#you can’t fathom the lore I’ve made up in like a week…….

[enigma-im]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

-----------------------

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

-----------------------

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

-----------------------

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

-----------------------

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

-----------------------

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

-----------------------

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

----------------------- 

I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[kookiebunnii]

🌗 two. confrontation

pairing: jinyoung x vampire!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: n/a

There aren’t a lot of things you have to fear as a vampire. Having superhuman strength, speed, and healing capabilities made you the epitome of an apex predator. Yet for some reason, standing outside of his bedroom window absolutely terrifies you.

You already took a huge risk by waiting three days to go back and finally resolve your mistake. In those three days he could’ve told a number of people, and you would have no real way of tracking them down and wiping their memories too. When you’re done pacing for the hundredth time, you jump up the side of the complex the same way you had three days ago. Throwing the side of your body upwards to grip the ledge of his window, you grit your teeth and once again enter through the slightly opened windowsill.

Silly human, still making the same mistakes after being dinner for a vampire.

This time you land a lot more gracefully, likely because you are not on the verge of insanity this time around. Having fresh blood was working wonders for you. These past few days had not plagued your throat with dull aching like before. Surprisingly, your features were also much less sunken and distraught as if the man you’d preyed on had simultaneously been a fountain of youth. This change wasn’t something you banked on for the long term though. You were still against feeding on people directly.

When you look up, the dark-haired man is sitting at his desk with a book in hand. The light thump of your entrance immediately causes him to set his reading material face down upon the wooden surface. His eyes instinctively find yours, and despite the prickle of fear you feel in your spine, you don’t look away.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

He says this with no semblance of horror or anxiety. Instead, his soothing tone could easily be acceptable if he were commenting about the weather or scolding a pet for finally returning home. It causes you to momentarily forget the whole purpose of your trek here, forgetting the dangers in letting a human remain aware of the existence of vampires.

“You aren’t afraid of me,” you mean it as a statement, an observation based on his responses, but you can’t help the fascination that holds onto the end of your sentence like condensation clinging a cool surface.

He smiles sadly, as if he realizes the same thing you do. Leaning his fingers against his cheek, he whispers, “Yeah. I guess not. Perhaps when you live in fictional worlds as often as I do, the supernatural rarely surprises you.”

Confused by his words, you step forward to move around the border of his mattress and approach his figure that is sitting by the desk. Your footsteps barely make a sound against the floorboards, but what interests you more is the lack of tension in his shoulders even as you stalk closer to him.

When you’re finally in front of him, his chin tilted upwards to maintain eyes contact with your empty gaze, you wonder if this human is formidable or foolish.

“You have no idea what I could do to you.”

The words slip out your lips without much thought, appearing into the air as soon as they’re formed in your head. The acknowledgement that a human could look at you in your entirety without disgust was something completely foreign. While you took the shape of a person, he knew that the essence of you being was far from that. From your oddly pale skin and your predatory movements, he should fear you like the monster you were.

“Maybe not,” he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand and continues to observe you, “I’d love to learn though.”

At this point you have absolutely no idea what to do. Mark had never taught you what to do when a human didn’t fear you, instead seemingly wanting to talk to you. You still had half the mind to wipe his memories, knowing that even if he didn’t tell others, it would still be a huge liability. The less entangled you were with others, the better. Humans included.

“I’m not your friendly neighborhood housecat that you can just chat up every afternoon. Besides, last time we met I drank your blood. Do you need another reason to be scared?” you take a seat on the side of his bed, allowing yourself to finally see him at eye level.

Seemingly ignoring your question, he scoots his chair closer to you. This causes you to momentarily seize up in fear. How funny, a human is making a vampire quake in their boots.

“Do you have a name? Maybe something dreadful like Dracula or Vladimir?” he asks, as if he were speaking to a friend, one he made online whom he was finally meeting in person.

“Pretty such Vladimir is an actual name humans use. That’s an insult to Vladimirs everywhere,” you crack a smile, and the motion feels so awkward on your face that it instantly surprises you.

Sitting back in his seat with a small smile of his own, he crosses his legs and says, “You don’t look quite that fearful when you smile.”

Quickly fixing your features back to the monotonous one you’re used to wearing, you quip, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Sure thing. Can you answer my question now?”

You hesitate, considering your options. It doesn’t matter all that much if you amused him for a bit. You could easily wipe his memories at any time, and he was too weak to stop you even if he tried. He wouldn’t remember anything you told him, so perhaps you could enjoy this brief lull in your journey. It’d been years since you actually spoke to someone about anything beyond the end you were searching for.

“Y/N.”

He looks at you quizzically and you roll your eyes to retort, “Not sure what kind of demonic name you were expecting, but most of us are turned and we keep the names we had before.”

“Turned?” he echoes, and for such a bright guy he was really struggling to connect the dots.

“Most vampires were humans at some point. I don’t know all the lore about how they first came about, but we’re not just born as a monstrosity.”

He considers this briefly before looking at you with a new shine in his dark eyes, “Why did you come back? Looking for another bite?”

You scoff, humored by the way he doesn’t seem to either dislike or like the proposition. It’s almost as if he asked you if you stopped by to borrow another cup of sugar, and you swear there must be something wrong with the man. He’s giving you all the wrong reactions.

“I’m here to wipe your memories. I forgot last time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise as he nods and runs a finger under his chin in thought, “So vampires can wipe memories too, that’s interesting.”

“It makes feeding a lot easier. For us and for you,” you fix the cuff of your shirt as you answer his musings.

“Does this happen often? Are the statistics crazy? Something like…one in every three humans gets bit once a week?”

You laugh, and the sudden noise seems to make him jump more than when you catapulted yourself into his bedroom without notice. Once you’re back to just giggling lightly, you notice how embarrassed he looks. This just makes you chuckle all over again.

“I don’t think there’s anything like that, no. Feeding from a live human helps dispel the thirst for a good amount of time,” you say, tilting your head to view him with interest, “You’re a rather curious sort of person, aren’t you?”

He rubs the back of his head shyly before responding, “I guess so. It’s just an interesting experience for me, waking up from a nap to see a woman hovering over me with fangs.”

You give him a lilting smile, “I agree, it must be rather odd.”

“My name is Jinyoung, by the way. I live alone so you definitely picked your prey wisely,” and once again, the nonchalant air about his words intrigues you.

“I don’t think I had much choice. I was practically delirious when I fell through the first open window I saw,” you note, slightly sheepish with your confession.

“Why? Were you sick?” bless his heart, he actually has the audacity to look concerned.

“Nothing like that. I needed blood but the hospital here was too crowded, so you became the lucky victim. Congratulations.”

“Hospital?” he echoes as if he couldn’t fathom why you’d need to be there.

“I don’t like feeding on humans. It’s rather dehumanizing for me. Which, I suppose, must be a rather funny notion coming from a fully-fledged vampire. All hospitals keep some portion of blood bags available for emergency purposes. I like to take some of those when they’re available, and I switch locations frequently to ensure I don’t drain the blood supply,” you explain, looking around his room to absorb the environment as you do so.

There’s a brief pause before he says, “You’re rather kind for a self-described monstrosity.”

If vampires could blush, perhaps that would have been your cue. Sputtering in anxiousness, you quickly blurt, “Kind? You’re actually crazy.”

He gives you a laugh of his own before saying, “You could bite any stray human any day of the week if you wanted to. You could take a whole city’s supply of blood bags if you were feeling particularly mischievous. Yet you do neither.”

You decide not to add anything further, knowing that there isn’t much you could respond with. Perhaps it would be strange for a vampire to take so much care, but it was something you naturally adapted to. Considerations like these were simply habits, and even if it made for a slight inconvenience on your part, you’d lived just fine for the past two centuries. No big deal.

Standing up suddenly to close the small gap between the two of you, you declare, “Well, I’ll have to wipe your memories now.”

He stands up abruptly at this, once again training those deep brown orbs on you. It unnerves you, that the only thing he seemed to fear was forgetting his whole ordeal with you, but you didn’t want to stick around long enough to figure out exactly why it was happening.

“Please don’t.”

You don’t know what to say, a feeling that’s overwhelmed you multiple times this evening. You knew that this was the right thing to do—the easiest thing to do. But why did it feel like such a loss? This human, Jinyoung, could you let him live knowing something dangerous like this?

“There’s no benefit to remembering. Leaving you like this puts me in danger. It’ll put both our peoples in danger,” the words are difficult to get out, but you know that the responsibilities mean more than whatever internal conflict you’re battling.

“I won’t tell anyone. In fact, I don’t even have anyone to tell. I’m not a threat.”

You laugh harshly, running your fingers through your hair. He was asking you to put your faith in a human, of all things, whom you’d just met formally half an hour ago. You might be a little wacky with all the years you’ve spent devoted to ending your immortality, but you weren’t stupid.

“It’ll be better for you too. It’ll be quick and painless. You won’t remember a thing afterwards,” you reach up to brush the side of his hair away from his forehead.

The strands are soft against your skin, and when you rest your fingers against his temple, you can feel the tiny vibrations of his voice when he speaks.

“Let’s make a deal.”

You can’t help but smirk, wondering if you were in some teen webcomic where the main character makes a pact with the devil. There wasn’t anything a human could offer you, especially since you weren’t exactly looking to bargain for souls as the cliché goes.

“Let’s hear it then,” you decide to give yourself, and Jinyoung by extension, a last moment of interaction. You can feel his pulse quicken under your fingers, likely excited by the possibility that you were actually interested in his intentions. Humans are so easy to read.

“You can have my blood. Anytime you want it, I’ll be here. In exchange, let me keep my memories.”

Smiling at him as if he were an innocent and foolish child, you reply, “You’re really giving yourself up like that? Just to remember the countless times your skin is pierced, your blood is drawn, your eyes meet that of a starved vampire? You’re rather masochistic, Jinyoung.”

A slow smile draws itself against his lips, and not even living for more than two hundred years could prepare you for his additional proposition.

“Six months later, I also want you to turn me into a vampire.”  

______________________________________

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[thespiralgrimoire]

Would you consider posting your thoughts on the Twilight series? Because the bits and pieces I catch on your main are HILARIOUS though maybe it’s just because I find salt hysterical LOL

Oh good grief

Under a read more for my sake if not anyone else’s

The year was 2007. I was 11 year old, in 6th grade, nursing a substantial superiority complex over my classmates, and idolizing the 7th grade girls. This is where my story begins.

Now I won’t get into all the semantics as to why I was such an insufferable little garbage person in middle school, but I will tell you that I was convinced that I was not like other girls. While this proved true, my reasons as to why were completely off the mark in my tweens. Back then, I thought it was because I was smarter, wiser, and more mature than any of the other 6th grade girls in my class.

But not the 7th grade girls. The 7th grade girls were it, man. Nobody was cooler or smarter or more creative than the handful of ladies who were blessed with the patience to put up with my nonsense in middle school. So naturally, when they read Twilight, I read Twilight.

Twilight, if you have the good fortune to not be intimately aware of it by now, is about the Bella Swan, blandest girl in the entire world, moving to a small town to live with her emotionally awkward father, where she meets the Cullens, a clan of vampires who don’t drink human blood, because they’re trying to be morally upright. Her scent is irresistible to one of the vampires, (the only single one among them because the rest are dating each other) named Edward. Edward has the ability to read minds, and Bella is the only person he’s ever met who is immune to this power. I must stress again that she smells so good that he has to physically restrain himself from eating her, and murdering all witnesses. For reasons I can’t really remember now except “because that’s what the books are about”, they fall in love.

Here’s the thing about these books: Even as I was reading them, they gave me the creeps. Something in my little baby mind was vaguely aware that Edward was a messed up motherfucker, and Bella was a one-dimensional stand-in for the reader, and everything interesting in this story was happening on the fringes, facilitated by the far more interesting side characters. There were parts of these books that were uncomfortable to read. There were parts that made me seriously question why these books were so popular. There were parts that made it physically difficult to keep reading. About 3 things happen in the entirety of this series that feels good and satisfying, and none of them are things that the author, who I will derogatorily refer to as Smeyer, meant to be satisfying.

Two things kept me reading these books. The first was, obviously, the 7th grade girls, and my other friends in other grades who quickly caught the hype wave.

The second. Was the fact. That the writing style of these books, despite being the modem for a story that is absurd at best and a giant, flaming, stinking dumpster fire of bad takes, racism, and sexism at worst, is HYPNOTIC. A lot of my opinions about this series have changed drastically over the years, but this is one that I was acutely aware of even as I was reading these books. No matter how stupid or frustrating or repulsive the things that Smeyer is writing are, her writing style will not let you put the story down once you’re invested. And since I was reading these for social clout, I was invested on page 1. I want to believe that this was a trick played on my young mind, but after reading the first chapter of Midnight Sun (the newly released book that is literally just Twilight from Edward’s POV instead of Bella’s), I can confirm that this woman’s style is genuinely Like That. I enjoyed maybe 6 sentences of the 15-page chapter and I am still frothing at the mouth to read more.

So now that I’ve justified why I subjected myself to this shit in the first place, let’s get to some feelings about it.

Edward is a CREEP. He knows this. His family knows this. His love rival knows this. The only person who does not know this, rendering the fact completely inconsequential to the events of the story, is Bella. I’m not really willing to talk about how Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that there was discourse for MONTHS over Fifty Shades of Grey, but.... Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that Fifty Shades of Grey exists. It’s literally Twilight fanfiction. Fact check me. I wish I was making this up.

Bella is, as I said before, a cardboard cutout of a human being. The book is from her point of view, and includes copious amounts of her thoughts, and yet it’s still clear that she has absolutely no personality. She is supposed to be your Jane Everywoman, and yet there is not a single relatable thing about her. Her three personality traits are Brown Eyes, Clumsy (but not in a way that matters often), and Likes Edward. That’s it. This girl has nothing going on, which only draws more attenton to the fact that literally everyone else in the story has a rich and interesting backstory. But they’re side characters and this is about Stale White Bread Bella over here, so go fuck yourself if you want more information on Rosalie using her vampire abilities to get revenge on her fiance and his buddies, who assaulted her to the point of near death, or Alice, who sees the future and spent a good chunk of her life in an asylum, or Jasper, who was a Union soldier fighting the Civil War which was ALSO the vampire war???? Fuck off with that shit, this is about Bella.

But you know who the best characters are? The werewolves. But not REAL werewolves. These are Native Americans whose initial transformation is triggered by the proximity of the vampires, because vampires once terrorized their people and now this ability to turn to wolves is hereditary to protect themselves. The fact that these fellas are not REAL werewolves, and that there are real lycanthropes of lore, is mentioned in passing in the last book and never mentioned by anyone ever again.

One of these wolves is Jacob, Bella’s childhood friend and, for the first two books, an absolute sweetheart. Just a big goofball who’s a couple years younger than Bella, and all he wants is the best for her. Real wholesome shit. When Edward leaves her because he thinks that she’s too attached (SHE IS),  Jacob literally talks Bella back from the brink. The wolf pack, and the Native American tribe, welcome her as one of them. They’re adorable. I can’t stress enough that they would have also been an excellent candidate for the focal point of this shitshow.

But it doesn’t last. Edward does some real dumb shit in Italy and Bella has to go rescue him, which tips off the Vampire Illuminati that Edward was trying to get killed by (i.e. the real dumb shit). They don’t like that Bella, a human, knows about them, and demands that she be turned. Edward’s family is divided on this. Eventually they decide that they got time because the Vampire Illuminati are ancient and don’t have a good enough sense of time to hold them accountable immediately.

So Bella is fine and Edward is fine and everybody is back in the same town and they’re dating again and literally everyone in the town is like Bella what the FUCK. Nobody likes Edward because they think he’s no good for Bella. They are written like the bad buys. Jacob especially, becomes a huge asshole. Because he decides that he’s in love with Bella now. Because werewolves can imprint on people, which is just a sloppy soul mate mechanic used for absolute evil in this story. He wants to fight Edward over her. Edward is chomping at the bit to throw down, but pretends to be the bigger person even though he’s just as big an asshole about all this as Jacob is. This is as misogynist as it sounds. From this point on Jacob is now also a creep.

Oh, but it gets worse!

I gotta talk about the last book in the series now, Breaking Dawn. Because this shit was so awful that it made me regret, instantaneously, ever second I spent enjoying Twilight.

Bella and Edward get married after they graduate high school because Edward is a religious virgin and Bella is HORNY. They go on their honeymoon. Bella gets pregnant. This is Not Something That Is Supposed To Happen.

Smeyer tells us WHY this happened post-canon. Edward, the virgin, has never nutted. Because of this, he still has living sperm in his balls. So when he boffed Bella, his 80-year-old sperm made it count. I wish I was making this up, y’all. I’m tearing up thinking about it.

Bella is now pregnant with a half-vampire baby that is destroying her body from the inside out. It is growing at an exponential rate. She’s eight months along after three weeks. Edward can hear its thoughts. It loves Bella. Bella has to drink blood or die. Jacob is like What the Fuck. I am also, pretty thoroughly like What the Fuck. A couple members of the Cullen family are, very quietly, like What the Fuck.

Queue the most forced and ineffectual pro-life discourse you’ve ever read in your life.

All is well and good until it’s not. Baby suddenly wants to get out of Bella RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY and thrashes so violently that it shatters every bone in her body between her ribs and her femurs. Edward has to rip her uterus open with his teeth. Baby is out. It has a full mouth of teeth. It bites Bella. Edward whips out several syringes full of his own saliva and injects them into Bella all over to make her change into a vampire. This is all written in disgusting graphic detail that still makes my skin crawl to think about. I cannot fathom why Smeyer was not made to tone this scene down.

So it takes a few days for Bella to change into a vampire, during which time the Cullens (and Jacob) have to look after her hellspawn of a daughter. Jacob decides that he must kill her, because she basically killed Bella. But--- surprise! He wasn’t in love with Bella! He was in love with the eggs in her womb-- particularly this one egg that is now a baby! No more crush on Bella! No more beef with Edward! He’s just in love with a newborn infant. I am, at this point, wondering in my little 12 year old mind, how this was allowed to be published.

Bella wakes up a vampire, and in her first display of rational thought through the entire series, does not like this. Don’t worry though, that’s quickly cancelled out by her naming her baby daughter Renesmee.

Renesmee is clearly supposed to be a sweet and gifted little angel that you’re meant to love, but frankly, all I can picture is the Chucky doll but quieter. She does not talk much, because she has the ability to share thoughts by touching people’s faces. She also grows super fast. In a few days she’s toddler age. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on and nobody has time to worry about it because the vampire Illuminati found out about this (a vampire friend of the family snitched) and they’re coming to fuck up the whole family.

There is a reason why they want to do this but it’s stupid and frankly I’m not going to explain it.

So the vampires mobilize. They call all their vampire friends because their plan is just to fight the thousands-years-old vampire Illuminati over this horrible child. For some reason dozens of vampires agree to this. They’re all smitten by Resume I guess.

So the illuminati comes, the family tells them that Ramune isn’t the problem that they think she is, and they leave.

That’s it. That’s the climax.

And then everyone gets their off-putting happily ever after: Bella and Edward can now fuck as much as they want because neither of them can die. Bella abandons her human life without so much as a second glance. Resonate will physically be an adult by the time she’s 7, which means that Jacob can start fucking her then. Bella’s dad sort of knows what’s going on, but doesn’t. For some ungodly reason I don’t make a bonfire out of these books.

You may notice, if you have any knowledge of Twilight, that there are whole plots that I didn’t talk about. That’s because I’ve surely forgotten things. While I read these books with what I can only describe as a manic fervor in my youth, I could never bring myself to reread them. On God, I tried. Multiple times in the last decade I have pulled my box set, hard covered Twilight books off my shelf, and opened them up. But I never even make it through the first chapter before I am so put off that I have to put them back. The plots are flimsy. The main characters are made of sand. The secondary characters are treated like garbage. The lore is disturbing.

And yet as soon as I heard that Midnight Sun was coming out, I knew that I must read it. I’ve made it through the first chapter. I do not know when and how I will make it through the next, but I know, for little middle schooler Theo’s sake, that I must.

Twilight? Horrible. Twilight Fandom? Geniuses.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[radiojamming]

I feel like the low-hanging fruit of a prompt to give you is something around the canonical presence of the Franklin Expedition in TMA lore. Everchase fic?

[GRABS THAT FRUIT AND SCURRIES BACK UP MY TREE WITH IT BEFORE U CAN EVEN BLINK]

also i picked my 3rd favorite franklin expedition boy as the main dude here :3c and this isn’t terror-centric so much as it lines up with MAG 133!

- - -

Tom doesn’t understand what possesses the men he sails with. Some of them have such a want; such a craving and a desire that he cannot fathom, what with his simple daily tasks and basic training. He sees it, sometimes, when he’s tying off ropes or painting or tarring. He sees their hunger, spies it when they look out at where the sea is caked in ice, threatening the end of a cold summer. Out beyond the grey mountains and glaciers, the knife points of broken ice, the strange creatures, the dancing lights that curtain the stars, he knows they see the Northwest Passage. They see it so clearly that they’re blind to what’s in front of them now.

He sees a job. He sees chores and things that years in the Navy have taught him to do. 

Of course, he also wants things. Everyone does. Tom wants to make it through the expedition in one piece, whether it end in the Sandwich Islands or England if they have to turn tail. He wants to collect his double pay, count it out from his hands to his mother’s, and feel safe and warm again before the next set of sails and ropes entices him back to the sea. 

And once, he wanted adventure. He wouldn’t have had the thought to sign onto Erebus if there wasn’t some part of him that craved it. It didn’t capture his senses the way it does for some of the men, but there was a thrill that ran a gauntlet through his heart when he saw something truly strange, like the auroras or the twirled horns of narwhals peeking up through the ice. Sometimes, he would eagerly run down to the orlop after his watch ended and pen out a quick letter to his sisters, his brother, his mother, or his cousins—just hurried observations of the Arctic and how different it was from Gillingham. 

He wanted adventure. The past tense is deliberate and fierce. He wanted, because the only reason it was ever in the present tense at all is now buried under six feet of frozen gravel some two hundred miles north. If he must want something presently, he wants his brother back from the dead.

No, he doesn’t understand the men who seek the Passage like hounds on a scent. What’s the use of wanting something you’re not meant to have?

- - -

They freeze in for the second summer in a row. The sun kisses the horizon, pressing rosy lips to grey shale and pink ice—then draws back up into a powder blue sky to wink above them. 

That’s when people start to disappear.

First, it’s Sir John. He dies in June—or so Tom’s told. He apparently dies in the night, long after the dog watches take place. Captain Crozier tells the men that they’ll be burying Sir John right away, but Commander— no, Captain Fitzjames’ face is fixed peculiarly when the announcement is made. Dreadfully ill, Crozier tells them. He can’t be seen.

It doesn’t make sense. Many of the ABs echo the sentiment, but the mates and lieutenants are quick to quash their concerns. The burial is hasty, committing a simple wooden box to the gravel with only a large stone to mark the grave itself. This strikes Tom as stranger than all the Arctic’s oddest traits combined. His brother, a lowly able-bodied seaman, was afforded more decorum than Sir John Franklin. 

More disappear after that. Fairholme and Osmer apparently die on a hunting expedition. Aylmore, Goddard, and Kinnaird aren’t far behind, disappearing into that sun-soaked horizon with only whispers left behind. 

Reddington makes the oddest display before his disappearance; honestly, he’s the best hint to Tom that something very, very strange is happening. The night before he goes missing, he wakes half the ship up with a maniacal laugh, practically screaming in pure incoherence before Lieutenant Le Vesconte drags him into the Wardroom, presumably to calm him. Le Vesconte opens the door only once to ask for Captain Fitzjames and a glass of brandy before he shuts them both in and the screaming starts again. All Tom can catch is the howl of, “It’s there! It’s there! I’ve seen it!” before Fitzjames arrives.

The next morning, Reddington is gone. Fitzjames says he broke loose and ran off after the second dog watch, presumably having gone mad.

A few days later, Crozier says they’re going to abandon ship and begin a long walk south.

- - -

The craving begins in September, Tom thinks. 

If there even is such thing as September. 

In his mind, it’s The Craving, titled like a book. In this book, he thinks the plot would be about men so far gone in their hunger that all the humanity in them decays to nothing, leaving them crazed husks searching for the impossible. At this point, what with men falling into the stones and dying halfway through the descent, he feels they shouldn’t be like this. They should be tending their wounded and ill, making camp more often. But The Craving is in Crozier’s eyes, dragging them further and further towards… something.

Tom doesn’t think they’re looking for the Passage anymore.

He follows along, as he always has. Ever the seaman, now ever the AB, following orders from a boatswain with lips scarred from his whistle freezing to the flesh and tearing away. 

Then, The Craving gets carnal when their last food stores begin to dwindle. Tom barely notices, watching as if in a dream as the man who used to be Daniel Arthur cracks marrow out of a bone, greedily clawing it out of the hollows with his frostbitten fingers. He eats like an animal, and stops only when they begin to move again. 

Tom doesn’t eat with them. Every time he thinks of it, his mind plays some terrible trick. He thinks of John, entombed in ice and rock, emaciated and torn open like an animal was the one who pried his ribs from his body, and not a surgeon. He thinks of what John’s marrow would taste like, and imagines his brother watching him, eyes unfocused behind the mists of death, jaw unhinged in that silent scream of a corpse—judging him.

Tommy, he thinks John would say. Always stealing off my plate, huh?

He doesn’t eat. When the hunger saws at his stomach with iron teeth, he bites his hands, his lips, the wool from his coat, the copper-tasting metal of his buttons. He swallows snow until he vomits. 

And somehow, impossibly, he lives on.

- - -

There are no days.

No weeks.

No months.

Maybe years, but Tom’s stopped counting.

There are only steps, one after another. There are bloody footprints thousands of miles behind them. They abandoned the sledges back in the snow and gravel, leaving useless cargo and a trail of broken bodies. Men still die, but there seems to be no real reason why they do. Tom should have been dead… ten? Twenty? Fifty years ago? He can’t remember. All he knows is that he’s still walking, following behind Crozier and Fitzjames and a dwindling party of men still dressed for the Arctic weather.

They’re in a desert.

Surely they should have found the Passage by now? Tom thinks this as he sees a lizard scurry up a strange plant, spiked like a well-used pincushion. The sun bites his blistering flesh, scrapes its glowing teeth along the back of his neck. Still, he’s never felt the need to take off his slops. There’s something comforting about the What Was, after all.

Why is he here? He doesn’t Crave the way the others do. They always talk about the Passage. It’s over that hill, surely. It’s along this river. If we just walk over there, it will be within sight. He knows it won’t be. It never is.

So why does he walk?

Because you Want, something tells him. It’s a deep, odd thing set in his soul, prone to ring out when struck like a bell, reminding him that he Must Always Walk.

For what?

For the Wanting, it says. And what do you Want, Thomas Hartnell?

Somewhere beyond a flat-topped mountain the colour of blood and bile, he thinks about that question. What does he Want?

He wants his mother to kiss his forehead and tell him good night. He wants Charlie to take apart their father’s pocket watch and put it back together, just in time to proudly show it to Tom. He wants to hear Mary Ann sing old shanties while she kneads dough on Friday morning. He wants to sit at the base of an apple tree while Betsy throws down the fruit, giggling as she does so.

He wants John to come back from the dead.

He wants to go home.

And Home is over that next mountain, says The Craving. Tom looks up at another blood-red mountain, the winking sun pressing a kiss to the slant of its neck. Don’t you want to see it again? Gillingham? Kent? The River and the Sea?

Of course he does, but it isn’t—

Well, maybe it is.

So Tom Wants, and he Craves, and he Walks.

[pedalfuzz]

2018 Pedal Fuzz Favorites

Contributors from Pedal Fuzz have weighed in on their favorite albums of 2018. there was (thankfully) no shortage of excellent music released this year. We hope you give these artists a listen, a share, and maybe even smash that ‘buy’ button on Bandcamp or at the counter of your local record store.

***note***these are listed in order they were sent to the editor

Dustin K. Britt

Al Riggs, WE'RE SAFE BUT FOR HOW LONG

David Byrne, AMERICAN UTOPIA

Father John Misty, GOD'S FAVORITE CUSTOMER

Florence + The Machine, HIGH AS HOPE

Gorillaz, THE NOW NOW

Janelle Monae, DIRTY COMPUTER

Mary Lattimore, HUNDREDS OF DAYS

Neko Case, HELL-ON

Sarah Shook & The Disarmers, YEARS

Troye Sivan, BLOOM

Jon Foster

The Nels Cline 4 – Currents, Constellations – Nels Cline is one of those figures that’s always been on my peripheral. His name has floated around progressive independent music for decades. His association with Wilco didn’t cause me to go through his discography. This record just popped up this year, a little promotion from a devotee helped a lot. Seeing him play at Big Ears this past year solidified my interest.

 Currents, Constellations is fascinating, the interplay between Nels and technical wizard Julian Lage keeps pushing the music forward, sometimes noisy and sometimes jazz freak-out. It’s a perfect gateway record, not all the way jazz and not all the way progressive rock. After listening to the record for a few weeks I ordered the last two Lage records and a couple Cline ones. Julian Lage’s Modern Lore is also on my best of 2018 list.

 Similar Fashion – Portrait Of – I don’t know anything about this band. I don’t know where they come from. I have no context other than a simple post from the producer, John Dietrich of Deerhoof fame. Just that last bit of information caused me to click on the link, a task any music fan can do dozens of times in a day when the music is in front of you all the time. Another Bandcamp link, nah…I’ll pass.

 Thankfully I clicked on the link and heard a record I immediately loved. It was energetic and progressive, a little silly even. How many records reference the TV show, Scandal? One thread going through the record is this quasi-Raymond Scott feel. He’s the guy who wrote a lot of music for Looney Toons, and I love him. Imagine Bugs Bunny chasing Foghorn Leghorn through a forest while a small group of music majors raised on jazz and rock and roll score it. The best songs on the record are full of exuberance and sugared up energy.

  Oh Sees – Smote Reverser – Oh Sees have a lot of records. They might have too many records. Because they have so many records it becomes difficult to get excited about a new one. Although I listen to all of their new records I don’t buy them automatically. I feel like I need to sample them. Recently they’ve been going through this tour of the outer fringes of rock and roll subgenres. You know, last year’s record was the folk record with psychedelic touches. They’ve done the garage record with psychedelic touches. Smote Reverser is their early 70’s hard rock record with psychedelic touches.

 When trying to describe the record, I feel like I have nothing positive to say about it. At the core there’s the usual really loud Dwyer leads over the top of everything. You know they’re coming, they’re always there, it should be an annoying cliché but they sound so good. His tone is delicious. Mix in dueling drums and an interest in letting songs unfold for no particular reason, and it’s a record to fall into.

Palberta – Roach Goin’ Down – This is a punk record. It’s ragged and personal and it feels like it could fall apart at any moment. Sometimes I think the musicians are superb players, while on other songs I feel like it’s the first day of them playing their instruments. The songs are short blasts of postpunk joy that could have been made in 1980.

 While I’m enthralled with this record, and enjoyed them immensely when I saw them live in Raleigh, I worry about them. I worry that this perfect moment will be ruined if they become a little more adept at their instruments. Taking away some of the passion in their playing might neuter their effectiveness. A better scenario might be for them to break up and move onto other things leaving this batch of songs as their only work.

 New Optimism – Amazon to LeFrak – New Optimism is basically Miho Hatori, most notably of Cibo Matto fame. It was a record I didn’t know existed until I started down a random google search hole. It was one of those days where think to yourself, “Oh, I wonder what they’re doing” and then six hours have past. Not setting out to find new music by her and then there it is, was like a wonderful present. Unfortunately it’s only an EP. Unfortunately I haven’t heard anyone talk about the record at all. It came out in July and I worry it’s already buried under mounds of other new releases. Googling Hatori again I realize she has produced a full length record I didn’t know anything about. This last surprise was released in October.

 The music on Amazon to LeFrak is right in line with her work in Cibo Matto and her painfully underrated Ecdysis from 2005. The music is colorful and dancey, vibrant and a little quirky. I hope this flurry of creative continues into the New Year.

Eddie Garcia

In 2018 I listened to and focused on music from films as much or more than straight-up albums. Here are my favorites, they’re all magnificent and worthy of your time.

Favorite Film Scores & Soundtracks

Hereditary - Colin Stetson

Mandy - Jóhann Jóhannsson

Suspiria - Thom Yorke

Black Panther - Kendrick Lamar

You Were Never Really Here - Johnny Greenwood

A Star Is Born - Lady Gaga, Bradley Cooper

Vox Lux - Sia / Scott Walker

Revenge - ROB

Kin - Mogwai

Thoroughbreds - Erik Friedlander

Eighth Grade - Anna Meredith

42 Grams - Takénobu

*Honorable mention* Halloween (2018) - John Carpenter. I mean, it was great to hear The Theme loud & revved up/industrialized in a theatre, but not really doing much new here if I’m being honest. Love to John Carpenter forever though!

Favorite Albums

There was much that I ‘liked’ this year in music but less that I ‘loved’ (gonna blame that partially on a shortage of deep listening time). I also had a few instances where live greatly outweighed the record, no matter how much I tried to listen. So rather than list out 40 albums, here are the ones that really affected me, so much so that I even have physical copies of 90% of these.

Sons of Kemet - Your Queen Is A Reptile

Bill Frisell - Music Is

Ohmme - Parts

The Nels Cline 4 - Currents, Constellations

The Messthetics - s/t

Mary Lattimore - Hundreds of Days - Meg Baird & Mary Lattimore - Ghost Forests

Dark Prophet Tongueless Monk - Insides

Yo La Tengo - There’s A Riot Going On

Shane Parish - Child Asleep In The Rain

Low - Double Negative

Marisa Anderson - Cloud Corner

Mind Over Mirrors - Bellowing Sun

Renata Zeiguer - Old Ghost

The Sea And Cake - Any Day

Oh Sees - Smote Reverser

Yonatan Gat - Universalists

Julian Lage - Modern Lore

***I just picked up The Hex by Richard Swift and Mattson 2 Play ‘A Love Supreme’ but as they haven’t gotten a full spin yet I can’t include but they sound mighty fine so far.

Favorite Pop Song

Kimbra - “Top Of the World”

*I don’t really listen to much modern pop music but this song slays and instantly appealed to me the first time I heard it.

Patrick Wall’s Top Ten

Knee Meets Jerk, or: In Which a Semiretired Music Critic and Journalist Offers Brief, Non-Critical and Non-Sequitur Thoughts on His Favorite Music of 2018. Because, Hey, Music Is Personal and Subjective, Right?

*Results listed in alphabetical order and subject to change.

Bad years look better when they’re gone.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more unstable — professionally, personally, psychologically — in my life than I did in 2018. In the past eighteen months, I've moved twice — from a new home to an old home to very, very far away from home. I bounced from a solid if unexciting job to no job to high-paying but infrequent freelance jobs to steady and cool but low-paying jobs to a high-paying but stressful and wholly unfulfilling job. Commutes went from long car rides to long bike rides and long walks to long train and subway rides. As summer faded to fall and turned to bitter winter, the world just felt increasingly, incontrovertibly, ineffably doomed. New homes didn’t feel as such. Old ones seemed gone, unable to be returned to — no man, Heraclitus mused, can step twice in the same stream.

If things were roiling internally, they weren’t any better externally. The planet is doomed. The authoritarians won. The world got colder. Some of my friends got cancer. Some of them, their cancers came back. Some of my friends got sad. Some of them came to the brink of death. Some of them got help, got better. Some of them didn’t make it through the year, taken either by illness or by their own hands, their voices now silhouettes, never coming back.

All this is to say: I have done far less critical listening this year than in the past. My time is more limited. My tastes are broader and more tolerant now than when I was a quote-unquote critic, but they’re harder to fathom. The things I connected with this year, I don’t know that I could explain why. I don’t know why Cave’s “San’Yago” spoke to me on the same level as Janelle Monae’s “Make Me Feel,” Jeff Parker’s “Blackman,” They Might Be Giants’ “Last Wave,” The Fearless Flyers’ “Ace of Aces,” Superchunk’s “What a Time to Be Alive,” The Messthetics’ “The Inner Ocean,” Fucked Up’s “Normal People.” I don’t know that I can qualify why none of the records those songs were on made the list below, or why I connected with those records in times of existential crisis. (Though, were I to give it some good, critical though, Monae’s Dirty Computer would probably grade out as the best of the year.)

How do we measure out our worst years? What defines them, shapes them? What do we reach for when everything feels bad? What do we reach for when we just need things to get better? The sensitive among us, we to turn art — the gear-minded among us, to music, in particular. But how do we code ourselves to forget, when the music we listened to — the music we connected with the most — brings us back to those places?

If you’re lucky, you get to close that part of yourself off and forget about it. If you’re luckier, you don’t. You recognize those sounds — those emotions — when you hear them again. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to close that part of yourself off and forget about it — but you’ll recognize those sounds when you heard it again. You just need to realize that you were lucky enough to have heard them in the first place.

So here are eleven records released in 2018 that I listened to that I enjoyed more than the other ones I listened to that were released in 2018. These are the records that provided some small comfort, and that will reinforce, in the years to come, that bad years look better when they’re gone. We hope.

Rafiq Bhatia, Breaking English [Anti-]

The Body, I Have Fought Against It, But I Can’t Any Longer [Thrill Jockey]

Khruangbin, Con Todo El Mundo [Dead Oceans]

Julian Lage, Modern Lore [Mack Avenue]

Low, Double Negative [Sub Pop]

Makaya McCraven, Universal Beings [International Anthem]

Mount Eerie, Now Only [P.W. Elverum & Sons]

Ohmme, Parts [Joyful Noise]

Miles Okazaki, Work [self-released]

Tangents, New Bodies [Temporary Residence Limited]

Ryley Walker, Deafman Glance [Dead Oceans]

Patrick Wall is an infrequent contributor to Pedal Fuzz. Sometimes, people pay him to write things. He used to live in North Carolina; he currently lives in Massachusetts. The record he actually listened to the most this year? Psychic Temple’s Plays Music for Airports.

Tom Sowders

 This year I listened to a lot of music that did not come out recently. BUT. I did have some favorites in 2018.

Eric Bachman - No Recover

The National - Cherry Tree Vol. 1

The National - Boxer Live in Brussels

Big Red Machine - S/T

Cat Power - Wanderer

The Love Language - Baby Grand

Shopping - The Official Body

Waxahatchee - Great Thunder

Speedy Ortiz - Twerp Verse

Surfbort - Friendship Music

 Lee Wallace

To make this as absolutely accurate as possible and to allow for any sudden last minute submissions, I am writing this at 8pm on New Year's Eve.

My best of 2018:

Guided By Voices - Space Gun (Rockathon Records). This has already become one of my touch stone GBV albums, in roughly the same status as Mag Earwhig! or Class Clown Spots a UFO or even Vampire on Titus. Fifteen concise psych pop rockers, not a micro second wasted.

Adrian Legg - Live (self release). Adrian is surely one of the two or three best finger style guitarists on this planet, and for nearly forty years he has been traveling and performing solo gigs at house concerts, coffee bars, pubs and anywhere ears will listen.  As wonderful as his playing and composing can be, his arduous fans know that his eloquent, story like song introductions are half of the appeal of seeing him in person. This is perhaps the first time that Legg has released a live album with these stories intact. His ruminations lately have concerned greed, materialism, racism, and the destruction of the environment, all from the perspective of a sagely septaugenarian that has traveled the world many times over, but they are as beautiful as his delicate, astounding guitar playing.

Julia Holter - Aviary (Domino Recording Co.). Holter's third album takes an extraordinary leap from the intelligent chamber pop of her previous work to spooky, other worldly avantgarde. Since so many music reviewers tend to make lazy comparisons to Kate Bush when writing about Holter, imagine if “Lionheart” had jumped straight ahead to “The Dreaming” with 21st century technology. Batshit arrangements and sonic freakouts, lysergic orchestral pile ups that come from outer space, on first listen it all sounds like a mess in places, but hang in there, your brain will thank you.

Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer (Atlantic). Composer/singer/dancer/actress/ time travel enthusiast Monae can be high on concept sometimes but she is even higher on melody, groove and astoundingly great vocal performances. I haven't yet taken the time to dissect what all of this “means” in terms of her commentary about contemporary society and what not, but it sure sounds superb. I suspect that she isn't even close to her peak yet, either.

Lilac Shadows - Brutalism (Diggup Tapes). This Durham, NC quartet has apparently done cassettes and digi downloads before but this is on a bona fide high quality vinyl LP in beautiful packaging. Flavors of “Movement”-era New Order and classic 4AD make this music nerd proud to share some geographical proximity with them. Excellent live band too.

[samwpmarleau]

If it pleased your muses, would a Rhaella Doran fic be possible? With maybe Aunt Rhaelle, Uncle Ormund, and Granma Beth's to the charge.

It had been Grandmother’s idea in the beginning, but it had taken Auntie and Uncle Ormund to turn it from an idea into a plan. Father’s proclamation to marry her to Aerys and Grandfather’s failure to stop it had resulted in a rift between him and Grandmother, she knows, and so Black Betha had taken things into her own hands.

Aegon may be king, she had whispered as she shuffled Rhaella onto a ship, but I am queen and a Blackwood besides. We do not suffer our women to be playthings, and nor will I.

Where am I going? Rhaella had asked, equal parts terrified and excited. She’d never traveled before, but if it meant she wouldn’t marry her brother, she would agree to anything.

Far away. Your aunt is making the arrangements. The people dislike me enough without hearing that I orchestrated your escape, but Rhaelle is protected by her marriage, and Ormund is supplying the coin. You needn’t worry anymore, my darling.

That had been a week ago. Now, Rhaella looks around her at her new room in a Volantene manse, still unable to believe this is real, that she’ll wake up back in King’s Landing betrothed to Aerys. Her caretaker is a knight in service to House Baratheon, someone she doesn’t know but has been assured is as loyal as a brother to Uncle Ormund. Both Grandmother and Auntie had promised to send regular letters, and to visit when they could. Her ladies had had to be kept in the dark, and Rhaella doesn’t know what they’ve been told as an excuse, what anyone has been told.

Well, most of her ladies.

Loreza had been apprised of the situation, for Rhaella knows she would have hounded anyone in the Keep she could get her hands on for information, and she will forever cherish the look of triumph on the princess’s face.

Make your life what you will, she had said. It is yours. Yours and yours alone. You are stronger than you know, dear Ella.

Loree had told her she would help in any way she could, should Rhaella require it, that she would not suffer Rhaella to lack for anything. She had agreed to secrecy, too, though they both regretted not being able to bring Joanna in on it all. Rhaella had considered it, but with Joanna would come Tywin, and Rhaella doesn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. She can’t risk this. She can’t risk herself, and she can’t risk Grandmother or Auntie; they would face enough censure as it is, once the news got out. She wonders what Father had done about the news; he couldn’t do much, surely, what with the perpetrators being his own family.

And Aerys!

He’s the one who will have to marry elsewhere. For as much as Father droned on about the witch’s prophecy, Aerys is the heir to the throne, and he would have to secure it–secure it with someone who is not her. The thought makes her giddy, and she flops down on the featherbed with a girlish giggle.

You are stronger than you know, dear Ella, Loree had said.

Yes, I am.

Volantis had taken some getting used to, in the beginning, its oppressive wet heat tangling her hair and the slavery making her fume, but even so, she is happy. No Aerys, no forced marriage, no “you are a princess, Rhaella, you must act like one,” no obsequious courtiers to appease. Oh, there are customs here she has to conform to, but they are not so chafing.

The sun has only just risen as she wanders the docks and passes the merchants selling their wares, like she has taken to doing every day since she arrived. It’s peaceful, despite the yelling of prices and the sailors’ cursing in a dozen different languages, and most recognize her by now.

She had been warned at first about setting off alone–men are men no matter where you go, she had been told–but she has made enough friends amongst these men, primarily through the coin she gives them, that she knows if someone were to approach her with nefarious intentions, they would mysteriously vanish within the hour. No one even glances at what she looks like, either; they are accustomed to the purple eyes and silver-gold hair of Valyria, and so she is nothing special. It is yet another freedom that she treasures.

She does miss her family, especially Grandmother and Auntie, but every time she considers whether she wants to go back–whether she even could go back–she remembers what Father had wanted and the way Aerys would yank on her hair, and that fleeting consideration disappears. Father is dead now, and though she’d heard something about Grandfather trying to hatch dragon eggs, but Grandmother had assured her it was a mere fancy.

She had received a letter from Mother once through Auntie, after Father had passed. It had begged her to leave Volantis, that she regretted every day she hadn’t dissuaded Father from his obsessions, but Rhaella was unmoved. Maybe it was sincere, maybe she does regret it, but Rhaella can’t forget how Mother would have been perfectly content to see her wed to Aerys at only three-and-ten, simply because of a riddle from Aunt Jenny’s witch.

No, Rhaella would not abide. She is no longer bound to Mother’s whims. Not Mother’s, not anyone’s, no one’s except her own.

Almost none of the ships does she recognize in the docks. Volantis sees more vessels in one day than Rhaella had seen in a lifetime back in King’s Landing, ships of all kinds, sizes, and crews. She doesn’t stop at any of them, until she gets to one near the end. It’s unremarkable on the outside, but what catches her attention is that she overhears its occupants speaking the Common Tongue. Though she’s learned several languages during her time here, none had quite felt so familiar as her native one, and it is pleasant to hear it again.

Smiling, she approaches the tie-off and calls out, “From where do you hail, sers?”

“Dorne,” calls back the man nearest the platform. He’s carrying only a single bag, and her intrigue deepens when he turns around. She’s seen that coloring before.

He says something to another crew member she can’t hear, and then disembarks. He’s taller than her, though is certainly no Ser Duncan, and although she wouldn’t say he’s handsome necessarily, she knows all too well that beauty often masks the ugliness within.

“I have a friend from there,” she says excitedly. “What is your name?”

He hesitates, though she can’t fathom why. “What is yours?”

It is her turn to pause. She has a different name here, the better to conceal her identity, but something about this man’s gentle dark eyes has her telling the truth. “Rhaella.”

Instantly his wariness turns to incredulity. “Rhaella Targaryen? The lost princess?”

Lost princess? “What do you mean by that?”

“No one knows where you went,” he answers. “Rumors abound, but Volantis has never been one of them. To think I’ve met you by accident, of all things.”

It occurs to her only then that perhaps this man would not have her best interests in mind. “Please, won’t you tell me who you are?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in it now. Doran Martell, my lady, son of Princess Loreza. She was your lady-in-waiting many years ago.”

“Loree!” she exclaims. “Oh, what fortune! Is she well, I hope?”

“Quite. She and His Grace have been putting together plans for better irrigation across all of Dorne. The other lords may take ill to his reforms, but Dorne has prospered for it.”

“It pleases me to hear it,” she says. She glances up at his ship and apologizes, “I should let you tend to your affairs. I did not mean to interrupt.”

“It’s no interruption, princess. I am here to tour the Free Cities, and as it happens this is one of them.”

“I can show you around,” she offers, “if you’d like.”

He smiles. “If it’s no trouble.”

Doran had told her he only meant to stay in Volantis for a fortnight, but two moons have waxed and waned and yet still he joins her every morning for her walk along the harbor. He is quiet, preferring to listen rather than to talk, but every now and then he has a quip or a comment that makes her sides ache with laughter, and she’s discovered that she likes it most when he smiles, for it lights up his face and shows that for all his intelligence is that of a man far older, he still very much has his youth.

She’s also noticed that sometimes when she looks at him her stomach swoops, a strange feeling that is at once terrifying, confounding, and exhilarating. She’s too scared to put a name to it—she hardly knows him!—but nevertheless the thought of him leaving disappoints her much more than she know it ought.

He tells her of his family and of hers, and in turn she tells him of the Free Cities and teaches him as much as she can of the bastard Valyrian spoken here. He picks it up quickly, and she’s grateful for it; she likes the way his voice deepens as he trips over the harsh syllables, how he watches her to get the intonations right.

She gets up the courage one day to ask him why he hadn’t wed, why Loreza hadn’t forced him to the way Rhaella’s parents had intended.

“I think she hoped Lord Gargalen’s daughter would catch my eye,” he says, “but when that didn’t happen, she focused on Elia and Oberyn instead,” he’d answered. “And you? Not marrying your brother, that I understand, but after all this time you’ve still not found anyone?”

“There was someone, once.” She has never forgotten him, a man scarcely older than her who had lightened her heart and even taken her maidenhead, but then his father had ordered him to undertake a voyage to Slaver’s Bay–for what, Rhaella hadn’t asked–and he’d never returned. She doesn’t know if he’d been killed or if he had made a home there, but he had been years ago and ever since, she’s never felt any particular desire for another man.

At least, not until…

No. She won’t go there. What would the heir to Dorne want with a disgraced princess in exile? He is a friend, nothing more.

She knows it’s all too good to last, though, and indeed one day he receives a letter from his mother. With a grin, he explains, “My sister is to be wed.”

“To whom?” He had told her of the abortive betrothal trip that both of his siblings had taken not long ago, and that Joanna’s death had severed any hopes of a match being made.

“A boy my uncle squired,” he answers. “Ser Arthur of House Dayne. I can’t imagine Mother is too happy about it–she’s always had high ambitions for Elia–but it seems she has been convinced. His being named the Sword of the Morning probably helped. I am glad of it. Elia’s life has not been easy.”

She is glad as well, for she knows better than most the freedom that comes with not marrying against your will, but she also knows what this means. “I suppose you shall be leaving soon, then. It would not due to miss your sister’s wedding.”

Doran looks up at her with a frown. “Oh…yes, I should find a ship.”

“There should be plenty willing to take you to Dorne, but if you should have any troubles, I know my way around these men,” she says. She feels guilty for being upset at the prospect of no longer having his company, and so plasters on an extra-bright smile. “You’ll give my best to your mother, won’t you? I miss her so.”

“Of course.” He opens his mouth to say more, but then decides against it. “Take care, princess.”

He’s at her door the next morning looking a way she hasn’t seen before: nervous. “My prince? Has something happened?”

“Come with me,” he says in a rush. “Mother will shelter you, you’ll have nothing to fear. You shouldn’t have to waste away your whole life here in Volantis.”

“I can’t,” she says. “It’s too dangerous. For me, and for your family. And I don’t want to cast a pall on your sister’s day.”

“It would be no pall.”

“Doran, I…I don’t know.”

“Think about it, at least,” he says. “The ship’s captain will not set out until the morrow. Meet me at the furthest pier at sunrise.”

That night, she packs and unpacks a dozen times, going over the ramifications in her head until she doesn’t know one thought from another. She can’t sleep a wink, and it’s only when she sees the sky begin to lighten that her head clears.

Home.

Does she even know what that is? She’s been here since she was only a girl, and now she is long since a woman. What does she know of Westeros anymore? Grandmother and Auntie are always with her in spirit, yet she does long to see them. They’d visited less than a handful of times apiece, and though their letters have been wonders to receive, she yearns to once again hear her aunt’s sharp tongue and feel her grandmother’s warm embrace. And if it means all of that and seeing Loree again?

If it means seeing Doran every day?

With a spontaneity she’s never known, she hastily scrawls a note to the caretaker, shoves whatever she can reach into a bag and races out the door. Habit has her calling to the merchants she passes, and she all but skids to a stop at the end of the pier.

“Doran!” At first she thinks somehow she’d missed him, that he’d already left, but then she sees him emerge from the hold, just as he’d done that first day, and she feels a rush of something new, something she can’t describe.

Make your life what you will. It is yours.

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home Edition April 24, 2020 – BEASTIE BOYS STORY, TRUE HISTORY OF THE KELLY GANG, EXTRACTION and More!

Welcome back to this week’s chapter of Ed is Going Crazy and Itching to Watch a Movie Anywhere BUT His Computer and Television. Since EIGCAITWAMABHCAT is way too long a title, I’ll just stick with “The Weekend Warrior” for now.

I hadn’t planned on attending this year’s Oxford Film Festival, which was scheduled to start in March, but I’m happy that after it was postponed, Executive Director Melanie Addington, decided to hold a virtual festival so others outside the Mississippi region can finally experience the wonderful programming that Addington and her programming team deliver every year.  The series will run weekly beginning with Brandon Colvin’s A Dim Valley, which was part of the LGBTQ Narrative Features and will get a one-day exclusive U.S. preview on Friday. It’s about a curmudgeon biologist and his slack graduate assistants who encounter a trio of “mystical backpackers” while doing their summer research project in the Appalachian woods. I’m looking forward to the “McPhail Block” which will run from April 24 to May 1, celebrating Oxford’s version of Brangelina, the acting couple, Johnny and Susan McPhail, who you’re sure to have seen in any number of projects from HBO’s “True Detective” to last year’s The Peanut Butter Falcon. The block includes four shorts including the World Premiere of Brian Whisenant’s The Golden Years, starring the beloved local couple, and three other solid shorts including Thad Lee’s adaptation of Stephen King’s short story, All That You Love Will Be Carried Away. I may be biased, but I definitely recommend checking out the McPhail shorts, because you really get a sense of their personalities in these films even if they are acting and playing characters.  Also premiering the first week is a pair of regional doc shorts, Getting to the Root and 70 Years of Blackness (another World Premiere), as well as a second block of doc shorts dubbed “Passion Projects,” comprised of five short films. It’s a well-curated festival, so there should be some good stuff across the board.

You can get tickets to most of the first few weeks’ programming at Eventlive.

Also, the virtual Tribeca Film Festival is underway, and honestly, I wish I could tell you more about it, but I haven’t had a chance to watch anything,  as of this writing, and I’m not even sure what is involved in terms of pricing and access… but apparently, it will only run through this weekend? I really just have no idea. The lack of information is frustrating.

Also, it looks like Film at Lincoln Center is adding to their Virtual Cinema schedule, which currently includes Béla Starr’s Sátántangó, the Brazilian thriller Bacurau and more. Starting on Friday, you can also watch Cédric Klapisch’s Someone, Somewhere (Distrib Films), which was going to play the Rendezvous at French Cinema series that was abruptly cancelled, and that’s FilmLinc’s first-week NYC exclusive. Also, the Icelandic film A White, White Day (Film Movement) from Hlynur Pálmason will be available to watch starting this Friday. They’ll be available to rent for $12.00 and $2.00 off if you’re a member. You can learn more about these on the Film at Lincoln Center site.

I usually wouldn’t make a streaming film my “Featured Movie” of this column, but we’re living in different times, so there are no longer any “rules.” This week’s Feature Movie (and in line to be one of my favorites for the year) is BEASTIE BOYS STORY, which will debut on Apple TV+ this coming Friday.

Originally, the concert documentary (of sorts) was going to get a short IMAX run, which would have been brilliant since it was recorded by director Spike Jonze – yes, that one – at a series of live dates out at Brooklyn’s Kings Theater simply billed as “Beastie Boys Story.” The multimedia show had Beasties Michael “Mike D” Diamond and Adam “Ad Rock” Horovitz talking about the storied history of the group, their roots as a pretty lame punk act in a grungier New York, to achieving fame as the childish white rappers all over MTV… to growing as humans and losing their best friend Adam Yauch aka MCA to cancer.

When I moved to New York City in 1987, the Beasties were just exploding with “Licensed to Ill” but it still took me over a decade to take them seriously. I had a chance to do an interview with the guys when Oscilloscope released the concert movie and spoke to Yauch again when he directed a basketball documentary that was at Tribeca. It was pretty obvious that Yauch was the genius behind the band, and the other two guys confirm this during the show. The movie also has a good amount of sentimentality and regrets for some of the decisions, such as booting original drummer, Kate Schellenbach, and how badly they treated her (but still signing her new band, Luscious Jackson, to their label).

Now I get that not everyone is into the Beasties and maybe they only know them from those early days, but let me tell you that Beastie Boys Story does a great job dispelling any myths or misconceptions about the group. In other words, if you’re not a fan of the Beastie Boys before this movie, you most definitely will be the end. This is one of the few movies I could watch online in one sitting without being distracted by other things, and I would totally rewatch it in a second. It’s a bit of a bummer this won’t get a theatrical release even by something like Fathom Events since it would play beautifully with an audience. Hopefully, Oscilloscope, the indie involved with the production will try to give the movie some sort of theatrical release when theaters reopen, because not everyone has Apple TV+ at this point.

I’ve been looking forward to watch Justin Kurzel’s TRUE HISTORY OF THE KELLY GANG (IFC Films) since I first heard the movie was getting made. I was such a big fan of the Heath Ledger-Orlando Bloom movie Ned Kelly, directed by Gregor Jordan and co-starring Geoffrey Rush and Naomi Watt. I mean, that wasn’t the greatest movie despite that exemplary cast, but I also thought it should have done a lot better than the way it was dumped and forgotten by Focus Features. It’s just such a great story and a piece of Australian lore and culture that deserved a better movie.

If you haven’t heard of Ned Kelly or the Kelly Gang, they were Australia’s most notorious bank robbers, whose myth and legend grew as big in that country as that of Al Capone or others became here in the States. During the late 19th Century, the Kelly Gang famously wore plated armor and even dresses to throw off the authorities who were constantly in pursuit of them.

Unlike Ned Kelly, this begins more of an origin with Ned as a child, as played by Orlando Schwert, dealing with a father in prison and a mother (Essie Davis from The Babadook) who is trading sexual favors with his jailer, a sergeant played by Charlie Hunnam. After Ned’s father is executed, Russell Crowe’s Harry Power enters the picture as his mother’s new suitor, and he soon takes the teenage Ned under his wing to show him his ropes. Ned also learns that his mother sold him to Harry Power as someone to groom to be part of his gang. The story eventually shifts to the older Ned (played by George MacKay from 1917) who returns home to find that his mother has taken another suitor in Sean Keenan’s Joe Byrne, and he eventually gets Ned on board to conduct a number of elaborate robberies.

Okay, that’s the basic premise, and Kurzel has put together another great cast for a movie that works far better than his take on Macbeth and (shudder) Assassin’s Creed, both starring Michael Fassbender. (Granted, I’d probably give both of these a rewatch after seeing Kurzel’s Kelly Gang movie.) Although from the very beginning, it’s said that the film’s title of being a “True History” is a bit of a misnomer as a lot of it feels like hearsay from a quite deranged older Ned to an English teacher who claims the story as his own. That said, it is an interesting dive into Kelly’s backstory and what turned him into the violent criminal he became. Oh, I should also mention his relationship with Mary (played by the wonderful Thomasin McKenzie), a single mother living in a brothel who Ned bonds with. There’s a lot to enjoy in the movie including Russell Crowe’s rousing ditty about what Harry Power thinks about the authorities. (It’s not safe for work, if you can’t guess.)

It’s tough to watch at times, similar to last year’s The Nightingale – Australia in those days was not a particularly nice place – but this is by far Kurzel’s best film to date, and it’s a shame that so few will have a chance to see it on the big screen, because it’s definitely a big screen movie. A fine film by Kurzel and one that will make me rethink his previous movies and intrigued in what he does next.

It will be available On Demand, Digitally and in exactly two Drive-Ins, the Mission Tiki 4 Drive-In in Montclair, California and another in Ocala, Florida. If you’re in Orlando, it might be worth the hour trip to see it. Otherwise – and I’m not sure if you’ve heard this advice any time in the last month – but STAY HOME! (Since you can watch it that way, too.)

Martha Stephens’ period coming of age drama, TO THE STARS (Samuel Goldwyn), stars Kara Hayward as Iris Dearborn, a shy farmer’s daughter in 1960s Oklahoma who befriends Liana Liberato’s worldly Maggie Richmond, a city girl who tends to embellish the truth. The two of them navigate the local high school run by a number of snobbish bullying girls, while dealing with some of the real-life drama of growing up in a small town. I was hoping I’d like To the Stars more since I heard good things about it out of Sundance, where it was screened in black and white. It’s generally decent, although it definitely hits some rough and almost unnecessary patches as it builds toward a somewhat obvious climax and dark ending. The script doesn’t really offer that much that’s new or original from other small-town tales set during this period, but Stephens does a decent job getting solid performances out of most of the cast including Tony Hale and Malin Akerman in somewhat rare dramatic roles, Jordana Spiro and Shea Whigham.  There are just some of the other younger characters who were annoyingly obvious clichés and the mostly bad Southern accents started getting to me after a while. I also hear lots of raves about the movie’s cinematography, but in color, it didn’t really do much to warrant such praise, and it was hard to even tell what was happening in a few of the darker scenes, one of the bummers about watching movies on a laptop. I’m sure some might like this movie more than I did, and those who enjoy films like this will be able to watch To the Stars on Digital this Friday.

Now playing on Digital and Demand is the first of a three-part documentary, called Time Warp: The Greatest Cult Films of All-Time (Quiver Distribution), the first volume being subtitled: “Midnight Madness.” Directed by Danny Wolf and hosted by Joe Dante, John Waters, Ileana Douglas and Kevin Polack, the first chapter includes a pretty impressive array of talent, including Jeff Bridges, Pam Grier, Rob Reiner, Barry Bostwick, Michael McKean, John Turturro, Gary Busey, Jeff Goldblum, Fran Drescher, Penelope Spheeris and Peter Bogdanovich. It covers everything from The Rocky Horror Picture Show to The Big Lebowski in a deep dive of 105 minutes. Now I’ve never been the biggest midnight movie guy when going to festivals, because to be honest, I just can’t stay up that late. I’m an old man. But I do love genre and cult films, the weirder the better, and while I’m not sure I’d consider Lebowski a “midnight movie,” the movie is pretty thorough in covering all but the most esoteric films. The first volume is a lot of fun with Jack Hill, Pam Grier and the late Sid Haig talking Coffey and similar “mini-docs” on so many great movies. Other great films covered include David Lynch’s Eraserhead, Tod Browning’s Freaks, and of course, Waters was gonna talk about Pink Flamingos. I’ve seen most of the movies, and I knew quite a bit about them, but the film is still a great entry into cult movies, and I definitely recommend it whether you’re already a fan of this movie subgenre or not.

Volume 2 (available May 19) is about Horror and Scifi, while Volume 3 (available June 23) is Comedy and Camp, and I’ll cover those more fully in the weeks they’re available.

I was vaguely intrigued by ROBERT THE BRUCE (ScreenMedia), which as you might imagine from the title (words that are said almost every five minutes but one of a dozen characters), it’s meant as a thematic sequel to Mel Gibson’s Braveheart. Actor Angus Macfadyen, who played the title character in Gibson’s movie, cowrote and stars in this movie set in the early 14th century (1306, to be precise) where it sort of follows his character. Robert the Bruce has crowned himself King of Scotland after the death of William Wallace, and he takes over Wallace’s mission to win Scotland’s freedom and immediately puts a target and price on his head as his army is dispersed. He’s discovered by an 11-year-old boy, the son of one of his soldiers, who along with his mother and two orphans help nurse Robert the Bruce back to health.

This movie makes you wonder how long Macfadyen must have waited for Gibson or anyone involved with Braveheart to give him his own movie before he gave up and made it himself. Doing some quick math: he waited 25 years, and clearly, that’s just been too long, because even as a fan of those historical battle epics, I was just so effin’ bored by Robert the Bruce, especially after seeing True History of the Kelly Gang. Macfadyen has a decent cast around him, including Jarred Harris and Patrick Fugit, but I’m not sure I’ve ever been more bored watching a movie as I was watching this one.

Robert the Bruce will be on Digital and On Demand in conjunction with the 700th anniversary of Robert the Bruce’s Declaration of Arbroath, declaring Scotland a free land.

STREAMING AND CABLE

Premiering on Netflix this Friday is the new Chris Hemsworth crime thriller, EXTRACTION, produced by the Russos (Avengers: Endgame) and directed by Sam Hargrave, the Russos’ stunt coordinator making his feature directorial debut. In the movie, Hesworth plays Tyler Rake, a black market mercenary hired to rescue the kidnapped son of an international crime lord who has been jailed, as he gets involved in the underworld of weapons dealers and drug traffickers trying to save the boy.

This wasn’t a bad action movie really, and nothing like the loads of bad action movies made in the ‘80s, ‘90s and ‘00s, compared to the actually decent and memorable ones like Die Hard, Aliens, the early films of Luc Besson, etc. This is a pretty simple premise, but Hemsworth has clearly found his stride as an action hero when not playing Thor, and this has all the momentum and kinetic violence of a Bourne movie, as Hemsworth wisely plays Tyler Rake more as the strong and mostly silent type with his young liege, played by Rudhraksh Jaiswal, the two being a strong combo that keeps you entertained throughout. I definitely like Hemsworth more as an actor than others who may have played this sort of role, such as Bruce Willis or Jason Statham, etc. There’s also a great supporting role for Golshifteh Farahani, who you may remember from her role in Jim Jarmusch’s Paterson or The Pear Tree, and David Harbour has a great, very physical fight with Hemsworth in one scene. I’m really liking the way that Netflix is exploring international cinema not just from the hit foreign language films regularly on the streaming network but also a worldly action-thriller like Extraction. Like True History of The Kelly Gang, I would have loved to see this on the big screen, even if it was a press screening at Netflix’s newly-managed Paris Theater. It’s just so much more fun seeing movies like this one with an audience. This may be a running and recurring theme in this column over the next few months, by the way.

Also this week, the new improvised comedy special Middleditch & Schwartz (as in Thomas and Ben) will premiere on Tuesday on Netflix – heard about this on Josh Horowitz’s “Happy Sad Confused” podcast and I’m intrigued – as well as the animated feature, The Willoughbys, featuring the voices of Will Forte, Maya Rudolph and Ricky Gervais, will debut on Wednesday. The latter is about four kids with selfish parents and their plans to get rid of them. Also, the second season of After Life and third seasons of The House Of Flowers, neither show which I’ve seen, begin this week, so if you’re a fan, there’s those to watch, too.

Also, Lionsgate will include its series of free movies with this Friday night’s offering being the ‘80s classic, Dirty Dancing.

It looks like the exceptional Maysles Cinema up in Harlem has started some virtual programming and Friday, it will launch its “Made in Harlem” programming with Looking for Langston. You can go to the Maysles’ websiteto learn more about the program.

Next week, more movies not in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

[origamiyoda]

wait tf do you mean Kevin doesn’t have powers in the no watch ben timeline. BULLSHIT. “I don’t think so” KISS MY ASS.