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fyexo · 4 years

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200924 20 Questions With SuperM: The K-Pop Supergroup On Their New Album & Becoming ‘Like Family’ With Each Other

Last year, SuperM notched a huge win when their self-titled “mini album” debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 albums chart. The K-pop supergroup -- which consists of members of EXO, SHINee, NCT 127 and WayV -- had generated a huge amount of buzz before releasing a single track thanks to its star-studded lineup, and with the No. 1 bow, SuperM was off to an explosive start.

With Super One, the group’s first full-length out Friday (Sept. 25), SuperM continues its positive momentum. The hopeful, hook-stuffed album allows all seven members of SuperM to shine, while also expanding the group’s pop aesthetic and finding the right balance between singing and rapping. Songs like “Wish You Were Here,” “Better Days” and lead single “100” demonstrate SuperM’s dexterity -- and even though it’s still uncertain when their global fans will be able to see the songs performed live, the collective sounds prepared to put on an eclectic, wide-ranging show with these tracks.

Ahead of their new album’s release, the members of SuperM answered 20 questions about their musical backgrounds, leaning on each other during the pandemic, the highlights of Super One and more:

1. What’s the first piece of music that you bought for yourself, and what was the medium?

BAEKHYUN: An Avril Lavigne CD. I really liked her music when I was young so I remember going to a CD store with my brother to buy her album.

2. What was the first concert you saw?

KAI: I remember I went to my first concert when I was 16 years old. This was Usher’s concert when he came to Korea. Seeing him perform onstage inspired me to work harder towards my dream to become an artist like him. I still can’t forget the energy and the vibe of people around me and remember wanting to perform on a big stage like that.

3. Who made you realize you could be an artist full-time?

TAEMIN: My mom was the first person actually. When I was very young, she saw how much I enjoyed singing and dancing and encouraged me to audition. Since then, I started moving towards my dream to become an artist and performer. She helped me discover my passion at an early age and encouraged me to do what I love, and for that, I’m forever grateful.

4. What’s at the top of your professional bucket list?

TAEYONG: I just want everyone I work with to be happy, and work together for a long time. This includes not just SuperM members, but also the rest of the staff and the team behind the scenes that make it all happen!

5. How did your hometown/city shape who you are?

MARK: I think everyone is influenced by their hometown and where they come from. It’s really special to be a K-pop artist and perform in front of fans in Canada, where I’m from. When we performed in my hometown during the world tour earlier this year, it was such a significant “homecoming” moment for me. Canada always has a special place in my heart.

6. What’s the last song you listened to?

LUCAS: The last song I listened to is Justin Bieber’s new song, “Holy.” It’s a great song to listen to when you are feeling tired. I listen to it on repeat when I’m on the move during the day and it puts me in a good mood.

7. If you could see any artist in concert, dead or alive, who would it be?

TEN: I would choose Michael Jackson, because I always regret that I didn’t get to see him perform onstage live. I look up to him as an artist, and I’d love to see him sing and dance live at one of his concerts.

8. What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen happen in the crowd of one of your shows?

MARK: Well, one thing that happens at every show is how emotional I get seeing the venue packed with our fans. Before going onstage, I always take a peek at the audience from behind the curtain, and it’s hard to describe the exact feeling in words but it feels surreal — too good to be true, almost. Especially for a standing audience, it’s not easy standing for hours straight in a tight space, but their energy never goes down. I never feel tired onstage because of them. It’s still pretty crazy to me to see and feel their energy every time. I miss them!

9. How has the pandemic affected the way you’ve created music in 2020?

BAEKHYUN: The process of creating music, writing and recording songs, was pretty much the same. However, planning the album promotion during pandemic was a little different, since everything had to be done online. We had to think of fun and unique ways to interact with our fans, from creating our own reality show to holding livestream, AR tech-based concerts. We have a lot more creative content in store for our fans, so stay tuned!

10. What was your reaction to SuperM’s mini album topping the Billboard 200 chart last year?

KAI: Everyone was super happy. We put our heart and soul into the album and worked really hard on it, so in a way, we were looking forward to the results. When we saw that the EP hit number one on the chart, it was one of the happiest moments of our career.

11. What’s the biggest difference, creatively speaking, between last year’s mini album and Super One?

TEN: The mini album was more about introducing SuperM and our SMP-style performances, whereas for Super One, it shows more of our different musical styles and really brings out the dynamic qualities that we possess as a group. So, to put it simply, Super One is the completed version/look of SuperM. Also, what was important for us when creating this album was to include a message of hope and deliver that positivity and strength to listeners. Music can really lift your spirits when you’re feeling down, so I hope people find healing and happiness while listening to our music. That would make us very happy.

12. Why did “100” make the most sense as a lead single?

TAEYONG: “100” is all about speed and energy, so it’s the perfect single to showcase SuperM’s power as the opening act of Super One. It also helps convey the message that we are always moving forward at full-speed, giving our 100% in all we do.

13. What’s one song on the album that you suspect will be a big fan favorite?

LUCAS: I think fans will like “Better Days.” It’s a nice ballad song for a great start to your day. It also contains a message of comfort and empathy to help get through these difficult times. We hope our fans can feel the warmth of this messaging through our vocals and fluid rapping.

14. How has the group bonded during what’s been a wild 2020?

TAEMIN: We’ve been through a lot and have always been there for each other through thick and thin so naturally, we’ve gotten very close. They’re like family now. We didn’t have to “try” to become close, it just naturally happened -- as if we were destined to be in the same group.

15. SuperM has been part of a massive year for the global expansion of K-pop. How does it feel to see so many K-pop songs, albums and artists setting records?

MARK: This makes me really proud. I remember growing up in Canada, a lot of people at my school didn’t know K-pop. It was mainly just popular among Koreans. Now, so many people all over the world know about it and K-pop is getting so much attention. I feel honored and proud to be a part of this movement. Bringing the two cultures closer together and building that bridge through music is such a historic moment, and I can’t wait to contribute more to it and create great music for listeners worldwide.

16. What’s your go-to song that you’ve been singing along to lately?

BAEKHYUN: These days, I have Eric Benet’s “Still with You” on repeat, so I’ve been singing this a lot lately. This was one of my favorite songs in high school, and ever since I started spending more time at home, I’ve been revisiting some of my old favorite playlists. They bring me back to that moment when I was in school, aspiring to become an artist.

17. What movie, or song, always makes you cry?

TEN: This always changes, but when I can empathize with the characters in a movie or connect with the emotions in a song, it makes me cry. I recently cried watching the animated film, Grave of the Fireflies. I watched this for the first time when I was young, but re-watching it as an adult touched me in a different way.

18. If you were not a musician, what would you be?

LUCAS: If not a musician, I’d probably be a firefighter – a job that saves other people’s lives is truly inspiring to me. But if not a firefighter, I’d definitely choose a career that make people happy, just like what I try to do now through music and performing.

19. What’s one piece of advice you would give to your younger self?

KAI: I would tell my younger self to take care of yourself and stay healthy, because health is so important! I would also tell him not to be so hard on himself and enjoy the ride as a young teenager. This is the time for having fun and trying different things! Back then, I was so focused on my career and working towards my dreams that I didn’t spend a lot of time doing “regular teenager experiences,” which I wish I did more of!

20. What’s your message to fans who have been supporting SuperM -- and waiting for this album to arrive?

TAEMIN: It’s been almost a year now since our debut, and we are incredibly grateful to have so many fans cheer us on. We put our heart and soul into the album knowing that our fans have been waiting for a long time. While we’re sad that that we can’t meet them in person, we hope they can feel the positive energy through our songs and performances.

Jason Lipshutz @ Billboard

#exo #baekhyun #kai #t: interview #album: super one #200923 #e: interview

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fogsrollingin · 4 years

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Title: under the table and dreaming, ch 2/2 Author: fogsrollingin Fandom: Supernatural Story details: Sam & Dean, rated PG-13, 3.3k words total. Story status: complete. Summary: Ghouls think Sam Winchester's a tasty cinnamon roll too. Next entry for @whumptober2020! Prompts filled is a bit of two #20 prompts, "Lost" and "Field Medicine." Tumblr link to Chapter 1 || AO3 ||

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ under the table and dreaming ch 2｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sadly, Sam wasn’t asleep for long. He cracked his eyes open at the road, Dean beside him. It was just a normal town at night, streets wet and reflecting the traffic lights’ glare. Everything was fine except for how Sam’s heart was pounding inside his chest. At first it was surreal, Sam just experiencing this sensation, his heart wildly glitching inside him. Then his breathing got shallow, his whole body broke into a sweat, and Sam flailed, slapped Dean’s arm to get his attention.

“Holy shit, Sam? Sammy? What the-”

Sam clutched his chest and gasped, eyes wide and terrified as Dean pulled into a random strip mall parking lot.

“Sam!” Dean shouted as he turned, hands all over Sam trying to get a gauge on what was happening.

“S’my… heart,” Sam gasped.

“What the hell,” Dean murmured almost to himself as he ducked down, pulled Sam’s hands away and pressed an ear to his brother’s chest. The beat was erratic, weak. “Okay, down, lie down Sammy,” Dean ordered, helping Sam recline along the bench seat. “You gotta relax. It’s gonna be okay. Did they dose you with anything?”

Sam’s eyes were tearing again and he shook his head. “Don’t… know,” he panted.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Dean rubbed Sam’s chest over his heart like he could get an easy rhythm going. Sam was twitching and trembling, all color that’d returned to him earlier disappearing again. Dean swore under his breath, panicked, and looked out past the windshield at the small stores he’d parked in front of. “Sammy,” he leaned over and tapped a palm against Sam’s cheek to get him to look into his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Without getting Sam’s approval, he pulled back and launched out of the car from the driver’s seat and sprinted into a small tobacconist shop. The brass bell clanged on the glass door overhead and the cashier, an older portly gentleman, jumped out of his skin. “Have you got a defibrillator in here?” Dean demanded, hoping they did because they’d considered how their clientele were high risk.

Still shocked the gentleman just nodded and pointed. Dean followed the direction to a small defibrillator mounted on the wall next to an employees only door. He ripped it off and nearly broke the glass of the door on its stupid brass bell as he left the store with it in his arms.

He ran back up to the driver’s door of the Impala that he’d left open. Sam was still wheezing. He’d turned on his side and pulled his knees up, his hands covering his chest. A bright sheen of sweat on his face highlighted agonized features. Dean was trying to figure out how to do this with the space they had though and coming up empty. He needed Sam lying down but he couldn’t get in there and apply the AED pads without sitting him up.

“Sammy, I’m so sorry but we gotta move,” he decided as he said it. He rushed to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. He swore as he realized the parking lot ground was wet; he’d have to get Sam up to the sidewalk that connected the strip mall entrances where their overhangs had protected the cement from rainwater.

Sam gagged as Dean hauled him up and made him stumble to sidewalk. Once there, he let his brother collapse to his knees, then guided him down to the ground.

The tobacconist rushed out. “You want me to call 9-1-1?”

Dean opened the AED. There were a couple beeps and a woman’s even automated voice said, “Call for help now.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean replied, resigned. Sam grabbed his hand and Dean leaned forward. “It’s okay, Sam,” he lied. He pushed Sam’s hair back.

“Remove all clothing from patient’s chest,” the AED instructed. Sam fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“Pull red handle to open bag.” Dean ripped it open and found small clothing scissors.

“I got it, I got it, Sammy,” Dean muttered, drawing Sam’s hands away so he could unbutton the last ones and then cut through Sam’s white undershirt. Sam pulled fisted hands up against his shoulders and shivered as Dean pulled the shirt away. “I know it’s cold. It’s okay, we got this,” he coached as he glanced at the pictures on the pads before peeling one off its blue plastic and applying it ‘exactly as shown in the picture’ just as the AED directed. He got the other one on too.

“Sammy?”

“Here,” Sam gasped.

“Good boy,” Dean praised, carding a hand through Sam’s hair. Sam pressed his lips together, eyes tight with strain but relying on Dean. The AED announced, “Evaluating heart rhythm.” Dean lifted away but hovered his hands over Sam, knowing he couldn’t touch during this part. Sam’s hitching, shallow breaths were loud as they waited, eyes still fixed on Dean.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” Sam’s eyes fell to half-mast, mouth fell open to gulp air.

“Standby. Preparing to shock.”

Sam’s eyes closed then, all conscious tension sifting out of him. His arms fell limp to his sides.

“Sam!”

“Everyone clear. Do not touch patient.” Dean gritted his teeth, helpless. “Delivering shock.” The AED beeped loudly several times in warning before a muted thunk sound and Sam’s chest quivered under the pads. “Shock delivered. Provide chest compressions and rescue breaths.”

Dean ignored the last order and instead pressed his ear against Sam’s chest. It still wasn’t strong but the rhythm was good. “Sam? Sammy?” Dean prompted, gently slapping his brother’s face. “C’mon, wake up.”

Finally, Sam’s eyelids fluttered.

“Yes! Yeah Sam, come on, not gonna lose you.” Dean brushed Sam’s hair, thumbed tears off Sam’s cheeks. “Come on.”

“Hey,” Sam rasped. His eyes rolled back and Dean jerked him calling his name. Sam gasped and opened his eyes back up wide this time. “Okay. Here,” he huffed.

“Evaluating heart rhythm,” the AED suddenly announced. “No shock advised. Stop CPR.”

“What the fuck was that,” Dean muttered angrily, now that he could afford anger. He peeled the pads off Sam’s chest. Sam hunched over into Dean, reached around Dean’s back to hold himself up. Dean got his arm around Sam’s waist and together they got him up and stumbling back into the car.

Sirens wailed, lights flashed, an ambulance pulling into the parking lot and Dean hit the gas, speeding their way out, the defibrillator’s detritus left on the sidewalk in front of the tobacconist’s place.

“That’s not when you should really be using an AED, y’know,” Sam said coarsely, worn out beyond belief now.

“Well it was either that or a shot of adrenaline.”

“That would’ve killed me,” Sam pitched and Dean suppressed a laugh.

“Well I guess they had a defibrillator instead then.” Dean shrugged. His eyes glinted and Sam realized he was pulling his leg. “Whatever they did, we’ll keep an eye on it. If you have any issues with your heart again Sammy, we’re going to the hospital, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed readily. Dean bit his lip, not liking how willing they both were about this as they both despised hospitals but… that had really freaked them both out just now.

They stopped off at a bodega to get orange juice and nuts and some Halloween-themed Oreos to make Sam laugh.

They checked into a slightly more up-scale motel than their usual, again because they were both a little unsettled and Dean wanted to bed down first chance they got.

The first aid on Sam’s arms was daunting with Dean justifiably nauseous at the sight of Sam’s skinned flesh. Most of it would scar ripples and maybe keloids. Sam didn’t care though. Dean insisted that chicks dug scars and got Sam to smile.

Once that was done, Dean left to get dinner. Sam, on orders to relax but not move or strain his heart, decided on a slow easy walk into the bathroom for a warm bath. The tub was clean porcelain, big and deep and felicitously proportionate to Sam’s body. They didn’t get these in the low-priced motels where they normally lodged. Sam was going to take full advantage and appreciate it.

He was careful to keep his newly bandaged arms away from the water. He leaned his back against the tub and heaved a deep breath of relief, inhaling the soft steam wafting from the surface, letting the heat penetrate his muscles. The soak was bliss.

Half an hour later Dean came in carrying Panera and, concerned when Sam didn’t respond to him when he announced he was home, found Sam fast asleep in the tub.

Tempted, Dean’s better judgment prevailed. He backed out of the bathroom and rapped his knuckles lightly against the door until he heard startled splashing. He chuckled. “Sammy?”

“Uh, yeah, hey.”

“I got a broccoli cheddar soup and a Mediterranean veggie sandwich waiting for you out here.”

“Oh wow okay. Thank you, I’ll be right out.” Sam’s voice was bleary but delighted. Dean grinned as he turned back to the bed. He'd never stop getting a little thrill out of making Sam sound so happy like that, especially so soon after what he’d been through.

Sam was groggy but pulled himself out of the bath easily, dried himself off, and found himself actually excited for the considerate meal Dean had gotten him, as he doubted he’d be able to stomach anything with meat. He came out in a towel and smiled at Dean who’d already started chowing down on his own sandwich. Sam threw on a soft, thick cotton long-sleeved shirt and the appetizing smells got to him. He stopped looking for sweatpants, instead opting to just wear his towel for awhile longer and moved over to sit next to Dean on his bed where he’d spread the food out. Dean pointed at the cartons for him and Sam snatched them up, reiterating a sincere thank you.

Dean nodded, accepting Sam's gratitude. “No problems while I was gone?” Dean garbled, mouth full. He was trying for casual but his eyes were intent, the shadow of worry not far behind.

“Everything’s been good. No heart palpitations, no symptoms of infection,” Sam lifted his arms to show the untouched bandages.

Dean swallowed. “That’s awesome,” he replied, low-key and so genuine that Sam grinned, eyes shining.

Dean turned and grabbed the TV remote off the nightstand, angled so his legs could spread out towards the foot of the bed. Sam settled next to his brother similarly, prepared to watch whatever Dean chose unless something really caught his eye. He wasn’t sure when this had become pure contentment for him, but here he was.

Fin

A/N: I must disclaim that I'm so down to the wire on completing Whumptober that I barely did any medical research here. All I can say is that I was trained as an emergency responder in Kenya like ten years ago where everybody was like "if you have a defibrillator, that thing's gold. Always break that bad boy out if you got it and just follow its instructions." I watched an AED's youtube video to get the prompt language right, checked to make sure an AED could sometimes shock a conscious person, and then I just took off from there, lol.

Maybe one day I'll stealth edit this to give a researched explanation as to how/why Sam would randomly fall into either ventricular fibrillation and ventricular tachycardia (the only shockable heart rhythms for AEDs) after being concussed, anemic, possibly drugged, and having his arm flesh stripped and eaten... or maybe all those things are so compromising they can jumpstart some these arrhythmias? Maybe Sam had a pre-existing condition I didn't mention. I have no idea. Let's say yes to anything/everything that makes this a lil more plausible. 😅😅😅

Okay now back to your normally confident author: Thank you so much for reading! Please like, comment, reblog whatever you’re inclined to do if you liked it and you've got the time. 💛🤗 ~ Alex

#whumptober2020 #no. 20 #field medicine #lost #Supernatural #fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #spn fic #supernatural fic #sam and dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester and dean winchester #dean winchester and sam winchester #dean winchester & sam winchester #sam winchester & dean winchester

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cristalconnors · 5 years

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BEST ALBUMS OF 2019 (#20-11)

20. MAGDALENE, FKA twigs

MAGDALENE finds twigs grappling with the scrutiny of fame in a time of personal crisis; a health scare that overlapped with a devastating breakup, so devastating that here she casts her pain as being biblical. If that sounds pretentious, don’t worry- twigs’s music has never been so endearing or so palpably personal. She explodes the breakup album and launches it into space, embracing classical song structure just so she can rip it apart, getting to the heart of the medium’s panoramic possibilities for personal exploration, exposing herself more thoroughly than she ever has in the process.

19. BRANDON BANKS, Maxo Kream

Maxo Kream’s father looms large on Brandon Banks. “Brandon Banks” is an alias he used when scamming. That’s his face on the left side of the album cover, crudely taped over Maxo’s own, but if you just glance at it you might not notice they’re two different people, their faces morphing into one another’s like a still from Persona. That’s the idea. Maxo digs deep into the family history that drove him to the streets with stunning clarity, an inheritance of criminal activity, violence, and despair, but also valuable life lessons and a hard-earned resilience- the kind of lessons that would compel you to tell your father you love him after you beat his ass.

18. THE PRACTICE OF LOVE, Jenny Hval

Jenny Hval’s music has become increasingly more accessible over the years, bending ever so slightly towards something you might call pop, if you caught it at the right angle. But this isn’t to say that she’s compromised her identity as an artist at all. If anything, her music’s become deeper, more nuanced, and more affecting. The entrancing, repetitive rhythms and uncanny interpolation of spoken word in The Practice of Love transcend the borders of genre, offering mystic observations on the concept of love itself that you can lose yourself in.

17. ANGEL’S PULSE, Blood Orange

Blood Orange’s Dev Hynes has a habit compiling cutting room scraps and leftover ideas into a sort of epilogue for whatever album he’s just put out. Just as much thought and effort goes into these follow ups, but he holds them close, only sharing them with dear friends and collaborators, if anyone at all. Judging by the quality of Angel’s Pulse, the first of these projects to receive a proper release, it’s a shame we’ve never heard any of them before. These songs don’t sound like throw aways, but rather compliments to the soundscape of Negro Swan, a handful of them even eclipsing that album’s peaks, revealing new, strange corners of Hynes’s sound.

16. TWO HANDS, Big Thief

If UFOF sounds like it was beamed in from some other realm, Two Hands sounds like it sprang up from the soil. It’s Big Thief at their rawest, up close and personal like the tight framing of the cover art, yet their images of violence, insecurity, grief, what have you, are obfuscated, buried in the dirt just out of sight. But that’s where their power derives from; the attempt to decipher them. Like a feeling, their songs are thrillingly difficult to pin down and are uniformly compelling.

15. ITEKOMA HITS, Otoboke Beaver

The spirit of punk is alive and well in Japan. Otoboke Beaver’s blistering Itekoma Hits is a lightning speed study in well placed rage and controlled chaos that reminds the listener that a good punk album is a living thing, bending unexpectedly to accommodate the enormity of feeling on display. A song’s established rhythm will stop suddenly so the guitars and drums can punctuate an exclamation in perfect unison with lead vocalist Accorinrin’s words, before the song devolves into a rumbling, discordant mess that’s rousing as hell. The result is a towering, playful epic in miniature that’s too big to be contained.

14. ANIMA, Thom Yorke

The visual companion to ANIMA sees Thom Yorke struggle dancing through a nightmare dystopian society, like The Trial as directed by Pina Bausch. The drably dressed dancers are lost in a dizzying monotony, reflected in the pulsing, repetitive synth beats that define the album, and just when it seems Yorke’s broken free and found intimacy and genuine human connection, we find him right where he started, dozing off on public transit, trapped in the prison of routine. It makes sense that Yorke would explore many of the same textures and instrumentation of his score for Luca Guadagnino’s Suspiria, recycling the cinematic strings and sinister synths to paint a restless widescreen portrait of despair on societal and personal levels.

13. PUNK, CHAI

CHAI’s music is charming and carefree, relishing in the joy and simple power of statements like “everybody’s special guys!” “you and me always! how fun!” or “love! love is all that we want!” Looking at the translated lyric sheet, it’s remarkable how many times whoever translated it felt compelled to use exclamation points. The album plays like one extended, 30-minute-long exclamation point. But this is not simple, straightforward pop. The textures are stunningly complex, utilizing competing rhythms, discordant tones, and distortion to build sonic worlds you can dig deep into. Everything about the album is maximalist in the best way, announcing CHAI to the world as uncompromising, terminally delightful purveyors of high pop.

12. LET THE SUN TALK, MAVI

“So she saying what kind of music you make? The kind you gotta read, baby.” MAVI’s not lying. He’s described his raps as “equations,” which is a uniquely apt descriptor. You could build a semester seminar around unpacking the dense poetry of Let The Sun Talk’s brief 30-minute run time, but MAVI spits the words out effortlessly atop meandering beats sculpted from hypnotically looped, refracted samples, announcing to the world what he already knows: he’s among the very best in the game.

11. REWARD, Cate Le Bon

The image of Cate Le Bon descending an otherworldly mountainside, casually defying gravity in an editorial look that could grace magazine covers feels uniquely suited to her songwriting. On Reward, her music is extra-terrestrial. Woozy, distorted horns and guitars and buzzing synths provide the foundation while Cate’s singularly striking voice and surreal lyrics that can verge on comedy drive it home, deepening and expanding her sound to craft her best effort yet.

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runswithwolvesx · 5 years

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“ i remember our first kiss. ”

kissy sentence starters || no longer accepting!

Her statement captured Stiles’ attention rather instantly, amber eyes flicking up from the television to the blonde who now stood before him. Stiles had invited Caroline over for a movie marathon and the buttery scent of freshly popped popcorn had followed her to the sofa, the bowl in her hand the only thing he could focus on for a moment. Why was Caroline bringing this up? They had talked about it before, once. The blonde had admitted she didn’t feel the same, didn’t return the romantic feelings Stiles clearly felt within his core for her. At the end of the day, Stiles had decided their friendship was far too important to be compromised. “Do you want to talk about it?” He wondered, eyes then fluttering from the white bowl to her face, and the expression she wore spoke volumes to Stiles.

There was a vivid frown there, and he watched, as if things were in slow motion, as Caroline plopped the bowl onto the coffee table and took a seat right next to him on the sofa. The last thing Stiles wanted was Caroline to feel uncomfortable. “We don’t have to, you know? I’m okay with just being friends.” He answered, quite honestly, a truthfulness ringing in his voice. The woman was quick to shrug, hasty to shake her head and start to speak. However, her inner struggle must have been heavy because it was clear as day on her face, in her cerulean orbs. Stiles just allowed her to rant, allowed Caroline to express how she felt, how she didn’t want anything between them to be different. Again, Stiles was facing rejection, but he sucked it up, knew that it was possibly for the better.

“Hey,” Stiles’ voice fell gingerly, a hand finding her shoulder in an affectionate manner. He tended to be very touchy around the blonde, always instinctively reaching for her when necessary. “It’s okay. I’m fine, Caroline.” That was a blatant lie. Because whenever he thought about it, his heart ached, yearned for something, for someone he couldn’t have. And then other thoughts would plague his mind. What if she eventually fell in love with someone? What if he had to watch her find happiness with another man? Could he have even stomached that? Could he still remain her friend if that were a reality? Still, his amber orbs remained on her beryl eyes, trying to convey that he understood her completely.

Suddenly, he was feeling the heaviness of his heart and Stiles knew he couldn’t possibly sit through a movie marathon with all the ache weighing on him. “Maybe we should do this another night.” The suggestion fell as his shoulders deflated, his chest falling with his exhale. Removing his hand from her frame, he watched Caroline nod in agreement, rise from the sofa and head towards the exit. Stiles rose himself, surrendering to his feelings as he began to slink away towards his bedroom. All he wanted to do at this point was shut his eyes, turn his mind off, fall asleep and hope he’d awake with less of a yearning, less of a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he wasn’t ever going to be the guy Caroline deserved in her life. Oh, how he wished she’d returned the feelings, that she felt them. But, he couldn’t change that and as soon as he came to terms with it, the better they were both off for it.

The clicking of the front door opening hit his ears, and Stiles placed a flat palm on the frame of his bedroom door, hazy eyes closing tightly, lips pressed together thinly in sadness. He needed the support the frame provided because even his legs felt weak, his head spinning with reasons as to why they belonged together, why they deserved a shot at something more. However, there was also a very real part of Stiles that worried if they acted on it, if something came of it and things didn’t work out in the end, he could lose Caroline for good. Maybe it was better this way, maybe it was supposed to be this way. Hadn’t she once told him that friends shouldn’t kiss each other? Guilt invaded his veins at the memory, at the look on her face when she’d said it.

And that’s when Stiles waited, patiently standing there and breathing in and out at a steady pace, just allowing her to leave, for the door to shut at any second. Footsteps never sounded and the familiar door creak never came. Even though his eyes remained snapped shut, Stiles’ brows knitted together, brow crinkling with discomfort. Why wasn’t she leaving? Hadn’t they agreed to watch movies another night? When both of them weren’t dealing with the tension between themselves? Fingertips rapped against the wood, beating erratically, his ears honing in on the drumming sound. He tried his best to focus on it but the fact that her footsteps never sounded, that the door never shut told him to turn around. Every fiber of his body screamed to spin, to check. Hell, Caroline could’ve used her enhanced speed and he wouldn’t have heard a damn thing.

Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and though he hesitated, Stiles spun on his heel, prying his eyes open. That’s when he saw her, a piercing stare meeting his heavy orbs. Eyelids were somewhat droopy, his face twisted with agony. But the strange thing? Caroline’s expression mirrored everything Stiles felt and it shook his bones, urging him to move, to console the woman he’d fallen so deeply in love with. Battling with his inner thoughts, Mieczyslaw needed to make a decision: keep silent and let it devour him alive or make one last attempt at conveying to Caroline how much he loved her, how he’d move mountains for her. The television playing softly was all that hit his ears now, neither of the pair speaking a word but simply peering at each other across the vast distance.

Kicking himself into gear, his legs began to move on their own accord and Stiles can see Caroline’s expression twist, her head tilt to the side gently though her eyes never strayed from his own. Each inch closer to her, his heart quickened, beating so frantically, he felt it may implode. Every move he made was intentional, slow yet unfaltering and Caroline didn’t budge, didn’t even try to move or stop him from shuffling across the room. There’s a thick air now encompassing the pair as the space between them became smaller and smaller, until eventually, Stiles was standing right in front of her, as he had so many times over the years.

Thick brows elevate on Stiles’ face, a vibrant warmth now cascading across his features as he just gazed at Caroline with nothing but adoration. He can decipher the worry on her face, yet her eyes shone with a need, a desire blazing so brightly, even Stiles didn’t know quite what to do with it. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave things like this between them. He didn’t want to compromise the safety net of their friendship but he also was all too aware of what he wanted, what he craved for. A solitary tear dripped off her eyes then and Stiles moved a hand towards her face, his thumb brushing it away, sliding against her skin in a way he’s never touched her before. Electrifying as the sensation was running up his arm, he knew they both needed some sort of answer and he didn’t speak, didn’t say a single word, allowing himself to finally lean in towards her face.

Nothing about this was similar to their first kiss. The worry of confessing his feelings to her had been long gone. Stiles’ eyes are attentive to Caroline’s, watching for any sign that the vampire wanted him to stop, to freeze in his movements. There’s no detection of dismissal on her face, no ounce of movement in her beryl orbs that told him otherwise. Noses finally bump, and Stiles swore he heard a breathy sigh escape the vampire then, his heart thumping even wilder than it had before, if that were at all possible. Ghosting his lips over hers, Mieczyslaw allowed them both to breathe each other in for a long moment, still giving Caroline ample opportunity to reject him once more. Again, she didn’t budge, she didn’t give him any sign that she was afraid of this, that she was ready to run far away.

The lingering between them felt surreal, allowing him to drift off to a place of peace, of serenity. Stiles knew he needed to finish what he meant to do, yet hesitation swallowed him until he finally gathered enough courage to allow his lips to timidly brush Caroline’s. The brunette’s lips remained puckered a fraction but as he was ready to pull away, he felt the weight of one of her hands claim his arm. Suddenly, Caroline’s fingertips travel up the length of his bare arm, eliciting goosebumps, causing a shiver to slide down his spine. Before Stiles could process it, her arms loop around his neck and peach lips meld into Caroline’s more passionately, more longingly. Delight pumped through his blood, enjoyment and happiness all taking full hold of Stiles now. Bringing a hand to her face, he cupped one of her cheeks, fingertips traveling against her silky skin, gliding effortlessly while they only parted from the kiss for seconds so he could inhale deeply. Their lips meet time and time again, his tongue sliding under her upper lip, coaxing the vampire into a deeper kiss.

@carebearxsunshine

#carebearxsunshine #tw; long post #answered; memes #stiles: loves her to death but respects her #also stiles: cannot bear the thought of another man being with her #stiles too: shit she can't look at me like THAT #stiles finally: i love you to the moon and back #<3 #otp; you are the embodiment of sunshine #also this got super long #but i'm not sorry because i love them so damn much.

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yurivil · 6 years

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Tails of St. Vesperia

Unfinished TOV mermaid AU no one asked for that’s been sitting on my computer for 8 years and I totally forgot about it until TOV:DE was released and I fell back into TOV hell. Will 100% never be finished and if someone wants to take the reins to this fic have at it. I like slow burn Fluri so this is mostly self indulgent.

Tails of St. Vesperia

Rating: T for language

Characters: PS3/DE main cast (Flynn & Yuri main)

Pairings: Undecided

Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Drama

Warnings: AU, spoilers for Patty’s past.

Summary: Flynn, a student at the University of St. Vesperia, was surprised that Headmaster Dionia wanted to see him. He was even more surprised to find out why. “The Headmaster wants to see me so he can show me a fish?”

Magic!College AU

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Nets. They entangled his limbs, restricting his flailing attempts to free himself. Part of his panicked mind was vaguely aware of being tugged upwards. No. He couldn’t be seen. He had to get away, back to –Hell, anywhere but here. The man thrashed violently, only succeeding in entangling himself more. A sharp cold was suddenly present on his back.

‘…Damn!’

They had managed to pull him to the surface. The warmth of the water was suddenly completely gone, the chilled air taking its place. In desperation, he used his freed hand to try shoving away from the hull of the boat. His arm was suddenly grabbed and jerked upwards, yanking him into the boat only to land hard on the deck.

“--ty, get back!” A gruff voice yelled.

Pushing himself off the deck, he managed to glimpse through the net. He caught sight of a small blonde girl with striking blue eyes and a… pirate hat? There was a piercing pain on the back of his head. And everything went black.

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Flynn was surprised. Never in his years at the University of St. Vesperia had he received such an urgent request for his presence directly from the Headmaster. Well, he had. But only for last minute check ups on things such as arranging homecoming, speaking at ceremonies, and giving financial reports of clubs. Those were to be expected of any student council president. He walked briskly across the campus, freshly frosted grass crunching under his feet, eager to complete whatever task he presumed Headmaster Dionia would ask of him.

Rounding a corner, the aquarium facility came into full view. He couldn’t figure out why the Headmaster would ask to see him here of all places. The blond shivered, pulling his uniform jacket closer as he made his way across the parking lot. The facility’s size never failed to impress him. Next to law and medical degrees, St. Vesperia also specialized heavily in marine biology. This was said to be due to the former headmaster Cypher’s influence. Now retired, the man was still in love with the sea, as he often took his granddaughter with him on his weekly fishing excursions. Flynn smiled at the memory of the little girl.

“Flyyyyn~!” A young girl’s voice rang out in the late autumn air.

Speak of the devil. She was running towards him from across the street, red beret on her head and binoculars slung over her shoulder.

“Hello, Patty.” He smiled at her as she approached.

A lengthy conversation followed the rest of their trip across the parking lot. It revolved mostly around Patty making him ‘guess what,’ Flynn guessing, and Patty just returning a ‘guess again.’ Approaching the door, Patty had slipped on a small patch of ice, though luckily for her, Flynn had grabbed the back of her vest, setting her back on her feet. She stared back at the patch of ice as if it were from another dimension.

“…Patty?” He questioned.

“Don’t you know what this means? It’s ice fishing season!” She turned to look at him, grinning, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Right, fishing. He should have guessed. Wait a minute… That was it!

“Did you catch a fish last weekend?”

“Kind of.” She looked to the side, as if unsure how to explain it.

“Kind of?” He pulled open the glass door, stepping inside.

“You’ll just have to see. That’s why the headmaster called you.”

Flynn faltered for a moment, before looking at her incredulously. “The Headmaster wants to see me so he can show me a fish?”

“It’s… Well...” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Not comp—“

“Miss Fluer!”

Flynn’s back straightened automatically at the voice, letting the door close on Patty, who simply stuck her tongue out before running off. Flynn turned and all but saluted to the man. “Headmaster Dionia.”

“Schifo.” The taller man nodded to him. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

“It’s not a problem, sir.” Was his reply, “But, if I may, why the aquarium facility?”

The Headmaster turned and began walking down the hall, Flynn following, before he spoke, “I would presume you know of the previous Headmaster Cypher’s… hobby. Regardless, he and his granddaughter came upon a rather interesting discovery on their last expedition. Cypher requested that it be kept here, and that the public not know of its existence just yet. That said, anything you are about to see or hear is not to leave this building, understood?” He came to stop in front of a door labeled intensive care.

“Y-yes, sir.” He managed. Flynn’s mind was reeling. So he really was here to see a fish? And an extremely rare one, from the sounds of it. Despite feeling flattered to be one of the few people that had the chance this supposedly rare fish, the blond couldn't help but wonder why in the hell that he was here. He was a criminal and justice major, not a marine biology specialist.

After undoing what Flynn counted as three separate locks, the Headmaster opened the door and they stepped inside. There were no lights on in the room, save for those illuminating a massive tank on the far wall. The water glowed a surreal blue-green, but a flicker of purple instantly caught Flynn's attention. Whatever it been, it darted behind the large coral-head that took up nearly a third of the tank.

"Was that…?" Flynn trailed off, casting a glance at the other man as he came to stand next to him in front of the tank.

The Headmaster nodded, "It's extremely cautious about anything new. Unfortunately, it also seems to have a very strong dislike for both myself and most of the caretakers here at the aquarium."

As Alexei finished speaking, he raised a knuckle to the glass and rapped on it as though he were knocking on a door.

The harsh sound made Flynn wince, and he actually felt a little sorry for the fish. "Erm… Headmaster, not to be rude, but don't most fish-"

"I think you'll find this fish to be more intelligent than most."

There was a loud thunk in front of Flynn that made him start, but by the time he turned to look, he only saw a lone chunk of coral sinking to the flat, sandy bottom of the tank.

"What in the world…?" Flynn stared.

The taller man chuckled, "Regardless, I'd like you to spend some time here."

"Here, sir?"

"Simply put, in this room. You may use it as your own private study hall, if you like."

While the idea of a study hall in which he could work uninterrupted was very appealing to Flynn…

"What exactly will I be doing while I'm here?""I suppose you could say that you'll be socializing. The reason is that this fish is extremely dangerous for the aquarium staff to even feed. Leblanc was almost drowned yesterday. I hope that, through showing it humans aren't a threat, it will allow us closer, so we can study it in further detail. You may read, study, whatever you wish."

A study hall all to himself it was, then.

"I understand. I'll come everyday after classes."

"Good. Any other questions?"

"...You had said Mr. Leblanc was almost drowned?"

"I was told that the fish stole something from him and that he dove in to get it back. Ridiculous as it sounds, Leblanc was never really… Suited to be swim-team captain."

"Aha…"

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It had been about two weeks since Flynn started going to his private study hall at the aquarium. He enjoyed finishing his school and student council work nearly two hours earlier. It gave him time to… Actually have spare time. As per instructions, Flynn wasn't allowed to turn on any lights save a small desk lamp for when he was working. A few times, feeling as though he were being watched, Flynn would jerk his head around, only to catch the literal tail-end of the creature as it dove behind the coral. Rather than stress over not seeing the fish, Flynn preferred to spend an extra hour either reading a book or watching a movie. The blonde had discovered a small TV on the desk near the tank, and also an old DVD player. So, Flynn would watch all of his favorite classics he was lucky enough to have on disk.

Today was a marathon of John Wayne movies that Flynn never got tired of. Half-way through True Grit, even Flynn couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the corny movie lines. In doing so, he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. It was in the tank. And it was definitely not a fish. Flynn blinked.

There was a person. Watching John Wayne. From in the tank.

Why would someone- When did they- How had Flynn not noticed?

Cobalt eyes flickered to the side, as if to make sure Flynn wasn’t looking. Which he was, much to the tank-dweller’s surprise. Their eyes went wide and their mouth fell open, allowing bubbles of air to escape, before they jerked back, speeding away in a blur of… purple?

Flynn stared to where it -they- had disappeared behind the coral head. They would have to come up for air at some point. The sound of gunshots rang out from the TV. The blond didn’t move an inch, hardly daring to breathe. He kept his eyes on the coral head, not letting his attention falter for even a moment. He was vaguely aware of the clock in the room ticking.

Minutes passed. Flynn had at some point started counting the seconds of the ticking clock, and had already counted to sixty some twenty times. He was just about to resume his movie marathon when, tentatively, half a body appeared from behind the coral, partially obscured by a sea fan. The face and upper body were most definitely human, but... The lower half was decidedly not. There were scales and a tail and... A mermaid.

Those cobalt eyes bore into him, and Flynn could do nothing but gape in return. There was a mermaid -merMAN- directly in front of him and his mind was reeling. What kind of creature was this? It seemed intelligent enough to enjoy movies. It was obviously sentient.

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Sorry not sorry ran out of juice for this AU. My further idea is that Yuri only writes in Russian so when given an underwater dry erase board, Flynn has to take pictures and ask (language major) Judith to translate (or alternatively google translate the hell out of it). The entire Vesperia gang does their best to get Yuri back to the ocean but meanwhile Yuri is internally debating if he’d rather stay with Flynn or return home.

#Tales of vesperia #Fluri #Yuri lowell #flynn scifo #I'm sorry TOV fandom #I could have done so much better here #But this is it #I will go down with this ship

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paracosmcentral · 5 years

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DGRM

is a 12-member girl group under AWOL Entertainment. The group has a Chinese zodiac concept where each member represents an animal on the zodiac wheel. Its members are:

Moya (Akamatsu Momoe) - Rat

Leader, Subvocalist

Jung-ah (Kim Jung-ah) - Ox

Main Rapper, Lead Dancer

Duanphen (Duanphen Anuwat) - Tiger

Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer

JD Fang (Xie Fang) - Rabbit

Lead Rapper, Subvocalist

Xiulan (Wang Xiulan) - Dragon

Main Vocalist, Visual

DaO (Đào Hương) - Snake

Vocalist

Aika (Ito Aika) - Horse

Visual, Vocalist

Doyeon (Jung Doyeon) - Goat

Lead Dancer, Lead Vocalist

Yifei (Tang Yifei) - Monkey

Lead Vocalist

RJ (Luo Juan) - Rooster

Lead Rapper

Hoa (Nguyễn Tuyệt) - Dog

Main Dancer, Subvocalist, Face

Yuyan (Chen Yuyan) - Pig

Lead Vocalist, Maknae

DGRM debuted (or will debut, I guess) on January 25, 2020, and AWOL introduced the group saying that they would start off their musical career with a “vignette” concept. Each music video would contain a story, but each story would be unconnected to the others. However, many fans were skeptical, believing that an overarching story would reveal itself.

The first couple of vignette stories followed as such:

(Each song is listed as its title track name, not as the name of the release per se.)

1. New Now (single): It’s the lunar new year. DaO is counting down the days to… something, something big, but her friends convince her to let go for be time being and just enjoy the festivities. There are plenty of fireworks, they get caught out in the rain, it’s all real sweet. The video is shot at night, mostly filmed to look like a normal person’s video recording, but with a few cinematic shots. The song is uplifting electro-pop-rock, like if LOONA yyxy’s Frozen were a Taeyeon song.

2. Midnight Girl (single): The girls are together at a slumber party, and after Hoa falls asleep, the rest stay up to play “horror games” like Light as a Feather, Catscratch, Bunshinsaba, etc. Things take a dark turn when Yuyan gets involved, and as Hoa discovers, all the others have been put into a nightmarish trance state by Yuyan. The video is shot in high-contrast black and white, with occasional scribble animation and one shot in color. The song is something like a tropical house/electro swing version of Sunmi’s Noir.

3. Found (EP): The girls are castaways on some remote island. At first, they’re looking for rescue, but they later find that there’s way more to the island than they thought (with references to the TV show Lost), and by the time rescue comes, they’ve found ways to thrive there. The video is bright and saturated, with lots of drone shots. The song is tropical house with emotional chords and a pounding beat, like Key’s I Wanna Be but at a faster tempo.

4. What? (single): All the girls are happily in love, but Moya suspects that her boyfriend is seeing other people. Going full detective mode, she finds out that indeed, he’s dating several of the other members on the side, and Moya helps them find this out. The video tells the story in a comical way, with brightly-colored sets and exaggerated acting. The song has a fun and cute jazz-ish feel, similar to Key’s The Duty of Love or SNSD’s Lion Heart.

Midnight Girl soon becomes DGRM’s most popular song. Fans are attempting to connect the dots between the stories, but there aren’t many dots to connect.

The series continues:

5. At Your Door (single): Jung-ah attempts to meet her boyfriend and apologize for some conflict between the two of them. She ends up lost and even more distraught, as the neighborhood he lives in has turned into an surreal suburban dreamscape (of her own making? When her tears dry, she starts to see clearly.) The video is light but dull in color, with lots of fog and quick flashing shots of things like roses and flames. The song is a slow ballad, not unlike LOONA’s Sonatine.

6. For Love (EP): Aika is a rich woman, and JD Fang is her bodyguard. The two are secretly lovers, and have to keep their relationship on the down-low, but eventually decide to forego that and to be out and proud about their being in love. The video is shot alternatively in a mansion set, with some pretty cool pets, and a purple box set with odd lighting for the choreography. The song is bright and sassy, similar to Brown Eyed Girls’ Brave New World and SNSD’s Paradise, but with more of a punch to it.

Critical reception of For Love gets DGRM more popular in the US. During a fanmeet after the release of the EP, RJ comes out as lesbian.

Meanwhile, #letdgrmhaveanalbum starts trending on Twitter.

The series continues:

7. 5,4,3,2 (EP): The girls are on two competing lacrosse teams, an underdog team and a team that remains undefeated. Doyeon is on the underdog side, and rallies the rest of her team to train even harder, to where they defeat the other team for the first time. The video is shot on constructed sets rather than real-life settings for the aesthetic, with bold lighting and plenty of dance footage. The song is pop with a lot of spoken word and chopped-up samples, like Leikeli47’s Post That or Little Mix’s Strip.

8. Remade (single): Aika has been kept inside a stained-glass church/prison, with a microchip inside her. Other people often visit the “church” and think it’s a beautiful place, but never really notice Aika and her suffering—until Yifei does and attempts to help her escape. When she finally does, the world still appears like stained glass to Aika. The video is shot almost entirely within the stained-glass set, and utilizes bright colors and glowy lighting to contrast the dark story, as well as the Deep Dream Generator to achieve the final stained glass shot. The song is a consistent 80’s-ish pop song, like new by Yves.

9. Sky High (EP): RJ and her friends go rollerblading together in the city. One day, while taking a detour through an alleyway, they find something unexpected—a small, blue alien with wheel-like feet. They “adopt” the alien as a part of their crew, teaching them rollerblading tricks, and they go on to become even more stellar than before. The video is bright and a bit flashy, and implements different frame and exposure rates either to slow down portions or speed them up in a choppy way. The song is energetic hip-hop with a focus on the drums, much like LOONA’s favOriTe but with more rap.

Due to the consistent release of singles and EPs, #letdgrmhaveanalbum and #letdgrmtakeabreak become competing tags on Twitter. AWOL announces that DGRM will release an album after the vignette series is over.

The series continues:

10. You Want, I Need (single): Duanphen is in an unhealthy relationship with someone else. The two have on animal masks (a tiger and lion respectively), and the music video shows them fighting in different scenarios, before Duanphen takes hers off, being her authentic self, and beats the shit out of the lion guy. The other members are background characters with masks of their Chinese zodiac animal. The video is on a dark set and all done in one shot, with choreo interspersed throughout the story as if it were a musical. The song is a bold jazz-pop piece, like Lee Hi’s 1, 2, 3, 4, or Ailee’s Mind Your Own Business.

11. Strange (EP): Hoa goes to the aquarium and, while inside the tunnel exhibit, sees a few human-like figures inside the tank. They are sirens, and she warms up to them quickly; it seems that only she can see them. When she arrives another day to release them from the aquarium, they start to cause havoc, and Hoa wonders if she was just being used. The video is shot in a cool-colored tone and with slow narrative shots, interspersed with the individual members singing. The song has a chill house/hip-hop vibe, like Olivia Hye’s Rosy or Tinashe’s 2 On.

On a V-Live, fans overhear Doyeon ask RJ “Does Track 19 have a title yet?” The fanbase starts hyping up this potential album, and theorists note that 12 vignettes would make the most sense.

The series continues:

12. Beautiful Danger (single): The story takes place sometime in the past, where Xiulan is mostly-happily married to one man and secretly in love with another. She internally decides to stay with her husband, but her other lover murders the husband so that he and Xiulan can be together. The video is dark in color and cinematic in style. The song is a ballad in ¾ time with an older feel, like Haseul’s Let Me In or Reol’s fall glow (without the trap drums).

After some time, DGRM releases their 24-track album, Lookout.

13. Look Out (LP): One member from the previous vignettes have woken up in a bright and colorful world that is definitely not their own. They encounter each other, and shenanigans ensue. The video implements techniques from the previous videos as well: shots at weird sweeping angles, drone shots, scribble animation, flashing montages, etc. The song has a fun and funky vibe, like if Feel It Still were a Red Velvet track.

New Now - DaO

Midnight Girl - Yuyan

Found - Yifei

What? - Moya

At Your Door - Jung-ah

For Love - JD Fang

5,4,3,2 - Doyeon

Remade - Aika

Sky High - RJ

You Want, I Need - Duanphen

Strange - Hoa

Beautiful Danger - Xiulan

The theorists are like “I KNEW IT”

Track 19 (aka. Geddit) gets the love it deserves.

And DGRM takes a nice long break.

#k.pop.paracosm #submission

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

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the tangled web of fate we weave: ii

Well, in no time flat, this turned into a fic. I... should have seen that coming. I blame @extasiswings, as usual.

Part one here. AO3 here.

Garcia Flynn is woken the next morning by sunlight in his eyes, banging in the hallway – he tenses, but it sounds like the usual stampede of students out for weekend jollity – and a killer cramp in his back, which has come of sleeping mostly upright on an ancient, sagging sofa that will probably never recover from the experience. He stands up slowly, muttering under his breath and rubbing both hands over his face. Lucy probably doesn’t have any male toiletries, unless he wants to try shaving with a Dove disposable razor. Which likely neither she nor he would appreciate, and besides, he shouldn’t even be here. Should be back at his hotel, and he can’t repress a sudden stab of fear that Rittenhouse drove directly there and tore the room apart. He didn’t realize they knew quite so much about him just yet, and he came here. Now it’s his fault that Lucy’s in trouble, and he has no idea what to do next.

Flynn goes to the apartment’s small bathroom and washes up awkwardly with Lucy’s lavender-scented hand soap, gargling with the half-inch of Listerine left in the bottle, and digging without success under the sink for anything a former (or current, an unhelpful voice whispers) boyfriend might have left there. Makeshift ablutions concluded, he steps out and shoots a look at her bedroom door; she’s still asleep. Probably a good thing. Maybe it will give him some time to work out what the hell he appears to have gotten himself into.

The kitchen isn’t much bigger than the rest of this shoebox, and Flynn bangs his head on the door when he steps in. A cursory rummage of the fridge reveals almost no food; what does this woman live on, devoted zeal to academia and Red Bull? Then again, she is right in the final stages of trying to finish her dissertation, and did not need him crashing into her life like a… well. Bull.

She didn’t mind it last night, that unhelpful voice notes. Neither did you.

Flynn banishes it. He finally locates eggs, bread, and jam, makes toast and scrambled eggs, and after unearthing a canister of instant coffee, boils water and pours it into Lucy’s well-worn Stanford University mug. He’s almost finished, carrying it to the card table and setting it down, when he hears the bedroom door open. Drawn by the scent of food, Lucy comes shuffling in, hair tousled and loose, wearing pajamas and fuzzy socks, and her bleary eyes widen at the sight. “You made breakfast?”

“Least I could do, eh?” Flynn passes the plate over, and returns to the counter to whip up a second portion for himself. Lucy hesitates briefly, but accepts it. Sits down and starts to eat, as Flynn racks his brains for any light, ordinary conversation. Nothing occurs to him. Public relations and interpersonal skills have never been his forte; that’s why they send him on missions into hellhole war zones, where he can just shoot first and leave the talking for never. But the NSA is redistributing its assets these days, wants him on a few more domestic postings, dealing with industrial espionage, intelligence warfare and infrastructure sabotage, that kind of thing. It was in this capacity that Flynn came across the name Rittenhouse for the first time. His follow-up investigations have been very, very off the record.

“You don’t have any food,” he says, after he’s managed to scrape up some for himself. “Sofa’s on its way out too.”

“I’m sorry my crappy student apartment isn’t the Hilton.” Lucy gives him a cool look. “Anything else you’d like to complain to the front desk about?”

Flynn snaps his mouth shut, which he uses to chew the slightly blackened toast. They eat in silence after that, the air too tense in a way that means both of them are trying to pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened last night – which is difficult, given the sheer amount of weird shit. (That is indeed the technical term, Flynn would have her know.) Then Lucy wipes her mouth and stands up. “I need to go shopping, as you point out, and do some chores. So, for the rest of the day, are you…?”

There’s a clear question in her voice – how long is he planning to stay here, exactly? It’s valid, but he has no idea. He isn’t sure he shouldn’t already be gone. But if Rittenhouse drops by for a return visit, he knows he’d never shake that guilt. He doesn’t think they’d hurt her, even if Lucy clearly has no idea who she is. But he isn’t willing to take that risk.

Lucy vanishes to shower and get dressed, and Flynn, who has had quite enough of the sofa for forever, paces back and forth in the living room instead. God, this is surreal. He pulled her out of San Francisco Bay seven years ago, and she’s never entirely gone out of his thoughts since. He’s been a lot of places – Iraq, the Balkans, Switzerland, Egypt, and finally back home to Croatia for thirteen months before HQ directed him to the new post in the States – and yet somehow he’s ended up exactly back here. The jolt when he read Lucy Preston in the case file (he’s investigating Benjamin Cahill, a wealthy Silicon Valley businessman who plays all kinds of dirty pool, and Lucy… well, if she’d picked up that paper last night, she’d know) is one he won’t soon forget. It feels like… something. He doesn’t want to say fate, but he’s thought it more than once.

Lorena’s voice echoes in his head. For God’s sake, Garcia. Just go talk to the woman.

Flynn grimaces again. He’s known Lorena Kovac for a few years, in the rare interludes he’s been in Dubrovnik between assignments. They get on well – in fact, she’s about his only friend, as he has never been in either the right line of work or frame of mind to make them easily. He can sense that the feelings might be a little more than friendship on her part, and to be honest, if he’d met her sometime else, it would be easy for him to feel the same. Lorena is one of the only people he is comfortable with, lets down his guard, as if he can rest and enjoy himself. But with the ghost of Lucy Preston so stubbornly stuck in his head, he thinks it would be unfair to Lorena to try for anything else. Besides, ever since he started on this Rittenhouse manhunt, he’s had to cut off contact with her for her own safety. He has come across enough unexplained deaths, enough whistleblowers found hanged in their closets in apparent suicides, enough straight-out disappearances, to know what he is dealing with here. And might be the only man in the world who does.

Flynn paces a few more fruitless circuits until Lucy reappears, hair dark and damp, wearing her university sweatshirt and leggings. She grabs her car keys off the bookshelf and slings her bag over her shoulder. “I’m off to the grocery store,” she says. “See you later?”

Flynn grunts, opens the front door for her, and scans both ways before they step out into the hallway. They descend the stairs, whereupon they come across the three individuals he had a small chat with last night in re: their blatant idiocy and/or discourtesy in blasting rap music in a shared block of flats with thin walls. They all go white-faced, hasten to apologize to Lucy, and promise they will be quieter, as long as she doesn’t send her boyfriend over again.

Both Flynn and Lucy choke slightly at that, but manage not to say anything as they head out into the parking lot. As she reaches her beater of a Honda, Lucy looks up at him. “What exactly did you say to them?”

Flynn shrugs. “A word or two.”

Lucy eyes him for a moment, then unlocks her car and gets behind the wheel. Flynn thinks too late that he should have checked for a bomb underneath it before she started the engine, but she does not implode in a glorious fireball. She reverses out, not without a final glance over her shoulder, and he stands there a moment longer before going over to his own car, an unremarkable rental coupe with Washington plates. He does check for the bomb this time, earning himself a funny look from a passing power-walker, but he has more important things on his mind than whether a lot of grass-eating hipsters think he’s weird. Still, it’s clear. He gets in, turns on the radio, and drives exactly the speed limit, helped by the inevitable morning gridlock, back to his hotel in Palo Alto.

Flynn pulls in, steps out, and heads up to his room, which appears to be unmolested. He swipes in with his key card, goes to the safe, and spins in the combination, pulling out his Glock and stowing it back in his shoulder holster. He checked in here under a false name – John Thompkins – and paid in cash, but Rittenhouse knows something. Unless they were after Lucy for totally unrelated reasons last night, which is stretching coincidence but still possible. Still, Flynn doesn’t feel like taking chances. He unzips his suitcase, pulls out a pack of sterile wipes, and scrubs his fingerprints off everything he touched in the room, strips the sheets off the bed, and runs hot water over them in the shower. Housekeeping will think he’s just a nightmare guest. He is probably being paranoid.

Blanking of the room complete, Flynn goes down, checks out, and gets into the car again. Lucy has probably gone to the Safeway in Menlo Park, just a few minutes from campus, and after he fails to talk himself out of it, he heads in that direction. Turns into the shopping center parking lot, trawls up and down looking for a spot in the Saturday morning rush, and finally just manages to eke in between a giant Chevy Suburban on one side and a giant jacked-up pickup truck on the other. Fucking America. Everything has to be sprawling and enormous, arrogant and excess. Flynn works for it, and has dual citizenship thanks to his mother, but he’s spent too much time in the weeds and trenches of its imperial projects, seeing the grisly results of its policies and everything it spits out and leaves behind, to love it. He was born in former Yugoslavia in the seventies, his childhood was never what you would call luxurious, so perhaps there’s some ancestral Soviet premier inside him haranguing about the decadence of the West. Not that Flynn likes the fucking Russians any more, though he has family ancestry there too. Sired out of mortal enemies and belonging to neither. It makes a poignant kind of sense when you look at his life.

Flynn goes into the busy grocery store and gets a basket, buys a few essentials – if he is in for some sort of extended stay, he might as well provide for himself. He catches a glimpse of Lucy in the produce section, reassuring him that she has not yet been bundled off in an unmarked car, and makes sure she doesn’t see him. He hangs back until she’s bought her groceries and left the store, then pays for his and follows a few minutes later. Heads out, makes another stop at Target for a sleeping bag and air mattress, then drives back to campus and pulls in. Lucy’s car is there. He wonders if the rest of his life, or at least the foreseeable future, is going to be dedicated to checking off her whereabouts every five minutes.

Having locked the car and hoisted his bags, Flynn goes up to the residence hall, presses the buzzer to be admitted, and climbs the stairs to Lucy’s apartment. He knocks and so as not to startle her, calls, “Lucy, it’s me.”

After a pause, she opens the door and lets him in, somewhat surprised to see his purchases. Her eyebrows raise the most at the camping gear. “So you are staying?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not sleeping on that piece of shit couch again.” Flynn puts his bags down. “I could probably make do under a bridge, if I had to.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy says. “I’m not making you sleep under a bridge.”

They glance at each other again, eyes lingering just that beat too long, and Lucy coughs and turns away quickly, as if to disguise the color of her cheeks. She allows Flynn to store his perishables in the fridge, his toiletries in the bathroom, and sets about her chores with an air of determined normality, scrubbing and sweeping and vacuuming. Flynn feels like a bum sitting there and doing nothing, so he pitches in. It’s pleasingly and absurdly domestic. His jacket clanks as he hangs it on the hook, and Lucy’s eyes flicker to it. “You… got your gun?”

“Yes.” Flynn double-checks the safety is on, which it is, because he’s not an idiot. Not that he thinks Lucy is going to go play with it, but it makes him feel marginally better. Trying to be comforting, if perhaps not altogether truthful, he adds, “I don’t think you’re in any danger, but better than leaving it in the hotel room, either way.”

Lucy continues to look at him. Anyone could imagine that she must still have a thousand questions about the whirlwind with which he enters her life periodically, this de facto cohabitation situation, or anything else. Finally she says, “Is Garcia Flynn your real name?”

Flynn supposes this is a warranted question given what he does for a living, some of which at least she must have guessed. “Yes.”

“And you work for the U.S. government, but you’re originally from…” Lucy tilts her head, trying to guess. “Serbia?”

“Close. Croatia. My mother was American, though.” Flynn is impressed; people usually think either Russia or Hungary, though the more geographically challenged have come up with anything from Spain to Sweden. He doesn’t look Scandinavian, but Americans are idiots. He could return the favor with some getting-to-know-you questions, but frankly, he’s already read most of the information in the public domain about her. Not because he’s a stalker (he isn’t, right?) but because this woman has no idea who she really is, and he’s starting to wonder if he’s going to have to be the one to tell her. He hopes not, but the world has tended not to care a whole hell of a lot about Garcia Flynn’s hopes.

Lucy takes that in with a brief little nod, then bends down to pull the kitchen trash out and tie it off, put in a new bag, and haul the old one to the door to be taken out. Seeing that the chores are mostly done, she wipes her hands on her jeans. “I should go to campus, at least for a few hours. I could probably finish the section.”

“On Saturday?” Flynn is no stranger to working ridiculous hours himself, but even he thinks Lucy could benefit from a chill pill. “Nothing else to do?”

Lucy gives him another look, as if she can’t see him letting her loose to wander blithely around farmer’s markets or seaside promenades or what have you, and also suggests he is woefully underestimating her present stress level (for which, admittedly, he has done no favors). “Weekends aren’t really a thing for me right now.”

“Are they ever?” Flynn, again, is not one to talk. “What’s this dissertation about, anyway?”

“History and anthropology of American political movements.” Lucy winds up the vacuum cord and shoves it back in the closet. “Studying their developments from circa 1776 to the present day. My argument is that the country’s political philosophy, and a lot of its more troubling elements – racism, slavery, economic inequality, sexism, isolationism, etc – are much less driven by common populist ‘ignorance’ than people think, but have been deliberately constructed by long-term and elite schools of thought that are very solidly in the mainstream. I mostly focus on the nineteenth century, when these narratives got established, but I work both forward and back as well. I swear, it feels like I’ve read every obscure state paper or moral essay that’s ever been printed.”

In someone else’s mouth, this might have sounded like a brag, but Lucy says it almost apologetically, as if she knows her interest and obsession is unusual and wants to reassure him that he doesn’t have to share it. Flynn, however, feels quite the opposite. There’s a certain amount of irony in the fact that Lucy Preston of all people is arguing for the conscious creation of America’s dark side – if only she knew how much, and if only she knew from (not only, but certainly more than their fair share) who. “So what?” Flynn asks. “What do you conclude from it? Do you point out all the ways in which this asshole world has screwed the vast majority of everyone who’s ever lived on it? Or just sit back and say that’s not your job?”

“It isn’t my job.” Lucy looks at him strangely. “I’m a historian, I have an obligation to create a fair and accurate reflection of the past, to de-mythologize a lot of stuff that gets conveniently glossed over or ignored, but I can’t change it. The present isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. For good or bad, this is what we’ve come to, and if I can teach people to recognize the processes that created it, we can be more proactive about what we do in the future.”

“Can we?” Flynn stares at her incredulously. Smart as she is, this seems, from his point of view, intolerably naïve. “So you’re one of the historians who thinks we have to ‘let the past speak for itself,’ as it were? The past doesn’t speak. Historians are its ventriloquists. Refrain from moral judgment in the name of some pseudoscientific objectivity, and actually think that we can teach people not to be selfish and greedy and interested only in their own enrichment? I’ve worked – well, where I do for over a decade now. I’ve seen how the world gets made. We’re scared animals making stupid choices. History is the name that’s given to our ancestors’ stupid choices once they’re far enough removed. We’re never going to remember them accurately or honestly. So if that’s all you want to do, Lucy, you’re doomed.”

Lucy’s eyes flash back at him. “What? I shouldn’t even try, because the world is terrible and God is dead? Just throw up our hands and go home and embrace the void?”

“I didn’t say that.” Flynn takes a step. “But there’s no moral impartiality in what you do. This ‘we should hear both sides’, or ‘we can’t judge’ or ‘parts of it are unfortunate, but we shouldn’t wish it was different’ – it’s bullshit. Bullshit. You’re giving it a meaning and a justification it doesn’t deserve. Just another privileged wealthy white girl sailing through on Mommy’s coattails, are you?”

This sounds even nastier out loud than it did in his head, and the instant it’s out, he wishes he hadn’t said it. Lucy goes ice-white, jerking back as if he slapped her, and he can tell it’s a sore spot. Still, much as he wants to apologize, he barrels on like a juggernaut. “Tell me. Who’s your favorite president, Lucy? Who do you think has done the most for this country?”

Lucy chews her lip. She’s clearly considering ordering him to get the hell out, and she’ll take her damn chances with Rittenhouse. Instead she spits, “Lincoln.”

“Predictable.” Flynn sneers. “He was shot, of course, yes? So if we were there, somehow, and he was alive, he was in front of you, and then I shot him – you wouldn’t care at all, would you? It was supposed to happen. You wouldn’t lift a finger.”

“Why would – ” Lucy throws her hands in the air. “Why would you shoot Lincoln?!”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? John Wilkes Booth did it. It could be him, if you want. He comes in, you’re there, you see it happening. You could change it. But apparently, you wouldn’t.”

“You asked about my dissertation!” Lucy shouts. “So I told you, and all of a sudden I’m getting a lecture on moral relativism? What am I supposed to do? I’m one twenty-something graduate student, and you come after me as if all the terrible things that have happened in history are my fault? I don’t agree with them, I don’t like that they happened, but I can’t change that they did! So yes, I try to make better sense of them, and explain how they work together, and hope that the next time can go a little better, despite all the awful stuff humanity has ever done. I’m sorry if that’s not nihilistic or cynical enough for you, but you were the one who told me to carry on with history, remember? What did you think it would be, picket lines and pipe bombs? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the library.”

With that, she grabs her bag, keys, shoes, and sunglasses, throwing them on and storming past him to the door. Flynn is already feeling like a massive idiot by the time the door snaps shut behind her, and half-turns as if to follow and apologize, but his own pride has been stung and he doubts she wants to see him right now. Well, this is just wonderful. Finally return to the woman you’ve been thinking about for seven years, put her in danger, insult her intelligence and her morals, insinuate she’s a nepotistic freeloader, and make sure to remind her that her apartment is barely a step up from the Bates Motel. There may have been worse first impressions, but Flynn is having trouble coming up with any.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he kicks the doorstop, stubs his toe, figures he probably deserves that, and is just wondering if Lucy is expecting him to have cleared out by the time she gets back when, in his pocket, his phone buzzes. When he pulls it out, he sees to no surprise that it’s a restricted number, as are most of those that call him. He swipes to answer it and grunts, “Yes?”

“Morning to you too.” The voice on the other end belongs to a man known as Karl, but this is almost certainly not his real name. Flynn has never met him face to face, only over the phone, but Karl is his NSA handler, the shadowy source from whence Flynn’s assignments and transfers and periodic progress reports originate. The closest thing he has to a boss, in other words, and him calling out of the blue is never a good sign. “What the hell did you do last night?”

“I’m working on Cahill,” Flynn says shortly. “I’m fairly sure this doesn’t warrant a – ”

“Cahill? Benjamin Cahill? Jesus, Garcia. No. Drop that one, you hear me? Drop it.”

“Excuse me?” This puts Flynn’s hackles up. The NSA has always operated in, to put it charitably, a grey area of legality, and sometimes their targets deserve investigation and sometimes they don’t, but he can’t recall ever being ordered point-blank to close a case. There is obviously no organizational transparency, but things just go into the maw and stay milling around in there for months or years, to be pulled out again when Uncle Sam thinks they’re useful. Hell, the NSA has always thought that as much information as possible is better than too little, and Flynn definitely has a lot of nerve yelling at Lucy for compliance with the system, when this is what pays his bills. “Did you say drop it?”

“Yes. Cahill or anyone associated with him, you’re off rota.”

“Is he cleared now?” Flynn doubts it, given as he is (to the best of his knowledge) the only agent assigned to this, and he has barely started to tug at Cahill’s spiderwebs. “Or is this something else?”

“Garcia, I gave you a goddamn order. Drop the case. Destroy your phone and hard drive and anything else you have with information on it, then get a flight to LAX. Go to the Burberry store in the Tom Bradley International Terminal and ask for Winston. They’ll give you a briefcase, your new assignment will be in it. Is that clear?”

Flynn doesn’t answer. He should be welcoming this, perhaps, but every inch of him is resisting. “What new assignment?”

“I don’t think that’s important at this stage.”

“Why are you pulling the plug on Cahill?”

“Also not important.”

“I think it is.”

“Fine,” Karl says. “You wanna know? Because last night, whatever fucking idiotic thing you did lit up about a dozen Batsignals, and let’s just say, things started happening fast. Wherever you are, pal, you’re blown. I’m trying to save your ass. Get out of there.”

“If a little water on the anthill sets things in motion, that’s not bad, is it?” Flynn is not about to deny that he definitely did several fucking idiotic things last night, but the NSA does not usually react to interesting developments in its investigations by yanking its agents out of tender concern for their personal safety. Something is off about this. “It’s these Rittenhouse people, isn’t it? They’ve asked someone to make the heat die down. I didn’t know that the United States government was in the habit of taking those orders.”

In fact, Flynn knows perfectly well that the U.S. government will listen to anyone if enough money is involved, and he’s seen enough eye-popping figures to know that there are almost certainly more. If Lucy actually knew this – knew that Benjamin Cahill was her biological father, and there is an entire world that is being hidden from her – then maybe they would be getting somewhere. Not that Flynn has really done a bang-up job at presenting himself as a trusted confidante. “Who told you to do this?”

“Garcia, I’m not here to shoot shit. The briefcase will be in LAX in four hours. Text when you’ve gotten a flight.” With that, and leaving him no more time to get in a word in edgewise, Karl hangs up.

Flynn stares at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he says, “Fuck.”

Lucy has a harder time than she would like to admit getting focused enough to work. She’s opened her laptop and her notebook and taken down the books she was using yesterday, everything set up and ready to go, but she can’t type more than a few words before her concentration slips again and she finds herself reliving that stupid argument with Flynn. She is not a bad person. She’s not a bad historian. What did he expect her to do, embark on a single-handed crusade to miraculously correct all of humanity’s evil? She can’t do that, for obvious reasons. Yes, it sometimes seems trite and stupid to think that anything anyone does matters in the least, but Lucy has fought hard to hang onto the idea that it still does. She takes pride in teaching her students, in her own work, in what she is able to do. Flynn has no right to bomb back into her life and tell her she’s doing it wrong. No right.

It’s made even worse by the fact that while she was at the store earlier, she super-casually tossed the most discreet box of condoms she could find into her basket, then quickly grabbed several more toiletries she didn’t need so it didn’t look like it was the only extra thing she was buying. If she has been half-toying with the idea that there is something fated, destined, about his reappearance in her life, that romantic illusion has been swiftly disabused. He is dangerous, abrasive, elusive, obnoxious, and obsessive, and those are his good qualities. If she was going to keep him as a special memory, she shouldn’t have met him face to face.

After several minutes of staring at the screen have only made her more irritated, Lucy stands up with a huff and heads out of the library, down to the café, with her phone. She pulls it out and dials, then listens to it ring, waiting for it to be picked up. Then she says, “Hi, Mom.”

“Sweetie?” Carol Preston sounds surprised. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, fine. I just… I could use a little encouragement. This dissertation is kicking my ass, and – ” Lucy stops. It has actually occurred to her to ask if her mother has been lying to her for her whole life about her father. Just for a moment, and then it goes away. “I just feel like we haven’t talked very much lately.”

“You’ve been so busy, I haven’t wanted to bother you.” Carol pauses to cough. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to submit this semester?”

“Yeah. It’s really not that much left to do. I have to reference the last chapter, and finish it, and write a conclusion, but I can do it.” As ever when speaking to her mother, Lucy feels that she has to prove she’s doing enough work, she’s not slacking off, she really is trying her best. “Dr. Underwood thinks I’m on schedule, she’s going to be in touch with my exam date on Monday.”

“I just worry about you, Lucy.” Carol coughs again. “But if you’re sure…”

“Have you gotten that checked out yet?” Her mother has had a smoker’s hack for several years, but it seems to have gotten worse recently. “Mom, I keep telling you to go to the doctor, remember?”

“Lucy, now, don’t go fretting over me. I’m sure it’s just stress. Your sister really seems determined to stick to the sociology thing.” Amy Preston’s choice of major (and college – rather than following her mother and sister to Stanford, she’s part-timing at San Francisco State) has been a permanent source of contention with Carol. She insists that Amy will never get a job with a sociology degree, that it’s a soft option and not academically rigorous, and she just doesn’t understand where she went wrong with her. Why can’t she be more like Lucy? Lucy has had no problem being a good and dutiful Preston daughter.

“You know Amy is… Amy,” Lucy says, after a pause. No, if her mom has enough on her plate to boot, the last thing she’s going to do is add to it with Flynn’s ranting and raving. “My life isn’t really a lot to envy, and she’s always liked to do her own thing. Don’t be too hard on her, okay?”

Carol sighs. Then she says, “Is everything else all right?”

Lucy considers the answer to that question. There are a lot of things she could say to that. The one that comes out, of course, is, “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Once she’s hung up, feeling shittier than ever for lying to her mom, she decides to grab some sustenance before heading up for another bash at her paper. She’s just collected her small latte and Boston cream donut when two men in ties and trench coats enter the café and glance around. This isn’t that unusual – Stanford is a professional workplace, after all, people come from all over the world and any number of backgrounds – but then they see Lucy. One of them strolls up to order a casual coffee, and the other drifts in her direction. “Miss Preston?”

Lucy goes tense. She can’t tell if it’s the same voice as whoever knocked on her door last night, claiming to be from FedEx, but she doesn’t like it. She offers a demure, close-mouthed smile. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Not personally. I apologize for the intrusion.” Without asking permission, Agent Smith seats himself across from her. “My name’s Jake Neville. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“What’s this about?”

“I’m from Homeland Security. We believe you may have recently encountered someone that could pose a public threat.” Neville reaches into his pocket. “Have you seen this man?”

Lucy has half-expected whose face will be on the photograph that is produced, but it still jolts her. “I – I’m sorry?”

“Garcia Flynn,” Neville says. “He’s worked for us for a while, but we have reason to believe he’s no longer listening to orders from high command, and may be increasingly turning rogue. He may also recently have approached you. This is a dangerous individual, Miss Preston, I very much need to emphasize that. Think Edward Snowden, but with extensive military training and a lone-wolf nature. If he’s slipped the leash, well…”

Jake Neville is, admittedly, not wrong, but Lucy’s hackles are up anyway. “So he works for Homeland Security?”

“Something in that area,” Neville says. “You understand the need for discretion.”

Lucy doesn’t answer. After their fight earlier, it’s certainly plenty tempting to turn Flynn over to whoever is looking for him – it doesn’t seem terribly surprising that he’s made enemies within his own department. She can’t even say what’s holding her back. But she smiles again and says, “I can’t help you. I haven’t seen him.”

Neville continues to eye her. Then he reaches into his pocket, takes out a plain white business card, and slides it across the table to her. “I’d be very interested to hear if you do.”

“What’s he supposed to have done, exactly?” God knows Flynn isn’t telling her, and Lucy isn’t above digging for a few answers, regardless of whether or not he wants to give them. Not that she’s expecting a real response, as it’ll probably be some mumbo-jumbo spook jargon. She smiles as guilelessly as possible. “Just so I know?”

“Don’t worry about that, Miss Preston.” Neville smiles patronizingly, in a way that makes her want to remind him she’s less than six months from being Dr. Preston. “Just call us. We’ll be around. All right then? We’ll see you soon.”

Lucy doesn’t know what else to say, and sits there like a lump as he gets up, rejoins his colleague in the coffee pickup area, and they roll out. The business card doesn’t have a name on it, just a number. She hesitates, then slides it into her pocket.

She scoffs down her latte and donut without tasting them, and is just about to venture once more into the breach when the library doors open again, and – she’s getting tired of this – a sleek, silver-haired man, also in a suit and cashmere scarf, walks in, looks around, and spots her. He smiles a square-toothed, white smile that probably made a cosmetic dentist in Monterey very rich and hurries over. Harassed final-year doctoral students are suddenly Stanford’s hottest commodity. “Lucy Preston?”

“Yes.” Lucy doesn’t offer her hand. “And you are?”

“My name is Benjamin Cahill.” He looks like the father in a stock photo, like a smiling middle-aged man in a prostate-medicine or erectile-dysfunction ad, explaining how Prozavaldiagra changed his life. He beckons to the black car that has just pulled up in the rotunda outside. “I was hoping we could talk.”

Wyatt Logan has now been standing an unsuspicious distance from the Burberry store in the Tom Bradley International Terminal for three goddamn hours, and something – call it his keen intuition from years of special forces training – is telling him that his target is not coming. Hell if he knows what’s going on. The brass has been even more close-mouthed than usual. Wyatt got a call this morning telling him to haul his ass up from Pendleton to LAX and be ready to capture a certain high-value mark. Said mark is dark-haired, male, about thirty-five years of age, tall, and speaks with an Eastern European accent. He is supposed to go into the Burberry store and get a briefcase, and then Wyatt is supposed to… arrest him without causing a scene and causing the terminal to go into lockdown, apparently. This is what you need Delta Force for. When he returned from Afghanistan, he didn’t think he was going to be busting small-time drug kingpins in LAX toilets. That’s gotta be what this guy is. Drugs, or illegal Russian cash, or something like that.

Wyatt shifts his weight. He has a bag and backpack, posing as a traveler whose flight has been delayed, but the departure boards are otherwise green and it’s going to look weird if he keeps hanging around. He’s made a few circuits so he’s not in the same place forever, but he doesn’t want to be out of sight of the store for more than a few minutes. He checks his phone and sees that Jessica has sent him a text of the perfect San Diego beach weather (which, to be fair, is most days of the year) that this last-minute assignment dragged him away from. They are still feeling out actually living together. They got married young like soldiers tend to do, and he’s been out of the country for most of it. This weekend was supposed to focus on reconnecting as a couple. Now he’s in frigging Los Angeles waiting for some dick who hasn’t even had the decency to turn up to be arrested, and it’s fair to say his patience is waning.

Just to be thorough, Wyatt waits another thirty minutes. One of the airport guys on golf carts drives past a few times; Wyatt hopes it is his imagination that he’s giving him the fish-eye. On the fourth round, though, it’s not. The hardworking employee of the American aviation system pulls over and says, “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m… waiting for a buddy to get in. We were on separate flights, he was supposed to be coming from San Francisco, but I don’t know what’s going on with him. Sorry I’m holding this pillar up, but it’s cool.” Wyatt flashes a rueful smile and pulls out his military ID, which tends to work wonders. “We’re in the service.”

The employee hastens to thank him, apologize for the trouble, and motor away, which buys Wyatt another half-hour. At the end of it, however, he’s officially calling it a wash. He walks out toward the bus stop, pulls out his phone, and hits speed dial number three.

“Yeah,” Wyatt says, when it’s answered. “He didn’t show. Something’s up.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Logan.” The man’s from Homeland Security. Wyatt thinks his name is Neville. “We’ll be expediting our arrangements.”

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave #/shakes head at self

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xthelastknownsurvivorx · 7 years

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170521: 다음 목표는 빌보드 (170521: Next Target is Billboard)

He sits in the audience, still slightly amazed that they are actually in America. Being here to watch the idols he looked up to is unbelievable and crazy. He never thought he’d make it this far and get invited to an American awards show, and even be nominated for an award. First K-pop act to be nominated. It’s amazing, yet also a little burdening.

He’s expecting something even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’s seen the millions of notifications for the millions of tweets their group account has been tagged in. And all the hashtags their fans have trended day after day. It seems like a guaranteed win for them, yet he doesn’t want to be that arrogant. Nor does he want to be wrong. But it’s hard to shake his certainty.

The announcer finally gets up on the stage and gives a brief introduction before videos for each nominee are played. Seeing their video among the other world famous American superstars is surreal. And as the winner announcement gets closer and closer, all his confidence from earlier disappears. His heart speeds up to a sprint as each video plays, pounding like footsteps of a runner in the final stretch. He taps his fingers nervously, shifting every few seconds because he can’t seem to calm down.

“And the Billboard music award goes to…”

He crosses his fingers as he sits on the edge of his seat. His heart, along with time, halts for the eternity that the announcer uses to take a breath.

“BTS.”

And then time starts again.

The fans in the back scream, and he feels proud to have such loyal fans. He and the others go in for the traditional group hug, then begin the familiar yet unfamiliar walk up to the stage. Other artists stand and clap for them. Their song “Blood Sweat and Tears” accompanies their victory walk up the stage. He’s feeling every emotion at once, and he can’t help but think of the days when he only felt numb.

He remembers the endless cycle of school, cram school, and homework. The forced one-track mind he had on success and becoming number one. Expectations that corralled students onto a single path that led to a stable government job.

He remembers becoming nothing more than a studying machine in order to place in the top one percent of Korea. And he made it. But not without a price.

He remembers sacrificing passion for it all. The world felt empty and gray to him, the future a bleak expanse despite the many opportunities he had with his intellect. Although he was a “good” student, the expectations still weighed down on him because everyone expected perfection.

He remembers the day he discovered rapping with clarity. Rapping became an escape from the culture of survival of the fittest. For the first time, he could finally breathe after feeling like he was going to break under the pressure and succumb to insanity. He began to find purpose and passion in the midst of emptiness and despair.

He remembers turning to the underground scene, nervous in the first few performances, but gaining confidence with each new stage. He came alive on stage, unlike at school where he simply existed while studying, counting down until his next performance.

He remembers his concrete decision to sacrifice a stable future for his dreams. The day he told his mother that he wanted to do this for real. He was in the top 100 for test scores, but he could be number one in rapping. He never wanted to return to the lack of control and numbness of the past. He remembers her hesitation before finally saying yes.

He remembers taking the next step by auditioning for a company. He had so many doubts, which the underground’s criticism only added to. Even so, he decided to believe in his own path. It had to be worth something.

He remembers the three year battle to debut, with all the blood sweat and tears. Life as a trainee was hard, but facing his own demons was harder still. He remembers lying alone in the darkness, hating himself. He remembers going to Dduksom, finding comfort in the night air and ability to blend in.

He remembers fighting through it all, determined to prove himself despite being scared of doing so. He feared the disappointed looks on the faces of those he knew, and he wanted to simply give up without trying because that was better than betraying those who had faith in him.

He walks up onto the stage and with each step he remembers, memories flooding in behind his eyes. Those he looked up to on TV are now beneath him, watching from the audience. In these seven long years, he’s come this far.

As he gives his speech, he thanks the fans first, remembering when he was nothing more than a fan himself. He fights back the tears, finding strength knowing that his members are behind him. Yet again, they pat shoulder wordlessly, the simple action providing more comfort than a thousand words.

At the end of his speech, he smiles.

Because he’s come so damn far from the kid who had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. The kid who felt anxious about the future despite being a student in the country’s top one percent. The kid who began to feel abandoned and alone in the world despite having a “bright” future. The kid who lacked any color in his gray world.

Slowly, color returned to his world with each success. Dream, first performance, debut, first award, world tour, Olympic Gymnastics Stadium, Daesang, BBMA. Although there are times when he’s not okay, he is still happy with his path. He has at least found dreams, hopes, and passion to color his previously gray world.

Kim Namjoon, a kid who grew up on pens and books, found his dream in rhymes and music.

#bts #my writing #bts bbmas #bbmas 2017 #rap monster #kim namjoon #billboard music awards #bts top social artist #bangtan boys #mine

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myprincecandy · 8 years

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[eng] 20170321 - article on ZTAO - “It’s not hard really, speaking the truth”

Original link: https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzU5MjAxMDgxMQ==&mid=2247483829&idx=1&sn=3ae4cba3932f29c9683eb7f3033fbe1f

*translator note: I’ve translated mostly only the parts relevant to ZTAO. except the first para..

When I started on writing this, I was questioning myself. Who are you? What gives you the right to write this?

Before I started working, everyone called me by my real name. After working, everyone called me Xiao Xiong. As time went on, I don’t know why but netizens started calling me endearingly as Qiang ge (bro).

“I don’t have any social labels, I’m just being myself as freely as I can! I’m just human, as susceptible to worldly pursuits and pleasures as anyone else, but I have my dreams.”

In the recent years, my work has been rather complex and strange. I’ve been around in the advertising world, sometimes as an editor, sometimes as an planner, contact for artists and even concerts. They say I’m not practical, bringing so many difficulties and problems unto myself while chasing my dreams. But I feel happy. Because there’s only true value in living, if you are living for yourself!

That’s why today, I want to say only the truth. It’s not difficult to do that. It’s my views.

***

(skipped the first part that’s not Tao related)

2 Getting to know Huang Zitao, completely changing my impression of him

After finishing some endorsements deals , and waiting for certain incidents to subside, the team started to get into contact with Huang Zitao. I saw him the first time on the set of “The Negotiator”. We waited at the hotel lobby for about 30 minutes, but the first thing he said when he saw us was:

“You guys have waited for a very long time right?”

As we got in the lift he said,

“Are you all very tired?”

“I’m very tired. You all won’t mind me chatting with you while wearing slippers would you?” (In the room)

“Do you all want some water?”

That day I posted something in my friends’ circle on the way home. I’ve began to question the difference between what I’ve seen vis-a-vis what’s been said online.

3 Sometimes we just refuse to see the hardworking him

When we met him for the second time, he had also just finished filming and was very tired. I’ve heard that he had been filming non-stop from 5 a.m to 8 p.m. His pale face and tired voice made us speed up our chat.

Actually many people have never followed filming crews around before. They are usually located at far off places where there’s not a lot of entertainment facilities. It’s basically night time when filming is done for the day. And the so called “Young Master Huang’s” room that I saw was so simply furnished. It’s just clothes and the script, that’s all, nothing more. That day he asked to add me on his wechat. I was surprised and that made me want to get to know and understand this person more.

4. Not stopping despite life being hectic. “The lyrics I write are all about my life”

It was also pure chance this time, getting to have the chance of actually living together for a few days, something which is different from my normal scope of work with artists. We were to fly to LA to film Huang Zitao’s documentary. Document what exactly? I began to have all sorts of crazy thoughts and ideas. Could it be that his daily life is a mess? Would the real him differ from the impression I got when I first met him?

The first day in LA was spent either on the road or being busy with stuff. Our first stop was a meeting at the recording studio. I have seen singera preparing for their albums before. There are a lot of standard modes of operations from song selections to the completion of an album. You might think that it looks like something that takes a very long while to prepare. But in the hands of a professional, things moves extremely smoothly.

But this time things felt different to me. The record market has not been doing well but yet here he is, working so hard, going all out to create his music. He would tell you very proudly that , “The lyrics I write are all about my life!” That day in the studio, I fell asleep because of jet lag and the time difference. When I woke up, I found that nothing much had changed on the desk. He’s still working there tirelessly in the studio, creating his songs. His professional spirit moved me. In the face of music he’s utterly pure. His music played non stop in my ears every single day when we’re in LA. I’m not a fan. I just felt, why can’t we give this youngster some support?

5 He’s a kid who just craves recognition

On the 2nd day, the minute he saw everyone, he played the new song he recorded yesterday. He asked us 3 questions.

“Is it good?”

“Is there improvement?”

“Isn’t this rap cool?!”

He was a bit excited when he spoke, and he even shared what happened on the night he was working on the song. He keeps asking, “really?” I shared my thoughts with him. He’s always taking care to observe our reactions during this process. Because he craves recognition. Even if there still may be something lacking, recognition is his motivation.

6 He’s a considerate person, and doesn’t want to trouble others.

Between an artist and a brand, I define my place as the contact handling everything business related to the artist. But I do have times when I’m scared. Because under very nervous and hectic working conditions, sudden changes and the pressures brought about by the artists can crush my working pace.

But during the entire time working in LA, when it came to communication problems on the venue/set, Tao was the one coordinating and booking places. When he felt that the interview wasn’t relaxed enough, he even got us to go to his place. He’s not a trouble maker, but rather someone who’s willing to solve problems for you. To be honest, after the day’s work was done, I really made a bow to his team. I just wanted to say thanks.

7. Willful because he’s rich? Are you to going to say that the poor aren’t willful at all?

Before flying to LA, it was revealed that the house Huang Zitao was staying at in the States was rented. Actually showing off the house he’s vacationing in is just like us taking photos of the food we eat, and the clothes we buy. He’s just sharing his life. But he has never run away from facing up to the material side of things, saying that when he comes to the States for his holidays, he would rent better, more comfortable places to relax. Moreover, he has his mum, who’s accompanying him on these vacations, and his friends who’s making music with him.

I know, to everyone he’s just a rich boy who spends loads of money. But this is in no way, “spending excessively without control”. One day we went shopping together in L.A., he gets excited when he sees good clothes, and when he gets cheap things, he will even tell you what a bargain it is. How could you define someone like that as spending excessively?

8 He’s the type who makes people worry over him easily, but sometimes there’s just his nature

Recently Tao’s very popular, so much so that a lot of brands, once they knew about our collaboration, kept asking us if Huang Zitao was a “dangerous person”. I laughed. If one were to really talk about “danger”, it’s that he loves to try new stuff. It’s basically the reckless courage that’s natural in all youngsters. So I could only reply “hehe” each time. Don’t ask me why he lost his handphone or why he deleted his weibo posts, why he cried etc… I’m not going to make explanations or debates here. I think let’s leave the true him to time! I suddenly recalled that one day when he told us to go horse riding. Everyone felt that it was too dangerous, but he was insistent. So we went along with him.

The environment there was pretty harsh. But he was still happily expressing his excitement, showing him abilities in a humorous way throughout the entire process. He even took care of the filming crew, making sure they got more shots so that’s convenient for their record. He’s totally without an “idol’s burden”. Looking back at the raw footage, it’s really true that a lot of the things that he had considered and thought of were things that we had not anticipated beforehand.

9 His family, his team, his friends

I’ve met Huang Zitao’s dad twice. The first meeting was all polite and stuff.. During our second meeting, he started to discuss the details of the shoot with us. “ I hope that your scripts will be able to show and highlight more of his hard work now. Don’t keep talking about the past!” I met his mum during this trip to L.A.. They are like good friends. He would say things like, “mom you look more trendy wearing this.” His mum would say, “Don’t buy things that we already have at home.” In order to entertain us, Tao’s mum specially made a trip to the supermart to buy stuff.

I was fortunate to get a chance to chat to two of Tao’s good friends in L.A.. Daryl K is Tao’s music producer. His Chinese isn’t too good but during each chat, he would tell me that Tao’s a remarkable, precious young man; that he’s a role model for him. He’s very real and a friend whom you can count on.

10 Everyone, has a side to them where they pretend to be strong

I was there during several of Huang Zitao’s interviews. Each time when he says, “I’m focused on being myself, being the best person I can be. I can prove myself, and let them see my works!”, I would feel that this all looks so surreal. In this competitive society, how many people can actually see the hard work that you have put in without any biases? How much more pressure can the wall he has erected in his heart take? They are all artistes but they are also just normal human beings like you and me, who get sad when they are scolded and hurt when they are hit.

#Living life to the fullest# is not a slogan. Pay attention to his works and believe in him. Let him have more of his personal space in this environment that really is not something that everyone can handle. So I’m really not lying to you. You can go to their weibos to comment, they would be secretly reading through and spot your encouragement during moments when they are down and helpless.

#ztao #huang zitao #tao

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torentialtribute · 5 years

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Aaron Wan-Bissaka reveals advice from Wilfried Zaha over his £50m move to Manchester United

Aaron Wan-Bissaka unveils advice from former Crystal Palace teammate Wilfried Zaha about a move of £ 50 million to Manchester United

Aaron Wan-Bissaka signed for Manchester United in a deal worth £ 50 million

He spoke to former Crystal Palace teammate Wilfried Zaha about the move Zaha was a flop on Old Trafford after he signed £ 15 million in 2013. By Chris Wheeler for MailOnline

] Published:

00:36 BST, July 15, 2019 | Aaron Wan-Bissaka has sought advice from the former Crystal Palace ] teammate Wilfried Zaha about his £ 50 million move to Manchester United

Zaha was a flop on Old Trafford after he signed £ 15 million in 2013, making only four Premier League appearances before returning to his old club.

After Wan-Bissaka made his debut in a 2-0 win over Perth Glory at the Optus Stadium,

[21459013]

<img id = "i-5b6ccd07a5724321" src = "https://ift.tt/32p7lP2" height = "484" width = "634" alt = "<img id =" i-5b6ccd07a5724321 "src =" https://ift.tt/2NRcxrI .jpg "height =" 484 "width =" 634 "alt =" Aaron Wan-Bissaka made his debut in Manchester United on Saturday after signing for £ 50m "Aaron Wan-Bissaka made his debut in Manchester United on Saturday after signing for £ 50m "

Aaron Wan-Bissaka made his debut in Manchester United on Saturday after signing for £ 50m

& # 39; When I knew I became a member, said I that I had to play without fear & # 39 ;, said Wan-Bissaka, who is one of 11 half-time v experience was from manager Ole Gunnar Solskjaer in Perth.

& # 39; He was happy for me. & # 39;

He was happy for me. I said I deserved it and I should continue to work hard and do what I do.

& # 39; I am not trying to concentrate on that (the pressure). For me it develops just like a player and my ability to help the team move forward.

I expected it when I came here – it is a big club. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Crystal Palace, so attention will always be there. I just have to play my game and block it.

<img id = "i-9057c20538e3c15b" src = "https://ift.tt/2jVY9jR image-a-60_1563146890254.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" <img id = "i-9057c20538e3c15b" src = "https://ift.tt/305gPND /15/00/16048752-7247149-image-a-60_1563146890254.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" Wan-Bissaka took advice from former Crystal Palace teammate Wilfried Zaha about relocation advice from former Crystal Palace teammate Wilfried Zaha about the move "

Wan-Bissaka took advice from the former Crystal Palace teammate Wilfried Zaha about the move

& # 39; It's always good to get that first game (out of the way), I was looking forward to it. & # 39; Wan-Bissaka admitted he felt more nervous when he performed a Meek Mill rap for his new teammates in a restaurant last week in Perth as part of an initiation.

& # 39; I'm sticking to what I know, and that's football, & I added. & # 39; I am well positioned and the boys have been great.

& # 39; I was surprised, literally when I walked in, everyone talked to me and encouraged me with advice. That helped me a lot. & # 39; In what was a relatively straightforward debut for United, the 21-year-old demonstrated why he was nicknamed & # 39; Spider & # 39; has earned when he won all five tackles against the Glory.

I don't think I've learned it, it's just the range of the legs, he added. # I realized when I was 18, I just had the length in the legs, so I use it to my advantage.

& # 39; You have to take the time to make the tackles, but that comes down to concentration. You can't afford to gamble with it, you have to time it right. After every tackle it gives me confidence. & # 39; Former United defender Denis Irwin admits that Wan-Bissaka is now under more pressure but should not be burdened by the transfer fee, making him the sixth most expensive defender of all time

<img id = "i-9e42c3de48ed744e" src = "https://ift.tt/32rzXat" height = "423" width = " 634 "alt =" <img id = "i-9e42c3de48ed744e" src = "https://ift.tt/32rzXat "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" <img id = "i-9e42c3de48ed744e" src = "https://ift.tt/2NV9dfq 7247149-image-a-61_1563146891894.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" <img id = "i-9e42c3de48ed744e" src = "https://ift.tt/2W3ngi6 /07/15/00/16048744-7247149-image-a-61_1563146891894.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" <img id = "i-9e42c3de48ed744e" src = "https: // i. dailymail.co.uk/1s/2019/07/15/00/16048744-7247149-image-a-61_1563146891894.jpg "height =" 423 "wi dth = "634" alt = "<img id =" i-9e42c3de48ed744e "src =" https://ift.tt/2jVY9QT 61_1563146891894.jpg "height =" 423 "width =" 634 "alt =" Wan-Bissaka (right) says that Zaha (left) told him to play with the Red Devils without fear "

Wan-Bissaka (right) says Zaha left) he told me to play without fear with the Red Devils

"You have to ignore the prize," said Irwin, who is in United & # 39; s pre-season tour through Australia, Singapore and China is in his role as club ambassador.

& # 39; I think £ 50m for a full-back will become the norm.

& # 39; There is much more pressure on him now, but hopefully he can handle that. . We needed some speed and youth in the team.

He and Dan James seem pretty modest.

& # 39; They will keep their heads down and work hard because they have a great chance of playing for one of the biggest clubs in the world, and they must love that. & # 39; James, 21, also made his first appearance for United since he signed from Swansea City this summer for £ 15 million and was impressed in the first half by a less strong side of Perth, where two 15-year-olds were in full swing.

& # 39; Walking there, with the amount of fans coming from all over, is really surreal, said James, who sang Unme Kracker's Follow Me as part of his initiation last week. & # 39; Walking at Old Trafford is the big one. That's when it is likely to sink. & # 39;

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mcgiggers · 7 years

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Miami (and Beantown Postscript) - December 2017

Just back from two-and-a-half intense days in Miami navigating art fairs and visiting several of the private foundations that make up the city’s rich and deep cultural fabric. Bumper-to-bumper traffic, unseasonable temperature drops and mobs of people moving in all directions did not deter the resolve and enthusiasm of art fans who seemed to dismiss any notion of a looming market correction and its likely implication on the art world. Among the 20 plus fairs and countless other cultural outlets, this year’s circuit included visits to: five fairs (Art Basel Miami Beach, Art Miami, Untitled, NADA and Pulse); five private collections (Cisneros-Fontanals Art Foundation, De la Cruz Contemporary Art Space, Juan Carlos Maldonado Art Collection, Margulies Collection at the Warehouse and The Rubell Family Collection); and the recently opened Institute of Contemporary Art. While each venue staged its own unique experience, Art Miami and NADA, among the fairs, and the De la Cruz and Maldonado collections, among the foundations, rose above the rest in terms of vibe and visual treat.

Art Basel, as always, was omnipresent as the perennial anchor of Miami art week. Its 250 plus gallery roster dwarfed that of other fairs, and while the trophy pieces offered by leading international galleries attracted the most significant draw, the endless corridors of exhibitors and the mind-numbing number of works on display made it challenging to fully appreciate in a few hours. Art Miami benefited from a new waterfront downtown location and a significantly spruced up presentation and exhibitor lineup. Concurrently, NADA moved to a nearby downtown location from South Beach, and the five minute walk between fairs allowed for a very complementary and synergistic art viewing experience - Art Miami, by and large, presented more established post-war contemporary artists while NADA showcased emerging artists. Highlights at Art Miami included: Ray Parker’s classic floating colour masses in “Untitled”, 1965,oil on canvas (30 x 24 in.); Park Seo-Bo’s signature language in “Ecritures No. 22-81”, 1981, pencil and oil on hempcloth (25.5 x 23.8 in.); and Esteban Vincente’s immersive “Red”, 2016, oil on canvas (68 x 56 in.). NADA standouts included: Mika Tajima’s visual interpretation of sound in “Negative Entropy (Argraf, Rapida, Black, Double)”, 2017, cotton, polyester, rayon, wood, wool and acoustic baffling felt (54 x 42 in.); and Evan Nesbit’s paint infused “Strange Relief” and “Strange Relief 2”, 2017, acrylic and dye on burlap (each, 27 x 17 in.). At the other fairs, highlights included: Bridget Riley’s mesmerizing “Measure for Measure 21”, 2017, acrylic on canvas (61.4 x 61.4 in.) at Art Basel; David Quinn’s minimalist “Grid Triptych”, 2017, mixed media on panel (each, 9 x 12 in.) at Pulse; and Roberto Turnbull’s “Black Numbers, Red Numbers”, 1991, oil on linen (39.4 x 27.6 in.) at Untitled.

Interest in the foundations increased significantly relative to prior years. Attendance and enthusiasm were at a high at every stop on the tour as art fans fully appreciated the more finely curated nature of the private collections and the incredible physical spaces that housed them. Influenced by the preferences of their patrons, the foundations each had a distinct character. Common to the De la Cruz and Maldonado collections was the focus on painters, albeit from different periods, as opposed to installation-based and/or conceptual art. The De la Cruz collection featured fantastic contemporary works by Peter Doig, Joe Bradley and Dan Colen. The Constructing Constructivism exhibit at the Maldonado foundation reached back further in time with a focus on geometric abstraction through the eyes of Burgoyne Diller, Carlos Rojas and Larry Zox, among others. Elsewhere, the Rubell featured monumental works by 2017 artist-in-residence, Allison Zuckerman; Carmen Herrera shared the spotlight in the Cisneros-Fontanals space; and large sculptural Anselm Kiefer works were ever-so-present at the Margulies warehouse. Also noteworthy was the great response to the recently opened ICA and the cutting-edge experimental art on display.

In terms of memorable sightings, Chuck Close was seen holding court in front of the entrance at Art Miami. Sporting a colourful and crazy patterned outfit, the accomplished American photorealist commanded as much presence as the most striking of works inside the fair. Once again, there was no sign of D-Wade this year. The Egomaniacal One was known to frequent Art Basel during his salad days while with the Heat, but he just hasn’t made it back since leaving town. Now that his bromance with fellow rat packer and Heat alum King James has been reignited in Cleveland, maybe he’ll make the road trip next year.

Earlier last week and up the coast from South Beach, more relevant sports news was made when the “Masked One” and the “Greek Freak” squared off on the parquet floor at the TD Garden. The two dazzled and painted their canvases on the most iconic of playing surfaces. Showcasing their individual styles and skills, Kyrie zigzagged around helpless defenders at surreal speeds, while Giannis effortlessly applied his craft way above the rim and seemed to stop time while doing so. The outcome of the game was almost secondary, although the deeply engaged rapping leprechauns in Section 9 were not disappointed.

While the parquet was being lit up by the newly-minted modern masters of the game, eleven Rothko’s were pulling their own weight in a discrete corner of the cavernous Beantown MFA. The mini-retrospective featured several powerful large-scale works that traced the evolution of Rothko’s palette from bright to somber and stirred the range of emotions the iconic colour field paintings were created to evoke. Highlights included “Untitled”, 1955, oil on canvas and “No.1”, 1961, oil and acrylic on canvas.

For more information on any of the artists or works mentioned, the foundations, the Rothko exhibit or the exploits of Kyrie and Giannis, “Just Google It”.

There you have it sportsfans,

MC Giggers

(www.mcgiggers.tumblr.com)

Reporter’s Certification

I, MC Giggers, hereby certify that the views expressed in this report accurately reflect my personal views and that no part of my compensation was or will be, directly or indirectly, related to the specific views expressed herein.

I also certify that I may or may not own, directly or indirectly, works of artists mentioned in this report and that I may or may not have a strong bias for such artists and, more generally, for “Pictures of Nothing”.

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nichemusicexploration-blog · 7 years

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Genre of the Week: Glitch Hop

Welcome back, once again! We’re talking about Glitch Hop this week!

What’s Glitch Hop? It’s a name that definitely evokes several different ideas, but it’s actually a bit more concrete than the name suggests. Glitch Hop combines the solid, driving beats of hip hop (although only rarely is there rap involved) with Glitch. Glitch is an electronic music genre that uses distorted, weird electronic sounds to create electro. Glitch Hop is sort of like Glitch’s better put together cousin, since Glitch Hop tends to be less about “glitchy” sounds and more into electro effects, with weird sweeping sounds and beat repeaters. It’ll make more sense when you listen, I promise.

Let’s get into some artists!

1. GRiZ

GRiZ, (whose real name is Grant Kwiecinski), is a DJ and producer from Michigan. He started out his career in 2011 with the album End of the Year party, and has been active in the music scene ever since. He has his own record label (All Good Records) and frequently engages in charity work. He also plays the saxophone sometimes, which isn’t particularly important but is still pretty fun.

Off of the Good Will Prevail album, Wicked opens with a more analog horn and vocal intro but the steady, driving beat reveals itself pretty quickly. It’s sweeping and cinematic (a comment on the youtube video suggests it should be the title track for a Bond movie and I can’t disagree) and it’s definitely worth a listen.

2. KOAN Sound

KOAN Sound is a duo from Bristol, in the UK, made up of Will Weeks and Jim Bastow. They began in 2005 but became active around 2008. KOAN comes from the Zen Buddhist term Kōan, which refers to a question a teacher asks a student that’s meant to provoke doubt and test progress. Some of their early work had a more dubstep edge, but they’ve edged into full on Glitch Hop now.

KOAN’s Dynasty is slow and expressive at the beginning, but speeds up to a beat drop that’s very reminiscent of dubstep. It’s got an almost crunchy sound at times, which is very Glitch, and has a sort of cross genre appeal that makes it very listenable.

3. THE GLITCH MOB

The Glitch Mob is a bit on the nose, in terms of group titles, but they certainly deliver on their glitch-based promises. From LA, the group currently consists of edIT (Edward Ma), Boreta (Justin Boreta) and Ooah (Josh Mayer). They started back in 2206 and thanks to a strong electro scene in LA at the time (and a tendency towards laptop and MIDI controller based live shows) managed to get a very strong local following that continues to this day.

The Glitch Mob’s Fortune Days starts strong and continues with a relentless steadiness. It was featured on an episode of Person of Interest, and it certainly has a focused enough sound that it works well as both background noise and actual music to listen to.

4. DAVID TIPPER

David Tipper, is a British composer who was an early pioneer in the scene, starting as a musician in about 1997, which is kind of impressive consdiering how very new this genre feels. It’s likely you’ve probably heard Tipper before, since his work has been featured plenty of commercials, TV shows, and other miscellania throughout the years.

Gulch, off of the album Forward Escape, is bouncy and has a pretty strong Glitch element. It’s kind of soothing, almost surreal in it’s layered sound, and it’s a nice look into one of the scene creator’s work (although this was actually a relatively recent release in 2014).

5. DEEP DIVE- TheFatRat

German youtuber (in that he makes music on youtube, not the vloger one) TheFatRat began making his music career commercially in 2001 as a music producer for TV, radio, and commercials (which seems to be an iteresting trend for Glitch Hop artists). It wasn’t until 2011 that Christian Büttner began going by TheFatRat and releasing his own music. He picked up online popularity with his song Unity (which we’ll be listening to in a bit) in 2014 and has remained relatively popular ever since, with a solid 2 million subscribers.

Inarguably TheFatRat’s most popular song is Unity, which currently has 93,268,828 views on youtube. It’s upbeat and fun with a bass line that’s got just the right level of funk to it. The melody is extremely catchy and fun, so enjoy this one.

To close out with we have Time Lapse, which is equally dance-y, with an early crescendo that leads to a pretty fun beat drop. It’s whistling melody is similar in catchiness to our last FatRat song, but it’s got a glitchy bridge that’s very enjoyable. While lower on views at 34,390,318 (I shudder to call a number that large “lower”) it’s still a highly listenable song.

Alright! That does us for this week. Take care and have a wonderful week!

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mitchies-ptsd-diary-blog · 7 years

Text

The kitchen

Last night I was reading a manga book that I used to like. That’s how desperate I am for a book by Chevy Stevens. The manga book was kinda boring and it did not take to long for me to fall asleep. I don’t usually read manga books unless it’s funny to read and if the art is top notch (l am an artist) and or if there are samurai in them. I had a strange dream about trying to find Ana and Nils in a strange city. They used to be my childhood friends. It was a beautiful dream…. even though I fucking forgot to take my fucking sleeping pills.

6:14 a.m Been thinking about the the victims of the London van attack. I feel sorry for them and their families. My heart, prayers, love, thoughts, and chants still go out to them. I would like to ring the necks of the perpetrators of this fucked up attack. Nothing worse nor more annoying than a fucking jihadist bitch. I hate using the big J word on the internet. I think the word “Jihad” should be a swear word or be forbidden to say (for Muslims and non-muslims) and I don’t fucking looking like that fucking word at all.

6:14 a.m (again) When I was writing the first comment about “jihad” I realized that I have Jill today. Sounds fun today, right? Yes but I am also dreading it because of the whole day there will be country music. And I can’t do anything about it. It is insidious and can mask itself as different genres of music but you can hear the fucking twang and Christian bullshit. I hate country music as much as the word “Jihad”. And right now I have to blast my ears with music I like and enjoy it while I still can before I am subjected to this ear torture. God I fucking hate country music!!!! 😠😡😤🤢👿👎🏼 P.S. I guess I have to think about my to favorite things (jumbo jets and Airports) and go to my Happy place, which is the Airport. ✈️🛩🛫🛬✈️🛬🛫🛩

RANDOM FACT ALERT!!! I was watching the news this morning and heard that it is to hot to fly jumbos. I did not know that. Apparently the air is less dense which mean you need to use more speed and a longer runway to take off normally. I got this from the U.S news.

8:09 a.m Jill picked yours truly up. We are going to the fucking library this morning. Thank fucking God. I can get another Chevy Stevens book. 📚Today we are going to scrap book this afternoon 👍🏼😀 and having pizza for lunch. Very yum 👅. The country music is blaring and it is driving me insane. I’d like to a country singer but that would bring me to his or her level😠. I fucking hate it. 👿But I also hate gospel music which is quick paced version of country music only without the twang and guitars. 😡I hate them both🤢😭👎🏼😤. I think music should be universal and appeal to all religions but that’s my opinion. 🤔Give me punk, death metal, goth, German techno, industrial, EDM, hip hop, and last but not least is horrorcore rap. 😊

8:23 a.m Just picked up big mouth resume girl.😠 She is especially bitchy today and won’t stop talking. If only God knew how much I hate her. I can’t even hear the fucking country music. It’s better than listening to this bitch. 😡👎🏼One more fucking word out of her fucking mouth I am going to punch her out😤. She tried to convert me to Christianity 🤢 and when I refused to convert she started turning my respite friends against me. She is rude to me and cyberbullys me to death on face book. Whenever she’s in the room people talk to her and they end up talking about neurotypical shit. The shit I can stand and talk about. They end up talking about cars, apartments, money, jobs, resumes and guys. Note: She is a fucking coward. I can’t talk about guys because I am lesbian. 🏳️‍🌈For once I want to talk about what I want to talk About. I guess smart people are hard to fucking find🤔.

9:20 a.m Just arrived at my respite house. This day I don’t feel over runned over and trashed. That’s fucking good. I think. We are going the bleeping library today at 10. Me! Want! Chevy Stevens! I just took some selfies with the dog filters on. I love using the dog filters because of the big tounge, it shows that I need to lick pussy. Besides my spirit animal is the wolf dog (German Shepard). I believe in Wicca and shamanism as that they help relieve my PTSD. I have to say that my religion is Wicca. I am a white witch. And I also believe in Native American shamanis. With way the dog filters are epic and I love it.

10:21 a.m Went to the library can got my Chevy Stevens book. Yay!!!!! 👍🏼😀🤗😊I am looking forward to bed time so I can read the fucking book. God I love Chevy Stevens and her writing, story lines and the plot. Some people think she is scary but i don't😡. Once I found the book I explored the rest of the library (the teen section in particular) and found some cute and nice Korean manga, if you want to call them that, but I am committed to Chevy Stevens books right now😍. After seeing those mangas I think I will broaden my book horizon and give mangas another chance. I used to like graphic novels and comic books when I was in high school. 😋But then I hit twenty years of age and forgotten all about them. Time to go do memory Lane next time I at the library. 🤔

11:00 a.m. We did scrap booking. A boring task to deal with. But I just found out that I was anorexic skinny as a child. No fucking reason the others picked on me besides for my ptsd. If change my diet I would not want to that skinny again. I want to fucking muscle. That was a memory that I think should’ve not be brought back up. It’s fucking embarrassing. The skinny geek with ptsd. Ouch. Thank god I don’t have to show those pictures on my fucking Facebook. I would be a laughing stock of the world. Scrap booking is fun in a boring and embarrassing way.

12:00 p.m Lunch!! Pizza!!! YYYYYUUUUUUMMMYYYY! 👅 My pizza all feta cheese. God fuck, I love my feta cheese on my pizza. We made our own pizzas for us to eat. Time to go. Food!!! Coming!!!!!!

1:00 p.m Me and my friends helped Jill’s husband Greg to clean the pool equipment. It’s almost surreal, why the fuck not getting the pool ready for us. I oversaw the hosing of the pool stairs and weights. I got my pants fucking soked. That was when I decided to call it quits but I did do quite a bit of hosing of the stairs and the pool weights. It was nice outside and I was wearing a hat… but the dear flies, black flies and the mosquitoes where horrid. So the hat did not work worth a shit. So I used my hat for swatting the bugs a way. I was scared of ticks that one might bite me. They are supposed to terrible this summer. Was going to play cards outside… but fuck that: ticks.

2:00 p.m Played a boring came of crazy 8s. I was sooooo bored I was stoned. I am naturally stoned, no need for drugs. This only happens when I am bored. Jill thought I was falling asleep during the game and ordered me to lay down for the rest of the day. So I was lying on the couch looking like a fucking fool all day until home time. This is the roughest afternoon I had ever had. It’s doesn’t help that I had a ptsd flashback and a flack back of a distant past life where I was a Buddhist nun living in the Himalayas….. twice at the same time. I was in a trance…. not sleepy. When will be get it…. I AM WICCAN, BITCHES!!!!!!! A WHITE MOTHERFUCKING WITCH!!!!!

3:00 p.m Found out that Caitlin blabbed on my again for no reason just to get me into trouble. She does this all the time and it’s a wonder that I haven’t been kicked of program for fucking reason. Apparently I said “why do you have to clean the damn kitchen”. She does this to me all the fucking time. And I wish she would stop getting me in trouble before I punch her lights out. What I fucked up way to end the fucking day. And it was such good day too. Fuck!!!!!😠👿😡😤🤢

4:30 p.m Just got the call of a fucking life time. Tomorrow I am going aboriginal day in Ottawa. Soooo fucking hyper right now. 😊🤗🤔👍🏼😍✈️

#respite #PTSD #post traumatic stress disorder #my day #blogging #library #books #pool #swimming pool #chores #liars #mental health #mental illness #coping

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