Hello! I’ve added Tumblr to my socials just in case Twitter dies!

I’m Riley, and while I’ve said a decent amount in my media kit up there, I’ll introduce myself a little more here!

I’m currently 30 years old, from the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles, California, but living in Georgia. I’ve always been a big fantasy nerd, growing up on Star Wars (I know, it’s sci-fi, but I’d argue sci-fi is also fantasy, just a different kind, and I’m sure I’m not the only one!), The Series That Shall Not Be Named (as with most kids, or at least kids with the privilege of a cishet white person, even if I’m not entirely any of those things, the bad messaging went over my head, and ofc She Who Shall Not Be Named had not revealed herself to be a TERF, yet), and Lord of the Rings, with some X-Files, Lost, and Jurassic Park floating around in the background. I went to performing arts schools for middle and high school, but there was always this inexplicable, indescribable block between me and performing the way I know I can in front of other people. I don’t know if “stage fright” is *quite* the right term, but I guess it could fit.

Fast forward to 2016 or so, and I’ve finished high school, struggled through trying to force myself through college (and dropped out of every semester in the attempt), joined the Navy, and wound up stationed in Georgia. My partner was a big World of Warcraft nerd (still kind of is, haha), and a handful of our fellow Sailors were who he regularly played with. These same people also enjoyed Dungeons and Dragons, and started watching Critical Role. I had never heard of Critical Role until a couple sessions into our short-lived, unfinished campaign, and I didn’t start watching it until August of 2021.

There were a few D&D games between that first campaign in 2016 and when I started binging Vox Machina and Mighty Nein and ExU to catch up to current (I’m currently caught up on Bell’s Hells), but none of them lasted, unfortunately. But Critical Role really opened my eyes to what D&D could really be, and between that and my falling in love with various characters and their voices in Elder Scrolls Online (some of whom happen to be CR cast members!), I couldn’t resist the call of the performing arts any longer.

I taught myself guitar starting at 10 years old and haven’t practiced in years, I performed in choir in 8th, 10th, and 11th grade and sang the National Anthem as well as “For Good” from Wicked at my high school graduation, as well as performing semi-regularly at some open mic nights after high school… but between my attempt at college, then my active duty time in the Navy, and then the stresses of being a directionless civilian once again when my enlistment was over, I let a lot of (who am I kidding — ALL of) my creative endeavors fall to the wayside.

Enter the year 2020. I somehow discovered Tea_The_Khajiit on Twitch and watched a bunch of her streams, realizing, “Hey, she’s just playing games and talking to her friends… I could do that!” So I decided to try streaming. It took me a bit to find my “brand,” and even now I’m not sure I’m completely sold on it, but I’ve somewhat settled into an identity of sorts over on my current channel (twitch.tv/Ysmeira). I’ve of course since learned that streaming is a LOT MORE than “just” playing games, but I’ve loved every bit of work that’s come with it! Over on that channel I mostly stream Animal Crossing, and Wylde Flowers. I started with just Elder Scrolls Online and I want to go back to it, but my computer just can’t keep up with both playing and streaming that game right now, unfortunately.

I’m hoping my first stream as Riley will be on both Twitch and YouTube in January! I want to upgrade my PC and possibly my mic before debuting, but I’m very excited!

I basically plan to stream making music, learning accents, some D&D actual play, and possibly art and a podcast if I finally start putting in some solid practice and can come up with some interesting topics.😅

Here are all my links in case that makes it easier for you to access them:

https://twitter.com/rileydoesvoices

https://instagram.com/rileydoesvoices

Mercury?

This is terribly written and I am so sorry for that. I barely edited this and it shows. I just wanted the Autobots to learn about Bohemian Rhapsody is that so bad?

——————————————————

It was a peaceful day. Megatron and his Decepticons were currently off of their radar for the time being, but that didn't mean that they could be lax. Peace never lasted long. For war torn veterans of war, peace was to be cherished, not squandered. For children who felt more entertained at being put at danger than they did afraid, peace was "Boring", and they sought to make that evidently clear to everyone in the room. 

Ah, correction. She.

Jack and Raf were sensible enough to be weary whenever the Deceptions reared their collective heads around. Miko however often acted as if she could fight Primus himself with nothing more than a screwdriver. Miko liked to brag that she'd do it with her bare hands. They hadn't believed her for a good while, until she tried to threaten Megatron during their weary truce. Ratchet argued that it still made him anxious every time he saw Miko run off somewhere, no matter how mundane, and most of the team was inclined to agree. Wheeljack was regarded as a different case entirely.

Now, Miko wasn't so cruel as to beg fate to send a Deception attack their way. She did, in her own way, appreciate peace. Just not the peace that they wanted. Because of this, Miko often brought the odd item to the base. Her guitar and sound system, a video game for the TV. Miko bringing in a new toy was almost expected whenever peace stretched on for longer than an hour. 

"Looooook what I got!!" Miko cheered slinging herself out of Bulkhead's seat, holding a large and clunky looking box with her. For all they knew, she could be holding a small bomb, but by Jack and Raf's unimpressed reactions it didn’t' seem to be anything too troubling.

"Geez, that thing looks ancient, where'd you get it from?" Jack asked, pressing on the buttons of the box tentatively. "Besides, we have the bots for that don't we? Or, well you guys do."

Miko scoffed rolling her eyes. "Oh come on Jack. It’s a boom box! It's a part of the aesthetic!!"

Bulkhead, who listened in more blatantly than the others, cast a weary glance to the 'boom box' in question. "Uh, Miko, you still haven't told me what that thing does…"

"It's like a radio, the kind you guys have, only bigger and clunkier." Raf explained. "Where did you get it?

At this Miko puffed up her chest proudly brandishing the box over her shoulder. "Ms. Fairfax was cleaning some stuff out, and guess who just so happened to be there after school to collect this beauty!"  

Jack rolled his eyes though he grinned while he did. "You were only there because you were in detention." 
 

Miko stuck out her tongue. "That doesn’t matter. What matters is that now, I've got this!"  

Hitting a button on the box Miko opened a compartment and retrieved a smaller box from within the boom box. This thing was flatter and telling by Jack's reaction, no more impressive than the boom box. At this point, however, Miko's chaos seemed to garner everyone's attention, and even Optimus who was busy at the base's main computers, leaned in a little to see what was going on.

"A cassette?" Raf asked, perhaps for the sake of their audience.

"Not just any cassette!"

Miko put the cassette back into the box, and hit another button. There was a weighty silence which should have been filled with Optimus' typing and Ratchet's tinkering, and whatever else anyone was pretending to do while they listened. And then a voice began to sing And then a song began to play


Raf and Jack spared a glance to one another, and grinned.

Since their enlistment in the team, the humans have given the bots a very in depth lesson on different types of music. Miko did most often, but Raf also introduced Ratchet to his 'study playlist', filled with classical earth music that Raf said helped him concentrate. Ratchet shrugged at the offer made a comment about 'limited earth technology', then proceeded to play the entire playlist on loop deep into the night, as he worked away with Optimus by his side. Jack offered his own tastes with Arcee and Bee, a playlist of some popular songs, or even some that he admitted were lesser known. There were some that had a very valiant theme, and when Bee and Arcee raced they'd sometimes use Jack's music to race to. Even agent Fowler gave his own few songs that he enjoyed, though the lyrics were rather off putting to most of the team.

One clear lesson that the bots took from it all was that music tastes varied, and what might be popular to one, was bizarre and unknown to another—even among humans. Jack and Raf knew popular local songs, but miko did not. Jack knew more 'pop' songs than Raf did, and Raf knew more classical music. Amidst the three it was long deemed impossible for them to all know a song without having to teach the others before hand.

And yet.

Miko started as soon as the music began to play, nearly yelling all the lyrics to the song, before Raf and Jack joined in enthusiastically. It was jarring, a rather slow paced song, treated with such fervor and excitement from the three. Ratchet groaned at the noise, returning to his work, but he did not ask them to stop. On the other hand (with the exception of Optimus who simply smiled as he continued to listen and to work), most of the team had given up on pretending and approached the three singers as an audience. The lyrics were filled with meaning that twisted the children's faces into a dramatic agony while the guitar picked up. Miko nailed the solo, on her air guitar her hands moving with less of her usual overdramatic flash, and with a flare as if she were holding the guitar, and had memorized every chord. Jack and Raf bashed at the air, a trick foreign to Bee and Arcee, but known as 'air drums' to the resident air drumming star, Bulkhead.

The song took a drastic switch from melodramatic, to a more playful piano melody, and a lot of nonsensical words that the children never sang at precisely the right moment. Many parts of the song sounded like a conversation, but they could never decide who was speaking first and who spoke second. And then, after a high note that Miko almost hit, it erupted into a rock style burst, and the kids had at it, with headbanging, careless air guitars and air drums. The energy was infectious, and those who had taken the front row seats, danced about with the others for what was a surprisingly short rock moment.

The song mellowed out all over again and the kids sang it out dutifully until the very end marked by a crash that Miko mimicked while Raf air played the instrument.

For such a bizarre mix of music from slow to fast to slow again, the bots caught themselves on various occasions humming and nodding their head to the song. On occasion, if the kids weren’t around with their own music, Bulkhead would play the song from his speakers. Sometimes Arcee would sing a line or two, and if Bee was around, all three of them would end up half muttering and half singing the song. Bee and Bulkhead usually tried to  sing with the same kind of fervor that the kids had. Sometimes even Ratchet complained that he had the song stuck in his head. It didn't stop him from tapping his pede whenever Bulkhead played it.

On one rare day with Optimus on curbside duty, he had the chance to see just how many humans knew the song. Miko was playing it loud on her boom box, and a small crowd of eagerly dramatic singers followed her and her music. Yet, that wasn’t all. Kids on the sidelines sang idly along, even as some worked away at homework. Optimus patiently waited for the song to finish, and when he did, he opened his door and let the kids in.

They told adamant tales about how the song could be sung with near perfection by a sea of people and how besides a country's national anthem, this was the rare song that everyone seemed to know. There were others of course, but that depended on the place, generation, and community. None apparently reached as far as Freddie Mercury's Rhapsody. Truly the final nail in the coffin was when Bulkhead was playing the song, the kids humming along, having long forgone singing every time it came on, and Agent Fowler walked in. He looked like he was about to bark about something, only to stop as he noted the song. Clearly, whatever it was was not so important if he could be so easily swayed. 
 

Optimus asked him about the song, and if he knew it, and Fowler took (what Optimus now understood was) mock offence and told Bulkhead to turn it up. Agent fowler sung the remaining song brilliantly, getting the kids to join in with him as well. Fowler even hit the high note which earned a pat on the back which may as well have been a shove from Miko.

From then on, Optimus put effort into learning the song.

He quickly understood that his deep voice would not be able to reach the high note, but he put in effort on the rest of the song, to the point that he knew the song by heart. He appreciated the lyrics, finding them both odd and  sympathetic at the same time, which he told Ratchet when he responded to his idle humming of the song with a muttered singing of all of the lyrics. Ratchet still stared at him oddly for it.

With Optimus followed Bulkhead, and Bee, and reluctantly, Arcee. Even more reluctantly so, Ratchet, who on another night of working away, asked Optimus for the lyrics to the song. He handed them over without question or comment, but Ratchet still avoided his gaze days later.

So, it was no wonder, that nearly a month later, after Miko had gained a collection of songs for her boom box, that when the song played again, the whole team broke out into song. Uneven, wonky song where they sometimes stumbled over who was singing what, but they sang it nonetheless, too caught up in the melody to notice that the kids had stopped to stare at them. They sung as they worked, nonchalantly for some and with playful vigour for others. When they did realize that they hadn't sung, the gong had already sounded.

"No way." Miko hissed, eyeing both Optimus and Ratchet. Optimus stood proud as ever, while in contrast Ratchet avoided eye contact.

And they played the song again, arguing that they wanted to sing with them. It was the most horrible and amazing experience they all shared together singing the song terribly whenever it came on. It was fun and silly, and planted firmly in everyone's processor to teach their friends the song as soon as they could.

The next day, Miko (by harassing Agent Fowler) hauled in a karaoke machine, and smiled.

America’s Got Talent: Season 15 - Auditions 3

10: David Rush. Well this was a real RUSH to beat the clock, huh? ...Eh? ...Eh? Well, I can't exactly say it made for the best show, but if he's promising to do all of those crazy things for future performances...Huh? What's that? He didn't go through because apparently Howie and Sofia aren't interested in seeing those things? Well then, I guess this was a complete waste of time...Congratulations on the record though...Let's get to the REAL passing acts...

9: Amanda LaCount. It seems almost cruel that supermodel Heidi of all people buzzed this girl. I guess it was nothing great, but I've seen weaker overweight dancers, so I'm willing to let her have her moment for now...

8: Celina. I'm not QUITE as desensitized towards singers as FrankDoc is, but I am definitely getting there...At this point I'm just desperately grasping for ANY kind of uniqueness in this ever-expanding category of talent...I'm just looking to get some kind of new experience...But as we go on, it's just getting harder and harder to care anymore...It's all the same kinda fluff by now...How was this lady? ...Good...I might have appreciated her more a few years ago...The tragedy is that singing makes up about half the talent that competes on this show, and there always should have been significantly less! Maybe then I would actually still have a level of appreciation for a good voice...

7: Daneliya Tuleshova. I wasn't super-impressed by this performance either, but I put her over Celina because I actually see some nice potential (and apparently, so do her fans from “The Voice Kids”). The song choice wasn't the best display of her abilities, but I could still see them. Overall, this was the most memorable American performance from a Kazakh since Borat sang the national anthem! (And I promise that I will end the Borat jokes there! ...Not! ...Nah, seriously, that's as far as I'll go...)

6: Marty Ross. I'll admit, during that first minute, seeing what little enthusiasm everyone was showing, I was afraid for this guy...And then he got into the kinds of dirty jokes you expect from elder comedians like him by now, and he settled comfortably into likably amusing territory...It is all becoming gimmicky in that all of these comedians keep having to joke about “first impressions”, like “Yeah, I'm X, but I'm funny because Y!” That said, I'll give him a chance and see how he develops in the coming rounds...But so far, the guy from last week has the most potential as this year's comedian to not quite get that win...

5: The Demented Brothers. It seems that an increasing number of magicians know that they'll never reach Shin Lim's level, so they just goof around and perform what I can only describe as “mock magic” (see Lioz Shem Tov from Season 13). I ALMOST considered giving these two the top spot on the list as sort of a poetic “Take that!” to this episode for its heavy focus on sentimental singing acts, but like Lioz before them, the comedy never quite reached true brilliance...Perhaps they will have a chance to do that for future rounds, but Simon's gonna make that difficult for them...It sucks being the funny guy in a room full of sad people, doesn't it?

4: Resound. I think I would say that these people are EXACTLY EQUALLY talented as Voices of Service...at least based on what we've seen so far...That's a good thing, but it is hard to get super-invested in them when they feel like such a similar act to one we've seen the previous year...Sometimes I just want to see something different...I think I've been saying that for a while now...

3: Cristina Rae. Aaaannnnd, we're back to the predictable formula...Not just the Golden Buzzer being saved for the very end of the show, but also Simon stopping a singer and letting them pick a second song...Which is a pity, because by that point we ALL knew she was going to get it anyway (not to mention how much of her we saw in the promos), so the commercial break did nothing but try my patience...All I gotta say is, this lady's lucky that her second song was so much better than her first! So is THIS the Golden Buzzer that will win this season? Well, let's compare her with last week's selection...Roberta's definitely the more typical candidate, because as I usually point out, adults tend to be favored over kids in the MALE singer category, whereas kids almost ALWAYS outperform adults in the FEMALE singer category...That being said, Roberta still lacks that unique aspect to her that other winners had in the past, whereas we surprisingly haven't had any soul singers win the show yet, albeit one that sings rock songs (though Cristina certainly isn't the first). And of course, I'm still waiting to see an adult woman win this show after seeing several young girls (and plenty of adult men) pull it off...So I would definitely say I'm rooting for Cristina more...But Roberta has better odds going for her...Though at the end of the day, I'd probably say that it will be neither of them...And NEXT week (I was wrong before, but it is DEFINITELY next week), Simon will be giving out HIS Golden Buzzer! Naturally, we should wait and see who it will be, but I have no doubt that the man won't rest until at least one GB of his finally wins...

2: Shakir & Rihan. It's official: V.Unbeatable has paved the way for Indian acrobatic dancers! Not sure if they stack up with BAD Salsa, but I do see a LOT of promise so far! Lord knows, India doesn't have ENOUGH of a problem with youths tossing young boys in the air...

1: Emerald Gordon Wulf. I've been debating with myself all night who should get the top spot in this list, and I ultimately picked this kid, because aside from some impressive contortions (a step or two past what we've seen from girl contortionists in the past), she put on a show! What's more, she didn't have to rely on making it intense like Sofie Dossi, or shocking like Frenchie Babyy (though I hear she was on “Toddlers & Tiaras”, so I guess that's a little shocking...) All she needed to do was entertain with a creative set and an equally creative entrance (a nice logical step forward after that guy in the suitcase last year). I look forward to seeing what she brings for later rounds!

I will admit, my hunger for unique, new talent that we haven't seen on this show before is getting the best of me...Does anyone else like to make up fantasy acts in their head? I've done it since I started watching this show, and sadly, a lot of them are far more interesting than a lot of the acts we've gotten this season so far...I guess there were one or two acts this season that I might consider “Golden Buzzer worthy”, and I might even end up giving my imagined Golden Buzzer for the season to one of them...But otherwise, nobody's really blowing me away so far...I hope that changes soon, but it gets harder the longer I watch this show...

Anyway, I already talked about the Golden Buzzer for next week, so I guess I'll just leave it there for now...Stay safe and stay healthy!

PARIS — In the shadow of a grand war memorial here, French President Emmanuel Macron marked the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I by delivering a forceful rebuke against rising nationalism, calling it a “betrayal of patriotism” and warning against “old demons coming back to wreak chaos and death.”

His words during a solemn Armistice Day ceremony under overcast skies at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe in the heart of the French capital were intended for a global audience. But they also represented a pointed rebuke to President Trump, Russian President Vladi­mir Putin and others among the more than 60 world leaders in attendance.

Speaking in French, Macron emphasized a global order based on liberal values is worth defending against those who have sought to disrupt that system. The millions of soldiers who died in the Great War fought to defend the “universal values” of France, he said, and to reject the “selfishness of nations only looking after their own interests. Because patriotism is exactly the opposite of nationalism.”

Macron has attempted to stand as a vocal counterweight to Trump, who recently called himself a “nationalist” and has moved to set the United States apart from global treaties, including the Iran nuclear deal, the Paris climate accord and a U.N. program for refugees.

Amid growing divisions in Europe that have strained the European Union, Macron defended that institution and the United Nations, declaring the “spirit of cooperation” has “defended the common good of the world.”

“By putting our own interests first, with no regard for others, we erase the very thing that a nation holds dearest, and the thing that keeps it alive: its moral values,” Macron said.

He denounced fringe ideologies that have become more mainstream, warping religious beliefs and setting loose extremist forces on a “sinister course once again that could undermine the legacy of peace we thought we had forever sealed.”

The powerful remarks came as the world leaders gathered here have sought to mark the 100 years since the war by honoring those who served and died. Among those who participated were German Chancellor Angela Merkel, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

British Prime Minister Theresa May did not attend, remaining in London to preside over a war remembrance there, though she visited France last week to lay wreaths at military cemeteries and meet with Macron. Chinese President Xi Jinping also was not present.

In speech honoring WWI soldiers, Trump vows to preserve 'civilization ... peace'

President Trump spoke Nov. 11 at a U.S. cemetery in France on the 100th anniversary of the World War I armistice. Here are key moments from that speech. (The Washington Post)

Putin told Russia’s RT network after the ceremony that he and Trump spoke during a leaders’ luncheon, but a formal meeting would wait until they cross paths at the Group of 20 Summit in Buenos Aries later this month. Putin said he and Trump agreed to a request from French officials not to overshadow the war remembrance ceremony.

“We are ready for dialogue,” said Putin, adding a dig at the Trump administration for announcing the United States would exit a landmark Cold War arms treaty. “We’re not the ones exiting the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty.”

Ahead of the ceremony, dozens of world leaders dressed in black strode shoulder-to-shoulder along the Champs-Elysees toward the Arc. Military jets streaked overhead, emitting red, white and blue smoke, the colors of France.

Trump and Putin did not participate in the processions. The group, which had first gathered at the Elysee Palace, had come to the Arc on tour buses along the 230-foot wide boulevard. Bells at Notre Dame cathedral tolled at 11 a.m., marking the signing of the armistice of a war in which 10 million military troops perished.

But Trump and Putin took their own motorcades to the event and made separate entrances a few minutes after the main group. A White House spokeswoman said Trump arrived separately due to “security protocols,” though she did not elaborate.

Trump and Putin shook hands with leaders, assembled on risers at the foot of the monument, and took their positions. Trump and first lady Melania Trump took spots next to Merkel, while Putin stood next to Macron.

The ceremony could begin.

To the sound of a military brass band, Macron inspected French troops standing at attention and a choir sang the national anthem. Cellist Yo-Yo Ma performed a solo piece.

For Trump, dressed in a dark blue suit and red tie, the ceremony marked the beginning of a day in which he also attended a luncheon with world leaders and then delivered a speech at the Suresnes American Cemetery and Memorial — a day after he skipped a visit to a different cemetery.

At Suresnes, Trump ditched an umbrella and spoke in the rain for 10 minutes, at one point joking the crowd was “getting drenched.”

“It is our duty to preserve the civilization they defended,” Trump said of the 1,541 buried there. “We renew our sacred obligation to memorialize our fallen heroes.”

He did not address Macron’s speech.

The relationship between Trump and Macron has soured as the U.S. president has promoted an “America First” foreign policy that has unsettled allies on trade and defense. Macron has sought to counter some of Trump’s agenda, and he has organized a three-day Peace Forum that began Sunday afternoon, just as Trump headed home to Washington on Air Force One.

[The Broken Bromance? The Trump-Macron relationship is on the rocks.]

For European observers, the commemoration was a somber event — and not exclusively because of the dead it honored.

In a climate of resurgent nationalism — which has seen upheavals in Rome, Budapest, Warsaw and even London — Macron was alone on the dais, preaching the virtues of multilateralism. Merkel, his most loyal partner in this endeavor, has announced she will soon leave public life.

“Franco-German reconciliation was at the very heart of what we’ve been seeing together,” said Dominique Moïsi, a French foreign policy expert at the Paris-based Institute Montaigne and an informal adviser to the Macron campaign.

“But she’s out,” he said of Merkel, who announced she will step down in 2021. “The spirit in which we are commemorating the events is no longer fully present.”

Macron’s speech was full of literary allusions, including to the French poets Guillaume Apollinaire and Charles Péguy, both of whom served in World War I. (Péguy was killed in combat in 1914.)

Sunday’s address also contained a number of historical rebukes. He made a subtle reference to a well-known 1927 French book that decried the elites at the time, who embraced reactionary, nationalistic ideologies at the expense of a rational consensus.

Taking the stage to applause at the Paris Peace Forum later Sunday, Macron avoided presenting the weekend’s event as a success. Instead, he said history would remember the image of multiple world leaders whose countries were once at war gathered in peace under the Arc.

The question, Macron said, was how that image would be interpreted.

“Will it be the symbol of a durable peace among nations?” he asked. “Or, on the contrary, a photograph of a final moment of unity before the world descends into a new disorder?”

Phroyd

Prince!Seokmin

find the other members [here]

is the most popular prince in the history of the village

like no one has ever been so universally adored and enjoyed,,,like even when other village officials visit that have tension with the government - one meeting with seokmin and they’re,,,,,,,ready to swear peace

his parents say it’s his smile,,,,a healing smile,,,,,a smile that no one can resist

but it’s also because seokmin is selfless and does his best to make people comfortable and feel cared for

like an angel that knows just what people want to hear,,,,he makes not only the people of his village feel good,,,,he makes the people he works with feel it too

other princes like woozi or wonwoo seem so stoic during interviews or broadcasted events,,,,yet when prince seokmin shows up even those with the coldest auras are photographed laughing and having a good time

has been studying singing since he was small,,,,his voice was recognized by his parents and the nation when at twelve he sang the national anthem at a new years celebration

and the entire country fell quiet for his amazing vocal range

since then he’s always sung the anthem at opening games and other important events,,,,,but he’s also sung at orphanages and carnivals for kids

because if there’s anything that gets kids excited it’s having the actual prince sitting on the floor with them singing the theme song to sesame street with a big kind smile on his face

the kids dont even call him prince seokmin they call him older brother and parents or teachers would try to correct them but seokmin is always just like :-----) no,,,,,,,,older brother seokmin is Good

once got photographed enjoying some ice cream in the palace gardens and he looked so nice that the ice cream brand used the photo on its advertisements askfljsg

all time best friend is a local blacksmith hoshi who people are surprised to find out has known seokmin since they were literal children

hoshi talking about seokmin: “he’s the prince, but when we were kids he played the hors-”

seokmin appearing out of thin air: “hoshi and i are only business affiliates now. please do not believe what he says.”

but they really are close like seokmin is the type to tell his bodyguards they don’t need to come with him when he heads to the village to see hoshi because he feels so at peace with his people and with his friends

like he’ll stroll around like he’s just another commoner and not you know,,,,,,the prince of the land

doesn’t like suits or formal wear,,,,,,but when his hair is pulled back he just looks,,,,,Regal

even though seokmin is completely fine on his own,,,,,,,

his parents aren’t always ok with seokmin walking around unguarded

and since seokmin has this charming way around him he’s easily able to get the people who his parents hire to let him slip away unnoticed,,,,afterall he’s just a likable guy

even his own staff let’s him get away with anything

so that’s why his parents hire you,,,,,,,,you’ve built up a reputation of kind of being,,,,,,,unmovable

you like to think it’s just part of your personality and the job - if you get hired to protect someone, you have to do whats best for their safety, and sneaking away is breaking that

also,,,,you’ve learned to keep an unreadable face - not even the funniest joke or tickling makes you break,,,,,,you think it’s unprofessional to build “friendly” relationships with who you work with. especially who you have to protect with your life

which is why on the first day,,,,,when seokmin makes a pun using your name you stare at him blankly

the whole room is silent,,,,aside from a waiter who leaves the room stifling a giggle

and seokmin tilts his head, smile not dropping from his lips “i see you’re not a joke person?”

you nod, making seokmin scrunch up his nose a bit and turn on his heel with a clap

“it’s ok, im sure ill get a laugh out of you someday!”

you don’t say it outloud because well he /is/ the prince but you think to yourself that he can try all he wants, no one has ever made you laugh on the job

the first couple of weeks is rather easy, everywhere you and seokmin go there’s minimal danger because people respect him and he has little to no known enemies

every now and then you catch him trying to take bread offered from bakers or flowers offered from children

and you have to intervene and explain that the prince cannot receive presents, making seokmin chuckle and go “lighten up!” but you shake your head

who cares if it makes you a debbie-downer, who knows whats in the bread or what kind of flowers those are, you can’t risk the princes safety

seokmin tries, on multiple occasions, to ask you about your life and hobbies

“you’re a pretty private person, but there must be something you like? dogs? fairs? fireworks? candy?”

“all of those are fine, my prince.”

you give the same flat answer each time and seokmin’s happy, mischievous expression falters just a bit

but you keep a straight face, knowing that it’s better to be focused on the surroundings then on the prince getting to know you better

questions turn to actions,,,,seokmin tries making funny faces at you when he’s bored at a meeting, or telling a funny story that has everyone in an uproar except you, accidentally tripping or falling for basic comedic relief but all you do is help him back and ask if he’s ok

seokmin can’t wrap his head around it,,,,,,is it because you have no sense of humor?????? do you not like him????? what is it??????

no one has ever managed to be around him for more than fifteen minutes and not smile

and here you are, calmly watching the village go by through the windows of the car as seokmin sits beside you

hands crossed over his chest,,,,thinking of any good jokes to crack or silly antics to pull

your phone goes off and you pull it out because the alert tone means its from the palace

you read the message,,,,it concerns a schedule change for seokmin but before you can tell the prince

the car makes a jerking turn and ends up pushing you to the side

you try to catch yourself before you go falling off the seat, but seokmin reaches to hold your arm, frowning and telling you that you should wear your seat belt - he’s got his on

for a moment, he looks up to see an expression of shock on your face

the most he’s seen since you started working as his bodyguard,,,,,,and seokmin doesn’t know how to explain it but

the small sigh of relief you do when you sit back down,,,,,something about it

makes you look so,,,,,cute

but you know you shouldn’t have done it,,you clear your throat to play if off and tell him that he’s going to have to cancel dinner with the officials from one of the villages schools because the royals staying in his families palace have decided they want seokmin’s family to throw a ball to see them off

and even seokmin,,,,,who loves parties and social events,,,,,rolls his eyes

because the royals staying with his family have been such brats - even though he’s managed to put up the front of liking them in order to get them to sign a treaty with his parents

seokmin mumbles that they ask way too much and are overstaying their visit in his home anyway

you look at him, eyebrow raised just slightly because you’ve never seen seokmin say anything remotely negative about anyone

and he shrugs his shoulders and goes “you’re not the only one who puts on a good mask you know.”

the words,,,,,make you think for a moment,,,,,,that essentially he’s right - it’s a mask

you’re not an emotionless person and neither are you someone that hates smiling or whatever, you just want to look and act apathetic so you don’t,,,,,,have to show weakness

seokmin’s radiant smile and bubbly personality,,,,,you just assumed 100% was true all the time - but maybe there are days when he doesn’t want to be the positive energy

like a normal person,,,,he just wants to relax

but as you get to the palace, that smile of his is on again and when you open the car door you see a couple of the waiters come running toward him

asking him 94302 questions about the ball they need to set up in four hours

seokmin, with an assuring couple of words calms down their franticness

he leads them all back into the house and you follow, watching carefully as seokmin handles the menu and decorations like a pro

sometimes you think someone whose always looking on the bright side might be a little foolish,,,,,but seokmin is able to be so organized and encouraging

it makes you feel a sense of ,,,,,,pride,,,,,that the place where you’re from has a prince so capable and kind

seokmin passes by you with a waiter who shows him different types of roses

and you turn to follow, but seokmin puts up a hand and goes “you can have the rest of the day off - ill be in the palace so i should be safe.”

you open your mouth to disagree, but seokmin explains that it’s an order and that your contract doesnt bind you to be by his side 24/7

you nod,,,,,slightly distraught that he’d bring that up,,,,,but he disappears down the hall with the waiters as you watch

even though seokmin excuses you for the evening,,,,,something doesn’t sit right with you and as you head toward the ballroom the queen, seokmin’s mother comes up to you and asks if you’d go get her son and tell him the bratty royals are having another problem with the menu

you nod,,,,,walking slightly faster than usual because for some odd reason there’s an excitement in your chest about being able to stay with seokmin a little longer

you reach his bedroom, the large doors thrown open as you come inside and see seokmin standing talking with another person

the person,,,,,,you recognize,,,,,is the daughter of the royals staying in the palace

she’s young and known for being loud and bossy, but seokmin seems to be handling the conversation well

she jumps up, throwing her arms around him when he finishes his sentence and it startles both you and seokmin

when she turns to dash out of the room, she bumps your shoulder and doesn’t turn around to apologize

you touch it but seokmin’s voice calling your name breaks your concern

“the queen told me to inform you that the royals don’t like having duck on the menu.”

seokmin’s shoulders drop and you can see that the stress is getting to him, balls take months to plan on occasion and usually the palace isn’t even responsible a committee is hired to host

but you know that seokmin wants to do anything to keep on these people’s good side in order to keep the treaty agreement

“ok, but the chef has already started and if he has to scrape that duck it’s so much food wasted. ill think of something,,,,”

he sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands as he mumbles to himself

you watch him,,,,,,slightly unnerved by the image of a seokmin so starkly different from his usual self

and you’re one that always follows rules and regulations, always keeps your emotions out of it but

stepping forward you go

“my prince, if anything ,,,,,,,,,,,,, can’t you just ,,,,,,,,,, say no this one time?”

seokmin shakes his head,,,,,, “i can’t say no, i can’t let people know that there’s something i can’t do. i have to fight through this with a smile,,,”

“but what if there was an emergency,,,,,,,what if someone had to take you away and you couldn’t make the ball?”

seokmin looks at you,,,,,,,,,,he blinks and goes “aren’t you a stickler for rules,,,,,,,,,,and you’re proposing i make up some scheme to get out of this?”

slowly you nod,,,,playing with your fingers behind your back from nervousness

a small smile spreads on seokmin’s face and he goes ,,,,,,, “do you have a plan?”

you nod,,,,,telling him to wait as you rush down the stairs

the queen is standing with the royals,,,,,she looks upset as they complain about this and that and you stop before her

bowing and going “your majesty, the prince went out to meet a guest for the ball but it seems the guest and the prince are gone. i am going to need for the ball to be canceled so all forces can be focused on finding the prince.”

your words almost make the queen faint,,,, the royal family bursts into a wave of shocked noises and the girl who’d been with seokmin cries out that now she won’t be able to dance with him

you look to the queen for her approval and she fans herself but nods “the ball is off, find my son!”

with that you set off down the hall, rushing up the stairs and into seokmins room

he opens his mouth to ask what’s going on

“we’re running away.”

“wait, like forever?”

“no, for tonight so you and this whole country can avoid this dumb ball. now let’s go!”

you take his hand and the two of you run through the palace, you give every waiter or servant a knowing look and seokmin puts his finger over his lips

they all smile and nod in confirmation as seokmin shows you a secret passage out to the gardens

when you’re safely away, you ask if seokmin knows where you two can stay long enough to avoid the palace till tomorrow

he grins and says he knows /just/ the place

though the village is a good walk away, you and seokmin having to duck in small alleys and curved roads to avoid anyone seeing you

you come across a blacksmith’s shop, the closed sign confuses you, but seokmin does three short knocks and then whispers some kind of passcode against it

and like magic, it opens

hoshi goes “i heard you were missing!” seokmin grins and shrugs “i am, for the night.”

hoshi looks from him to you and sticks out his hand

“im hoshi, seokmins go-to hideout”

you shake it,,,,,and hoshi wiggles his eyebrows

“you two an,,,,,,,item?”

you flush red and seokmin chuckles

“i cant even make them laugh, they’re my bodyguard!”

hoshi grins, going on about how he’s always had more luck than seokmin when it comes to love! the two of them bicker like school yard boys

and you can’t help it,,,,,it’s so silly,,,,,,,,,that you giggle

seokmin turns to you,,,,,,eyes wide

and hoshi points to you too “i thought you said they don’t laugh seokmin?”

“that’s the first ive heard it!”

you cover your mouth with your hand, turning around and pretending to be interested in the different tools hanging up in hoshi’s shop

hoshi invites you two to go upstairs while he finishes some work

and you and seokmin find yourself seated at a small table,,,,,,the prince of the place you grew up,,,,,someone so untouchable

sitting 5 feet away with no crown and drinking tea from a cracked old mug

you sit,,,,,,,still wearing the all black uniform for bodyguards and your phone rings like crazy for updates

you pick it up but seokmin snatches it, turning it off and throwing it onto hoshi’s couch

“we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

you feel horrible about leaving the queen and others in the dark,,,but seokmin looks so much less stressed

and it seems like maybe a night from forced smiling and constant interactions would be good for him

,,,,,,and your concern is still always the princes safety

here might be more safe than the palace for tonight

seokmin stares at you,,,,,you rub at your face and ask if there’s something on it but he just goes

“i like your laugh, why don’t you laugh more?”

“,,,,,,,,,part of my job is to keep things professional. laughing,,,,,smiling,,,,,thats for friends-”

“then whats helping me runaway for? friends,,,,,,,,,or?”

you look at him,,,trying hard to suppress the warmth crawling up into your face at seokmin’s words

he leans over,,,,,and when he’s close enough that your heart starts racing

he goes “thank you, for helping me”

“it,,,,,,it’s my job,,,,,,,,,,”

seokmin is still close and you almost can’t breathe,,,,,,

you’ve seen him everyday for so long and even before that you’d seen him on tv so much

yet nothing captures how absolutely gorgeous he is in real life

and seokmin tilts his face,,,,,,you close your eyes and think that the most unprofessional thing in the world is kissing your client

but you’ve already broken so many of your “rules”

that when seokmin kisses you,,,,,,it feels like the only right thing in the world

when you pull back,,,seokmin sits back down, his hand knocks over the tea on the table and it spills all over him

letting out a yelp,,,,he stands up to wipe at his clothes

and you,,,,,,,,reach for napkins but can’t help but laugh at him clumsiness

seokmin lets you help but you hear him say

“out of all the things, you find me being a clutz funny?? is that all i had to do to make you laugh???”

you shrug and say that you’re not usually one to laugh at others,,,,,but he’s just,,,,,,,,so cutely oblivious sometimes

when you fall asleep, exhausted from the day on hoshi’s couch seokmin drapes his jacket over you

hoshi comes up and asks when you two need to be back at the palace

but seokmin just elbows him smugly and goes

“they called me cute.”

hoshi: wow, do you want a prize you lovestruck idiot

'You are a Black man at all times.' 3 generations tell of their family's hopes and fears in the Trump era

New Post has been published on https://newsprofixpro.com/moxie/2020/11/01/you-are-a-black-man-at-all-times-3-generations-tell-of-their-familys-hopes-and-fears-in-the-trump-era/

'You are a Black man at all times.' 3 generations tell of their family's hopes and fears in the Trump era

Curtis Shelton grew up in the 1950s at a time when Black people couldn’t live or work where they wanted, or gamble in this city’s famous casinos. His son Allen remembers living in public housing as a little boy; he went on to become a successful real estate agent, raising his family in a gated community in the suburbs. Curtis’ grandsons, Allen Jr. and Christian, are college students coming into their own in the Trump era.

All of these men exude a determination to do better than the generations that came before them — the same thing every American strives for. But their shared optimism competes with an uneasiness that also runs through the Shelton family.

Even though these three generations of men are separated by more than half a century, they all struggle with the pressure of being Black men in a country that fails again and again to respect people who look like them.

“They say what goes around comes around — we’re still protesting,” Curtis, 76, said one day while standing outside the house he’s lived in since the family left public housing.

“Until there’s a great change across the board,” he said, turning to Allen, “his grandsons are going to be protesting. Because we’ll never get our just due.”

For the Shelton men, Tuesday’s presidential election isn’t just about choosing a leader. It’s about their yearning for physical safety, their desire to live out their lives without the burden of bigotry. It’s about how they — like many other Black people — consider this election tantamount to a moment of truth, a way to give meaning to phrases about justice and equality in the Constitution by voting out a racist president.

With much of this year focused on race, Allen and his wife, Wendy, opened up their home for a conversation about the discomfort they feel over the dangers that Black men face in America. Black men may be proud of their identity, they say, but many carry inside them a mix of rage, fear and hope that’s so messy — and sometimes so maddening — that they shy away from revealing how their skin color weighs on them.

Police killings of Black men, armed or unarmed. A president who called peaceful anti-racism protesters thugs and anarchists, and football players “sons of bitches” for taking a knee. Curtis, Allen, Allen Jr. and Christian are coping with this time of racial upheaval and protest in different ways.

Curtis, who lives on his own, said he doesn’t have it in him to join demonstrations against biased policing and racial violence, but not because he disagrees with the cause. He’s just not sure he could handle the rage it would bring to the surface that’s rooted in tragedy he’s endured because of racism.

Allen, 56, shares something his late mother used to tell him when he was growing up that he’s tried to impart to his own children: “When you leave this house, know who you are.”

Column One

A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times.

But Allen Jr., 21, and Christian, 19, look uncomfortable talking about the dangers that come with their Blackness. They strain to reconcile the good things their parents have taught them to believe about themselves with what America tells them they are.

“I don’t think I truly understood what it meant to be a Black man in America until I saw all of this outpouring of support for us,” Allen Jr. confesses as he thinks of millions of protesters marching for George Floyd.

“I felt more and more like that could be me,” he said of Floyd, who died after a police officer knelt on his neck for more than eight minutes.

The Sheltons raised their sons to be resilient Black men by drumming into them another lesson from their own parents: Nothing can hold you back, even though you’re Black.

“It was so entrenched in our mind it was kind of like a handed-down heirloom,” Allen Sr. said.

Wendy Shelton, left, and Allen Shelton Sr. watch the second presidential debate at their home in Las Vegas with Allen’s father, Curtis, center.

(David Becker / For The Times)

But their teachings to their sons about perseverance, the loving words about being precious in God’s eyes — they no longer feel like it is enough.

“It became apparent that we had to tell them, ‘You need to be aware that you are a Black man at all times,’” said Wendy, 53. “In hindsight, I question whether we should’ve started telling them that when they were 4 or 5 years old, because of the way that the world is now.”

Allen and Wendy Shelton look at family photos at home in their gated Las Vegas community. Both are natives of the city, which once limited Black residents to one neighborhood.

(David Becker / For The Times)

Allen and Wendy settled in a suburban community of two-story homes 20 minutes north of the anything-goes atmosphere and distractions of the city. From the time their sons were young boys, they stressed the importance of education.

Allen Jr. is an engineering major at Santa Clara University in Silicon Valley. He recently had a paper on image-recognition technology for visually impaired people published at a global humanitarian conference. Christian is a performance art major at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, studying opera.

This is the first year Allen Jr. and Christian are eligible to vote in a presidential election. To stress the importance of Black people voting, their parents turned it into an outing, taking their sons to a drive-in event called “Drop It Like It’s Hot” that had a live DJ. They all chose Democrat Joe Biden and his running mate, California Sen. Kamala Harris, for president and vice president.

When asked how they felt about Trump, Allen Jr. and Christian just shook their heads in dismay.

Curtis voted several days later, making this the first time that all three generations of his family have participated in a presidential election. He said he was was proud of his grandsons.

“I don’t care who they voted for as long as they did,” the lifelong Democrat said. “All the people who died to get the right to vote, and [people] don’t vote? What’s up with that?”

Allen and Wendy said lately they’d been afraid to take walks around their neighborhood for fear of being harassed or physically attacked because of their skin color. This anxiety churns in Allen, but “as a Black man,” he said, “you try to hold back, hold it in.”

Allen Jr. and Christian looked on. They’re both soft-spoken.

Like his older brother, Christian is still working out his feelings about violence against Black men, but he gave words of reassurance to his parents.

“They did a good job of teaching us,” Christian said, turning toward Wendy. “I feel like I can shoot for the stars.”

Christian is a talented vocalist who caught the attention of the artist Lizzo. She posted a split-screen of her swooning over him singing a Corinne Bailey Rae song. Local Democrats invited Christian to sing the national anthem at a voter registration event featuring Harris.

Christian Shelton sang earlier this year at a voter registration event attended by Sen. Kamala Harris of California.

(Wendy Shelton)

The young men listened as their parents recounted racist incidents. The sons had heard the stories before and they’re unsettled by them every time.

There was the time vandals spray-painted a Nazi swastika and “KKK” on two banners advertising Allen’s real estate business. And the time when a traffic cop mistook the couple for other people, pulled them over, accused them of having a gun and handcuffed them.

“They had us in the middle of a major street in December, in the cold, on our knees with our backs to them,” Wendy recalled. She remembers “hearing guns clicking.”

“That stuff has just been pushed down for years and years,” Wendy said. “But this year, I just felt compelled to tell some of the stories — to say how I feel as the mom of these two Black boys.”

Allen’s emotions have crept up on him too in recent months.

In June, angry and grief-stricken over what happened to Floyd, he took a walk in the dark to clear his mind.

“Then bam, bam, bam — it hits you,” Allen said. His eyes welled up with tears, and he was relieved no one could see him.

What would his sons think if they saw the man who told them they were born blessed looking so vulnerable because of his race?

Las Vegas — with its neon lights and penchant for turning vintage buildings into piles of rubble — might not be the first place people think of to learn about America’s history of racism. But the Shelton family is a testament to a time when Black people were unwelcome and invisible in this desert playground.

Allen Shelton visits Las Vegas’ historic Westside, the once segregated neighborhood where he grew up. He’s frustrated over the lack of economic development.

(Tyrone Beason / For The Times)

Most Black people who settled in Las Vegas in the middle of the last century migrated from the segregated South for jobs — at a defense contractor during World War II, a chemical plant near the city, casinos and building dams on the Colorado River.

Once here, they encountered what some coined the “Mississippi of the West.” Black people were banned from the Strip’s casinos and hotels and forced to live five miles north in what’s known today as the historic Westside.

Wendy takes a black-and-white photo off the wall showing her father, Odell Nichols Jr., as a boy dressed in his Sunday best with his family during a dinner in 1955 at the Moulin Rouge, the city’s first integrated casino.

Wendy Shelton’s father, Odell Nichols Jr., as a boy, second from right, dining with his family at the Moulin Rouge in 1955. It was the first casino and resort in Las Vegas to welcome Black patrons.

(Courtesy of Wendy Shelton)

The Westside resort allowed Black people the dignity that the rest of Las Vegas failed to recognize, in a setting with its own glitz and glamour. Sammy Davis Jr. and other Black stars paid visits after dazzling white audiences at the city’s whites-only casinos. Waiters wore white gloves.

Wendy said she grew up around Black men who weren’t intimidated by the constraints imposed by racism, so she wanted to teach her sons to be the same way. Allen Jr. and Christian said they’re proud to have come from such strong people.

The Sheltons — Christian, Wendy, Allen Sr. and Allen Jr., from left — after voting early in the presidential election.

(Courtesy of Wendy Shelton)

The flashiness of Las Vegas suddenly ends when Allen drives under the freeway into his and Wendy’s old neighborhood. The Moulin Rouge is now a gravel lot. There have been plans to entice businesses, but the whole area looks motionless, forgotten.

Allen pulls up to his father’s one-story house on a block of simple homes with tidy lawns, and Curtis comes out eager to talk.

Curtis, a preacher who occasionally gives sermons at the church Allen went to as a child, reflects on the experience of his parents. They migrated from Arkansas and managed to put down roots in Vegas, a getaway that limited Black people to mostly service jobs. Curtis fondly recalls working at the Jockey Club resort on the Strip when he was younger and the white employees who treated him like their equal.

But he believes white people fail to appreciate this about Black people — their desire to be self-reliant.

“Like what James Brown said: ‘Open the door and I’ll get it myself,’” Curtis said. “I don’t want you to hand it to me.”

He used a single word to describe what he sees as the motive for a rise in hate crimes and white supremacist activity since Trump was elected: “Retaliation.” White people are punishing Black people for the advancements they’ve made since his parents’ time, he said.

Curtis is quick with a smile but he carries a lot of pent-up pain inside his slim frame.

This is the first presidential election all three generations of Shelton men could vote. Pictured in the family’s suburban Las Vegas yard are Allen Sr., Allen Jr., Curtis and Christian, from left.

(David Becker / For The Times)

In 1986, his son Anthony, Allen’s younger brother, died after being thrown from a car when it was deliberately run off the road by a vehicle driven by a white man, according to the two survivors.

It was a gut-wrenching end to a night of celebration. The boys’ mother, Carolyn Shelton, had organized a big party to celebrate Allen’s graduation from Grambling State University, a historically Black school in Louisiana, and Anthony’s graduation from high school.

The Sheltons were convinced the incident was racially motivated. The Las Vegas Review-Journal reported at the time that police didn’t dispute the account, but they lacked leads.

Anthony’s death sparked in Curtis a resentment of white people.

“That’s why I don’t watch the protests and don’t get into it, because that feeling comes back, and I try to keep that down,” Curtis said of his anger. “With help from God,” he keeps it under control.

During that lonely walk in June, Allen Sr. thought about how he could channel his anger over racial injustices old and new, and about the power of a Black man using his voice as a force for good.

He didn’t let on to his family that he’d shed tears. Instead he turned to Christian.

His son had sung “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” at the state Democratic convention four years ago.

How times had changed.

Allen told Christian that on his walk, he’d listened to a song by Andra Day that was perfect for this new season of protest, and that he should record a version of it. Soon after, Christian did.

Even the song’s title was fitting.

“Rise Up.”

Read More

(Fanfic) Drake’s Poetry Lesson

July 24, 2017, Monday [#262]

My masterlists: [Fanfiction.] [Fan edits.]

Title: Drake’s Poetry Lesson (MC/Drake) (5,299 words)

Story summary: The royal suitors are given a new courtship task about Cordonian culture. Against his will, Drake helps Riley learn more about traditional Cordonian music, food... and poetry.

Drake's Poetry Lesson

[I.]

As per his usual habit when there was nothing that needed to be done, Drake was lying on a cold, stone floor, staring at a cold, stone ceiling.

After the events of the Apple Blossom Festival – he still didn't know whether to be happy that Riley had wanted everybody to celebrate his birthday with him; or annoyed that she had forced him to wear a jester's hat after she had been crowned Apple Queen – Drake definitely needed some time to himself, with nothing to remind him of the outside world.

“Hey, Drake!”

Of course, Riley would choose that moment to skip happily into the abandoned cold, stone room that, before her arrival, had been his sanctuary, and his alone.

Ever since he had accidentally fallen asleep in here during their conversation after the Regatta – he had had to endure her knowing smiles ever since – Riley had made a habit of looking for him in this very room whenever she wanted to speak to him.

And while he could find another secluded spot, he didn't want to. This was Drake's abandoned cold, stone room, not Riley's!

“Hey, LastName,” he drawled, teasing her by refusing to make eye contact with her at first, instead keeping his eyes on the grey blocks of stone that made up the room's boring ceiling. “What's up?”

Riley followed his gaze at the boring ceiling, but appeared to refrain from making the obvious joke in favor of discussing something else entirely. Instead, she replied happily, “I need your help for the culture event.”

Because the 'fox hunt' – all Cordonians knew where to put the air quotes – was delayed due to bad weather, it was announced that there would be an entirely spontaneous social season event to test Liam's suitors. At the end of the week, they were to make some sort of presentation or performance that showed their knowledge of and respect for Cordonian culture.

After pausing for a rejection but not receiving one, Riley continued. “I've been practicing singing the Cordonian national anthem in my room, but I haven't tried singing in front of anybody yet. I don't really want my first time to be at the event itself. Can you listen to me and tell me how I'm doing?”

That was a good choice. National anthems were intimately linked to their homelands, and Cordonia's national anthem was no different, telling the story of Queen Kenna's quest to unite the kingdoms and how every Cordonian should embody patriotism, compassion, and strength. Singing it in front of the king and queen would show that Riley was willing to embrace the country and all its history.

Finally meeting her eyes, he put his hands on the ground and lifted himself off the stone floor into a standing position, saying carelessly, “I'm all yours, LastName. Just don't melt my ears off with your singing.”

“Very funny,” she pouted, before smoothing out a sheet of paper Drake hadn't noticed earlier and looking at it closely. “Ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.” This ought to be entertaining, at least.

Giving him a cheerful grin, Riley exclaimed, “Great!” and started to sing.

[II.]

By the end of the first line, Drake's eyebrows had shot up as high as they could on his forehead.

By the end of the second line, his jaw had dropped open, not that Riley saw that because she was still focused on reading the lyrics from the sheet of paper she held in her hands.

By the end of the third line, he had begun to wonder if Liam's instructors had prepared him for this particular type of assassination attempt.

Riley's voice, which held a light, melodic quality whenever she spoke or laughed, seemed to lose all its pleasant features when her tongue attempted to mix words with music.

As she sang, she somehow lingered just a breath too long on certain syllables, while rushing others much too quickly, making Drake's head hurt as he, who had heard and sung the national anthem countless times in the past, began immediately mentally corrected her musical errors, and struggled because the headache-inducing mistakes just kept on coming.

As she reached the more musically dramatic part of the anthem – the part where a woman's voice would naturally go higher, while man's would go lower – the beautiful notes that were meant to convey the passion one ought to have for one's country changed.

Riley's voice turned the difficult musical notes into a peculiar, prolonged croak, sounding like a sickly frog at the very height of the national anthem, with her voice gradually regaining some human qualities as she brought the song to a close.

Finally, she stopped. Finally.

Setting down her sheet of lyrics with theatrical flourish, she beamed as she met his eyes once more.

“So?” she asked breathlessly. “How was it? Did I do okay? Do you think I'm ready?”

Normally, Drake wouldn't have hesitated in giving her a scathing remark that would express exactly how he felt. But Riley stood in front of him, with that eager smile, that hopeful twinkle in her eye, waiting for his approval, looking just like the baby deer he had told her she was in Olivia's wine cellar – and he couldn't do it.

Instead, he explained as gently – but as clearly – as he could that if she wanted to succeed at tomorrow's event, she would have to choose something that had absolutely nothing to do with singing.

And Riley, while obviously disappointed at his less than stellar feedback, thanked him for his help, saying that she knew she could trust him and that she would try something else. She exited the room, no doubt to look for ideas, as Drake rested his head in his palm, glad that the harrowing ordeal was finally over.

Drake's head was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

He knew why. Riley was a terrible singer.

[III.]

It had taken longer than expected for Drake's headache to dissipate, but finally, he felt that he could move again without feeling like a blacksmith's hammer was happily pounding away, using his innocent mind as an anvil.

The ringing of Riley's pitiful attempt at singing had finally left his ears – he noted sourly that he had even told her beforehand to not melt his ears off! – and he was just about to leave the cold, stone room and go upstairs for lunch when he spotted Riley turn the corner and enter the room, holding a kitchen tray in her hands.

“Good, you're still here!” she said in relief. Seeing that there was no table in the room, she lowered herself to the floor and sat down, placing the tray before her as she indicated for him to join her.

Intrigued, Drake did as she wanted and sat down across from her on the floor. From experience, he knew that he wouldn't have to ask what it was because she was already about to tell him.

“I tried cooking this time!”

She enthusiastically gestured by holding both of her hands, palms up and at an angle, just above the steaming bowl of soup on the tray, as if presenting him with the Cordonian crown jewels.

“I found the ingredients in a book and it looked like this was an important part of Cordonian history, so I'm sure the king and queen are going to love it – and you get to try my cooking first!”

Riley sounded so happy and so confident that Drake couldn't help but regard her fondly – and hope that she didn't notice. It wasn't that long ago when they were almost-enemies in a crowded ballroom during the social season's opening ball, where rather than speak to her for another minute, he left her to the mercies of the other ladies of the court because he couldn't stand to speak to her anymore.

To think that they were now in their abandoned cold, stone room together, that she was seeking him out to ask for his help, trusting his advice, trusting that he wouldn't steer her wrong... it was nice.

It made Drake feel like he and Riley had a relationship, a friendship, outside of their shared connection to Liam, and it was with these almost-affectionate thoughts – he just hoped that she didn't notice – that he took the small bowl in one hand so that he could hold it up and see its contents.

Cooking a meal in front of the king and queen would show that Riley was willing to serve, not just be served. It was actually an excellent strategy – but Drake should probably eat the soup soon, as there was less steam now than moments ago.

The low temperature of the cold, stone room must have slightly cooled its contents. Inside the bowl was some sort of dark broth with herbs sliced into tiny little pieces, and, from the weight of the bowl, he knew that there had to be meat or vegetables that he couldn't see beyond the broth's surface.

The scent of the soup, though, was unfamiliar, which was strange because Drake had eaten just about every type of traditional Cordonian food that existed.

“Interesting. And you said that this was somehow connected to the history of Cordonia?”

“Yup!”

He was glad to hear that. Cordonian dishes were traditionally very hearty because in ancient times, the majority of the common folk had been farmers and ranchers, tending to the vast fields that could be found as far as the eye could see in southern and western Cordonia.

In fact, the 'fox hunt' also included a feast that resembled a Cordonian banquet from ages past. One of the soup dishes normally served was a beef and black bean soup that was prepared for Queen Kenna's wedding feast.

Actually, according to his history teacher, the recipe had originally been for a bacon and black bean soup, but Queen Kenna's talking wolf had made an alliance with a floating octopus to steal all the bacon from the palace kitchens, and with the wedding ceremony almost concluded and the feast almost underway, the kitchen staff had no choice but to use beef instead.

Not that Drake had actually believed his old teacher. A talking wolf? A floating octopus? Yeah, right.

Perhaps that was why the soup didn't smell familiar. Drake was used to the soup containing beef, and maybe the bacon, combined with the herbs he could see floating on top of the soup, was simply mixed in with the black beans to the point that the beans had masked the bacon's scent.

Well, whatever, he shrugged. Food was food. He dipped his spoon into the bowl, drawing out a big spoonful of soup that he scooped into his mouth, preparing himself to discern the flavors of Riley's cooking...

[IV.]

...only to choke in surprise at the extremely unpleasant taste of the innocent-looking soup. Not wanting to spit anything out – no matter how much he wanted to – he chewed whatever hard thing it was that was inside his mouth into small pieces that he could eventually swallow, trying not to gag at the metallic, earthy taste that seemed to cling to his tongue and to the roof of his mouth long after he had swallowed that single, incredibly disgusting spoonful of soup.

What was that?!

“So?” Riley asked, not seeming to recognize the horror Drake had just been through. “What do you think of my cooking? Does it taste the way it should? You've probably had a ton of traditional dishes, so...”

She trailed off when she realized that Drake was staring at the vile bowl of soup with wide eyes.

“Drake?”

Still not able to speak, he slowly raised his eyes to hers, silently asking her why she would attempt to take his life by serving him the most revolting soup he had ever tasted in his entire life.

Murder by soup. How undignified.

“You look pale... you must be really hungry. Just go ahead and finish the soup, I can make more for myself later, so don't worry about me,” Riley smiled, making a shooing, 'go on' gesture with her hand.

After taking several deep breaths to try to recover from the painful experience he had only just narrowly escaped with his life mostly intact, he said slowly, “Riley... where did you get this recipe?”

“I told you, from a book, see?” She took out a book that he saw had actually been under the kitchen tray the entire time, turned it to a folded page, and began to read.

“...And so Kenna Rys, under the cover of darkness, fled the castle of her ancestors, abandoning the ancient fortress to the rein of Luthor Nevrakis, self-styled King of Stormholt. Her first night in exile, though filled to the brim with danger and despair, only strengthened her resolve to someday reclaim her homeland, her throne.

“To seal her solemn vow, she took the soil of her ancestral home and the root of the apple tree under which she played as a young child, and with these and her bitter tears made a soup that would forever remind her of her love for her people, her vengeance for her family, and of her future victory to reclaim the throne of Stormholt-”

“WHAT!?”

“I said, to reclaim the future throne-”

“No, not that!” Drake pointed shakily at the bowl of soup, which was smugly sitting on the kitchen tray, with his spoon. “Riley,” he asked her incredulously, voice rising in alarm with each proceeding word, “did you just feed me dirt-and-root soup?!”

And at that, she actually looked offended. “Traditional dirt-and-root soup! Don't blame me for the weird things your ancestors ate!”

He had no idea why this woman somehow felt like she had the moral high ground, but, rather than shout at her – he wouldn't shout at her because Riley never backed down from a fight, and not because he was worried that his genuine ire might make her cry, because he certainly would never be worried about something stupid like that – he asked her how she had found the book.

Apparently, after his unenthusiastic response to the song she had been practicing for days, Riley had panicked because there wasn't a lot of time before the event began.

She had frantically taken an armful of books on traditional Cordonian history and scanned them as quickly as she could, looking for inspiration. And when she had seen the word 'soup,' she had honestly thought it was another one of their unusual Cordonian things, like their fox hunt that didn't have any foxes.

Drake didn't bother correcting her. She would know to put the air quotes once she married a Cordonian.

Married Liam.

He got a funny mental image of Riley trying to spoonfeed Liam her dirt-and-root soup, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

Maybe that disgusting soup sucked all the humor out of him. Some real food, made with real ingredients, would probably be good for Drake right now. And it would likely be in his best interests to leave before she got it in her head to perform traditional Cordonian archery or something.

He got another mental image, this time of Riley lightly tugging on his arm, cajoling him to let her put an apple on his head so she could practice archery – and that image made him smile.

Hmm. It looked like his humor was coming back.

Still, some food wouldn't be amiss. After accepting her sorrowful apology for the atrocious soup she had made, Drake was about to leave the cold, stone room when a thought occurred to him.

“Since you were really... accurate... when it came to the dirt and the roots... did you also add your own tears to the soup?”

“Huh? No, of course not, I used salt and water. Adding my tears to a bowl of soup would have just been weird.”

“Right,” Drake repeated flatly. “Weird.”

At that, he left their cold, stone room so that he could get himself a good lunch because he needed to wash the taste of dirt and roots out of his mouth... though after a grumble from his stomach, he hastily decided that for now, perhaps a glass of water would be a better choice.

Drake's stomach was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

He knew why. Riley was a terrible cook.

[V.]

After having a delicious lunch and taking a refreshing nap, Drake was fairly sure that his stomach had settled, and he could now laugh at the situation. Looking back, it had been pretty funny that Riley had thought to feed him dirt and roots.

Maybe she was eccentric and totally crazy, but he was always sure to have an adventure when she was around, even if they were both just sitting inside a cold, stone room under a cold, stone ceiling.

He liked that.

Of course, another thing he liked was solitude, and he hadn't gotten enough of it today because Riley had dropped in on him in the morning with her song, and again in the afternoon with her... soup.

Now that it was almost time for sunset and she still had to think of an idea for the culture event, she was bound to be out of their abandoned cold, stone room, which meant that it was empty and waiting for him.

Finally.

After navigating the stairs with the careless ease of somebody who had been living in the palace for almost his whole life, he arrived at the right corridor and headed to the cold, stone room. But, as he drew closer, he could hear a voice coming from inside.

“Where was that page again? This poetry book is huge... Maybe I'll have to memorize it, but at least I won't accidentally poison anybody by doing a poetry reading... I hope Drake's okay... Oh, here it is!”

A poetry reading? Interesting idea. And a good one. If she chose the right poem, preferably something about the country's history, it would show her willingness to learn all she could about Cordonia, and that would make a good impression on the king and queen.

He felt a little silly standing in the corridor while she was inside, but he firmly reminded himself that he had thought earlier today that songs and soup were harmless, and look where that had gotten him.

Based on everything that had happened today, Drake was probably much safer out here in the corridor alone, than in there with here. While he didn't know what havoc she could wreak with dusty old poetry, he had no intention of finding out.

“My Beloved.”

Drake nodded to himself.

He knew that poem. Every Cordonian knew that poem. He wondered if she had chosen it herself, or if she had asked Liam or Maxwell for help – before he came to the conclusion that Liam probably wouldn't be allowed to help her about something connected to the event, and Maxwell didn't seem to be the type to recommend classic poetry.

And if she wasn't that familiar with the poem yet, Drake's presence might make her nervous. It was better to stay outside, close enough to listen, so that he could critique her later.

If only I

Could tell clouds to depart from that

Which is mine to protect

Command a world to awaken

Will I ever fathom the warmth

In you, my sun

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

Drake knew that the opening stanza of 'My Beloved' referred to the sun's power to change lives – to command an entire world to awaken, just as the poem said.

Savannah, when she had discussed it with him as part of her homework years and years ago, had remarked that it was a pity that the poem hadn't ended with referencing the moon, because that would have made the poem feel complete.

On the other hand, he had said that was too cliché – and got an apple custard tart thrown at the back of his head. But when he had turned around to frown at Savannah, she seemed unusually focused on her homework, as if she couldn't have possibly thrown an apple custard tart at her brother's head.

Riley's voice was tentative and soft when she read the first stanza. He didn't know if that was by design, or if she had judged that it was the best type of voice to use when reading the poem, but either way, Drake thought that it suited her just right.

It was rare for him to her her voice like this – normally, she was fiery and loud and making witty remarks in response to his own. Not that he would have her be any other way – but the gentle tone she was using right now... felt, right, too. Her gentle side was one he hadn't seen very often, but hearing it from a slight distance, as he was now, was pleasant, and he found himself liking the familiar poem.

If only I

Could paint a portrait of our

Pasts, kept safe in your heart and mine

Futures countless as the blades

Of verdant grass beneath my feet, yet still

Falling short of all the hope I see

In you, my haven

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

He supposed that Riley must have a gentle side. Waitresses would lose their jobs if they allowed themselves to lose their tempers at everybody they came across. Come to think of it, besides her being a waitress, she didn't seem to talk too much about her past – though she did tell him that she had managed to burn ice cream once.

Actually, how did she even manage to do that? As a waitress, he would have expected her to at least have some basic knowledge of how food was prepared. Drake really should have remembered that story of hers before trying her soup earlier today. The soup that she had claimed was traditionally Cordonian.

Instead of clinging to her American past, Drake observed, Riley had thrown herself completely into Cordonia. She might not understand why the Derby was important – honestly, Drake didn't either; but he did like the horses.

But she could find aspects of herself that she could show to the press to try and prove to them that she was worthy of being their queen. Yet even then, with her charming smiles and cryptic answers, the press had labeled her as 'The Mystery Woman.'

Women normally liked talking about themselves, but Riley, instead, preferred asking other people about themselves – and learning as much about Cordonia as she could.

It was as if she was forming roots here, already planning on building a life for herself here, and he didn't know if that spoke to her confidence about being chosen as Cordonia's queen, or simply to her growing esteem for a country in which she was determined to settle.

But then again, she had only seen the luxurious, glamorous side of Cordonia the whole time she had been here. What future did she see for herself here? If somebody else was chosen to be Cordonia's queen, would Riley be content to stay here anyway, but as a commoner, like Drake?

If only I

Could gather the scattered grains

Each a precious gift

Search blindly with my fingertips

Restore them to their place

Slow their treacherous fall

In you, my hourglass

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

This year's social season had gone by in a blink. It seemed that one moment, Maxwell was luring Riley to Cordonia, and the next moment, it was time for the 'fox hunt.' Time had passed – and passed too quickly.

Drake thought back to their walk back to the palace after eating cronuts. Riley had fallen into step beside him, and even that early on, she had already told him that with all his warnings about nobles and what the palace was like, it was difficult to get to know who he was.

How different would it have been, if Drake had know back then that Riley could be trusted? Drake wished that they had more time. He imagined longer conversations, more long talks and funny jokes and competitive races.

While ski races weren't an option in the palace, he could have told her about the game he had created with Liam, maze-tag, and had countless races to see who could reach the tree in the middle first.

Drake knew that she wouldn't think it was childish – she would laugh in the middle of his explanation, tag him, and run ahead, leaving him to stare, dumbfounded, for a second before he shouted a playful threat and chased after her.

They would play that game over again for hours and hours, one or the other always whining for a rematch to restore their maze-tag honor. And when they finally got tired, they would go to the tree in the middle of the maze.

They would lean against the trunk, breathing heavily from all the running and all the laughter, watching the sky in comfortable silence until the stars came out. He could tell Riley about the constellations Savannah had taught him, and hold back a smile as she tells him that what he said was a sea serpent looked more like a gummy worm to her.

How many starlit nights could Drake have spent with Riley in that maze?

But now, it was almost time for the 'fox hunt;' almost time for the final party of the social season at Maxwell and Bertrand's family estate; almost time for Liam's coronation. Almost time to find out if Riley was going to be somebody's wife. Liam's wife.

If only I

Could train flesh and blood and bone

To be of use, this shell, to see and shield you

Resist age and death, to spend eternity

In you, my home

My beloved

Would you let me fight for you?

The fourth stanza was a sad way to end the poem, speaking of a wish to do more and be more. The speaker clearly felt that whatever they had done, it wasn't enough. Devotion, at its very deepest, had its limits, but the poet clearly felt that endless, eternal devotion was the way things should be.

Drake disagreed. How pathetic would it be to be a shell, just lingering restlessly somewhere where they didn't belong, just waiting to be of use, having no purpose but to shield and protect? Drake found himself disliking the familiar poem.

How much time did somebody need to 'see and shield,' anyway? A lifetime was enough. Wishing for more time, for eternity, was just greedy, wasn't it?

[VI.]

Moments after reading the final line of the poem, Riley let out a small sigh. Because Drake couldn't see her, he didn't know what that sigh meant – and he didn't know why his own sigh followed shortly after, making Riley give a small squeak of surprise.

“Who's there?”

Drake opened his mouth to answer, but his throat felt slightly dry. And why did he feel so tired all of a sudden? He grasped the edge of the wall with his fingertips as he swallowed to moisten his throat, before finally giving a short, terse response.

“It's me.”

“Oh, Drake? Come on in! Why are you hiding out there?”

Noticing, even without wanting to, the fact that the wariness in Riley's first statement had given way to warm familiarity once she realized that it was Drake who had been there, he entered their cold, stone room with the cold, stone ceiling, only to see Riley getting up, smoothing the back of her blue dress with one hand as she held a book of poetry in the other.

“I finally found something I could do, Drake!” she said excitedly.

Waving the book in front of her, a finger marking the page she has just finished reading, she continued. “I chose a great traditional poem I could read to the court – I just hope they don't mind that I chose a romantic poem...” she finished with a slightly worried frown.

“Romantic?” he asked in surprise. “Riley, that's not a romantic poem. Every Cordonian knows that 'My Beloved' was commissioned by Queen Kenna Rys exactly one year after the defeat of Empress Azura. She told the poet to compose a poem, from the point-of-view of a patriotic soldier, that captured all the emotions of the Battle of Stormholt, so that younger generations would never forget.”

Drake pointed at a spot on the page.

“See that? The first three lines of the poem refer to Empress Azura – who was always called the Storm – and how the country united to defend the kingdom against her invasion. Our literature teacher told us that the poet had originally used the term, 'raging storm,' but Queen Kenna thought that it gave her too much power. So she had the poet use 'clouds' instead.”

Now it was Riley's turn to be surprised.

“But... but it sounds so romantic!”

Raising his eyebrow at her, he gently took the book from her hands to double-check that they were talking about the same poem, even though it wasn't necessary because, as he said, every Cordonian knew 'My Beloved.' And after confirming that it was the poem Drake had in mind, he started to explain the rest of it to her.

“See, the first stanza is about the whole country waking up to fight in the final battle... the second stanza is about the many possible futures Stormholt could have... the the third stanza is about the soldier saying that he wished he had more time to train so that he could be a better warrior for the country...”

He continued his way down the page.

“...and the last stanza is about him wanting to serve his country for eternity. Every stanza ends with the same line about being willing to go to war to defend Stormholt.” Drake snorted. “You must have a twisted mind to think – to think that such a historical poem as 'My Beloved' is about romance, of all things.”

It was silly of Riley. Just because something seemed like it could be romantic, like it should be romantic, didn't mean that it would be.

Would ever be.

“Drake? You're shaking.”

He looked down.

Why were his fingers trembling slightly?

Confused, Drake held them up in front of his face, and he blinked and blinked as he willed them to stop.

It worked almost completely. He shoved his hand into his pocket.

No need to see that.

“Oh, are you still feeling bad from the soup I made for you?” she asked, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. “I'll get you some dessert from the kitchens or something. That'll make you feel better. I'll be right back! And, don't worry,” she laughed, “I won't make it myself!”

With that, she rushed out of the room.

And after she was gone, he leaned against a cold, stone wall and wearily closed his eyes. Listening to a patriotic, historical poem about a soldier's love for his country shouldn't have drained all his energy from him, but somehow, it had.

Trembling fingers.

Shallow breaths.

Blinking eyes.

Drake's heart was cloudy and he felt like he wanted to throw up.

But this time, he had absolutely no idea why.

(The end.) (Word count: 5,299 words.)

First author’s note: I’ve had this idea for a while, so I’m happy I was finally able to write it 😊 I like the idea of Riley trusting Drake enough that he’s the one she goes to for help 😁 Also, it was not easy trying to write a poem that could sound romantic and patriotic at the same time 😂 I couldn’t use any classic romantic poetry techniques OR patriotic poetry techniques without giving everything away 😂 I think that this is the first sad Drake fanfic I’ve written, though 😢

Second author’s note: By the way, receiving 🦄🦄 comments 🦄🦄 on my fanfiction lets me know that YOU are interested in reading more… 😊😎 Nudge nudge, wink wink 😀😋

(Waiting for H.W.U. to come back, forever and always; 24/07/17.)

Noah Gundersen’s Restless Heart

In 2014, Noah Gundersen released his first full-length album. The record in question, Ledges, was a masterclass in contemporary folk music, loaded with confessional lyrics, acoustic guitars, and fiddles. By all accounts, Gundersen seemed like a traditionalist. In 2015, Gundersen quickly followed Ledges up with his sophomore LP, the spiritually fraught Carry the Ghost. It was still a folk album, but Noah was fleshing things out, adding fractious electric guitar and other elements of full band instrumentation into the mix. It was clearly the work of a young songwriter who was yearning to grow. Between the fall of 2015 and the early winter of 2016, Gundersen did two tours in support of Carry the Ghost. The first was a full-band endeavor, presenting the songs on Ghost as they were meant to be heard. The second was a solo tour, where Gundersen played songs from both Ledges and Carry the Ghost on acoustic guitar, solo electric guitar, and piano. It was a stark, intimate presentation, and it showed off what made Gundersen so special: his vulnerable, fragile voice; his songs that could work well no matter how much he built them up or stripped them down; and his honest, forthright lyrics. But something was wrong. Gundersen was having a crisis of faith—not the same crisis of religious faith he wrote about on Carry the Ghost, but a crisis of faith in his own art. When I saw Gundersen on the solo tour for Ghost, he was pointedly reserved. He bantered with the audience occasionally, but during the songs, his eyes were cast toward the floor or closed entirely. And at the end of the show, when a condescending moderator led a Q&A session and suggested that Gundersen was “so young” and “couldn’t have possibly experienced what he sang about in his songs,” Noah seemed at a loss for how to answer—at least politely. When the Q&A ended, Gundersen headed quickly for the stage door. “Instead of my life up to that point flashing before my eyes, it was my future,” Gundersen says of that tour in the press materials for his new album, titled White Noise and out September 22. “A future of playing songs I didn’t believe in and pouring my soul out into a vehicle I no longer recognized or loved.” For those who have been following Gundersen for a little while, that statement may or may not be shocking. Gundersen, I’ve gathered, is the kind of artist who turns against his old work as he continues to grow and change. When I spoke to him in the lead-up to the release of Carry the Ghost, Noah explained the evolution in his sound by distancing himself from Ledges. “My taste and my aesthetic has changed since the writing of those songs,” he said. “I wanted to make something that was different, something that I would enjoy listening to.” While Carry the Ghost may have been something Noah would have enjoyed listening to then, though, it probably isn’t anymore. Just like he grew out of the Ledges material, Gundersen now views the Ghost songs with a similar level of detachment—like they were written by someone else instead of from his own pen. “I wish I knew why it happens,” Gundersen said, speaking of his consistent artistic restlessness. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass. I just think I’m perpetually dissatisfied, which can be really frustrating. But it also drives my creativity and my desire to do better and to make things that are better than what I’ve made in the past.” On Carry the Ghost, that desire drove Gundersen to take the contemporary folk sound of his debut and flesh it out. On White Noise, it drives him to take that sound and crash it off a cliff. Where Ghost felt like a natural evolution from its predecessor, White Noise feels every bit as restless as Gundersen seems in conversation. There are three songs that may have fit on previous records. The rest find Noah casting about and exploring new frontiers. He’s helped in his exploration by Nate Yaccino, the friend who Gundersen brought in to produce the record. (Noah self-produced both Ledges and Ghost.) “[Nate] pushed me sonically in a lot of ways that I wouldn’t have necessarily gone on my own,” Gundersen said. “I think having someone to push back against and have a dialogue with, someone who is creatively enhancing the experience, I think that’s really important. This record definitely wouldn’t be what it is without his contributions.” On first listen, some fans—particularly the ones who have been with Noah since the bare bones EPs he made as a teenager—will probably find some of those contributions jarring. Noah’s vocals get pitch-shifted, multi-tracked, and buried in reverb in the middle of “After All,” the 90s rock flavored opener. Laser-blast sound effects and other ambient noises canter around in the background of “Cocaine, Sex, and Alcohol (From a Basement in Los Angeles).” And “New Religion” builds from an organ-drenched piano ballad into a full-on psychedelic, Beatles-inspired bridge. Still, it’s fairly clear that Yaccino isn’t pulling Gundersen anywhere that he wasn’t ready to go on his own. That’s partially because Gundersen is far from the traditional singer/songwriter that he presented himself as on Ledges, but it’s also because he didn’t completely know where he wanted to go when he started making White Noise. “The early formation of the ideas for this record were kind of all over the place,” Gundersen said. “When I started writing it, there was a phase where it was going to be like a Nine Inch Nails record. I was listening to a ton of Nine Inch Nails. Then there was a moment where it was going to be more like a Nick Cave record. And then it was Radiohead’s OK Computer. And Paul Simon’s Still Crazy After All These Years was actually a really influential record for us, too. “So there were a lot of moments along the way where it was going to be something more specific. And then it kind of just morphed into an amalgamation of a lot of the different phases of obsession that I had.” White Noise sounds as scattered as Gundersen’s words imply. Lead single “The Sound” is a surging rocker with shades of Noah’s side band, Young in the City. Ditto for the cheekily titled “Number One Hit of the Summer.” The synth-heavy “Heavy Metals” recalls the 1980s ambient rock style of The 1975. “Bad Desire” is a bluesy pop song that wouldn’t have been out of place on John Mayer’s Battle Studies. “Sweet Talker” has shades of Coldplay’s X&Y and U2’s The Unforgettable Fire. And “Bad Actors” and “Cocaine, Sex, and Alcohol,” likely to be the record’s most polarizing moments, see Noah wearing his Radiohead influence proudly on his sleeve. The themes of the record are no less expansive. In his Facebook post announcing the album, Noah wrote that it was about fear, anxiety, desire, despair, hope, and joy. It’s also about alienation and division, caused by the simultaneous connection and isolation allowed by social media and by the hateful political landscape inspired by our current presidential administration. The statements here aren’t as clear as they were on Carry the Ghost. There, Noah was exorcising years of personal demons about how religion so rarely practices what it preaches. Here, he’s threading a more universal needle—a fact that pushed him to write more toward a feeling or vibe than a literal narrative. “I didn’t want it to be some kind of confessional on-the-nose angst thing,” he said. “I didn’t want to get up and literally say ‘Social media is destroying humanity’ and ‘Trump sucks’ and all this stuff. That feels so cliché and banal when you hear it laid out literally.” At the same time, though, Gundersen also didn’t want to hide his “confessional on-the-nose angst” behind irony or cynicism, in the way that recent records from the likes of Father John Misty and Arcade Fire have done it. He didn’t want to be afraid of his own earnestness—even if being sincere is rarely what moves the needle in music these days. “I’m not an ironist,” he said. “That’s never really been my style. Something that’s been a part of my music for a long time is trying to express human feelings in a simple way, but an intimate way. And I think [this album] is another side of human feeling. It’s something we’re all going through right now. Experiencing the world changing, feeling this sense of fear and anxiety and not really knowing what to do with it. I can only communicate that through the lens that I’ve experienced it, but it does feel like a kind of universal thing that’s been going on. So I think trying to express that, at least through my own lens, is my own little contribution.” White Noise doesn’t feature a single overt political statement, nor does it include any immediately obvious references to social media or subtweet culture. Still, Gundersen is a deft enough songwriter that you can feel those topics in his songs. “The Sound” resonates as a pointed jab at entitled internet goons who refuse to acknowledge their own ignorance. “How many times will you shit on what you’re given?” the song asks; “How many times ‘til you shut up and listen?” “Fear and Loathing,” meanwhile, was written before Trump got elected—Noah was playing the song on his acoustic tour in early 2016—but might be the perfect anthem for the feeling of dread that seems to have blanketed the entire nation this year. “Nothing changes much/The quarterbacks are drunk/The prom queen just gave up/In Fear and Loathing.” In a lot of ways, White Noise is a record about cutting ties with the past. “There’s nothing left for us here now,” Gundersen sings on “Fear and Loathing.” It’s a fitting lyric for one of the few songs on the album that sounds like his old style of music. Even as Noah turns away from folk music, he has to give it at least one more aching send-off. But Gundersen is smart enough to know that, no matter how much he experiments, his purest emotional fireworks still come when it’s just him and an acoustic guitar. That’s why the three songs that sound the most like Ledges and Carry the Ghost—“Fear and Loathing,” “Dry Year,” and “Send the Rain (To Everyone)”—serve as homecomings of sort at the end of the first and second halves of the record. Both “Fear and Loathing and “Send the Rain” build from slow, acoustic starts to big, full-band catharses. “Fear and Loathing” handles the build-up itself, painting the picture of a small town that’s falling apart—breaking its citizens down with it. “Dry Year” and “Send the Rain,” meanwhile, function almost like two parts of a whole. The former is the record’s sparest and most desolate moment, painting a portrait of a world ready to burn. “Some days the world feels like a building on fire/But everyone’s ignoring the smoke/You would vote for a comedian/If he could comfort you with a joke,” Gundersen sings on the record’s closest thing to an overt political lyric. The “dry year,” it turns out, is a metaphorical drought—the result of a world sapped of its values, its empathy, and the genuine human connection that used to keep it spinning. But Noah’s words aren’t judgmental or hateful. Instead, he hopes that someday, things will change. We’ll stop burning ourselves with political wars and stupid insecurities and let the rain save our ravaged world. Even if none of us live to see that day, Noah reckons we can be a part of the solution. When the audible sound of rainfall cuts through the end of “Dry Year,” he sings “Now the sky is giving up her child/To the dead grass of the back lawn/I hope she takes the water in my body when I’m gone.” And as the album’s final song barrels toward its epic climax, it’s to Noah’s repeated cries of “Send the rain, send my love/To everyone,” shouted over the noise of crashing guitars and pounding drums. The message, I think, is simple: in a world on fire, maybe we can all be somebody else’s rain. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/features/noah-gundersens-restless-heart/

38.59 points to perfection

53 weeks ago, on a Saturday morning before going to maths nationals I woke up at 4 am. Not that I needed to and not that it did me any good but to see the men’s free skate of 2016 ISU world championships in Boston. It was an event I couldn’t miss even though it took hours of sleep from me.

Going into the free skate, my absolute favourite athlete and idol Yuzuru Hanyu had a lead of over 10 points. With that free skate he lost it all. Coming second after training mate Javier Fernandez for the second year in a row. Even more heartbreakingly, Shoma Uno, then a Japanese 18-year-old came in seventh. Back then I was sad, depressed, but never disappointed. I never really could be disappointed in them knowing how tough it is and how they really do their best.

Several months before Boston though, I found out that the 2017 world championships were held in Helsinki. For most people that is the cold nowhere but for me you see, it’s just around 80 km from home. Living in Estonia I set my heart on seeing at least parts of these worlds live. And as life had it, last Saturday morning I was on my way there for the free skate.

This time Yuzuru was left with only 5th place after the short with Javier in the lead and Shoma second. I was nervous to say the least. But also I was the most excited I have ever been. Seeing Yuzuru Hanyu live… It had been a dream of mine ever since I saw him first on the screen.

Leaving out the brilliance of Misha Ge’s probably last competition skate and all the beauty of the first 3 warm-up groups I’ll jump right to where the magic happened. The first thing I saw when the last group was about to step onto the ice was how sparkly everything was. Honestly no camera does it justice how blindingly sparkling some of these costumes were. I saw Nathan Chen, I saw Javier Fernandez, Patrick Chan, Boyang Jin… I was losing it when I first saw Shoma and Yuzu there.

I was a mess during the 6 minute warm-up and Yuzu was going first right after it. And then the music started and the feeling that at least a third of the 13000 people in the audience were Japanese there to support their boys started to give the feeling of something amazing happening before my eyes. A beauty of a quad loop jump gave off that the feeling wasn’t wrong. Everything was right. The 4S3T combination he has been struggling with for a while now brought the biggest dose of applause and cheering I’ve ever witnessed. And the Pooh shower at the end of a clean program told anyone that couldn’t tell from the performance itself. We had witnessed a miracle. After more than a year, Yuzuru Hanyu had performed a clean free skate and made a new world record. 223.20 is the new standard for excellence.

Still I was a nervous mess. Both Javi and Shoma still had a chance with a SP lead. And while I could never mind Shoma winning, the thought of Javi getting a third world title in a row scared me. As Shoma’s music started you could cut the tension with a knife. Not only is his music and choreography intense, everyone knew how much depended on that, especially after last year. But like people have said it before me and will say after, he was a clean 3Lz away from winning. A shaky landing took those three points that would have put him in front of Yuzuru.

And after Javier’s fall it was clear that the boys had gone one-two for Japan. All my dreams had become true. Not only did I see them live, I saw them at their best and all that started to sink in as during the award ceremony thousands of people around me sang the Japanese national anthem as a thank you to the boys.

I can’t say I would’ve had it any other way. Yuzu did what he had been waiting for a while and even after the difficult injuries last year goes into the Olympic season once again the number one. All I can wish now is that he manages to stay healthy next year. And as for Shoma, he was only the second time in and what he did beat everything but a world record. They were amazing.

Last year Yuzu was at 184.61, this year 223.20. 38.59 was missing from perfection last year and that’s what I was like too. Last year heading to maths nationals I was 38.59 points from perfection, I thought I knew who I was and with that single weekend caused myself enough heartbreak for almost a year. This time I’m not going for perfection because I have that one who makes me feel like I don’t need to be perfect. I can show myself just as broken, vulnerable and over-nervous as I am and that’s when I become what perfection means to me. Perfection to me means balance. It means being able to show who you truly are to those that matter and even if you’re nervous around them that you allow yourself to smile to them.

Because if someone smiles at you like that, the easy thing is the right one. Smile back and you’ll see soon enough that the 38.59 points to perfection no longer stop you from becoming just that. Perfect. In your own messed up way.