#other than that he is now more full time model and dancer and art is a backburner | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jade-parcels · 3 years

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The bunnies’ other jobs!

From my bunny cafe au

((I am so peeved :((( I had this all written out!! And I deleted it by accident!! Darnnnnn!!!))

Anon asked “You mentioned that some of the bunnies have day jobs so do they all have jobs outside the cafe or just a few?” (Something along these lines…again…I deleted it by accident 😔)

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Diluc/‘Angel’

After his father got bored with the wine industry, he passed the whole company off to Diluc on his 18th birthday in order to shift his focus to mining. Diluc found himself swamped with all kinds of business decisions while just barely being an adult. He expanded the company and hired some very trustworthy people to handle things for him so he could finish college

When the business was given to him, Diluc and Kaeya had an explosive fight over it. Kaeya felt like he deserved to have some say in what happens to the business, he’s still a part of the family! But Diluc refused to let him in on any decisions so Kaeya packed his bags and left (not before cussing him out in front of their father, staff and business partners). He was just in a silly, goofy mood. They’re fine now, not on the best terms but they do chat and meet up for lunch on occasion.

He is filthy rich, he couldn’t spend all of his all of his money if he tried, so he doesn’t really need the job at the cafe! Kaeya got him the job because he knew his brother was stuck in a weird, antisocial funk and needed some fun in his life

Diluc loves this job, he has a great time, but it isn’t his main job. His priority will always be the family business!! If he has to quit his job at the cafe, he would in a heartbeat

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Kaeya

Kaeya was going to go into the police academy but was scouted out by a modeling agency. They had seen him at Ragnvindr company events and thought ‘well damn’ so they gave him a pretty generous deal

Kaeya makes a good living off of modeling, the tips and paycheck from the cafe. He rakes in cash pretty quickly just cause he knows how to get it. That, and his dad sends him checks every other month as well. Kaeya thinks of it as ‘I’m sorry’ money. He isn’t wrong

He doesn’t travel much for modeling, which he doesn’t mind, so he kinda just hangs around the city with a lot of free time on his hands between photo shoots. That’s why he got this job at the cafe! It gives him something to do and it’s fun as hell ;)

Albedo

Bedo is one busy bunny. He finished college early and is getting his masters degree online. He works most days at the cafe and on the weekends, he tutors other college students in bio/chem/science related subjects

(He was actually Xiao’s tutor back when he was failing chemistry!! Xiao is very thankful for Albedo’s help!!)

His dream is to become a biochemist, he’s always been interested in cells and what makes up living beings. So having a career in that field would make him the happiest man alive

His mother and sister live outside the city in a more rural area so he spends a lot of time FaceTiming the two of them! Klee is always so excited to hear about Albedo’s experiments or the people he’s met while working in such a bustling, fun city :)

Zhongli

Zhongli is a simple man! He’s a bunny waiter and an artist

He creates intricate pieces based on folklore from different cultures, focusing mostly on dragons. His favorite medium is paint, he loves painting on glass and layering the panes in order to create a 3D piece

He sells his works to galleries, shops and anyone who wants them! As long as they appreciate the story behind the artwork. Sadly…He undersells his work. He could def be making more money but he just does not desire money or material goods the way others may

So he got his job at the cafe in order to help out his dear friend Ningguang, not for money, he only planned on working there for a month or two until she got more bunnies but…he ended up really loving the people he works with :’) he looks forward to working with them now and texts/calls them outside of work to meet up for lunch or bowling (such an old man thing to do omfg)

Dainsleif/‘Sweetie’

Dain was a bouncer at another bar before leaving to come to Celestia’s! He’s good friends with Beidou, they belong to the same motorcycle club so when she was talking to him about the lack of security at the cafe/bar, he stepped in to help out

Little did he know…he’d actually become a bunny…And like it

This is his full time job now, he doesn’t have another for the time being. While he is a bunny at the cafe, he still keeps an eye out for any threats to his coworkers and has access to the offices upstairs (Ningguang’s office and the security office)

When he isn’t waiting tables, he’s upstairs in a tank top and sweatpants keeping an eye on the security cameras and talking to the other security guards through their ear pieces

Ajax

Ajax is a student who doesn’t really have much time on his hands

He mows lawns in the summer and he’s quit his job as a cashier to come work at the cafe! He mostly works night shifts his cause he’s still going to school aaaaaand he’s on his college’s swim team! He’s about to graduate so he works close with his coach to help train the others on the team

He doesn’t really want his family knowing that he skips around in a skimpy bunny outfit and fucking customers most nights but I mean…They’re bound to find out if they see him in pictures people post

Xiao/‘Tofu’

Xiao is an art student!! He wants to be a tattoo artist :)

He’s already got one sleeve of tattoos, it’s unfinished but you can’t really tell just by looking. When he isn’t at the cafe, he’s either in class or shadowing Ganyu, his best friend and tattoo artist. Their art styles greatly differ, she focuses her craft on cutesy, colored tattoos, but she is skilled. And Xiao looks up to her

Xiao admires Zhongli too, they met at the cafe and when Zhongli found out Xiao wants to be a tattoo artist he told him that once he’s licensed, he wants to get a tattoo from him :’)

Baizhu/‘Honey’

Baizhu is a (mostly) full time pharmacist, hence why he isn’t usually at the cafe

He also has a niece, Qiqi, who he babysits often. He loves her very much so he has no problem watching her! Baizhu will even bring her to the pharmacy with him when he’s swamped with work. In the break room, he has a play kitchen, coloring books and a bunch of puzzles to keep Qiqi occupied while he works :)

When he’s not at work, he’s at home resting. He has chronic pain flare ups in his back and shoulders that can make life miserable :( he has plenty of good days that outweigh the bad! And as a pharmacist, he has access to any medicine he needs to make his life easier!

Dottore(Alain)/‘Doc’

Alain’s an oral surgeon who’s a little bit….too into his job

He isn’t phased by blood or gore so he’s easily able to conduct procedures that would make other squeamish. He’ll pull teeth, put in dental implants, remove rotten tissue, any of that without even flinching

Outside of that, he works at the cafe. He wears a mask in order to avoid being recognized even though at his job as a surgeon, he’s usually wearing a medical mask anyways. It’s just a precaution

This has nothing to do with his career but he used to be a tap dancer and actor so he’d join in on local theatre shows! He helped build sets when he wasn’t rehearsing. He doesn’t have time for that anymore (which kinda makes him sadddd) but he has all kinds of theatre playlists on his phone and in his car that he’ll sing along to

Scaramouche/‘Boss’

Scara’s job at the cafe is his main job! His side job is something you may not expect from such a grump

He works at an animal shelter! In fact, he brings cats home to train so they have an increased chance of being adopted. Someone is more likely to adopt a potty trained, socialized cat than a feral cat who doesn’t know what a litter box is. So Scara brings them to his apartment for some one-on-one socializing, training and cuddling

One time he offhandedly mentioned working at an animal shelter while he was working at the cafe and sure enough, three separate customers from the cafe came by to adopt!!! Only one actually took an animal home but he was still surprised that those people had listened to him and cared enough to come by

Scara is a jerk most of the time but when he’s at home…by himself…With a lil kitten sleeping in his lap while he plays games on his PC…Yeah, he softens up a bit

So as you can see, we have a very diverse group working at the cafe! They’ve all learned a lot from each other, come to appreciate each other’s friendship and come to help each other out when one of their coworkers is in need or upset.

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watchstarscollide · 2 years

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Drawing the Dancer | Jung Hoseok

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» Summary | You never quite felt like you lived up to the expectations as an art major but Hoseok takes on the task as the model for your next project. They say the dance studio tends to get hot but you weren’t quite prepared for the furnace.

❥ Pairing | Jung Hoseok x Reader

★ Word Count | 1.7k

» Genre | Friends to lovers, romance

» Warnings | Slightly suggestive

↳ AN | Idk how to do this whole genre and warning thing. I’m trying though so that should count for something? If there's a better genre wording or more warnings to put let me know!

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“Thank you so much for doing this last minute” you spit out to your friend as you pulled all the supplies needed out of the heavy duffel bag you hauled from your car into the studio. Hoseok had offered a hand but you were too proud to accept any help. It wasn’t really much but the size of your easel and everything else jostling around in the bag made it a process of its own.

“Are you sure I can’t help you?” He asked once more as you spilled everything out on the waxed wooden floor.

“You’re helping me enough, I just need to get this final done. I’m sorry it was so last minute, my other model bailed last night with a stomach bug” you explained hurriedly. You finally had everything set up and were able to take a full breath by the time your eyes met his mock hurt face.

“You’re telling me I wasn’t your first choice?”

You giggled at his joke while shaking your head in sympathy. “Actually she was a ballet dancer but I’m sure you can be just as graceful”.

He broke his facade with a loud laugh and sat on the floor, stretching out a bit beside you.

“I actually think it’ll work out in my favor. How many paintings do you see of ballet dancers anyway? With you as the subject I think my project might actually stand out” you thought out loud.

Depicting ballet was safe but maybe that was the problem. You were having a hard enough time proving that you possessed the creative talent to be in the art department, in fact you were starting to wonder if you belonged yourself.

This final needed to show everything you had. It needed to be creative, emotional, and technically perfect. The stress built up was enough to give you a migraine.Taking a risk was scary, especially for something that mattered so much to you, but there was something exhilarating about the new prospect through the anxiety.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to” Hoseok said with a bright grin and a quick thumbs up. His carefree attitude always seemed to lighten the mood in a room. Even just between the two of you in the quiet studio you felt your nerves subside.

Now that you had thought of it, this was actually the first time you were alone with Hoseok. The two of you had known each other through mutual friends but any interaction previously had been through group settings like parties and meet ups. You had gotten his number through your best friend and were honestly surprised he was so ready and willing to help you, especially so last minute. But without hesitation on the phone at 8AM he immediately was up for the task.

“I honestly just need you to dance. Any moves, any song” you asked of him. He looked a little unsure for a minute but nodded and stood up. The small speaker he had brought with him sat quietly in the corner of the room until he hooked his phone up and let the music play on shuffle.

“I’ve never done something like this before so give me a chance to loosen up” he called over to you as you sat crossed legged with a pencil ready in hand.

“Just pretend like I’m not even here”

“That’s easier said than done” he laughed.

The music played loudly for something so small but Hoseok slowly got more and more into the moves he made. Small movements becoming more deliberate and extravagant. He had joked about needing to loosen up but as soon as he found the beat of the song it was almost like another person came out of him. The precise movements of his body to the timing of the song was incredible. The way he smoothly transitioned from each position. You found it hard to concentrate on your canvas as you became mesmerized with each passing moment.

He joked but it really seemed as if he was able to tune out your presence completely. It was just him, the beats, and the mirrors in front of the room. He watched himself intensely analyzing each step he took although he never seemed to falter. You sketched his movements roughly hoping to translate it into something more precise later. For now you just wanted to get a feel for his style, his moves, his body.

That was a detail you found yourself unknowingly gravitating towards. The way his muscles contracted and flexed as he hit every pop and stride. The way the sweat that had formed on his body glistened highlighting every inch of his exposed skin. The concentrated look on his face was intimidating and almost suggestive but definitely sexy.

It suddenly felt a bit warmer in the room.

You choked back a laugh to yourself and tried to shake the thoughts out of your head. Silly really, you had gone through nude model classes with no problem but watching Hoseok move in front of you seemed to be a completely different story. Your hands had become hot and damp with sweat as you tried to bring your focus back onto the actual task at hand. But as you looked back up at Hoseok, his eyes met yours in the mirror accompanied with a sudden wide smile.

“Are you getting anything out of this?” He asked loudly over the music. His chest rising and falling fast as he caught his breath.

You gave him an honest but soft half smile back. “Honestly, you’re so good. You’re so focused and determined when you dance. I want to be able to capture that in my piece but I just don’t know how you do it” you sighed, setting your pencil down.

“Have you ever danced before?” He asked, crouching down next to you. He looked over what you had drawn out but it was far from anything distinguishable at the moment. You shook your head at his question. Other than messing around with your friends or in your room where not a single soul would see you, you had never once seriously tried to dance. It just wasn’t in your blood.

“When you feel the beat under your feet and let that music flow through you, there’s nothing like it.” The way he spoke about dancing paired with the dreamy look in his eyes showed nothing but the pure passion he was about what he did. He had definitely found his calling and ran with it. It was absolutely admirable.

“Do you want to try?”

You whipped your head back at him with a dumbfounded look.

“Me? Oh no, I have zero rhythm. I’m not trying to embarrass myself today” you protested. Although it seemed Hoseok wasn’t going to take no for an answer as he reached for your hands and pulled you up and over to the center of the room.

“Art is art” he commented while using his foot to push your legs apart in a more comfortable stance, “Think if it this way, if you see what I feel when I dance then you’ll be able to put it to paper a lot it better for your project”

He had a point that you couldn’t deny.

With that being said a short nod is all the signal you gave to show you were prepared. He stood next to you and asked you to replicate his moves to the unknown song that was playing. It was simple, a hip sway with some basic arm movement but putting them together while staying in beat was a little harder for you than he made it look. Even he couldn't hold back the chuckle that left his lips at your feeble attempt. But he still didn’t allow you to give up.

“Here” Hoseok moved up behind you and gently placed his hands on your hips.

Almost immediately you felt your face heat up at the contact. His grasp became more firm as he asked you to repeat the move except this time he was able to keep your hips in rhythm using his hands to guide you. It wasn’t a provocative move by any means but the way he moved your hips to dip slightly and hit hard on each sway made you feel like putty quite literally in his hands.

“Just listen to the beat” He said softly into your ear, you hadn’t even realized how close he had gotten to you until you had felt his soft breath on your ear and chest softly brushing against your back. It was so hard for you to switch your attention to the music as you became more and more aware of what was happening as his hands continued to move you with himself mirroring the same move behind you.

You couldn’t concentrate, not even a little. You looked into the mirror in front of you to get a clearer picture of what was happening but as you looked up your eyes met his own stare through the reflection. He had the same concentrated look that he had as he danced alone but it was also laced with something else. Something more intense. And somehow you also felt whatever that was.

It didn’t take long to figure out that mutual connection that radiated from his body to your own. You were able to turn ever so slightly in Hoseok’s grip to get a proper look into his eyes. It only took half a second for each of you to read the moment before you found each other’s lips in a hasty movement as if the whole lesson he gave was foreplay. A rough hand moved from your hip up your neck as the sudden kiss turned more determined and frenzied. If you weren’t feeling the beat of the song before, now you were feeling it in your entire body.

Though the kiss didn’t last long it felt as if you had melted into each other as you parted. Maybe it did last a little longer than you thought as you noted a completely different song echoing off the walls.

You and Hoseok finally looked at each other clearly and shared a warm, bashful smile that made your heart flutter.

He spoke softly, “I told you there’s nothing like getting lost in the music”

#BTS #fan fiction #fanfic #Jhope #jung hoseok #hobi #jhope x you #jhope x reader #jhope x y/n #hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x you #hobi x reader #hobi x you #jhope fanfic #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #writing

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

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An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series.

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present?

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore.

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy.

Until today.

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her.

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration.

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do.

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful.

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her.

I understood the feeling.

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people.

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent.

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile.

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down.

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter.

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her.

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question.

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting.

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask.

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen.

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features.

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something.

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark.

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot.

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?”

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded.

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich.

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?”

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket.

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods.

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar.

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand.

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand.

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks.

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across.

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that.

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow.

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be.

But like I just told him, I’m a college student.

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys.

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him.

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him.

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile.

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real.

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care.

Who the hell is this guy?

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting.

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?”

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true.

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause.

And really, really contemplate my life.

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery.

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information.

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous.

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state.

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming.

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas.

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment.

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door.

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine.

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work.

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear.

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels.

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door.

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent.

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it.

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle.

I. Am in. So much. Trouble.

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone.

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care.

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on.

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me.

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back.

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment.

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already.

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding.

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down.

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship.

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird.

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand.

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us.

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them.

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth.

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress.

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him.

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.”

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?”

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now.

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?”

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas.

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.”

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me.

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode.

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens.

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures.

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special.

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his.

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together.

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss.

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there.

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it.

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair.

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him.

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together.

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive.

And then the world goes dark.

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg.

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support.

What the hell was that?

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley?

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought.

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street.

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good.

It feels like the beginning of something.

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good.

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again.

_________________________________________________

Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @bamchickawowow @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #rhysand

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sakuatsu · 4 years

Note

YELL 2 ME ABT SAKUATSU FIC RECS PLS

oh boy. oh boy do i have much to talk about

here’s a list of my sakuatsu must-reads under the cut! complete with links, word count, ratings, and occasional commentary because i’m incapable of shutting up. this isn’t in any particular order either

(keeping this sfw and organized into canonverse/AUs. a * means i am on my hands and knees begging for you to read this)

i’ll try to update this somewhat regularly :]

most recently updated august 25, 2020!

canonverse:

*your highs and lows (series) by astroeulogy

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

this is like the sakuatsu series but it’s blasphemous to not recommend. the first fic in the series is all that you were (4.6k, T). mind the ratings on a few of the fics, but my personal favorite is #3: a masterpiece of domesticity called you have tamed me (5.7k, T). these make me ACHE

*sakuatsu domesticity simulator by pseudoanalytics (T)

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

this fic...this fic...op is literally one of my favorite artists of all time but Did You Know that their writing is also off the charts. what a wonderful use of second person and the pacing is so good. too much skill in one person

*The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets by isaksara (11.4k, M)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

i think this is the fic that got me into sakuatsu in the first place lol i was looking very specifically for msby socmed fics and now here we are. this fic is unbelievably funny

*liminal spaces by hhatsuna (25.9k, T)

Fuck you, Atsumu thinks, pointing at the pixelated Sakusa in the grainy team photo on his bedside table.

It’s easier than you’d think to ignore loving your teammate.

*Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (15.7k, M)

Where “You already make me the happiest guy alive, babe," gives way to, “I’ve not been happy for a while now.”

Alternatively known as the ‘mug fic’.

yes this is a breakup fic. yes im going to recommend it anyway. breakup fics usually scare me a lot but this one is too good for me to not say anything about. nuanced and delicious. i look at the mug on my desk and feel pain

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (8.4k, T)

You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Koi no Yokan; 恋の予感 by ymra (15.3k, unrated)

Wherein Sakusa dreams of his future selves and discovers a little something along the way.

autumn ends, but we remain by wolfsbvne (5.3k, T)

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

your fingertips, branding irons by Ceryna (5.8k, T)

Between the accidental touches he's reconciled, the deliberate ones he's endured, and, from those he's built years of trust with, obliged– Kiyoomi has never wanted to let someone indulge.

Never, until Atsumu.

take what’s yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (5.9k, T)

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (10.4k, T)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

*where i want to be by tookumade (8.8k, G)

In the time they’ve been teammates at the MSBY Black Jackals, Sakusa has never been to Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu has only been to Sakusa’s a few times. There’s an unspoken understanding here: that Atsumu knows him well enough to know that nobody’s house or apartment would ever really meet his ridiculously high standards, and he is most comfortable in the home he’s made for himself.

That, and, Atsumu being over at Sakusa’s means that he has to host him and do the cleaning afterwards, while Atsumu can just flit off back to his own place. So. There’s that.

Tonight. Tonight is not business as usual. Tonight is not familiar.

*san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (8.1k, T)

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (10.8k, T)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

four leaf clover by vicari_us (5.9k, T)

Once, Ushijima claimed that they ‘got lucky’. If properly honed, their body types could become near invincible weapons.

However, unlike Ushijima, Kiyoomi’s weapon required a bit more care over the years to reach the condition it had become. He was born iron, not yet forged into steel.

Exploring what it might have taken to turn a genetic mistake into an athletic miracle.

*the 28 postcards you left me by wheelspokes (8.3k, T)

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

such a unique premise & this is so beautifully structured. stunning flow and who knew animal crossing could convey so much longing...

AUs:

Pas De Deux by hhatsuna (dancer!sakusa au: 19.0k, T)

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes, and the twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?” Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

*my love, take your time by bastigod (archaeologist!sakusa au: 9.0k, T)

There was something sublime about wandering around an empty museum. Nothing could compare to the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floor, the morning sunlight gently streaming through the lofty windows and the peaceful solitude of ancient stone kings overseeing their silent kingdoms.

A day in the life of Doctor Kiyoomi Sakusa, Archaeologist.

i’ve literally been thinking about this fic every day since it came out. you will not find a story like this anywhere else, i guarantee you. what a clear labor of love this fic is it’s truly something so special

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (surgeon!sakusa & microbiologist!atsumu au: 19.7k, T)

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

*Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (ogre spirit!sakusa au: 6.7k, T)

For the last twenty years, Atsumu’s done all that he can to break his betrothal to the ogre spirit Sakusa. If he can just make it through one more night, he’ll be free.

honestly, just read everything by astroeulogy. i’m recommending this fic in particular because it has such an ethereal voice to it. magical

across oceans, across centuries by starstrikes (pacific rim au: 20.0k, T)

Six days ago, Osamu died and left Atsumu with this: Atsumu, you have to—

(Namikira rises with the tides and rips Osamu and Vulpis Empress away in one fell swoop. Six days later, Atsumu wakes up alone in a hospital bed and learns how to swim.)

you don’t actually need to know pacrim to appreciate this. a wonderful exploration of grief and recovery. also it’s exactly 20k words which is both satisfying and terrifying

*Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (ice skating/dancing au: 20.8k, T)

"Your partner doesn't need to hold anyone's hand other than yours," Sakusa's father crouches, "And you can wear gloves."

Sakusa ponders. He hears the other skaters of rink two whiz past as they launch themselves into lifts.

"Alright," He looks up from the ice, not knowing how he'll dedicate the next couple of decades to this sport, this partnership, this boy.

what a stunning fic. a beautiful progression of sakusa & atsumu’s relationship, rife with references to real skating programs, beautifully written and structured. so full of longing i’m in mild physical pain

#if anyone else has recs feel free to drop them in the replies mwah #sakuatsu fic is SO high quality you can literally just look at the tag and blindly press and find something stunning #these are just my personal favorites #basically just my ao3 bookmarks and then some #sakuatsu #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #sakuatsu fic #haikyuu fic #ask #reynegades #thank you for asking.....ive been dying to make a fic rec post i just needed a push lol #fic

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse; you were the weird girl in the park. Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing. myg x named f!reader. s2l.

genre + rating. college!au. fluff, angst, smut. explicit.

tags / warnings. light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!). there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic. i’m not sorry. lol.

wc. 8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink. You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket. Sometimes, he reads. Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno. Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes. Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.

They’re all interesting in their own ways.

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts. He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine. He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them. He reads a lot, too. You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf. Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool. You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods.

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party. You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her. He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip. It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer. He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be. He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk. You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more. It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class. You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model. He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble. It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person; it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook. They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them. Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears: boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black. You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library. You’re practically best pals by college standards.

And then, of course, there’s him. Your muse. The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to. The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them. The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen. The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible.

Min Yoongi.

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear. You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes. You sometimes add his glasses; you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon. You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day. Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs. You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all.

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense.

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.

No, not getting caught. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day. You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment.

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is.

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night. You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots. You were always so careful. You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.” You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream. The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.

“It’s here somewhere.” The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…” Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild. “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers.

Lucky for her; unlucky for you.

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly. You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit! Shit!” Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag. Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens. You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.

“Don’t forget,” she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her. “Thanks, Ji.” You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.” It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall. Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples. You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped. You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!” It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee. You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless. Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly. You can’t deny you’re a little envious.

“Your face is all red. You’re out of breath. Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess. “No, I’m good.” It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.

“You sure?” He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas. He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist. Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail; he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge. You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter. You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake. Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?”

“Did you say…” You can’t finish the sentence. You feel like you’re about to be sick.

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal. It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips. It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks. At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy. Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.” As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half. “You’re really good at capturing his boredom. That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.” You should make conversation; it’s the polite thing to do.

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook. Better him than someone else, right? Better him than Yoongi himself? That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay. Semi okay. Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse. You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say - not really. You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making. Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention. It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone.

“This is Miru.”

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues.

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.

“Ohf, phey!” With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables. They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion. He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly; you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Do you want to join us?” It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this.

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery. Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. If looks could kill, you think.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you. It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice. “Sometimes, he gets like this.”

You want to believe it. Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face. Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top. It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears.

“I’m so sorry.” It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.” Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare. He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words. It’s not the Yoongi he knows. It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.” It’s thinner, but just as reproachful. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth. “Mean what? Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.” Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such. Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce. “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.” Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises. “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days. Well, not really.

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory. You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries. You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.” You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up. From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate. It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault. And she had to pick up the pieces! It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.” She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green. She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can try,” you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.

Try - and fail, it seemed. You’d already run into him twice. Twice! Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize. You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up. Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency. You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face. Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,” Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness. She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs. It’s a bit dramatic, you think.

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person. Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump. You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious. “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.”

It all falls into place then. Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy. It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her. You’ve always had an unspoken agreement; you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days.

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things. You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!” She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice. It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp. You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh. Dammit.

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.

Your heart stutters at the sight of him. It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.

“What?” You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not right now. You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.

“I said—” His words are glacial and biting. It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be. You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t be cold when you’re dead. “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression. It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth. He says nothing.

“Really. I’m not.” You’re insistent, apologetic. Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red. The tips of your fingers are tingling. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wonder if he’s baiting you now.

“For…” Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care. “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,” he returns, completely deadpan. He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful. “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often. So I couldn’t let it go.” You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices. “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears. A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment.

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately. Fair.

“I’m sorry.” Again. More. Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare. “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face. There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize. You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more.

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle. You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face. “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame. “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action. He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days. You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.

“Then… can I sketch you?” You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it. You can’t help it.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity. He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that).

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied. He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully. His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced. He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot.

Over time, though, it comes - comfort.

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you. It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun. You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.

You know he gets it, though. He always does. It’s a Yoongi thing.

“You can relax.”

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks. The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree.

“I am relaxed,” he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up. He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon. Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class. You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.”

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning. It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side. It makes your heart skip a beat.

“Go ahead then,” he continues. The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow. You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”

You always offer. He never says yes.

A part of you thinks he likes the attention. It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful. You think he might like the quiet, too. The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more. “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue. It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.

“What?” You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with. “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour. It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me? Why not someone else?” He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him? Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,” you answer, perhaps too honestly. “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.” How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel. “I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject. But I just… couldn’t?”

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?” It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you. He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning. You’re not used to it and certainly not from him. You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.

You’re not weird. You don’t want this to be weird. But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time. One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months. “What if I told you I was glad?”

“Glad?” It feels like an echo chamber. Repetition. As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard. “I’d say the same thing. I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon. He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you. His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad. You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”

It’s not a surprise, really. It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore. Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…” You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?” The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope.

“I’d say you’re welcome. For choosing you.” The confidence isn’t your own. It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys. Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness. Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face. It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade. It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him. Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same. In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important.

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point. “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once. There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to. It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun. All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours. It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard. It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing. “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,” he states, solemnly. You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind. Not if it gets you another kiss.

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust. You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks. You’d like to find out.

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide.

You don’t know how you ended up here.

Actually, that’s a lie. You do. All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,” he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.” Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.” To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said. It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation. Yoongi was only painting you. This was a bonding exercise. Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician. Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow. So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat.

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.” He levels you with a look. You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful. “I wanted to make something beautiful but…” Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea. “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands. The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.

“You’re silly.”

“ You’re silly,” he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

The roll of your eyes is undeniable. “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right? Not your best choice, making fun of me.” He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers. Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist. A line here, a circle there. Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint. Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside. He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs. A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.

“Can I take this off?” It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours. There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders. He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him. He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice. It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine. You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you. You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside. You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now. Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?” Mellifluous and adoring. Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?” He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs. The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive. He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses. Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing. He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin.

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts. It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder. “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest. You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.

“I think I love you.” It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.

“I think I love you, too.”

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away. It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it. He’d been your inspiration and now you were his. The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.

“You don’t have to say it back.” It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight. Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks. “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness. His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone. He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins. It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath. “Please touch me.”

“Where?” He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own. He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect.

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again.

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him. A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs.

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering. The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw. “Then it’ll be a good death.”

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body. He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop. A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit.

“Do that again.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds. Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience. Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.” Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence. “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,” you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins.

“Just tell me.”

“I want this. I need this.” You hope he believes you. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this. He loves it. “I need to stretch you out. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks. It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything. He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.

You’re a dream come true. He never wants to wake up.

“More. Please.” You’re so polite, he almost laughs. You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now. He can’t deny how proud he is. It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other. You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot. He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”

Your nod is enough of an answer.

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot. In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning. You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—” Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles. He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy.

“Please, please, please.” There are tears in your eyes. You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping. “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs. You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin. The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones.

“Are you tired?” Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips.

You are, but it doesn't matter. You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring. A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes. “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager. He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless. It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.” So pretty, so ready. He can’t resist.

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand. The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye. It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.

“I love you,” you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too. You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips. “I know.”

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.

“Holy shit,” he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue. “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him. It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.” It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind. He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust. It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.

“Yoongi - please.” You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him. His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high. The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice.

“One more, love. Once more for me, okay? I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over. You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place; it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.

“I love you,” he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow. It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly. Yoongi doesn’t mind though; he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste. He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair. “So, thanks, Taehyung?”

“Can you not?” It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.

“Sorry.” A beat. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly. “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note. this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer and i kind of just... ran with it. oops.

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: What Makes It So Difficult to Diversify Ballet Faculties?

Date: February 17, 2021

By: Theresa Ruth Howard

The lack of Black ballet teachers in professional training programs has long been known to be a weakness holding the field back from true inclusivity. The common refrain of "We can't find them" might have been plausible before, given the scarcity of professional Black ballet dancers. Yet suddenly, qualified candidates are springing up. (Perhaps the world being on fire smoked them out?) To quote choreographer William Isaac, "There seems to be an arms race to hire Black ballet teachers."

Last fall, the schools of Boston Ballet, Pacific Northwest Ballet and San Francisco Ballet, as well as the School of American Ballet, all welcomed new, full-time Black ballet teachers. To be fair, some of these hires had been in the works for a few years. But what's kept ballet faculties so white for so long?

With a culture akin to country clubs and Ivy League schools, ballet acts like an old boys' network; it's about who you know, and to know the right people, you have to occupy certain spaces. It is cyclic: Access and opportunity creates access and opportunity. That has historically kept the circle quite tight, and white. The common requirement of a certain pedigree and artistic lineage among faculty members has perpetuated a deficit of Black ballet teachers. These additions to the top ballet training programs are a step in the right direction.

School of American Ballet: Aesha Ash

Over a shared history of more than seven decades, New York City Ballet and SAB have maintained the purity of their bloodline with the company hiring almost exclusively from its school, and the school from NYCB alums. That makes diversification of the SAB faculty difficult, since the company has welcomed a total of 32 Black dancers, including 13 current members. Aesha Ash, who joins fellow Black NYCB alum Craig Hall on faculty this year, fits the criteria: "She's a spectacular teacher, she's an SAB alum, a City Ballet alum and understands Mr. Balanchine's aesthetic," says SAB chairman of faculty Kay Mazzo.

For Ash, this is an opportunity to be something she needed when she was a student at the school. "I think about the loneliness and isolation I felt," she says. "If my presence makes one little girl feel validated, my job is done."

There now seems to be a realization that hiring solely from NYCB's ranks inhibits the possibility of true diversification. "We have two visiting faculty chairs this year, Leyland Simmons and Alicia Holloway, both SAB alums, but they didn't dance in City Ballet, so this is a first," says Mazzo. The school also plans to engage participants from SAB's National Visiting Fellows Program, which invites ballet teachers with diverse student populations to teach and observe classes, discuss SAB's curriculum, and engage in dialogue around pedagogy techniques, school management and other topics twice a year. Since 2015 the program has accepted numerous Black teachers. "With our national visiting fellows as guest teachers in the future, we will be opening doors," says Mazzo. "It's no longer the model that Mr. Balanchine and Lincoln Kirstein started."

Boston Ballet School: Andrea Long-Naidu

Boston Ballet School's hiring of Andrea Long-Naidu has a similar thread of lineage. Director Margaret Tracey is a former NYCB principal, and danced there alongside Long-Naidu. "Andrea was a really intelligent dancer in her technical approach. She was incredibly musical and really fast, could learn choreography really quickly," Tracey recalls. She could see those elements in some of Long-Naidu's students who had been accepted into BBS.

Long-Naidu is highly pedigreed: A one-time student of Lupe Serrano (the former American Ballet Theatre star who directed Pennsylvania Ballet's school), she studied at SAB, and is an NYCB alum and former Dance Theatre of Harlem principal. Tracey told her, "Look, you are going to fit in professionally with your expertise automatically. You're going to come into a circle, and a team of people who have a shared background with you."

For Long-Naidu, who comes to BBS from Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet, this is a dream. She will be teaching a wide range of levels, from children to the second company. "To be in a school where you know that you can directly affect the look of that company is amazing," she says. "For me, as a teacher, to get them from point A to point Z when they go into the company...what an incredible opportunity."

Pacific Northwest Ballet School: Ikolo Griffin

After Kiyon Ross became director of company operations at Pacific Northwest Ballet in 2019, it left a void in the school faculty. He'd been a beloved Black male teacher in the men's division and professional program, so when looking to replace him, there were conversations about the importance of both gender and racial representation. Then Ikolo Griffin's resumé landed on artistic director Peter Boal's desk. Denise Bolstad, PNB School's managing director, was familiar with him—he was a former PNB summer intensive student—and had followed his career: Originally introduced to dance through San Francisco Ballet's Dance in Schools and Communities program, he became SFB's first outreach student to join that company, and he also danced professionally with DTH (as a principal) and The Joffrey Ballet.

"You knew he would teach in a way that would be complementary to what PNB was looking for in a faculty member," Boal says. But, he adds, "You can always question whether or not you should be looking for someone who teaches like you or whether you should expand the way that you're teaching, and that is something that we are thinking about now."

San Francisco Ballet School: Jason Ambrose

When San Francisco Ballet School faculty member Anne-Sophie Rodriguez and Edward Ellison recommended their former Ellison Ballet student Jason Ambrose to SFB school director Patrick Armand, he was struck by his CV. "It was a totally different ball game," says Armand.

Ambrose started late, at 17, in his native Virginia Beach under Cuban Ana Maria Martinez; two years later he was in Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre's graduate program. After attending the Bolshoi Ballet Academy New York summer intensive, he trained at Ellison Ballet for three years and began to choreograph competition solos for his classmates. Just as he was ready to transition to professional, a medical setback derailed him.

"I had a lot of opportunities waiting for me, and then I got really sick and had to go home and have an operation on my stomach related to my Crohn's disease," he says. In 2015, Oleg Vinogradov, director of the Ballet Theatre of St. Petersburg Conservatoire in Russia, saw Ambrose's choreography and invited him to study in the ballet masters and choreographers program, and dance with the program's company.

It was Ambrose's mastery of the Vaganova training that sold Armand. "He is really young to have that quality in his teaching," Armand says. "He has an innate talent; his classes are very sound. He studied Vaganova, so there is a real school behind the process. It is what we needed."

The Power of Representation

For too long, Black ballet teachers were siloed to outreach and community programs because "the kids needed to see themselves." When we talk about representation, most frequently we are referring to marginalized people seeing themselves; however, it is almost more important that white students, parents and patrons see and experience expertise from people of other colors. The truth of the matter is that, though systemic racism may stymie access and opportunity, most non-white people are already aware of their capability.

Building a strong and effective faculty is alchemy. Relying on pedigree takes some of the guesswork out of finding the right fit. However, if schools are looking for diverse representation sooner rather than later, they will have to step outside of their elitist comfort zone and acknowledge the implicit bias that believes only those who have had the prescribed trajectory are capable, and that ballet teachers should look, sound and instruct in a particular way. Schools will have to actively recruit and cultivate teachers with diverse backgrounds the same way they have with students. If we are going to shift the art form, ballet will have to abandon the traditional prescriptive, and embrace unorthodox. We cannot change and stay the same.

Theresa Ruth Howard, founder of MoBBallet, has worked as a consultant at Pacific Northwest Ballet, San Francisco Ballet and Boston Ballet. This piece is a companion to her essay "Tokenism vs. Representation: How Can We Tell Them Apart?"

#article #ballet #dance magazine

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mistergrass · 3 years

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Zodiac Mom Headcanons: Momiji’s Mom

Slowly but surely I am making my way through these mom posts. This time let’s talk about someone whose worst moments as a mother were put on blast for the audience to see.

Rat & Snake Mom | Ox Mom | Tiger Mom | Rabbit Mom | Dragon Mom

Momiji’s mother is an only child born in Berlin.

Her father, a handsome and charismatic man, is a renowned photographer. Her mother, beautiful and alluring, is a dancer. They’re drawn to each other immediately when they meet on a photoshoot that features her mother’s dance troupe.

Their romance is as short-lived as it is passionate, and the affair comes to an abrupt end when her mother becomes pregnant.

The responsibility of a child falls almost completely on her mother’s shoulders, essentially ending her dance career (something she had left her family to pursue), and the beginnings of a cruel resentment begin to take form.

Her father has the spirit of an artist -- not wanting to be tied down to one woman, and not very suited for a traditional family lifestyle. That being said, he doesn’t abandon mother and child completely.

As Momiji’s mother grows up, her father will pop in and out of her life as he pleases. She thinks her mother can be too strict, too mean, and becomes a difficult child to handle as a result. But when her father comes to visit, she is over the moon and perfectly behaved. He’ll take her to museums, show her the photographs hanging in his studio, give her a stepping stool so she can help in his dark room, and (unlike her mother) will never ever scream at her even when clumsy, childish hands accidentally spill things or knock things over.

Her father never sticks around for very long, and as wonderful as it is to see him, it hurts tenfold when he leaves. And so, she grows up with her mother’s snappish impatience, and her father’s casual and conditional affection.

Going into her teenage years, Momiji’s mom begins to come into her own as an artist -- admiring and following the path of her father. She loves painting and ceramics, but she begins to grow into an undeniable beauty and it’s not long that she’s discovered as a model.

Her mother does not approve of this choice. For her, it’s bad enough that she has to watch her daughter openly prefer her father’s company to her own (despite everything she’s given up to raise her, while he can barely spare to send a postcard on their daughter’s birthday), but now her daughter is adding insult to injury by pursuing her father’s lifestyle. A lifestyle her mother was forced to give up to have a child.

It also doesn’t help that Momiji’s mom finds almost instant success as a model.

Where her mother was simply impatient before, now she becomes cruel.

She begins to undermine her daughter’s beauty, nitpicking at every little thing about her appearance. Momiji’s mother is now being constantly told that her photos are drab, ugly, unprofessional. That her beauty is fleeting, that the world around her will discover one day how little talent she has, and that her artistic abilities are worthless and boring. All this while she’s still only a teenager.

Momiji’s mom acts out in different ways, but mostly by taking on more modeling work (that exhausts her) and bringing home boyfriends her mother would never approve of (for good reason).

Her first serious boyfriend is a man six years her senior who is possessive and jealous, and rips to shreds the last bits of self-esteem she had left.

By the end of their four year relationship, Momiji’s mother has come to believe that something inside her is deeply, truly ugly. She has an overflowing anxiety that others will see her for what she truly is. Something that is wholly incompatible with her inability to be alone -- whether romantically, or via the need to surround herself constantly with people.

It’s at this time, at 20 years old and in her second year of university, that she meets Momiji’s father at a campus mixer.

At first, she’s intimidated by him (thought that doesn’t stop her from making conversation). She finds he’s not just studying abroad here, but attends the university full-time. He’s fluent in Japanese, German, and English, and seems so much smarter than she believes herself to be. In addition, he has a cold, distant demeanor to him that makes him seem unattainable.

Momiji’s father on the other hand, is taken immediately by this woman. He’s awkward and nervous in large social gatherings, but has been told from an early age never to outwardly show his discomfort. But she talks so passionately, so freely, that he can’t help but be drawn to her. When he fumbles over his words at the end of the night to ask her out for dinner, she realizes that she’d mistaken his shyness for apathy, and it immediately enamors him to her.

After two dates, they become inseparable.

She’s taken in by his kindness and gentility. He listens to her as if everything she says matters. He isn’t at all like the arrogant personalities she’s dated in the past, and if anything has an aversion to talking about himself. He never once makes her feel stupid, puts her down, or makes her feel worthless.

She’s prone to terrible mood swings and bouts of manic self-loathing that will leave her a sobbing mess. But where this has driven away boyfriends in the past, it only serves to make him more devoted to her. He holds her in his arms, and never once gets upset with her for being so much to handle.

Momiji’s father is an only child from a high-ranking Sohma family, and has had the entirety of his life mapped out for him since birth. He works to inherit his father’s business, and to maintain their standing in the family. Insurmountable pressure had been put on his shoulders from a young age, one that isolated him from making true friends in favor of focusing solely on his studies. He was never allowed to be overwhelmed, to not be good enough, nor to be disobedient.

But Momiji’s mother is like a walking piece of art -- chaotic and beautiful. He finds her endlessly interesting. He’s never met anyone who talks so openly about the things they love, the things they hate, or their own fears and insecurities. He likes feeling as though he can take care of her. He likes being someone reliable for her. And, eventually, he finds her to be the only person in the world that he can be vulnerable with. He has only ever cried in front of her.

For the last two years of college they spend all their free time together. He uses his cushy Sohma allowance to take them on trips and long weekends around Europe. And when the time comes for him to return to Japan after graduation, he can’t picture even a moment of his future without her.

He proposes, she says yes, and she agrees to leave her life in Berlin behind to move to Japan.

It’s a difficult transition. Though she had started learning Japanese when they first started dating, she’s far from fluent. It makes forming friendships and new connections within the Sohma family all the harder.

It’s also clear that her mother-in-law does not take too much of a liking to her. Momiji’s father bends over backwards making sure that their new home has space for her to continue her artistic pursuits, which comes off as frivolous to her new family. She also has limited housekeeping skills which reflects poorly on her ability to be a proper wife.

It’s an isolating experience, especially with her husband working long, late hours nearly every night. The loneliness begins to eat at her, resurfacing the shattered self-esteem that her new husband had spent the past two years healing. She seriously considers moving back to Germany on more than one occasion, but then she gets pregnant.

She’s not ready for a child. It’s too soon, and the thought of taking care of a whole other person is terrifying when she can barely stand to get out of bed most days now. But her husband assures her this will be a good thing, that maybe it will help the aching loneliness she feels.

Before she has a chance to get excited, they’re summoned by a young Akito.

Momiji’s mother doesn’t really process what she’s being told. Her husband has to translate what the little six year old is saying to her, and when he does his face is pinched and anxious.

A curse, he says. Her child is cursed. Somehow it makes sense, what with everything that dwells inside herself, but it’s hard for her to grasp this whole thing beyond that.

The pregnancy is a difficult one, filled with complications and scares that leaves her health completely depleted. When Momiji is born two months premature, her nerves are completely frayed.

True understanding of her child’s situation doesn’t really hit her until she holds a small rabbit in her arms, swaddled like a baby.

She vomits when it first happens. The transformation leaves her completely shaken, and she can’t understand why no one else around her seems to find this as horrific as it obviously is.

She does her best for the first few years. Honestly, she does. But the child makes her nervous. The supernatural nature of it all terrifies her, and she shakes every time she tries to hold her child and finds a little rabbit there instead.

As he grows older, she finds herself snapping at him over the smallest things, just as her mother did to her. A guilt builds inside her steadily that somehow she is at fault for this, that her hidden, disgusting nature warped and mutated their child. The thought of it puts her in hysterics at times, and she finds she can never relax in her own home.

Her husband urges her to keep herself together. There’s a desperation in his voice when he talks to her now. He reminds her, again and again, that above everything else Momiji is their child. Theirs, and no one else’s. He is their son that they have created, and he is still a symbol of the love they have for each other. Once she adjusts to the situation, she’ll learn to love him the way he knows she can. She just needs more time.

During this period, other zodiac mothers make an attempt to reach out, and her Japanese is finally at a level that she can have pleasant conversation with them. Haru and Yuki’s mothers invite her to lunch often enough. Shigure’s mother is also very hospitable. She also takes a real liking to Kureno’s mother, though the woman is clearly disliked by many of the other women in the family.

It helps, but it’s still difficult to talk to these women about her issues with the curse and with her son. Their eyes are judgmental, and she worries if she falls apart in front of them it would not be met with the same warmth as her husband (though he’s hardly ever around anymore).

Stress and guilt and shame and fear slowly build inside her for the next four years. Then, one day, she sits down to paint and realizes she can’t. She’s too locked up -- the reality of her situation has become too overwhelming, and she can’t even release it through her art.

She finally decides to tell someone about what’s going on. Her husband had been very clear with her that this curse is to remain completely secret, but it’s not as if she wants to do a news interview. All she wants is to talk to her mom.

Her mother is still the same harsh, critical woman she’s always been, but they’ve grown closer in the past few years. Becoming a mother herself has made her appreciate her own mother more, and the distance has softened both of them to each other considerably.

She tells her mother the whole story, with her listening surprisingly sympathetically throughout. By the end of the conversation, Momiji’s mother feels more comforted and loved by her mother than she has in years.

It’s Momiji’s father that gets the call from his livid mother-in-law demanding to know what’s happened to her daughter, and if he’s doing anything about the fact that she’s having a complete nervous breakdown that features wild delusions regarding their child.

Momiji’s father comes home that night, and for the first time he becomes truly angry at her. He scolds her for telling her mother anything about their situation, which only serves to make her just as angry since she was only seeking a bit of support.

But it all gets much much worse when he says how lucky they are that her mother thought she was deranged.

The whole world drops from below her feet when he admits that he let her mother continue to think that she was clinically insane. The man who had always defended her, understood her, cared for her -- the man she had left everything for -- had created a lie so egregious and spouted it back to her own mother.

She demands to know why he would do such a thing, and when he sputters out his thoughtless obedience to this strange family -- the one with the child treated like a king, and with all these dark secrets. After so long of telling her that she was his light when his family treated him like nothing, after telling her that she was his most important family now -- it’s a betrayal that she’d never expected from the man she loves.

The reality of her isolation comes down all at once. There is no one left she can talk to, there is no place she can go, and this child now represents something completely foreign to her. The only thing that was keeping her together was her husband’s assurances that the child was completely theirs -- but it’s not. This child belongs to the Sohmas, to some curse that her body housed and nurtured. The disgust that’s been building inside her body breaks like a dam and completely washes over Momiji.

She becomes inconsolable. She refuses to look at her son, and her husband becomes subject to fits of rage and anguish. He feels as though he’s completely lost her, and with the love of his life so indisposed, he feels just as alone.

Momiji’s father is the one who tells her about the option to wipe her memory. Not just in hopes of reeling back her sanity, but because he wants her to forget the lie he told. If she forgets that, maybe their marriage can go back to how it was. If she forgets that deep cut of betrayal, maybe she won’t look at him like he’s some misshapen stranger.

She agrees as quickly as she had when he proposed. Together they decide that forgetting Momiji will ultimately be for the best.

At first when she recovers, things seem to return back to normal. But there’s always a piece missing as the years go on. There’s always something not quite right. Momiji’s father is paranoid and nervous -- the presence of his wife is no longer a comfort, but a stressor. And sometimes, for the briefest moment, he’ll catch her staring at him. Her eyes far off and distant, like she’s completely lost in thought, and the expression that rests on her face will be one of fear. When she comes back to herself, it’s as if she hadn’t even noticed.

The zodiac mothers are told not to speak to her after her memory is erased, which suits most of them just fine (Haru’s mother took particular offense to the decision). Below is the relationship chart for pre-memory wipe:

Friends with: Kureno’s mom, Haru’s mom, Shigure’s mom, Ritsu’s mom

Doesn’t like: Yuki’s mom, Hatori’s mom

#Fruits Basket #Fruits Basket Headcanons #Zodiac Mom Headcanons #Momiji's mom #Momiji Sohma #at least I wrote something for this fandom again #been thinking about this woman a lot this week #she took as long as she did cause we have some much info on her though #I do my best work when I'm given bare scraps lmao

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romanceboys · 4 years

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(interview) vogue korea april issue 2020 - perfect taemin

1. superm was another chance for taemin’s ever-evolving performance to be showcased. i thought a lot about how to create synergy with these exceptional performers. to put it simply, i wanted us to come off as energetic. but these days i’ve had a change of heart. our identity is definitely important. rather than just working hard, for superm to show off their colours well we need to show our personalities; we should be seen as one team. to be able to formulate a solid and clear colour is our homework. that’s why it’s regrettable. we couldn’t come up with a novel choreography to carry our new identity. we tried a lot in the practice room. superm seems to have found its musical identity but hasn’t gotten a hold of its performance character yet. the stages are too vague. 2. now that you are finally promoting with your best friend kai in one group, you two must’ve shared your concerns. since this friend is someone who has a lot of passion and ambition, he talks about various things. for instance, this style is pretty good, this choreography is quite trendy. thanks to him i’ve learned a lot. he is also very knowledgeable about the latest ‘hottest’ genres. we talk about these things often and even watch videos together. kai gives off ‘popular’ vibes. compared to him, my interests are quite unusual. nowadays kai is interested in music while i am into science. 3. is it science fiction? these days we’ve been watching videos on the theory of relativity and quantum mechanics together. 4. what aspect of it interested you? originally i was very curious, after seeing a recommended video on youtube i learned about quantum mechanics for the first time. i couldn’t understand the explanation, even those who were explaining it said it was a difficult concept. that was very fascinating to me. kind of like magic. 5. are you reading books on the subject too? the subjects of the books i read are different (laughs). there’s a book that was published long ago called ‘regarding the pain of others.’ it is a pessimistic book that gathers contradictory opinions of people for instance ‘people find joy in the pain of others, it is instinctual.’ as a celebrity, there are times when you are criticized but there are also times when you receive comfort from people. rather than blaming others, while reading this book, i began to think ‘people are like that, at most i shouldn’t behave like them.’ my interests are all over the place. 6. what makes you and kai click? we converse well. our opinions almost never clash and we respect each other. moreover, we fully understand our own roles in superm. 7. what position do you hold in superm? since i can’t ask if it’s the main dancer. in pictures and interviews, i’m the center. baekhyun hyung is the leader (laughs). 8. when the conversation wasn’t flowing well during the talkshow interview, i saw you neatly concluding it. that does happen. nct and wayv are still in the learning phase. that’s why i first listen to all of their thoughts during interviews then flesh it out with details later. 9. compared to when you set out abroad as shinee then promoting overseas as superm now, the status of k-pop has changed. looking at how superm was able to start off with an arena tour in the us and europe made me feel that k-pop is a ‘hot’ topic. in the past, we’d use venues of this scale for smtown concerts. even if you promote mainly in asia, seeing the audience section will make you realise the perception of k-pop has changed. 10. though k-pop’s scope has expanded and diversified, its definition has become simple. what are your concerns? my first concern is language. after i was able to communicate via language during my japanese activities, there were so many advantages. though each country overseas has its own language, i felt that i needed to learn english first. there are many international fans who want to experience the chemistry between our members, they’d feel much closer to us if we communicated using (a common) language. k-pop isn’t one dimensional. it’s not only about the music, there is music video, style, etc. included. people would make dance covers in the past, now they even emulate the styling. all of this is korean pop culture. 11. superm were on the ellen degeneres show and jimmy kimmel live. before we went on the ellen show we really rehearsed the interview a lot. america’s atmosphere is different so you receive questions that are never asked in korea. they don’t disclose the questions in advance either. we were also worried because the emcee could ad-lib. we came up with the most probable questions and practiced, we also received lessons from american comedians. compared to that, we went on jimmy kimmel live without any prep. 12. what went according to plan and what didn’t? the questions were not as intense as expected, ellen was well aware about k-pop culture so it went smoothly. 13. is there a dance genre you’re into these days? contemporary, lyrical hiphop, in the future as superm i think i’ll be able to show more, not the kind of dancing that you do after learning a given choreography but the kind that is full of emotions. it’s about giving meaning to your gestures. it isn’t out yet but my concert vcr features lyrical hiphop. in it i think i’m dancing alone with a giant full moon as my backdrop but get confused when there are two of us, either it’s another person or a shadow. a choreographer with a body type similar to mine had to dress in all black to come across as my shadow. i wore an oriental outfit with smokey makeup. 14. how do you usually come up with your ideas? i get inspired by the choreographers and creative directors. i imagine it as we converse then the idea develops. 15. was there a time you were inspired by fashion? of course. art begins with the five senses. what you see with your eyes, the things you can feel, clothes, food, perfume, music that you listen to are all sources of inspiration. i create private accounts to follow fashion brands. 16. having debuted at the age of 16, you are still young but your work experience has been long. i was in certain situations because of this. it doesn’t happen as often now but even in my early 20s, i completely belonged to the senior category at broadcasting stations. they are my juniors but many of them are also hyungs, i’m their senior but i’m also the youngest. now there are even staff members who are younger than me. they’re too formal with me (laughs). 17. are there juniors that ask you for advice or help? the superm members! especially ten, he is very curious. when we come out of a company meeting, he’ll get surprised and say “wow, hyung everything you said was right.” i even hear things like ‘veteran’ and ‘seer.’ apparently my predictions come true. but i try not to advise them as much. taking the initiative to say something feels overwhelming. 18. born in 1993 between millennials and gen z, do you share any characteristics with those in your age bracket? we’ve picked out a few of their traits. the first one is ‘they don’t eat fast food.’ me too! i took care of my health well ever since i started out with shinee. i was brainwashed from home to avoid foods that harmed the body. not even ramyeon, snacks were also banned. and just like that in my 20s i started carrying out the regime on my own. it’s become a habit to look after my health ever since i moved out. i always eat things that are good for my body, if the hyungs are taking vitamins, i’d ask for one too. 19. i suddenly recall a variety show where you were the only one who skipped the sauce and ate the meat on its own! one should not eat irritable foods. my mother’s words. 20. how about ‘they watch videos on youtube rather than tv. even the ads don’t particularly bother them.’ that’s right. i watch youtube more often than tv, while watching the ads i'd even marvel at their production quality. i’ve signed up for the premium package now so i don’t see the ads anymore. 21. ‘marrying or wanting to buy their own house.’ i currently live alone and i have no interest in decking out my house. at first, i didn’t think like that but a month later my interest dissipated. i’m lazy. it’s not like my house is for others to see, i’m fine with the incomplete feeling for now. 22. and finally ‘they avoid investing in financial companies.’ i don’t do that. my parents manage that, if there’s a good tip i’ll just let them know. 23. hiphop musicians tend to express their success through music. as an idol musician how have you been using the wealth you accumulated all these years? i invest in food instead of saving up (laughs). honestly, i don’t spend much. i don’t have anything i want. though i do spend on others a lot. 24. what kind of household did you grow up in? what gifts did you inherit from your family as a musician? i inherited my body type. all of my cousins have model-like physiques, they’re taller and slimmer than me. my mother sings well. my father plays instruments as a hobby. oh, and my paternal aunt used to be a ballerina. so perhaps i inherited such genes? 25. you’ve been doing the same thing for more than 10 years. what is the purpose behind creating music and showcasing it? in the past, i would think i should do well, i need to be number one, these days i’ve become ambitious for other aspects. i take pride in the fact that my work supplies others with positive energy. i feel a sense of accomplishment when fans like my music, i want to make them as happy as i am. everyone’s profession is different but i hope this synergy gained from mutual dependence leaves a good impression. 26. are you still composing songs? i used to but now i only participate in lyric writing. it differs with each song, at times the lyrics are emotional or talk about abstract love. it seems like my next solo album will include a song i wrote the lyrics to. sometimes songs composed by overseas composers might prove too difficult for the general public to understand. so i participate a lot in the arrangement or mixing phase. i point out the parts that should be added to the composition and those that are unneeded. teacher lee soo man does give advice but it often feels like i do the producing of my own solo album. 27. taemin’s originality is the clearest when he promotes as a solo artist. which song has best represented your identity? i worked hard on all of them but there was a turning point. at first there was ‘danger’ then ‘press your number’ was a conceptual performance, the transition to ‘move’ turned out well. i wanted to break out from the typical choreography routine and create my own identity, the resulting performances were ‘move’ and ‘want.’ my next solo album is again different. i’ve been making a lot of changes these days. 28. you seem to have high standards when it comes to composing music. was there ever an occasion where you absolutely refused to compromise and gave others a hard time? everyone is used to it (laughs). it’s something i learned from the head manager hyung who’s been with me since debut. the belief that ‘there is nothing that can’t be done. there is no such thing as impossible.’ another team manager hyung would tell me ‘you remind me of our head’ (laughs). honestly, the staff around me work beyond their given roles and with affection. normally work timings are from 9 to 7, they stay back till 10-11 pm for me. they don’t hold it against me, and when things do well, they too feel a sense of fulfillment together with me. 29. the new unreleased song must be quite different from the original then. there are already 12 versions of the song. when i thought we were somewhat done, we recently started arranging it again (laughs). 30. you hold your body to specific standards for the best performance outcome. i don’t ‘bulk up.’ previously, i used to work out when i ate a lot but my body would feel weighed down, it wasn’t what i wanted. if i gain a lot of muscles or become thick, it hampers my dancing form. that’s why i don’t put on weight. i train my stamina and strength and avoid bulking up my shoulders and arms. 31. by the way, do you do neck exercises as well? i was touched looking at your long neck in the vogue photoshoot. i had been noticing this too, now i know the reason! i think it’s because i dance. a lot of resistance goes into the neck when you dance. our head is the heaviest and it’s the neck that supports it. it goes away when i rest for a few days. we’re shooting amidst the superm tour maybe that’s why it looks thicker now. 32. an editor who has been watching you closely for a long time said that you’ve become extroverted. could it be that experience and relationships have made you comfortable and secure? i’ve lowered my guard. i couldn’t reveal my current self to others before. as a child i used to be so introverted that i’d hide behind my mother when strangers would get into the elevator. i changed with time. 33. is your ever-present smile a product of your personality or just business decorum? i’m always smiling. i even laugh at things other people don’t find funny (laughs). 34. shinee members are currently serving in the army. when they’re on break what kind of advice or nagging do they subject you to? i wish they would do that. we have a group chat on kakaotalk and i always revive it by asking “what’s up” “happy new year.” but as soon as the conversation picks up they only talk about the army. when i inform them about an issue at the company they say “really?” then it’s military talk again. when i feel left out and tell them to stop, they reply with “you’ll understand when you get here.” 35. in your career as a musician, when do you feel the best? when it’s time to reveal all that i’ve been preparing for so long! it feels different from finishing it. the first stage after debuting, shinee’s first concert, performing at tokyo dome, receiving the award... these are the moments that come to mind. 36. watching taemin grow for the past decade has been a huge source of strength. what are your dreams now? there are many. first of all, once shinee comes back again, i want the entire group to give off a feeling of revival. usually after getting discharged, it’s hard to keep up with the next generation, i want to avoid that. i’ve imagined it all when the shinee members return. second, i want to perform a lot on various stages as a solo artist. superm topped the billboard 200 album chart, it’d be nice to enter the top 10 on the hot 100 digital chart as well. 37. you are really talented at setting goals. i’ve gotten greedier. it’s just not for myself but i want to do it for the fans and members, even the staff. they become my driving force. i really am lucky. everybody works hard but i even get the recognition for it. come to think of it, i was given many opportunities and i worked hard to make the most of them, i’m really happy my efforts paid off in the end. i’m surrounded by good people. shinee, superm, many people fill in the gaps for me that i can’t solve on my own. 38. superm’s concert title is ‘we are the future.’ when you hear the word ‘future’ what are you reminded of? first, it’s h.o.t. (laughs). future-oriented things come to mind like artificial intelligence, drones, 3d hologram concerts. then again, in the future, though people might be able to watch concerts through holograms, i think humans will not give up on the tasks they themselves can do. my work will still be the same in the future. 39. the reason you don’t write anything on instagram. i don’t have anything to say yet (laughs). i don’t know if i should make my instagram cool or approachable. when fretting between writing a caption or using an emoticon, i just end up leaving it blank. actually i signed up after my manager hyung suggested that instagram would be good. so i’ve made one but i still don’t know what to upload. i get teased by the people around me for putting up selfies. i even took lots of pictures especially for instagram but... 40. did you not post the pictures? the point of instagram is real-time communication. is that so! i didn’t know (laughs).

translated by romanceboys — take out with full credit (source)

#shinee #taemin #p:taemin #vogue korea april issue 2020 #interview #translations #e:superm #enjoy!

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ginazmemeoir · 4 years

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Mughal Women

Ok while I was scrolling through tumblr today on women’s history, one thing struck me odd - there wasn’t a single post regarding the women of one of the richest, most powerful empires in the history of the world. So here’s to you ladies - icons, role models and most of all - badass queens.

1. Isaan Daulat (lit. Good fortune) : Grandmother of Zahiruddin Khan or as he is famous, Babur, the founder of the Mughal dynasty, Isaan Daulat regularly advised her son on statecraft and warfare, and carried out most of his diplomatic missions. According to a source, Isaan Daulat’s husband was once killed in a war against the Shah of Persia. The Shah thereafter proceeded to “gift” Isaan Daulat to one of his generals. However, the same night, Isaan Daulat had her retinue murder him in the courtyard, “while she sipped wine reclining in the moonlight courtyard” as a witness claimed. When the Shah arrived, he questioned her about this action, to which she replied, “Islam gives me a right as a widow to marry by my convenience. You just handed me to him like cattle, and therefore his killing is perfectly justified by Islamic Sharia. You should consider yourself lucky.” The Shah of Persia then sent back Isaan Daulat with the wealth and assets he gained from that war, and declared her and her lineage as his sister and nephews. This later helped to back the Mughals’ legitimacy. Sadly, Isaan Daulat could never enjoy the land her descendants called home.

2. Gulbadan (lit. she with a rose like body) : Gulbadan was Babur’s eldest daughter, and was quite adventurous. She had famously chronicled the lives of her father and her brother Humayun, the second Mughal emperor. She looked after administration while her brother fled from place to place. She had also embarked on a seven-year voyage to Mecca and Medina for The Hajj, encountering the malicious Portuguese (she had to bribe them with a fricking town for guarantee of safe passage), pirates, kings, sufis and many more, and was thus also called Hajji Begum. She held a special place in Akbar’s zenana as his aunt.

3. Hamida Banu : Princess of Sindh, she was married off at the age of 15 to a much older Humayun at the age of 15. She had accompanied Humayun in all his wars and also on his journey to Persia, for asking the Safavid Shahs to help them recapture Hindustan. She was Akbar’s mother.

4. Maham Anagah and Jiji Anagah : Akbar’s wet nurses, they had raised up Akbar while his parents tried to win their empire back. Maham Anagah was Akbar’s chief advisor and head of his zenana, before a failed coup by his son, after which he was killed and later on she was relieved of her post, despite still holding Akbar’s favour. Jiji Anagah’s children extensively married into the Mughal family, and her husband Mirza Aziz Koka was Akbar’s head of finance. Her family, wealth and power grew so much, as the Emperor’s favourites, that they were collectively known as the Atka Khail.

5. Ruqaiyya Begum : Akbar’s first cousin, and also his first wife, Ruqaiyya Begum was Akbar’s chief queen and Padshah Begum of the zenana. Though she remained childless, she reigned supreme in the zenana and commanded her husband’s respect in a society where a woman’s existence was through her children. She was the main force behind Noor Jahan and Jahangir’s wedding, and was also the person who raised Shah Jahan.

6. Salima Sultana Begum : Wife of Akbar’s general Bairam Khan, she was later married to Akbar after Bairam Khan’s assassination. Her son Abdur Rahim was later made Khan-i-Khanan or Commander of the Mughal Army. She was the one who had brought up Jahangir, and thus he was also called Salim. An erudite scholar, she managed Akbar’s library along with her own private collection, commissioning new works and translations of others. She later protected Jahangir from Akbar’s wrath after Jahangir had him poisoned in a bid for the throne.

7. Harkha Bai : Bollywood knows her as Jodhaa, while history knows her as Maryam-uz-Zamani, Harkha Bai was the Rajput Princess of Amer and the daughter of Raja Bharmal. She was married to Akbar as part of a political alliance, and later became Jahangir’s mother. She was the richest woman of her time, her wealth being more than Akbar’s, and she also had one of the most valuable lands (jagirs). There are 2 famous anecdotes on her -

Once, an English merchant had bought her indigo farms at Bayana, Rajasthan. When she got to know of this, she practically destroyed that merchant, bought back that farm, and later had it burnt.

Another time, the Portuguese had captured and set fire to her ship the Rahimi, one of the largest and finest ships in that time, in a last bid to maintain their hold in India and the Arabian Sea against the increasingly powerful English. In retaliation, Jodhaa had all of their ships burnt, snatched their powers and wealth, and basically made paupers out of them. She died as the richest woman in Mughal history, before Noor Jahan.

8. Anarkali : A courtesan, with whom Jahangir (then Prince Salim) fell madly in love, many historians now consider the very real possibility that she never existed and was instead “invented” by the Mughal family as someone to blame for the tension between Akbar and Jahangir. According to the folklore, Akbar didn’t approve of Salim and Anarkali’s relation, and after she and Salim refused to end things, he had her entombed alive in a wall.

9. Maan Bai : Harkha Bai’s niece, she was Jahangir’s first wife. She later committed suicide by an overdose of opium when Jahangir had her son Khusrau blinded and imprisoned in a bitter war of succession. Her brother Man Singh was one of the Nine Gems (navaratna) of Akbar’s court, and had defeated Rana Pratap in the famous Battle of Haldighati.

10. Jagat Gosini : Princess of Jodhpur, she was the Padshah Begum of Jahangir’s zenana before Noor Jahan, and also the mother of Shah Jahan. She was the biggest obstruction in Noor Jahan’s historic rise to power. She was not on good terms with then Dowager Empress Ruqaiyya Begum (see above) and hence, Ruqaiyya Begum demanded that Shah Jahan be handed over to her so that she could raise him up, and also helped Noor Jahan against her. A local folklore also suggests that she had been the one behind the miscarriage of Noor Jahan after she had come into the zenana. She faded after Noor Jahan’s rise, but still held respect and power.

11. Noor Jahan (lit. Light of the World): The most famous and powerful woman in the history of the Mughals, Noor Jahan was born as Mehr-un-Nisa (lit. Sun amongst Women) to Persian immigrant parents. Brought up in Agra alongside Akbar’s court, Noor Jahan was an intelligent woman full of talent and potential. She was married off at 19 to Sher Afghan, a commander in Akbar’s army. The marriage was a failure, and moreover Noor Jahan suffered through 8 miscarriages with him, before the birth of her daughter, Ladli (lit. Darling or Beloved). After her husband was murdered in a coup, Ruqaiyya brought her to the Imperial Palace as part of her retinue, and later helped her and Jahangir get married, with she being Jahangir’s twentieth and final wife. Her rise to power was quick, owing to her own ambition and intellect, and some help from her father Itimad-ad-Daulah (Royal Treasurer of the Mughals), brother Asaf Khan (a prominent minister in Jahangir’s court) and Ruqaiyya Begum. Her seal as the Padshah Begum became second only to that of Jahangir, and later even surpassed his own. She brought great innovations to fashion, cosmetics, administration, architecture and gardening, city planning, and many more. She was the one who had arranged the marriage between her niece Arjumand Banu and Shah Jahan. Her marriage with Jahangir was a success – both of them were tempestuous and cared and loved each other deeply. Later, as Jahangir’s health started failing due to asthma and alcoholism, she took over the reigns and took the Mughal empire to great heights. The first British ambassador, Sir Thomas Roe, arrived in her time. However, she gave the British no rights or privileges till the Rahimi incident, and extracted a great many gifts from him, including a carriage made entirely of silver. She had designed her parents’ tomb near the Yamuna river in Agra (it was later copied by Shah Jahan), and she also designed Jahangir’s tomb in Lahore (modern day Punjab, Pakistan). She had tried to get Shah Jahan to marry her own daughter, but he refused and so she completely withdrew her support from making him the emperor, and instead opposed him. Shah Jahan thus had to flee to Burhanpur, with his eldest children Dara Shukoh, Jahanara, Aurangzeb and Roshanara in Noor Jahan’s custody. Later, he waged war against Noor Jahan with help from her brother Asaf Khan. Noor Jahan was ultimately defeated in Kashmir. She was deprived of her wealth, status and power and exiled to Lahore with her daughter and granddaughter. Her influence still remained, with Shah Jahan keeping her legacy alive by copying the Taj Mahal from the tomb she designed for her parents.

12. Mumtaz Mahal : Born as Arjumand Banu, she was Noor Jahan’s niece and Shah Jahan’s most beloved. She died in childbirth while giving birth to her fourteenth child – a girl called Gauhar.

13. Jahanara : Eldest daughter of Shah Jahan, she was the one who headed the empire after Shah Jahan was left heartbroken following Mumtaz’s death, and became active in the construction of the Taj Mahal. Noor Jahan is often described as being fond of her, taking care of her education personally. She was known as Padshah Mallika, and her flower-shaped seal was the most powerful. She was an accomplished dancer, poet and a patron of the arts. She conducted the most expensive wedding ever, between her brother Dara Shukoh and Nadira Banu Begum, valued at 2 lakh rupees then, approximately 2 billion USD in today’s time. She supported Dara Shukoh in his bid to become emperor. Later, she was imprisoned by Aurangzeb after he imprisoned Shah Jahan and killed all his remaining brothers.

14. Roshanara : Shah Jahan’s younger daughter, she was also an accomplished poet, but always at loggerheads with Jahanara. She later supported Aurangzeb as emperor.

15. Dilras Banu Begum : Aurangzeb’s first wife and Padshah Begum of his zenana, Dilras Banu belonged to the Safavid dynasty of Persia. She was mother of all of Aurangzeb’s children. However, she died an year before Aurangzeb’s succession. The Bibi ka Maqbara (Tomb of the Lady) in Aurangabad, which bears a striking resemblance to the Taj Mahal, was constructed by Aurangzeb in her honour.

16. Zeenat-un-Nisa : Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter, she was the Padshah Mallika after her mother’s death. She survived Aurangzeb by a great many years, and was respected by his successors as a remnant of a magnificent past. She was known for her charity, and was buried in the Zeenat-ul-Masjid built by her in Dlehi.

17. Zeb-un-Nisa : Aurangzeb’s favourite daughter, Zeb-un-Nisa was the most accomplished poet in Mughal history, with her works still surviving and enjoyed. She was an atheist, but later converted to Sufism. She led a secret society, and lead a rebellion against the oppressive and harsh rule of her father. She was subsequently imprisoned by Aurangzeb, where she died. She was buried in the Tees Hazari Bagh (Garden of 30,000 Trees) near the Kashmiri Darwaza (Kashmir Gate) in North Delhi. Her tomb was later shifted at Akbar’s Mausoleum in Sikandra, Agra when Delhi was expanded following Independence.

Well people, this has been an informative post. You’re welcome.

Sources : Daughters of the Sun by Ira Mukhoty, Empress : the Astonishing reign of Noor Jahan by Ruby Lal.

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iamacolor · 3 years

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fashion queen! which nct era has the best fashun in ur opinion?? and if u were a designer which neos would u pick as ur models?

I was so excited to answer this that I wrote several pages and it basically turned into a style analysis for each unit so I sure hope you have some time on your hands to read everything I’ve just written! (I did not reread so sorry for any typing mistake)

NCT is known to be experimental in their music and that’s also the case in their styling so there’s a lot for me to get into even though sometimes it’s a miss. One thing I will say though is that when it comes to the styling in mv/teasers, what’s around the clothes is super important because if you have a very specific styling concept, your set design or graphic design needs to complement that and give the audience more clues on how to read all these elements together (the cherry bomb era is a great example of that with all the added graphic elements and the predominance of the colour pink) and recently I’ve found that the creative team has not really gone further than just putting nct in an outfit in front of a basic background so it makes for a pretty underwhelming result

But let’s move on to my favourite styling eras. I’m going to do this per unit (I’ll finish with NCT U) and define an era by its teaser pictures and the mv (and not go through all the performance looks during the promotion period)

I’m putting this under a read more because it’s reaaally long (I put pictures so that it’s not just one big chunk of text)

NCT 127

Easily the most experimental unit when it comes to fashion, especially in their first years where they would wear mix of sportswear, grunge references, avant-garde fashion and a lot of layers. When it comes to their debut “Firetruck”, I think it fitted the song really well but that it didn’t fit all the members equally (especially the younger ones, for me Taeyong and Taeil pulled it off the best – it’s expected of Taeyong but I also think that Taeil always stand out when they go for edgy/unconventional look, I think it really suits him).

Anyway, just to say that they were off to a very strong start and then I’m just going to kindly ignore the Limitless styling and move on to Cherry Bomb!

One thing nicely done for CB is how when you look at a group picture they’re clearly all following the same concept but they’re not necessarily matching or giving off the same vibes if you take them individually. I love the use of the colour pink which brings a) a great visual impact (you don’t ever see that much pink at once – especially on men) and b) an harmony despite the shapes and styles of their outfits being so vastly different, you’ve got ties, tousled, shirts, little frilled collars, stripes and all-over prints, sportswear and formal wear… (ex: taeyong’s short jacket is reminiscent of something a little luxurious, even maybe historical/noble with the little added embroidery-like details, it reminds me of these boleros jackets worn by toreros that are often red/gold VS doyoung’s overalls is an outfit that has a much more recent origin as it was first worn by factories workers, it’s usually blue or grey and is meant to be practical rather than pleasing to the eye -> here it fits very well with the general setting of the mv in what looks like an empty industrial storage space)

This second look is more of a game on how to deconstruct formal wear (there are less prints and no bold colours, their hair is less messy…) but they don’t just add sportswear like the bomber jacket, you can find rock or more “modern” elements with the leather jackets or the jean jackets. All in black and white so great contrast with the previous looks, although that mix and match concept is still there. My favourite elements are the checkered ones (worn by taeyong, taeil and haechan) as it reminds me of the strategy element of the chess game which fits pretty well with all the weapons and other arms visible in the mv (a bit like a nod to the game battleship)

This one I love that they developed their own print, especially since it’s another graphic element used elsewhere (see their album cover), because it’s a great way to really introduce their identity as a group, through the different visual elements they put out in a comeback, it’s like a logo but as a print. And all the teasers and the mv did a great job at mixing 2D/3D contents so that’s another nice way to be cohesive. It’s not my fave look out of the 3 (especially because I do not approve of that belt-suspenders-bag they gave Johnny, it’s like everything you don’t want to put a dancer in and it’s ugly as well) but I still like the fact that’s it’s another nod to the battle/strategy aspect of this comeback, like they’re on a mission to hit the stage and conquer it

Then fast forward to my other favourite one, Simon Says! (No teaser pictures here because they don’t show anything or they show not enough lol)

First of all THE MASKS

Oh how I wish they could’ve been shown more (imagine teasers with the members wearing them!!! I would’ve loved individual teasers based on each of the masks concepts) Once again, a great to have group concept without making everyone wear the same thing. They’re all super different and full of details. Haechan’s is the only one from what I could who’s mask is actually a mask and not a fully covering hood. The materials and techniques used on these are either evocative of “fragile” things like glass and flowers but theses elements have their own hidden strength. Some others are covered in lace, pearls, fringes or fur…all these things are usually considered to be precious or even luxurious but it covers their faces and their identity and they throw it away in rebellion (and I think it’s also super interesting how Taeyong who takes off his mask first has the least ornamented one)

Then the outfits themselves. Simon Says in an interesting MV because unlike most others they wear one outfit for most of the MV (the second one appears quite late in the mv and is lit and staged in a way that makes it less visible). It’s a mostly grey/white set of outfits which is usually a colour combo for office wear or maybe factory workers, it’s not something that can seem very exciting or edgy. The styling in these outfits reminds me of the works of Japanese designers who came to Paris in the 80’s and kind of shook the whole high fashion system by bringing a different type of shapes, aesthetic and purpose to fashion (Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto…). These designers went on to become super successful and inspired another wave of “avant-garde” designers nicknamed “the 6 of Anvers” (Anvers is a city in Belgium), this group includes Martin Margiella, Dries Van Noten…And to me the outfits in Simon Says really fit into this aesthetic. Unconventional fits, various layers, it’s not so much mix and match than a work on contrast between structure and fluidity (Yuta’s half skirt with un-trimed edges, Haechan’s long shirt with the long bow and the fitted jacket, Mark’s top with the various see-through layers of different lengths…).

An other interesting details (which to me calls back to the mask and that tension in the song/concept of letting go/being free of expectations), is the way they all have thick strings tied on their feet/ankles. Not holding them back because their feet aren’t tied together but there’s still this clear restriction of the garment itself, a reminder that there are tied to something and not completely free (also an interesting choice when dressing dancers who would need to have no added weight or discomfort in their outfit to dance but visually something is holding their ankles)

Honorable mentions:

Kick It– they managed to create very memorable outfits while taking inspirations from already well known elements (both for the fighting/training outfits and the bomber jackets). The black and white outfits especially are very original as performance outfits/dancing clothes since the og garment they’re inspired by has already such a strong identity outside of the performing arts and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it be used as a stage outfit? Or concept? It’s a nice exemple of how you can take inspiration for something designed to be useful and to be efficient (in fighting) and turn it into an aesthetic.

Truthfully, martial art training outfit was already an “aesthetic” on its own but they made it a performance costume and now I do feel like it’s one of these looks that everyone will remember (like if there was a “most memorable kpop outfits” list it could easily have kick it’s black/white fits). The rest of the outfits for that concept weren’t as memorable/original to me although I feel like it showed a new approach to the styling of nct 127 as a group since they all had very similar outfits this time (especially when wearing the jackets).

Also, interestingly, that shot of Jaehyun that had everyone go “wow” ? Well it’s impactful because it’s him and he looks like that and it’s shot in a very specific way, but it’s also even more impactful because he’s the only one who gets to wear that kind of outfit in the mv. Everyone else has 3 sets of outfits (black and white, shiny black, red jacket and black pants) but he has 4 and that suit is only used in that shot which makes for a greater impact!

And I feel like Kick It in terms of styling opened a new era for NCT 127 has it kind of broke their usual mix and match/edgy concept. This time they were clearly referencing something already well known (either martial arts, the 90s…), and the members were all matching and they kept on doing that with the military jackets in punch, the other 90s concept in nct 2020…

Touch – for the way the outfits match the sets (in all their individual sets their outfits have a detail in a matching colour), the focus on colours !!! You can see that this whole concept was designed with this colour game/colour progression between the outfits and the set in mind. It’s just very pleasing to the eyes and a great contrast to their usual stuffs (also I wrote my graduation paper on colours so I am really into creative use of colours like this)

OK now moving on to Dream!!

The interesting thing about Dream compared to NCT 127 is that from the beginning although their outfits had to match the song an the concept of the comeback it also had to match their age. Dream’s a group that had to look young when debuting (to the point where they wore outfits that made them look even younger than they were which is rarely done for boy groups) and then they had to transition into adulthood, and all of that had to be made visible. In that aspect, I really like the styling for We Young and Boom (especially when you look at them at the same time).

For We Young, the styling is meant to be reminiscent of school/boy scout uniforms but with a marine vibe. It makes for playful outfits that aren’t too childish but that also aren’t grown up. I prefer the “seaside” outfits as I don’t really like school uniforms as a concept for styling and I think it’s really a choice that suited them and the song so well, it really fitted their energy. It’s playful but it also has a vintage touch to it as these outfits with their stripes and their squared flap at the back date back to the XIXth century (I just found out that it all started with the queen Victoria dressing up her kid in an outfit inspired by the royal navy uniforms for a painting after a cruise ).

Boom on the other side is their first proper “grown-up” concept. We go up was already more grown up but still very “teenager-ish” and although they were mostly teenagers when they did Boom it was clear that this was supposed to be their first entry into “adulthood” as a group at least. And although they did wear a sportswear/casual outfits which is something that isn’t related to age (and I really like the black and white “skeleton” set which already feels more grown-up and more “stylish” than the other casual outfit) , they wore two other “grown-up” elements: suits and all-jean outfits.

And yeah teenagers, and kids wear jeans too but a full jean-on-jean outfit is more of a “grown-up” fashion choice and it makes them look like young men rather than boys. As for the suits, I just really love when stylists play with the codes of that garment (length of the jacket, tightness of the pants, the way the shirt is tucked in…).

Notice how Renjun has a really short jacket, Chenle’s pants are wide, Jeno has a tail…Once again, a really interesting aspect of Kpop is the variations of the same concept based on the members. In the mv, there is a tension between their more grown up selves (the one in suits, the one with a craft/a path) and their young selves (the one running around in the field, the one laying down in the flowers and eating a cake). And there is also in these outfits and the contrast between them this tension, this contrast…which path should they go? The jeans are the more laide back, innocent outfits, whereas the suits come with responsibilities and status (and you’ll notice that in the scene where jisung is left alone to blow his candle it’s when he’s wearing jeans not when he’s in the suits).

Now on to WayV!!

WayV are different from the two in the sense than when they debuted they couldn’t have an “age” concept or an edgy concept because 127 and dream had already taken those and I feel like for that reason they’re still looking for what makes them stand out visually from the others (and in my opinion it’s not in whatever they were wearing for turn back time!). WayV’s concept is space and time travel, it’s building a new life, a new worl, going beyond anything! In my mind, they’re either supposed to feel a bit “otherworldly” (either spectacular or literally like they’re from another world/another universe, a little bit futuristic maybe?) or to look like explorers/travellers (they have a lot of travel/transportation “gears” references in their outfits). Their MVs also have a very different production than the other nct mvs (the scale and the way it’s filmed, the sets…it’s a different approach and it’s usually much more “grand” for their title tracks). The great thing about WayvV styling is usually that they match the outfits well with the world that the mv is set in (like in Moonwalk for example you get a sense of the world they’re in and the fact that it’s not ours or at least not as we know it now through the way they dress – you can’t really say oh it’s inspired by this era or by this or that because -at least- to me it immediately gives me a vibe of something that could be worn in a sci-fi movie, almost like a costume) or that they allude to travel in their styling.

When they debuted with Regular they went for a very sleek and high fashion look which worked really well for them! Even their more “casual” looks were a bit striking and I think that’s very “wayv-like” to me.

Same goes for Take Off where they mix the individual styles (and I don’t like ten’s leopard fur sleeveless jacket at all) and the group concepts – the “flying” outfits and the “racing” outfits (that last one is my favourite! I love the silhouette it creates with the tight pants and the larger tops with an emphasis on the waist).

There’s something a bit extra to WayV - which is why some of their outfits remind me of costumes more than fashion while at the same time they’re the most “high fashion” unit– like the “flying” outfit in Take Off are recognizable as “flying gear” but you can’t really tell what they’re flying, it feels once again like something that they could wear in like star wars or a similar kind of story.

Imagine a movie about 7 men on another planet trying to come together to overcome the dark forces or whatever’s bad on their planet in a futuristic society with a mix of “traditional” and “trendy” outfits? That’s WayV. The movie the 5th Sense? That’s WayV but on steroids. They’re also the only group with actual characters in their mvs, they’re all supposed to have a backstory or an individual setting and find a way to get together in their mvs.

Anyway all that to say that it’s hard for me to pick an era for them because they’ve only had a few and they still feel like they’re looking to solidify their concept, and since moonwalk and turn back time really set the styling in different worlds than ours, you have to look at how they fit in that world rather than ours and I think Moonwalk does it best since it’s the most cohesive one visually. But then I think Regular had the best individual styling!

Okay this is super long but we’re finally getting to NCT U!!!!

Number one favourite:

The Year Party outfits!!!! I’ve already talked about this but I love when they say we’ll put them in suits and then since they have to make a different one for each of them they cut bits an dpieces of the suits here and there, play with lengths. It’s not a revolutionary concept but in terms of searching for a shape, searching for variations of an already so famous, so well-known garment (everyone has seen a suit, and so many designers have already deconstructed it and then put it back together and so on) it’s so nice, it’s almost like a full collection given how many members there are and it’s just a good tailoring work.It almost feel like an exercise of how many variations of an outfit can you think of? And it looks fun to do! It’s all about the details and the way the layers are set together.

The accessories add to the “formal attire” aspect of it. It almost has a ceremonial look to it. A bit of royalty with the futuristic vibe usually associated with WayV. The dark blue suits were pretty classic, the most interesting details (for me at least) were on the light blue ones. Especially since it’s a rare colour to find in formal wear or in ceremonial wear. In general, I feel like it’s a pretty rare colour in fashion outside of like shirts and baby clothes? I think it was a great styling choice for a content like the year party although I do wish they (either NCT or WayV who’ve touched upon this kind of outfit a bit already) would do a full comeback with this kind of styling (like the lighter version of the black and green outfits in SuperM’s One). It’s not revolutionary but it was something new for NCT and I really hope they use that elegant/futuristic concept once again.

Also in these outfits, the jewelry is super important and adds to the “grand” aspect of these outfits. The concept is that these aren’t ordinary outfits for ordinary men, we’re witnessing something “special” and so they aren’t wearing their usual jewels either (of course the big chains are still there but differently look at that necklace jaehyun is wearing)

Honorable mention:

Boss & Baby Don’t Stop (they’re different but they go together in my mind lol). Look at them in their uniforms! And also they had doyoung wearing these sunglasses

Ok I think I’m done, if you’ve made it this far thank you so much and I hope it was a nice read!!

As for who would I chose as my models…it really depends on what I’d make them wear tbh for menswear the things I’d like to design would either be something like formal wear or knitwear – I’d pick Lucas, Taeyong and Doyoung (I think they’re the most model-like members and could pull off pretty much anything even my non-edgy concept because I can’t do that lol and they pose very well) and then depending on the concept I’d pick between Winwin, Jaehyun, Kun, Jungwoo, Taeil, Haechan and Shotaro (the way I struggled to remember all the members at once…there are too many really)

#this is soooo long omg I didn't know I had that much to say wow #I hope you've managed to read it all and that it was somewhat coherent and clear #now it's time to eat #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #wayv #nct 2020 #fashion #leemarx #I've got mail #vinformation

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bulletballetarchive1 · 3 years

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💎 CHARACTER STATS 💎

▌ FULL NAME: Delores Linette Littlejohn/Scozzari

▌ SINGLE OR TAKEN: Verse dependent.

▌ ABILITIES OR POWERS: An excellent dancer. Remains very agile, poise and balanced although having not danced on a professional level in awhile. She also has the potential of harnessing great artistic ability, which is also a verse dependent thing ( all boiling down to how much time she devotes herself to art and actively studies it. )

▌ EYE COLOR: Brown

▌ HAIR COLOR: Black

▌ FAMILY MEMBERS: The Littlejohn Family is enormous. There were her grandparents, Amos & Elizabeth, their children which includes her father William as well as a host of cousins spanning on both her paternal and maternal side. When married to Sal, she has a total of four kids: Cassandra, Nicholas, Bianca, and Luciano.

▌ PETS: When she’s young, she has a Cocker Spaniel named Lady. Who is accompanied by two other Cocker Spaniels depending on the verse. There is also Solomon, a German Shepard. He’s her main guard dog in most scenarios. Finally, there’s Pepper. A black cat who is more of Sal’s pet due to the feline’s favoritism.

▌ SOMETHING THEY DON’T LIKE: Feeling unheard, whether it be an important or unimportant scenario.

▌ HOBBIES/ACTIVIES: she’s a follower of 80s/90s fitness trends, Jazzercise in particular. Also, does a lot of at home workouts. Plays sports like tennis. Reads romance & erotica, shopping, getting her hair done, seeing plays and musicals in Manhattan, attending local art exhibitions, dancing.

▌ EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE: In some emotional form.

▌ EVER KILLED ANYONE BEFORE: Verse dependent, in canon she carries a gun in her purse but there’s been no reason for her to pull the trigger.

▌ ANIMAL THAT REPRESENTS THEM: Has the demeanor of a housecat, but the lifestyle of a lioness.

▌ WORST HABITS: Prone to severe passive-aggression if she doesn't like you, says little about her negative feelings yet expects those around her to catch on when something isn’t right, tries to repress many of her negative emotions, makes expressive faces without realizing, subconsciously ‘turns her nose up’ at certain things, smokes heavily whenever stressed.

▌ ROLE MODELS: The women her grandfather had relationships with. They molded her heavily. Delores also values her time spent with old mob wives.

▌ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual. The degree of how open she is open with her sexuality varies verse to verse, though.

▌ THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE/KIDS: Delores started out having a very girlish view on marriage in her childhood. She believed it led to eternal love and a happily ever after. Delores aims for having only long term serious romances. ( as a millennial she can admit that maybe she’s old fashioned in that kind of aspiration, but she doesn’t want to waste her time on people who don’t care about her. ) Now, Delores feels marriage is based on mutually choosing someone to be with. But more than that, it’s choosing to support them and help them survive through life just as they help you. In regards to children, Delores on default wants two or three. Not one. This is because she felt very lonely growing up and in her perspective, a big family is likely to ‘radiate love.’

▌ FEARS: Thunderstorms. Losing her children, whether it be through abduction or murder. Break-ins. Men she doesn’t know. Snakes. And ferrets, because they are snake like.

▌ STYLE PREFERENCES: 90s designer dresses and diamonds. High quality lingerie.

▌ SOMEONE THEY LOVE: Her family.

▌ APPROACH TO FRIENDSHIPS: It was more difficult for her to have friendships in her childhood than it is in her adulthood. Delores just didn’t get social cues and she seemed weirdly ‘old’ which other kids did not like. Now in adulthood this reserved demeanor comes across much differently. There are plenty of women who want Delores to be their ‘friend’ and she goes out with them for the sake of being polite, but she always keeps her distance. However, if Delores considers you a true friend, she’ll spend most of the day with you. Take trips out of the state with you. Vent to you. Let you vent to her. All and all, she’ll spend hours on the telephone talking about any and everything.

▌ THOUGHTS ON PIE: Not everyone can make a pie properly.

▌ FAVORITE DRINK: White Wine.

▌FAVORITE PLACE TO SPENT TIME AT: She loves the atmosphere of Los Angeles.

▌ SWIM IN THE LAKE OR IN THE OCEAN: Neither.

▌ THEIR TYPE: She’s always been attracted to people with brighter demeanors than her own. Even when she scoffs or rolls her eyes, she’s secretly thinking of how cute and funny they are. She likes it when people have a sense of adventure to them, because she actually craves new experiences and they’re the best person to get this thrill from! But more than that, Delores is attracted to people who care about those around them, showing that they are not self-centered. People who have a moral code, integrity. In the end, these things are far more important than how charismatic someone is.

▌ CAMPING OR INDOORS: Indoors. She’s not about that camping life.

tagged by: @hammurabicomplex tagging: steal it from me, I think most of my mutuals have been tagged.

#dash games.#headcanons.

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ikeromantic · 4 years

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Horns

Day 24 of Ikemektober!

I chose Shakespeare - I’ve no idea what happens in his route. This is entirely my brain (caffeinated), the prompt, and deciding The Bard had to get his own story. It’s spicy fluff. Approx 1800 words.

Will picked up the costumes for his next production - a new play, inspired by his patron. They were fanciful pieces, with bat wings and goat horns and hooves. There was even a serpent-skin coat in the lot. Perfect for the story of a devilish king and his court of impish jesters.

The play was equal parts suffering and passion. He hoped Comte would come to see it, or that rumors of it would reach his ears at least. Taunting the old vampire was a dangerous sport, but for William, that only made it a more alluring pursuit.

If he had eternity, or close to it, to make his plays, there was no subject that was taboo. He would push his art to its limit - and his life with it, as his plays were so enmeshed with experience that sometimes he had trouble separating one from the other.

“Will? Will, is that you?” The voice caught him mid-thought. His arms were so full of costumerie that he couldn’t see who was speaking, but he knew anyhow.

“What fair maid calls mine name so sweetly? Could it be my newest friend?”

She laughed in reply, a bright sound. Unburdened. “I don’t know why you always speak in poetry, Will.”

He felt her hand touch his arm, the lightest brush of her fingertips like a touch of fire. “Do you need help carrying those in?”

“Fear not, I’ve strength enough to finish - but if you could - the door?” Shakespeare heard her open the door to his home. He walked in and set the costumes on the nearest table.

The girl followed him in, her eyes darting about in curious fashion - as if she wanted to see everything before he stopped her looking.

Will smiled. It was strange to see her here, alone. He wondered if the Comte’s imps knew she’d come. He somehow doubted it. “To what do I owe this unforeseen pleasure? I hope tis nothing untoward.”

“Oh, no. I was just going to market to pick up a few things and I saw you getting out of the carriage.” She shrugged, the gesture gentle and indefinable feminine. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a coffee with me - or a tea. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

“No, indeed we did not. You are always most welcome here, whither you’ve only passed by or come to visit with intent.” He motioned to his parlor. “Please, go in and sit down. I’ll put on some tea.”

Her bright smile returned. “Good! I was hoping you weren’t busy right now, but when I saw you with all those - clothes?” She glanced at the pile with wide eyes, “I thought maybe you were in the middle of something.”

“I am never to busy to see you, fair one.” He found his own mouth curling upward with genteel pleasure. The sensation made him vaguely uneasy, as if this was dangerous ground he tread. She always did this - setting him on edge with her cheery disposition. He wondered if something dark lay beneath it, something that, with prying, he could uncover. If so, it lay deep.

Will left to put on a pot of tea. When he came back, she was still in the entry hall, picking at the pile of costumes.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “I - sorry! They just looked so interesting. I wanted to see if I could figure out the play from the clothing.” Her hands grasped her skirt, a nervous gesture.

Shakespeare closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. He knew how unnerving his heterochromatic gaze was, especially on silly little girls. “And? Did you find me out?”

“M-midsummer Night’s Dream?” She guessed, voice full of hope.

“No.” Will leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “I am afraid you’ve now been rude on two accounts. Searching through what belongs to another, and assuming a dramatist is bound by their older work.” The irritation he felt around her lent heat to his words, a sharpness despite his soft voice.

She looked down. “I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She sounded almost at the edge of tears, far more upset at his reprimand than he expected.

Will drew a line with his finger at the edge of her jaw and tipped her face up to his. “I shall forgive you this once, if you consent to a single favor. What say you, fair maid?”

“A favor?” She was trembling, her pulse racing. Excitement or fear? Will wasn’t certain.

“Indeed. I’ve need to check each costume you’ve handily sorted through in that pile. I can try on the gents’ clothing but the ladies’ outfits I must use a mannequin for. Today, you will be my mannequin.”

Her face brightened, though he could still feel her galloping heartbeat. “I could - could do that. It sounds exciting!” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. “Would you tell me what the play is about?”

“Perchance, if I am pleased.” Shakespeare stepped away from her, relieved and disappointed by the distance between them.

She immediately headed back to the pile of costumes, picking at them until she’d found a woman’s costume. “What is this one supposed to be?” She held up the oddly cut dress. It was all long, straight lines and harsh edges. Dark colors.

“It is clothing from the future.” He couldn’t help the wicked smile that lit up his thin face.

“Oh! Neat!” Her innocent enthusiasm missed the point entirely. She took a step toward the parlor, uncertain where she should go to change.

“Yes, you may undress in safety there. I shall refrain from opening the door.”

The tea kettle summoned him with its high pitched whistle. He went to pour the tea, and brought back a tray to set out for them both once the costume-modeling was done.

For himself, he chose the horned outfit. It was Faustian, at a glance. The jacket was black-furred, and the boot cover was made of hoof. The horns themselves were from a goat, but polished to obsidian black. The knobby twists seemed to capture the afternoon sun, reflecting nothing back.

Shakespeare stepped into this study to change. It felt odd to slide on the heavy jacket. The pants were a little big on him, but solidly made and adjustable with the addition of a belt or suspenders. He slid the headpiece on last, savoring the weight of the horns.

The mirror showed him what a monster he’d become with just the change in wardrobe. He looked wild now, like a faun or a devil, out to hunt virgins in sacred groves. Will shook his hair loose to further the effect. In this, he was the divine hunter. The gentleman demon. It was funny how a costume could often bring out secrets closely held.

He stepped back into the entry hall. The girl was still shuffling around in the parlor. He could hear her.

“Are you in need of assistance, fair one?”

“I- uh - the buttons are, they’re kind of hard to reach.”

“Then rescue you, I shall. For what troubles lie under the sun that cannot be bested by two hearts in concert?” He pushed open the door.

Sunlight came through the curtains, painting the room in sunset hue. The girl was standing straight, trying in vain to hold the gown up with one hand, the other reaching for buttons ill-placed. Her cheeks were stained pink, eyes wide.

“Tis no matter, fair maid. I’ve seen many a pretty half in, and half-out of costume. You’ve no need to fear my eye, nor my helping hands.” Will tried to reassure her, though he found her discomfort amusing. He had, in fact, seen many beautiful actresses in all stages of undress, but none quite like her.

Her face didn’t have the diamond hardness of the determined beauty. She lacked the edge of feminine weaponry, as if ignorant of her body’s charms. It only made him more away of her bare shoulders, the curve of her breast at the side. The naked line of her back as she turned to present him with the impossible buttons.

“You look amazing,” she babbled. “Like a faun! It’s called a faun, right? But . . . more cultured?” She inhaled sharply as Will brushed a finger down her spine.

“More of a devil, I’m afraid.” Her shiver provoked in him a need to touch her. He resisted it. He was the writer of passions - a witness. Not a participant. The director did not star in his dramas. He buttoned the dress and stepped away from her.

The girl turned to face him, brushing a hand down the front of the dress to smooth it. The dark blue was perfect for her. And the way it clung to her curves - indecent. Will did not think he’d see a clearer map of her body even if she stood nude before him. Best was the slit up the side of the skirt, as if made for a dancer. Her skin tantalized in glimpses, drawing the eye.

“You’re staring. Is it - is it bad?”

“No.” Shakespeare shook himself. “It is a perfect costume for the victim of a demon.” He gave a wicked sharp smile. “Do you feel like a victim, fair one?”

She started to laugh, but stopped at his forbidding expression. “You kind of scare me sometimes, Will.”

“And fear me you should. For I am a wicked creature.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled sweet, like perfume.

“Will,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“It is too late for you, fair maid. To my lair you came, and now you shall never leave.” He lowered his head to her neck, letting her feel the slightest prick of his fangs.

“Th-this isn’t funny. Let me go,” she whimpered.

Shakespeare realized his own heart was beating as wildly as hers, his breath as ragged. He pushed her away. “I am - am only acting my part. The horned devil.”

“Then you’re a pretty good actor.” She stared at him, wary. “I think I should probably go.”

Will reached up, touching the cold, sharp tip of one of the horns. “Yes, perhaps you should. Send the dress - no, better, keep the dress. It fits not the character of my new script, but I think it sits perfectly upon you.”

She blushed. “Ah, alright. If you’re sure.” Though she took a few steps toward the exit, it seemed she would hesitate, now uncertain if he posed a danger to her.

Shakespeare stepped closer to her, widening his thin, sharp smile. “Unless, fair maid, you’d like to stay and allow me to remove the garment from your skin . . . with my teeth.”

“Nope! No thank you!” She practically ran away, comical in her haste.

Will stood there in the sun-drenched parlor, still smelling her light perfume. It felt so much emptier with her gone. And though he’d hoped for peace in her absence, he felt only turmoil.

“Perhaps I truly am bedeviled,” he mused. The blackened horns atop his head bobbed in silent agreement.

#ikemektober #ikemen vampire #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp william #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen william #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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therappundit · 3 years

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***BEST OF 2020: The Best Rap Albums From a Historically Horrible Year***

So much has been said about this year, so on the last day of 2020 I don’t need to dive any further into exploration of what made this year so challenging (both at a personal and global level), but on the bright side I will say that two unrelated forces saved this year for me: 1.) my amazing baby daughter, and 2.) the seemingly never ending cycle of new, interesting music releases.

Before we dive in, just two points on my criteria for this list:

- must be released within this calendar year (1/1 - 12/31/20)

- must consist of at least 7 tracks

- rankings are according to a combination of my own favorite albums, and other impressive pieces of work that might not be directly up my alley, but I still found truly impressive

So for my last post of 2020...here are the Top 100 Rap Albums/Projects of 2020 (and a more than worthy list of albums that belong on that same list, further down the page):

10. HOMME by Kipp Stone

Without a doubt the most under-the-radar project on this list, and technically a mixtape and not an "album"...but that doesn't matter much to me, because this effort contains every bit of passion, every bit of perspective, and every bit of sheer love for rapping as any of the the best rap albums of 2020. It's hard to say whether East Cleveland is headed towards similar territory that Detroit, Buffalo, and Rochester now occupy, but with HOMME Kipp Stone captures the hunger, anxiety and forever shoulder-chipped struggle of having big dreams that seem more like unlikely fantasies. Kipp was buzzing a few years back, but making his grand return with this project is confirmation that he is next level talent and is more than ready to make a big splash in 2021.

9. Reasonable Drought by Stove God Cook$ and Roc Marciano

Quotes, on top of quotes, on top of quotes. Not sure what else to say about Roc Marciano's protege at this point, who came out of nowhere to close out 2020 as one of the most sought after feature-verse assassins in the business today. Yes, his bars are hilarious, but it's the outside-the-box references and unpredictable bar pairings that truly made this project such an impressive debut. Roc provided high quality instrumentals for Reasonable Drought, but it's clear that he was intentionally lurking in the background to allow the Stove God to stand on his own two. While the album is probably not at the level of Jigga's classic Reasonable Doubt debut that this project tips its' cap to, it's not hard to imagine that someday we will look back at Stove God Cook$' debut as the coming out party for one of New York City's finest MCs.

8. Àdá Irin by Navy Blue

I never imagined that one of the biggest challenges at this point would not be whether or not Navy Blue deserves to be recognized as having one of the top rap 10 albums of 2020, but rather which album to choose for the top 10!? From Earl Sweatshirt affiliate and Soundcloud producer to standout solo talent, the west coast born by east coast stationed MC/writer/producer/model/skateboarder (!?) had himself a banner year. Of his many gifts, his strongest is his ability to craft beautiful, soulful soundscapes that blend the best elements of the NYC lofi scene with shades of late 90's L.A. underground. Dealing with themes of love, loss, joy, and depression, Navy seems to possess wisdom well beyond his years, and it enabled him to craft not one, but two of the most inviting and accessible offerings from lofi circles that I have heard, and I mean that in the best way possible.

7. From King To A God (Deluxe) by Conway The Machine

He did it. Griselda's top muscle came through to deliver his most well-rounded, and arguably strongest overall project yet. Everything from the bars, to the varied production, to the bleeding soul of this project exemplifies the difference between an album and a "tape". The Machine was a machine in 2020, blitzing an astronomical number of feature verses, but FKTG was the gem he needed in his crown to solidify himself as a contender for best MC in the game moving forward. While this is not his actual Shady Records label debut (who knows when that will arrive now), this certainly feels like his major league arrival.

6. Alfredo by Freddie Gibbs and The Alchemist

Two hip-hop specialists getting together to drop a project just for fun in the middle of a pandemic...what could go wrong? Well, almost nothing, actually. Freddie arrived dripping with soul and Al slid a nice little package of beats his way, and what we ended up with was a strong partner-project to FETTI (their previous stellar collaboration alongside Curren$y), only packaged with little snippets of personal revelations and free-flowing opinions throughout. Gibbs is one of the masters of hooking you in with his voice and contagious flow, so much so that his skills as a talented writer are often overlooked. While not necessarily the incredible revelation that his collaborations with Madlib have been thus far, there's enough strong chemistry here between MC and producer to lock Alfredo down as easily one of the best rap projects of 2020. And the Grammy's would certainly agree.

5. Descendants of Cain by Ka

One of the genre's true master writers, Ka albums feel like audio literature placed over hard-nosed rap beats. Many rappers view themselves as true artists, but few can say they are capable of weaving the type of rhyme poetry that Ka seems to wield with casual ease. The truth is that it's not easy, we just aren't around to witness the care and editing that goes into Ka's work. Featuring too many stirring quotes to single out (and let us not forget an incredible surprise verse from fellow Metal Clergy-man, Roc Marcinao), Decendants of Cain is yet another impressive addition to Ka's catalogue, doing more to capture the paradoxical surroundings of environments that are equal parts harsh and loving - and often doing so through religious metaphors - than many MCs can do in a year. His lyrical paintings of the world may be bleak, but they are not without hope.

4. As God Intended by Che Noir & Apollo Brown

Apollo Brown has been one of the most revered - albeit not loudly proclaimed - underground hip-hop producers of the past decade. He has joined forces with many talented MCs to drop full partner projects, but perhaps none as under-the-radar as Buffalo's Che Noir. But what Che Noir lacked in household name status heading into 2020, she more than makes up for with conviction, writing ability, and the skills of an elite MC. The result of this collaboration is a beautiful, personal, at times painful, and at times just straight badass album, and one that deserves recognition from top rap circles. In my opinion, this is the greatest production work of Apollo Brown's career thus far, and it's hard to say where it will rank for Che Noir since she seems to be a fresh talent that is very much still on the rise - but as of right now, you have to call her one of the best in the biz today.

3. Pray for Paris by Westside Gunn

Westside Gunn is one of the masters of the volume game. That's not to say he - or anyone in camp Griselda - sacrifice quality over quantity, but it's safe to say that you know what you're gonna get with a Westside Gunn album. Welp, WSG rewrote the script with this one. What began as an art-inspired passion project between album releases ended up being the overall strongest Griselda project of 2020, and one of the year's most fascinating rap albums. Since his highly regarded Supreme Blientele album, Gunn has gradually been pulling his own lyrical content out of the spotlight, opting to play cook and curator, throwing a mixture of in-house producers and rappers in a pot with outside talent, to mirror the ambiance of a dark, gritty rap fashion show. His projects are less statements of content, than they are audio "scenes" that the listener is invited into, as if they’re Basquiat level exhibitions quantum-leaping forward in time to now live amongst a hungry, thriving rap scene in upstate New York. That's not to say that PFP isn't a lyrical feast as well, with everyone from Tyler, The Creator to Joey Bada$$ to Wale to professional dancer Cartier William having their turn in the spotlight. All thanks to Westside Gunn, the rare MC that enjoys being the host of his own party more than being the center of attention at one.

2. A Written Testimony by Jay Electronica (featuring JAY-Z)

While some are waving the Act II flag as Jay Electronica's "real" debut album, I am less interested in a cool collection of mostly-finished old songs, and much more interested in a polished, brilliantly produced project with (again, mostly) new verses from both Electronica and JAY-Z. It's easily the shortest selection on this list, but I feel like the quality of each individual song makes up for the brevity. I couldn't care less whether anyone thinks this is more of a duo-album or a solo piece, because the themes are certainly coming from Electronica's wheel house, and the fact that Hov was able to tweak his content to meet him there, is one of the things that makes AWT so special to me.

1. The Price of Tea in China (Deluxe) by Boldy James and The Alchemist

No, it doesn’t represent a seismic shift in the culture, and no it’s not *the album* that we heard blasting out of everyone’s (or anyone’s) car speakers this year, but when it came to sheer execution, and mastery over the style of music they were aiming to make, there just simply wasn’t one flaw in Boldy James and The Alchemist’s The Price of Tea in China. From the distinctly moody production, to the guest verses, to the steady hand of a wizened veteran of the street life, intent on sharing unfiltered tales of his underworld without any additional bells or whistles, it all clicks so well that I can’t picture taking the project out of my rotation. Uncle Al went deeeeeeep into his bag with this one, and Boldy seems to have returned from the industry grave to reach the highest level of recognition of his career. In a year stuffed with a plethora of high quality examples of every flavor of rap music imaginable, The Price of Tea in China is the ideal pick for album of the year, because it’s prestige is built upon it’s ability to simply be what it wanted to be without turning an ear to trends or reaching for broader recognition. TPOTIC’s broader recognition is made possible due to Boldy & Al’s artistic commitment to just making the type of music that a MC from Detroit and a legendary underground producer from Los Angeles love to make, and for that we should be very grateful.

Top 100 (all belong in the Top 25-50, but…there’s only 100 spots in the Top 100, so here we go):

11. FlySiifu by Fly Anakin & Pink Siifu

12. Song of Sage: Post Panic! by Navy Blue

13. Eastern Medicine, Western Illness by Preservation

14. Too Afraid To Dance EP by Chuck Strangers

15. Noise Kandy 4 by Rome Streetz

16. Mt. Marci by Roc Marciano

17. Burden of Proof by Benny The Butcher & Hit-Boy

18. Battle Scar Decorated by Monday Night & Henny L.O.

19. We Know the Truth (Deluxe) by Drakeo the Ruler

20. The Allegory by Royce Da 5′9″

21. Bag Talk by yungmorpheus & Pink Siifu

22. Innocent Country 2 by Quelle Chris

23. Weight of the World by MIKE

24. Kontraband by Rome Streetz & Farma Beats

25. BRASS by Moor Mother & billy woods

26. Try Again by ovrkast.

27. Shrines by Armand Hammer

28. The Smartest by Tee Grizzley

29. Good Energy by Grafh

30. Substance Abuse by Rigz & Futurewave

31. Cold Water by Medhane

32. King’s Disease by Nas & Hit-Boy

33. Milestones by Skyzoo

34. Young & Turnt 2 by 42 Dugg

35. My Turn by Lil Baby

36. Manger on McNichols by Boldy James and Sterling Toles

37. The OutRunners by Curren$y & Harry Fraud

38. Mach’s Hard Lemonade by Mach-Hommy

39. Sages by Henny L.O. & Ohbliv

40. E.L.E. (Extinction Level Event): The Final World Front by Busta Rhymes

41. Lake Water by SeKwence

42. At the End of the Day. by Fly Anakin

43. Sole Food by Deniro Farrar

44. The Oracle 3 by Grafh

45. The Blue Tape by Tree

46. lo&behold by lojii

47. Who Made The Sunshine by Westside Gunn

48. RTJ4 by Run The Jewels

49. Whitehouse Studio, Pt. 2 by Various Aritsts [Detroit]

50. Carpe Noctem by Big Ghost Ltd

51. Infinite Wisdom by Lord Jah-Monte Ogbon

52. The Throwaways by The Opioid Era

53. Anyways by Young Nudy

54. PTSD (Deluxe) by G Herbo

55. Holly Favored by Monday Night & Foisey

56. THE GOAT by Polo G

57. Dump YOD: Krutoy Edition by Your Old Droog

58. The Face of Jason by ANKHLEJOHN

59. Two4one by Jay Worthy

60. Poetic Substance by RIM & Vinyl Villain

61. ve·loc·i·ty by H31R (Maassai & JWords)

62. UNLOCKED by Denzel Curry & Kenny Beats

63. Slim E and Friends by CHASETHEMONEY

64. Alone Time by YL

65. FLYGOD Is An Awesome God 2 by Westside Gunn

66. OBLIVION by Black Noi$e

67. Sleeper Effect by Sleep Sinatra

68. Savage Mode 2 by 21 Savage & Metro Boomin

69. Thug Tear by Big Kashuna O.G. & Monday Night

70. II - The Next Wave by Quakers

71. Demon & Mufasa by Yhung T.O. & DaBoii

72. Eternal Atake by Lil Uzi Vert

73. Miles by Blu & Exile

74. IMMORTALKOMBAT by Al Divino & Estee Nack

75. The Baltimore Housing Project by Jay Royale

76. I’m Still Perfect by Baby Smoove

77. The Grotesque & Beautiful by Teller Bank$

78. Crime Scenes by Ransom & Nicholas Craven

79. Streams Of Thought, Vol. 3. by Black Thought

80. Ways and Means by Rasheed Chappell & 38 Spesh

89. Sacred Psalms by El Camino & 38 Spesh

90. As Above So Below by ANKHLEJOHN

91. Tomorrow Is Forgotten by Stik Figa & Conductor Williams

92. So Help Me God! by 2 Chainz

93. Sauce Monk Volume 3 by Sauce Heist & Camoflauge Monk

94. A Beautiful Drug by WTM Scoob

95. Don’t Play It Straight by Small Bills (ELUCID & The Lasso)

96. No More Humble Fashion by Flee Lord

97. Pharaoh Chain by Planet Asia & Tha Musalini

98. Numb by Sha Hef

99. Interstate 38 by 38 Spesh

100. Get Money Teach Babies by Heist Life & Spanish Ran

THE REST OF THE BEST (all belong in the Top 100 releases of 2020, blame 2020 for being such a stacked year for music) - in no particular order:

Assata by CV$ a.k.a. Con$piracy & Teller Bank$, Spencer for HIGHER 3 by Vic Spencer & sonnyjim, Big Bad Boldy by Boldy James & Real Bad Man, Da 5th Power by Mooch, Muthaland by BbyMutha, Act II: Patents of Nobility (The Turn) by Jay Electronica, Long Story Short by Heem, Eileen by 14 Trapdoors, Free Drakeo by Drakeo the Ruler, Da Fixtape by Da Cloth, The L.I.B.R.A. by T.I., Sinners & Saints by Rasheed Chappell & Buckwild, Black Schemata by yungmorpheus............... Polly by the Powder Keg by Chuck Chan & Pad Scientist, High Off Life by Future, Memphis Massacre 2 by Duke Deuce, LSD by The Leonard Simpson Duo & Guilty Simpson, Funeral by Lil Wayne............ RAW UNKNOWN by Spectacular Diagnostics, Nezzie’s Star by Eddie Kaine, ShrapKnel (self-titled), The Bluest Note by Skyzoo & Dumbo Station, WUNNA by Gunna, Meet The Woo 2 by Pop Smoke, Fresh Air by UFO Fev & Statik Selektah, Vito by Vince Ash, Avenues by Tony Seltzer & Adrian Lau, Spilligion by Spillage Village, GRIMM & EViL by GRiMM Doza, Closer Than They Appear by Lyric Jones, RUDEBWOY by CJ Fly, Wired Different by Ty Farris & Bozack Morris, Rocket to Nebula by Killah Priest, NO Blade of Grass by V Don, I’m My Brother’s Keeper by Yella Beezy & Trapboy Freddy................. Carhartt Champions by Tree Mason, No Hook 3 by Dunbar, Rowhouse Whispers by Ray West & Zilla Rocca, Magneto Was Right #4 by Raz Fresco, DUMP LIFE by Tha God Fahim, Jay NiCE & Left Lane Didon, FNTG: From Niggaz to Godz by Squeegie O, PANAGNL4E, Vol. 2 by Los and Nutty, Thank You For Using GTL by Drakeo & JoogSzn, Adjust to the Game by Larry June, BETTER by Deante’ Hitchcock, No Cosign Just Cocaine 3 by Ty Farris, Vangarde by Mr. Lif & Stu Bangas, MSYKM by Tsu Surf, Your Birthday’s Cancelled by Iron Wigs.................. LULU by Conway & The Alchemist, No One Mourns The Wicked by Conway & Big Ghost, Talk Soon by Nolan The Ninja, FULL CIRCLE by Medhane, Detroit 2 by Big Sean, Juno by Che Noir & 38 Spesh, Send Them To Coventry by Pa Salieu............... Marlowe 2 by Marlowe (L’Orange & Solemn Brigham), The Versace Tape by Boldy James & Jay Versace, The Balancing Act by Statik Selektah, Capital Gains by Willie The Kid, Deutsche Marks 2 by Willie The Kid & V Don, Keep Going by Larry June & Harry Fraud, The Sharecropper’s Daughter by Sa-Roc, Seven Times Down Eight Times Up by Elzhi & JR Swiftz.................... The Ghost of Fritz by Jamal Gasol, Don’t Feed the Monster by Homeboy Sandman & Quelle Chris, Anime, Trauma and Divorce by Open Mike Eagle, Brentwood by Poloboy Nunu, The Listening Session by Billy Danze & TooBusy, Midnight Sons by Zilla Rocca & Chong Wizard, A Piece of Mine by Bub Rock, The Rock Period by Bub Rock, WINTER by DJ Muggs, Bartier Bounty 2 by Sada Baby, Cincorginals by Tobe Nwigwe, Director’s Cut (Scene Three) by Ransom & Nicholas Craven, Rather Be A Real One by Vic Spencer.............. Exhibit Q by Deniro Farrar, After 12 by Che Noir, Blank Checc by Baby Money, Jesus Is My Homeboy by YL, The People’s Champ by Flee Lord, In The Name of Prodigy by Flee Lord & Havoc, Culture Over Corporate by Uptown X.O., Sell Sole 2 by Dej Loaf, Progress by Struggle Mike, Merry Wickmas by Shawny Binladen, Don’t Ask Me Where I’m From by Donsmith, Serene by VRN Hayes, In My Life by Dat Boi Vic, Ho, Why Is You Here? by Flo Milli, Limbo by Aminé........................................thank you, and cheers to a happier, healthier New Year. 🙏

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