones, all right. “Look spooky?”

“Terrifying,” you laugh, snapping a few pictures and handing the phone back. 

Atsumu lifts his mask, giving you a quick kiss on your waiting lips. “Thank you, baby,” he says quietly. Osamu watches you from the side. “Me and ‘Samu are gonna go find an old buddy, wanna come?”

You smile, shaking your head. “I’m okay. I’ll watch our drinks — you won’t be long, will you?”

“Now, how could I stay away from ya? When you’re lookin’ this damn good?” he teases, slipping a finger in through your belt. “Be back in five, baby.”

“Ugh, I’ll be waiting,” you taunt, glancing toward the hallway where the rooms tend to be. You watch as Atsumu’s head tilts; though you can’t see it, you know his face is awestruck. 

Osamu groans, grabbing his arm. “I’ll have the freak back ASAP,”

“Hey!”

You snicker with a nod, saluting him. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

They disappear into the pool of people as Atsumu keeps on whining about something, probably you, and Osamu drags him by the bicep to the other room. It’s pretty clear which one of them is more excited to see the friend they’re trying to find. 

You sigh to yourself, leaning on the counter as you wait for them to get back. 

You’ve always been pretty good friends with Osamu — you haven’t been with Atsumu for that long, but while you have been, you've been on good terms with his brother. 

They almost remind you of parallel lines, Atsumu and Osamu; they’re alike but still separate, moving along beside one another. It’s probably why it’s so easy to get along with both of them all the time, despite the fact they get at each other's throats. 

It isn't too much longer after they disappear that strong hands come to rest on your waist from behind, making you jump. You turn around to find that it’s just Atsumu’s dumb mask looming over you, his head tilted to one side. 

“Jesus, ‘Tsumu,” you grumble, “I just told you to quit it with that.”

Atsumu hums to himself, pulling your hips closer to his. He cages you in between the counter and himself. 

“Didn’t we also just talk about this?” you complain, but your brows relax when you feel his hand smooth down your hip from your waist. 

“Please,” Atsumu murmurs, playing with your tights. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what?”

“About what’s under that fuckin’ dress.”

Your face goes hot; he moves closer. 

“Please,” he repeats. 

You don’t care about what you talked about earlier — all you’re capable of doing now is nodding and taking his hand, letting him lead you out of the kitchen. 

Your eyes train on his back as he knocks on doors, checking rooms and bathrooms until he finds one that opens without resistance. The second you’re both inside, he’s shutting the door blindly, locking it the same way. 

The bathroom is cramped, but it’s enough space to get you up on the counter, your legs spread apart as he drops to his knees. 

“Holy fuck, Atsumu,” you breathe, goosebumps running across your skin when he looks up at you in that stupid mask. He doesn’t say a word, but you figure he has other plans. 

His hand guides one of your legs over his shoulder, and he pulls the mask up on top of his head. It’s long enough that it makes a cover over his face — like the bill of a baseball cap, or something. 

You almost complain about it, about the lack of view between the mask and his hood staying up, but you fall short of words when he rips your fishnets apart at the crotch. He tugs your panties down your legs. 

“I — you’re so goddamn lucky those were cheap,”

“Uh-huh,” he groans, tugging you closer to the edge by the hips. 

You gasp, hands gripping the counter’s edge. “Can you at least warn me before you — oh,”

You come up short for words as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, his hold on your thighs tightening when you arch your back. 

Atsumu has always been good at this, but you find yourself at a loss this time; everything you want him to do, he does without request — like he’s tracking where you want his tongue by the way your hips roll alone. 

His tongue flicks over your clit, drawing circles before starting over again. “Shit,” you whimper, looking down at his fingers digging into your legs. “So fucking good,”

You can feel his spit running down to your ass, you can hear how messy he is — he sucks on your clit with a low moan, one of his hands slowly moving from your leg to where his tongue was before.

Your deep breath shatters into stutters when he slowly pushes in his spit-soaked finger, kissing your clit as he drags it up against your walls. Everything he does is deliberate. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your head tilting back against the mirror as you grind against his face and hand, making sure he’s buried himself to the knuckle. “Please, more, please,”

“Fuckin’ begging,” you think you hear him murmur, his finger squelching as it drags out of your cunt. “I'll wanna hear this again,”

You can’t even ask what he means before he’s slipping in his ring finger, too. His lips move to gently kiss your inner thigh as his fingers do the opposite, quickly thrusting in and out of your pussy, feeling it flutter around them. 

The pressure in your gut builds quicker than you acknowledge it’s there, but you’re guessing he knows that by the way your breathing gets faster; his fingers drag against the sweet spot he was searching for. You feel him grin against your skin like he knows. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, knuckles turning white from gripping the counter so hard. “Atsumu, I’m gonna cum,”

“Do it, then,” he growls, and it takes you no more than a few more thrusts to clamp down on his fingers. 

You cum with a cry, back arching and hips pushed forward. Atsumu doesn’t stop until you’ve rode it out fully, until you reach down and grab his wrist to force him to stop. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, fixing the strap that fell off of your shoulder. Below you, Atsumu slips out his fingers; you can’t see him, but you can hear him suck them off. You think you hear him groan. “Need you, ‘Tsumu.”

He hesitates, pulling his mask back down before standing back up. Your eyes follow him until he’s above you again, and the way his hands drop to the button of his jeans alone makes you lightheaded.

His hands work to tug them loose, unzipping them as you eagerly sit up. You feel him over his boxers, nearly dropping dead at the way he bucks his hips into your palm. He rests a hand on either side of you on the bathroom counter, leaning in on it, rolling his hips as you pump him through the fabric. 

“Mm, fuck,” you practically drool, “need you to fuck me good,”

You giggle when his head tips back, your other hand pushing his sweater up so you can watch his abs tense; watch his v-line dip beneath his waistband. 

You’re sick of waiting. 

Spitting in your hand, you take his cock out of his boxers and pump him up slowly, watching the way his body reacts to your touch. At first, you were a little curious about him keeping the mask on — but now? You’ve never seen anything hotter. 

Atsumu grabs your hand the same way you grabbed his, tugging you off the counter. You almost trip over your panties, silly you and your shaky legs, but he’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, nudging you to bend over the counter. 

You look back at yourself in the mirror, his frame looming behind you. He holds the hem of his sweater halfway up his body, and the dim light against his glistening skin is enough to make your pussy throb. 

“Watch,” he says lowly, his hand straightening your head to look forward again when you try and look back at him. He pushes your dress up your body, his hands smoothing up the dip of your back. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the tip of his cock tapping on your ass before it teases your cunt. “Been waitin’ for this.”

Your jaw drops as he slips into you with ease, dragging himself back out just as slow; he builds his pace with every thrust. 

Your fingers search to grip something, anything on the counter. His hands grip your hips as his own press flush against your ass, his cock reaching as deep as it can go. 

“Fuck, ‘Tsumu,” you whimper. He fucks into you harder, his grip tighter. “Shit!”

His balls slap against your clit as he fucks you up the counter, your breath leaving clouds on the mirror. Your tits spill out of the neckline of your dress and your ass stings where a fleshy handprint starts to form, yet you’re still fucking yourself back on him. “Atsu—“

He grabs the back of your belt that's somehow stayed on and yanks you back with it; you stare at yourself getting fucked in the mirror. 

“Who’s fuckin’ you this good?”

“You!” you cry, gasping when he bends and pushes up one of your legs to rest on the counter. Your pussy squelches with every thrust, his cock bullying your cunt until you can’t forget the shape of it. “You are—“

“Damn right,” he grits, reaching a hand around your body to circle your clit. “And I’m the one makin’ you cum, too.”

“Yes! Fuck, yes—“ 

“Come on, baby,” he asks; his voice sounds like he’s taunting you. It’s deep and unsteady, but the slight rasp nearly makes you cum on the spot. “You know you want it, fuckin’ take it,”

You cry out in rhythm with his thrusts, his pace unrelenting, both of you so fucking close and slowly getting louder — you tighten around him and he’s murmuring next to your ear: “Cum on me, baby, you can do it,”

Atsumu gropes your chest as you let go with a shudder, creaming around him as he makes no effort to slow down; he only stills inside of you once your whole body is filled with a hot tremor, his cum leaking out of your pussy only for him to slowly fuck it back inside. 

You slump forward when he finally lets you go, your leg falling off the counter as you look at your disheveled appearance in the mirror. 

The familiar sound of his jeans being zipped back up again comes from behind you, and Atsumu hands you your panties from the floor.

You snort. “What a gentleman,”

He shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans up against the door. He shamelessly watches you fix yourself up as best you can — you pull your dress back down, try to make your fishnets look as normal as possible. 

“Way to fuck up my costume, though,” you grumble, crossing your legs to try and ignore the way cum soaks your panties. “I have to look somewhat normal, you know.”

“Mm, you should. Better look nice so my brother doesn’t think you fucked me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Why would Osamu care?”

He breathes out a laugh. “Oh,” he says, lifting his mask up. This time, you see him, and your blood just about runs frigid. “I don’t. ‘Tsumu might, though.”

You blink, shaking your head. “I — you —?”

“I’m not gonna tell him,” Osamu says, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks are flushed red — you just want to disappear. You feel nauseous, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. “But, you know. Might happen again.”

“Wh—no, it can’t. It won’t.”

Osamu shrugs. “Okay.”

You stare as he unlocks the door, opening it as the noise from the rest of the party floods your crypt. He leans down towards you, tilting his head. 

“Remember how I made you cum,” he says in the quiet, “and then remember how he does.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t help the pit in your chest. Osamu laughs shortly again, “Right.”

“I’ll give you an excuse, buy ya some time.” His eyes flicker from yours down to your open mouth, your glossy lips. “Make sure you’re not still droolin’ over it when you come out, ‘kay?”

And with that, he pulls his mask back down over his face and leaves the bathroom; you only watch him head down the hallway for a second before slamming the door shut, left with the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

Looking back in the mirror, you don’t even know what to do with yourself. So, you wipe off your lips. 

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #osamu smut #osamu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu!! x reader smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya smut #kishibyesredditcollab #kit writes #tw dubcon #tw cheating #tw infidelity #nsfuu

[rcmndedlisten]

Yo La Tengo - “Fallout”

Photo by Cheryl Dunn

Few indie rock lifers out there have worn well with time as the likes of Yo La Tengo, and perhaps it’s because they’ve come to accept its passing rather than attempting to stay stuck in any one moment of the past with their art or perspective. “Fallout”, the first single from Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley, and James McNew’s 16th studio effort, This Stupid World, doesn’t resist its passage, and that is an act of resistance itself. “I want to fall out of time,” Kaplan sings over a mesh of warm yet decaying riffs, and a constant percussive step forward. “Reach back, unwind.” As with yesterday and as they will today, Yo La Tengo create their own timeline with their art.

Yo La Tengo’s This Stupid World will be released February 10th on Matador Records.

#new music #yo la tengo #matador records

[surfacage]

no I won't be afraid

just as long as you stand

stand by me 

#final fantasy xv #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #i fought with this stupid set every step of the way im done #for the first time in a while im looking forward to ash stuff LOL god #uhhh #ffxv spoilers #one day random things start showing up in innocuous places #a fishing lure on a chair #a chocobo keychain on top of a car #sword oil under some laundry #just innocent every day things #its not until it becomes a jacket too big #some rare ingredients #a pair of macro lens #dozens and dozens of stickers #a single singed well worn photo #that they realize it's the armiger emptying itself #and he's gone for good

[unrequitedloveletter]

Yellow- Pin Hawthorne

OKAY, YES-- I’ve wanted to write for Pin Hawthorne since having finished the show, and I’ve decided to do it, because I simply can’t resist and Pin is my favorite moody horseboi, plus, this blurb (imagine? I don’t know how long it’s gonna go yet!) is entirely inspired by the songs Yellow and Sparks by Coldplay, because the show is modern and the songs were released W A Y before the years that show is set in, so yay! 

Pins aged up in this, as well. In the show he’s around 16-17? In this, he and the reader are both 20!

I might have Pins characterization a little off because I’ve only watched the show once (I’m gonna rewatch it before I do a shadow and bone rewatch,, moody pin is just a bit too endearing) but other than that, lets do it!

The reader is American for this, and I did mostly keep it gender neutral, aside from an outfit description! Even then, though, I did try to keep it androgynous

Fic type- fluff

Warnings-none

It took a ton of convincing on Pins part to get his dad to let him use the castle for something that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed small. He’d known it might’ve, and started the process a good month before the event was even to happen. A decision that he’d made that wound up working in his favor. 

“You really love them, don’t you?” His father asked, pressing the keys into his palm as Pin gave a nod. “Even with all the stupid nicknames?” Pin grimaced, but nodded again. 

“Even the stupid nicknames, Dad,” he assured. “All of them.” His father broke out into a smile, pulling Pin in for a hug as he tucked the key away into his jacket pocket.

“Well then, happy anniversary,” his father mumbled. “Five years? Gotta admit, I had faith, but I didn’t think you’d make it this far. Not with someone like them.”

“I know,” Pin retorted. “I’m pretty lucky.” Pin knew that ‘pretty lucky’ might as well have been understatement of the year, but went along with it anyway, pulling away from his father and slowly approaching Elvis, patting his side a few times before climbing onto the saddle and riding down to the castle that he, as the duke, could technically call home. 

The castle was big and at times, tough to get around, but he made his way just fine, letting Elvis move at a slow gallop rather than a run, figuring that he had the time, considering you’d agreed to meet at 8 and it was barely 7:15.

When he arrived, he put Elvis away safely, and made his way through the entrance and up to the outdoor balcony, which had a view outlooking the expansive land on which the castle was built, and the trees that went around the outerrim of the space.

He grabbed his bag off the chair on which he’d had his butler leave it the day previous, almost grinning to himself as he sat at the glass table, rummaging through the bag for everything that he’d put in it.

A bottle of wine, because why not, several sweets, a ton of the polaroids you’d taken in the seven years you’d known each other, some fairy lights that he’d hang up so that you weren’t totally and completely in the dark, and a bluetooth speaker that Becky had gotten him that Christmas; one that he’d still not bothered to use, despite the fact that it was almost June. 

“Can I get you anything sir?” Arthur poked his head through the balcony door way, and Pin found himself startled. 

“Uh, yes please. Wine glasses,” Arthur gave a single, solitary nod.

“The dinner that you requested will be here by the time you requested for it,” he responded. “Though, are you really sure fast food is what you want? It doesn’t seem right to celebrate an anniversary with fast food.” Pin forced his gaze to his lap so that Arthur wouldn’t glimpse his smile. 

You’d come from America, just like Zoe had, but you’d moved with your family to the island when you were eleven. You’d met Pin when you were thirteen. 

One summer, Pins father was insistent that he get away from the stables, spend some time somewhere he’d not gone before, travel a little, and your family had agreed to let him spend the eight weeks of summer with you in the united states. 

You’d had your first date in a McDonalds that same summer, when you and Pin were fifteen. He’d felt weirded out, at first. The fact that he’d never eaten from a McDonalds, despite there having been a couple on the island, almost made him confused. You’d gotten chicken nuggets to split and a couple of the pastries to count as a desert of sorts, and thus sparked the relationship.

“No reason,” Pin murmured. “It’s quick. It’s easy, and the last meal that they ate was lunch.” Arthur gave another nod, and Pin began fiddling with the speaker as he heard Arthurs footsteps grow farther and farther away. 

It was a speaker that was almost the size of his hand and designed to look like a vintage radio. Forest green was the color, and the dial on the right side would control volume. The three buttons below the dial were the power button, the on/off button, and the skip button. Pin turned it on, checking the sound quality by playing two MCR songs, silently bopping his head as Arthur returned, the supplies that Pin had asked Arthur to gather in a bag perched neatly on his arm.

Arthur placed the bag on the table wordlessly, leaving Pin to do his thing as he stopped using the speaker,  deciding that the sounds of nature; the river, the rustling of trees and the beautiful view of the sky as the sun grew closer and closer to setting was much better company than Gerard Way scream-singing his lungs out. 

He’d spent the remainder of the time he had working on your gift. At the end of it, he felt proud of himself, even despite how dumb he’d thought the idea was at first.

It was all of his favorite photos of you--polaroids he’d taken via polaroid camera and polaroids that became polaroids when he’d used a polaroid printer alike-- neatly put into a big picture frame, plus a couple of his sweaters that you liked to steal, some of your favorite sweets, and a journal he knew you’d been eyeing at one of the shops. 

Arthur put the McDonalds onto the table in the last ten minutes before eight, putting the wine glasses beside the bag. “I’ll send them here when they’ve arrived,” he murmured, shooting Pin a smile as he turned and walked away. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pin had the dinner mostly set up, the chicken nuggets at the center of the table, fries on either side, wine glasses filled the appropriate amount. 

“You’re lucky I love you, Hawthorne,” Pin was almost breathless as he glanced over to you, putting the bag that he’d put your gift in on the ground to his right. “If you were anyone else, I’d not have waited so long to eat dinner.” You’d worn a simple pair of black jeans, with a black turtleneck and a dark gray blazer overtop. You styled your hair like you always did, and your smile was bright, eyes warm as you looked at him.

“McDonalds and wine,” you sat, putting the gift you’d gotten Pin on the ground to your left, reaching across the table and taking his hand in yours. “The perfect way to a persons heart.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, gesturing to the fairy lights Arthur must’ve put up while he was busy in the world of gift making. They weren’t lit yet, as the sun had barely begun to dip over the horizon, but he’d light them once it grew darker. You nodded.

“It’s absolutely lovely,” you responded. “I didn’t think you’d put this much effort in, to be totally honest.” You were poking at him, pricking gently at his work ethic in the hopes of getting a kiss across the table. 

“I’d have been fine just cuddling the day away,” you admitted. “And I know you would’ve, but thank you. For everything.” He smiled, feeling grateful for Zoe’s suggestion that he use the castles balcony to his advantage when he’d brought his plans up to her and Marcus. 

“You’re welcome,” he responded. 

After that, you lapsed into a comfortable silence, making occasional conversation as you ate and drank. You let Pin ramble about the sick horses at Bright Fields and made a mental note to visit the hospital part of the stables, see how they were doing and make sure they knew that they were loved. As you cleaned up, putting your garbage back into the McDonalds bag, you gave Pin updates on some of the horses around the stables and the wild horses that you and Jade had been tracking. 

“There’s a foal, too!” Pin loved seeing you get so excited, and that was no exception. “I know that we shouldn’t name the wild horses, but I couldn’t help myself, so I named the horse November.”

“Why November?”

“The foals coat is white. Snow is white, and snow happens in November. It just seemed fitting!” You grabbed the bag, going inside only briefly to put it into the nearest trash bin before walking back out and sitting back down. 

Pin grabbed the bag with your gift in it at the same time you grabbed the bag with his. He slid yours to you with a bright smile, and you slid his to him with the same.

You opened yours first. “Your hoodies!” You yelled out, smile turning into a full on beam, “Pin, you know that we’re moving in together in the fall, right? You’re just gonna get these back!” Pin shrugged.

“You get them until the fall, I’ll wash them, wear them a couple of times, and then they’re yours again. I get to see you in my clothes and you get to be warm and comfortable constantly! I call it a win-win situation!” 

“Can’t disagree with that!” You put the sweaters back in the bag, grabbing the photo frame next. 

You sighed, feeling your legs turn to jello as your heart melted. You looked up at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you did. “Five years of polaroids,” you whispered. “And you’re giving them back to me?” Pin just shrugged, feeling tempted to round the table, crouch next to you and kiss you senseless, but he resisted. 

“I took photos of them,” he responded, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it around. “I can always get more copies from the polaroid printer.” You laughed lightly.

“Thank you, Pin, so much.” You’d never stop saying it. You had so much to thank him for. Every smile, every laugh, every dinner date, every ride out into the countryside and every kiss. 

“You don’t need to thank me, love,” he responded. “Theres one more thing in there for you.” He gestured to the bag as you put the photo frame back into it, pulling out the journal you’d been eying a moment later. 

“No fucking way!” You cursed, turning it over in your hands. Pin leaned back into his chair, shrugging while he nodded. 

It was a simple journal: a brown leather bound thing that was the same color as Elvis’s fur, but it had pages that were suitable for practically anything.

“I know you’ve wanted it for a while, and, well, I figured you could use it for just about anything. Sketches, diary entries, even putting bank statements in the thing would make a good use for it,” You slightly stood, planting a kiss to his nose across the table. 

You put the journal back into the bag and gestured to the bag he’d put in his lap. “It’s your turn, duke.”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered. He narrowed his eyes at you, but the smirk that followed after told you he’d not been serious. 

The first thing he’d pulled out was a scrapbook of the years that you’d spent together. From photos like the victory one that Ted had taken after you’d completed riding lessons, Pin doing a thumbs up on the right side of your horse while you sat on it still, throwing a peace sign and smiling, to random photos you’d taken together. 

Blurry ones that’d been taken with the timer feature. You flipping off the camera while Pin flopped back onto his bed. One from when you were both sixteen, in the middle of turning around, his arms snaked around your waist and yours resting on his shoulders as you kissed, the screen blurred but not so blurred that you couldn’t tell what was happening. 

A couple that Zoe, Jade, Becky and Marcus had taken. You, exhausted, with your head in Pins lap as he fiddled with a camera, curled up and almost hidden from sight in the haybales. You and Pin at the pony prom, slow dancing, looking at each other with nothing but love in your eyes. A shot taken as you and Pin left the stables, backs to the camera, hands interlocked. A photo of you and Pin in the haybales again, you with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders, hay in your hair. A laptop sat discarded beside Pins sleeping body, playing old episodes of Criminal Minds. Both of you had sleepy smiles on your faces. 

Pin laughed as he saw more than one picture of you two asleep in the haybales, some taken by Jade, most taken by Zoe, though there were a few shots that’d been taken by his father. 

“I love this,” he glanced up at you, then to the speaker that sat on the edge of the table. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, horse-boy!” He snorted, putting the scrapbook on the table and grabbing the next thing in the bag.

It was a sweater; one that he’d not seen since before his eighteenth birthday. “Thief,” he murmured, folding the sweater and putting it atop the scrapbook. 

“You’re my favorite person,” was your lovestruck retort. He blushed as he grabbed the last thing in the bag.

It was a camera; a polaroid to replace the one that’d been broken in the months before, and it was vintage. 

“You didn’t,” he looks up at you, face showing disbelief as clearly as his voice did. In response, you just shrugged.

“We’ve taken a lot of photos, and you loved the polaroid camera. I used a connection or two that I have and I grabbed it for you.”

“How much was it?” He asked. “We had a limit! No more than fifty pounds!” 

“It was forty nine pounds, and the taming of a wild horse found just outside the coast of Maine. She comes in a couple of days, by the way.” Pin put the things back in the bag and stood, grabbing the speaker and turning it on, connecting his phone to it a minute later.

“You love chaos,” he teased. “But I love you, so I love it by association.” He held his hand out to you, and you took it, giggling as he pulled you in close, bringing you into a passionate kiss that lingered on your lips even after it’d ended. 

He paused only to have Yellow by Coldplay stream through the speaker, putting his phone on the table next to it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, emphasizing more on his accent in a silly way to get you to laugh. It worked, to his delight, as you nodded, cheeks flushing bright red.

“You may have every dance, if you so wish it,” he felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and gently swaying with you as your arms moved to rest at his shoulders and his moved to your waist, wrapping around it, his hands meeting and folding at the small of your back. ‘

He’d found a way to loop the song so that it played a couple of times back to back, but you didn’t mind. You had Pin. You had Pin and his sarcasm, his smiles, his voice, still drenched with sleep in the mornings and his peaceful face while he slept. You had tea in the mornings, quiet afternoons spent riding or in helping horses, and evenings laughing with your friends, Pin at your side. 

You’d known Pin for seven years, and you’d been dating him for five. He was like the lgiht at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel, and he embraced you tightly as you finally escaped it. 

“What makes you happy?” he asked you absentmindedly, just to get to hear the melodic sound of your voice again. You laughed, meeting his gaze with a smile. 

“You, Pin,” you responded. “You make me happy.” He stared at you for a long moment, wishing that he had what he’d kept in his sock drawer since Christmas. 

“What makes you happy?” You repeated.

“You, Y/N. Always you,” you leaned up, pressing your lips to his without so much as thinking twice.

The kiss was messy, and you stumbled backward a little, but you giggled as you did. When you pulled away, you were delighted to find that Pins cheeks were burning as bright as yours, the same red that coated some parts the sky as the sun dipped down the horizon. 

“You’re the love of my life,” Pin was almost in awe at how easily you said it, like you’d been reading off a grocery list or ingredients for a recipe. Pin had wanted to say it since he’d bought the thing that sat in that pathetic little sock drawer, but he’d still not figured out how to say it and make it worthwhile.

“Do you want forever?” The closest he’d get, but he was fine with that, and relieved as you’d nodded. “I promise you forever then, Y/N.”

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