#and occasionally there's one where the impeccable sense of rhythm he showed in the first poem i loved sneaks up on me and sweeps me away

[dee-writes-anime]

So I saw that your requests are open and that you do JJK and I was wondering if you’d be interested in the idea buzzing in my brain for the past week. Nanami is a total jazz lover in my mind and there’s a jazz club in town and the reader is a jazz singer full of passion. I’m thinking Nanami falls head over heels for reader especially with her voice as she sings love songs. Also I love your work it’s fantastic and always a joy to read.

The Echoing, All-Encompassing Sound of Love

FEATURING Kento Nanami x Female Reader

SUMMARY The Blue Note was a place Nanami went to unwind after hard, long days of endless, meaningless work. It was a place for him to fall into the shadows and familiarity of the deep blues and jazz, it was a comfort, but nothing had ever touched him, enraptured him like you had when you stepped on that stage.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, cuteness, introspective??, Kento gushing over his WOMAN (bark bark bark), obsessed man, this is some deep, soulful shit yall, only edited ever so slightly T-T

AUTHORS NOTE I have no idea where I went with this or how it got to this point, but I really hope I brought your vision to life darling anon. <3

The jazz club, nestled in the heart of the city, is alive with an intimate, cozy energy. The space is dimly lit, with soft, warm lighting casting long shadows across the room. A thin haze of smoke lingers in the air, adding to the club's mystique. The gentle hum of quiet conversations mixes with the soft clinking of glasses and the occasional low laugh, creating a comforting backdrop for the evening.

At a small, round table near the stage, Kento Nanami sits, his posture relaxed yet composed. His impeccably tailored suit fits him perfectly, as always. He swirls a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint light. His sharp gaze is focused on the stage, where musicians are setting up their instruments, tuning and adjusting, preparing for the night’s performance. The familiar ritual of the pre-show calm settles over him, a welcome escape from the chaos of his usual day-to-day life.

Nanami takes a sip of his drink, savoring the smooth burn as it slides down his throat, and leans back slightly in his chair. His eyes flicker around the room, taking in the scattered patrons, each one lost in their own world of jazz and ambiance. He’s been coming to this club for a few weeks now, drawn by the soothing allure of the music and the promise of an evening where the only battles to be fought are between trumpet solos and sultry saxophone notes.

He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight will be different. Tonight, a new performer is set to take the stage, and with her first note, Nanami’s world will begin to shift in ways he never expected.

Nanami wasn’t the type to indulge in luxuries. He preferred the quiet satisfaction of a well-brewed cup of coffee, the crisp pages of a book, the efficiency of a perfectly executed plan. But there was something about this jazz club that drew him in like a moth to a flame. The dim lighting, the haze of smoke, the low hum of the bass—these were not things he typically sought out, but here, in this place, they provided a strange sense of comfort.

Tonight, the club is alive with its usual hum of activity. Patrons sit scattered around small tables, their faces barely visible in the shadows, illuminated only by the soft glow of flickering candles. The scent of whiskey and old leather mingles with the faint traces of smoke, creating an atmosphere that is both timeless and ephemeral. The band on stage plays a slow, steady rhythm, a saxophone gently crying out a mournful tune that fills the room with a bittersweet nostalgia.

Nanami sits at his usual table, close enough to the stage to see every detail, yet far enough to remain unnoticed by most. He’s dressed impeccably, as always, his suit crisp and neat despite the casual setting. He swirls his glass of whiskey, watching the ice cubes clink softly against the sides, his gaze occasionally drifting to the stage. His mind is calm, his thoughts quieted by the gentle rhythm of the music. He’s been coming here for weeks now, finding solace in the music, in the anonymity of the darkened room.

But tonight is different.

The moment you step on stage, something shifts in the air. It’s as if the very essence of the club changes, the room becoming quieter, the audience collectively holding its breath in anticipation. Nanami feels it too—a subtle tightening in his chest, a flutter he can’t quite name. He watches as you move into the spotlight, the soft, golden light catching on the sequins of your dress, making you shimmer like a dream. Your eyes are closed, your posture relaxed yet poised, as if you’re in a world all your own.

And then you start to sing.

The first note is like a whisper, gentle and soft, yet it carries through the room with a clarity that demands attention. Your voice is unlike anything Nanami has ever heard—smooth as honey, rich as velvet, with a depth that speaks of experiences and emotions he can only begin to imagine. Each note is carefully controlled, each word filled with emotion, and he finds himself leaning forward slightly, his focus entirely on you.

As you continue, your voice grows stronger, more confident, filling the room with a warmth that wraps around everyone like a comforting embrace. The lyrics are a love song, simple yet profound, speaking of longing and hope, of heartache and desire. Nanami feels each word as if it’s directed at him, as if you’re singing just for him, your gaze occasionally sweeping across the audience, and he can’t help but wonder if you see him.

The way you move on stage is mesmerizing. You sway gently to the rhythm, your hands occasionally rising to emphasize a particularly powerful line. There’s a passion in your performance, a raw emotion that spills out with every note, making it impossible to look away. Nanami’s heart races, a strange sensation for someone usually so composed. He doesn’t know why, but something about you, about this moment, feels significant—like a turning point he didn’t see coming.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the liquid warming him from the inside out, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth your voice brings. As you hit a high note, the room seems to hold its breath, and Nanami feels a shiver run down his spine. He’s never felt so captivated, so drawn to someone. It’s as if your voice is a thread, pulling him closer, wrapping around his heart and refusing to let go.

For the first time in a long while, Nanami feels something beyond the constant grind of his duties. He feels alive, his senses heightened by the music, by your presence. He doesn’t know who you are, doesn’t know your story, but in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the music, the way your voice makes him feel, and the strange, undeniable pull he feels toward you.

He tries to stay for the rest of the night, anticipating the moment he can go up and introduce himself when all the performers do crowd work. However, it seems his phone has different plans as it buzzes insistently in the back pocket of his slacks, calling him cruelly away from the opportunity to catch your name, to hear your voice once more. Kento Nanami doesn't consider a man who's easy to anger, but that night, having lost the opportunity to know you, to catch just a single glimpse at your soul again, he can't help but feel his blood boil under his skin.

As he leaves the club, he convinces himself that he will see you again, that he will take the next opportunity as it comes and talk to you.

And that is how Kento Nanami quickly becomes a fixture at The Blue Note, his visits growing more frequent, timed perfectly to coincide with your performances.

He never deviates from his routine: arriving a few minutes before your set, he always sits at the same small table near the stage, his broad shoulders relaxed yet somehow still commanding in his perfectly tailored suit. He orders a single glass of whiskey, savoring it slowly throughout the evening.

His presence is quiet but unyielding, like a shadow that’s always there, watching, observing. Every time you step on stage, his gaze is already on you, unwavering, a steady anchor amidst the flickering candlelight and swirling smoke. It’s a look that’s intense, focused, as if he’s trying to unravel the secrets hidden within each note you sing.

You’ve noticed him, of course—how could you not? At first, he was just another face in the crowd, another patron drawn to the allure of jazz and dim lighting. But as the weeks passed, you found your eyes lingering on him more and more, intrigued by his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed to hang on to every word you sang. There was a mystery about him, a sense of restraint that made you wonder what thoughts lay hidden behind those piercing eyes.

As the days turn into weeks, his presence becomes a comfort, a constant in the ever-changing tide of the club’s clientele. You start to look for him as you step on stage, your gaze naturally drifting to his usual spot. The way he watches you feels different from the others—more profound, more attentive, as if he’s listening not just with his ears, but with his entire being.

And each time you sing, you can’t help but feel a strange connection to him, a silent understanding that grows stronger with every performance. His steady gaze becomes a source of inspiration, a quiet encouragement that pushes you to pour even more of yourself into each song. It’s almost as if you’re singing just for him, even though you’ve never exchanged a single word.

One evening, after a particularly soulful rendition of an old jazz standard, you notice him again. He’s there, as always, sitting at his usual table, his eyes following you with that same intense focus. But tonight feels different. There’s something in his gaze that you can’t quite place—an emotion that lingers in the air like the final note of a song.

The club is quieter than usual tonight, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room. As you step off the stage, your heart still pounding from the performance, you find yourself drawn to him, almost against your will. You’re not sure what compels you—perhaps it’s the curiosity that’s been building inside you for weeks, or maybe it’s the intensity of his focus, the way he seems to see right through you, as if he knows every emotion behind your songs.

You make your way through the tables, your steps slow and deliberate, your heart beating a little faster with each one. As you approach, you notice the subtle shift in his expression—his eyes widening slightly, a flicker of surprise passing across his otherwise stoic face. He sets his glass down carefully, his movements calm and measured, but you can see the tension in the way he sits up straighter, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Hi,” you say softly, your voice carrying just above the soft hum of the club. Up close, you notice the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair falls neatly over his forehead, and the intensity of his eyes—eyes that are watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something deeper.

He nods slightly, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. “Hello,” he replies, his voice low and smooth, matching the ambiance of the club perfectly. There’s a moment of silence, the kind that hangs heavy with unspoken questions and unsaid words.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “I’ve noticed you here before,” you say, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “You come to listen a lot.”

Nanami’s eyes soften, and he nods again. “I do,” he admits, his gaze steady and sincere. “You have a… remarkable voice. It’s not something one can easily forget.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity in them striking a chord deep within you. You smile, a genuine, warm smile that reaches your eyes. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

He tilts his head slightly, a subtle curiosity playing across his features. “From me?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. “Yes. You always seem so… focused. It’s hard not to wonder what you’re thinking.”

Nanami chuckles softly, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. “I suppose I’m just… listening,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “Trying to understand the emotion behind each song. You sing with such passion; it’s hard not to be drawn in.”

Your heart flutters at his words, at the honesty in them. For a moment, the world outside fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, smoky club, sharing a connection that feels almost tangible.

As the evening goes on, the conversation flows naturally, each word revealing a little more about the enigmatic man who has been such a mystery to you. And as you talk, you find yourself wanting to know more, to understand the quiet strength behind his stoic exterior, and to uncover the emotions that lie beneath his calm façade.

Tonight, you’ve taken the first step into a new rhythm, one that neither of you could have anticipated.

But your exploration ends there-- at least, for the time being as Nanami finds himself pulled back into the Jujutsu world, all his extra time lost to consistent missions and training as a grade-one sorcerer.

It's only about a month later that he is finally able to force just enough time into his exhausting schedule to come see you again, the dim glow of the jazz club's lights dances across the walls, and the familiar hum of chatter fills the room as patrons settle in for another night of music.

Nanami sits at his usual table, but tonight feels different. His normally calm and composed demeanor is slightly frayed at the edges. His fingers tap nervously against the rim of his glass, and he takes a slow, deep breath. He’s been thinking about this moment for weeks, rehearsing his words, imagining every possible outcome.

He can no longer ignore the pull he feels toward you—the singer who has become more than just a beautiful voice on stage. Every performance has drawn him deeper into your world, and he finds himself wanting more. He wants to know you, to understand the person behind the melodies that have captivated him so completely.

As the final notes of your current song fade, you take a small bow, the audience’s applause a warm, familiar comfort. When you lift your gaze, your eyes naturally drift to his spot, widening ever so slightly when you see him watching you with that same intense focus. There’s something different in his expression tonight, a hint of determination that makes your heart skip a beat.

When the set ends, you make your way offstage, your steps lighter than usual. As you head toward the bar for a drink, you see him rise from his table, his tall figure cutting through the smoky haze of the club. He’s coming toward you, his movements purposeful but not rushed. There’s a resolve in his stride, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken with anticipation.

“Hi again,” you greet him with a smile as he approaches, leaning casually against the bar. Up close, he’s as striking as ever, his presence commanding but not overpowering. There’s a softness to his eyes tonight, a warmth that wasn’t there before. "Long time no see."

“Hello,” he responds, his voice a touch lower than usual, an embarrassed blush lightly dusting his sharp cheekbones. He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. You can see the faintest hint of nervousness in the way he briefly glances away before meeting your gaze again. “I wanted to… say something.” He hesitates, then continues, “First, I wanted to apologize for my absence after our conversation. I see how it might seem that my lack of attendance is directly related, and I want to make it clear that it wasn't."

"That's alright," you say so sweetly, your voice dripping with a honey that doesn't reach the stage. It makes him pause, that soulful tone that you sing with is so at odds with your personality it almost makes him want to enquire whether or not you are the same woman.

But he has more important things to do, like reveal his truth. "A-and also.. your voice… it moves me in ways I can’t quite explain. It’s like every note, every word carries a piece of you, and… it reaches me.”

His confession is quiet, almost lost in the low murmur of the club, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the composed exterior.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you feel a playful urge to lighten the moment. “So, does that make you my most dedicated fan?” you tease gently, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Nanami chuckles softly, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. “I suppose it does,” he admits, a small, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “I can’t seem to stay away.”

There’s a moment of shared laughter, and in that instant, the tension between you softens, replaced by a warm, unspoken connection. It’s a feeling that’s been building for weeks, and now, standing here with him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you have a favorite song from my set?” you ask, curious to know more about the quiet man who seems to hang on your every word.

Without a second’s hesitation, he answers, “The ballad you sing—the one about longing and quiet devotion. It… resonates with me.”

You nod, recognizing the song he’s referring to. It’s one of your favorites too, a song filled with deep emotions, a story of unspoken love and silent yearning. His choice surprises you, but it also makes your heart flutter. There’s something incredibly personal about his answer, something that touches a place deep within you.

As the evening progresses, you prepare for the next set. Nanami returns to his table, but there’s a newfound lightness in his demeanor, a subtle shift in his posture. You take the stage again, the band picking up the soft, familiar notes of the ballad he mentioned. The room falls silent as you begin to sing.

Your voice carries through the club, each note delicate and filled with emotion. As you sing, your eyes search the crowd, drawn inevitably to him. When your gaze finally meets his, it feels like the air is charged with electricity. His eyes are locked on yours, and suddenly, the song takes on a whole new meaning. It’s no longer just a performance; it’s a conversation, a silent exchange of feelings that neither of you has dared to voice until now.

The words spill from your lips with a newfound intensity, each lyric filled with the raw emotion that���s been building inside you since the moment you first saw him. The love song, once a simple ballad, now feels like a confession, a declaration wrapped in melody. You can see it in his eyes too—a depth of feeling that mirrors your own, a quiet devotion that makes your heart race.

As the final note fades into the silence, you realize that the room has disappeared, leaving just the two of you connected by the invisible thread of the music. The applause is distant, a faint echo of reality, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you—as if you are the only person in the world.

In that moment, under the soft glow of the club’s lights, something shifts between you. It’s a beginning, a step into uncharted territory, but it feels right. And as you both stand there, wrapped in the warmth of the song and the quiet understanding between you, you know that whatever comes next, it’s a melody you’re both eager to explore.

It's not long before the nights at The Blue Note become something more than just performances and applause. After the crowd disperses and the lights dim, the club transforms into a sanctuary of quiet conversations and shared silences. Nanami stays longer now, his reserved demeanor softening with each passing evening. You sit together at the bar or at his usual table near the stage, sometimes talking late into the night, sometimes just sitting in a comfortable silence that says more than words ever could.

You’ve come to look forward to these moments—the way Nanami listens so intently when you speak, as if every word matters, the way his eyes soften when he catches you smiling. There’s a calm about him, a quiet strength that you find yourself drawn to more and more. He never pushes, never asks for more than you’re willing to give. Instead, he’s just… there. A steady presence that has quickly become a constant in your life.

You learn things about him in these quiet hours. He speaks of his work in vague terms, his shoulders tensing slightly whenever the topic drifts too close. But he’s open about his love for jazz, about how he finds solace in the melodies and rhythms. He tells you about the first time he heard you sing, how something inside him shifted, how he knew he would return again and again.

In return, you share pieces of yourself with him—stories of your childhood, your love for music, and how it’s the one thing that has always made you feel truly alive. You tell him about the first time you sang on a stage, how nervous you were, and how that fear melted away the moment you began to sing. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel seen, truly seen, in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

As the days turn into weeks, an unspoken bond forms between you. It’s there in the way Nanami orders your favorite drink without you asking, in the way he waits for you to finish after every performance, ready with a quiet smile and a listening ear. It’s in the way you look for him in the crowd, your heart lifting just a little each time you find him sitting at his usual spot, watching you with that steady, unyielding gaze.

You begin to see the depth of Nanami in the little things—the way he’s always mindful of your space, the way he listens more than he speaks, and how his rare, gentle smiles are more precious than any grand gesture. He shows his affection in thoughtful ways—a book he thought you might like, a warm cup of tea on a rainy night, a steady hand at your back when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

It’s these moments, small but meaningful, that make you realize just how much he’s come to mean to you. He’s become more than just a regular at the club, more than just a face in the crowd. He’s someone you’ve come to rely on, someone whose presence brings a sense of calm and comfort that you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Tonight, the club is busier than usual, the crowd buzzing with energy. You’re back on stage, the warm glow of the spotlight casting a soft halo around you. The band starts to play the familiar opening notes of a love song, the same ballad Nanami had mentioned that night—the one filled with longing and quiet devotion. Your heart flutters with a mix of nerves and excitement. Tonight feels different, charged with a new kind of energy.

As you begin to sing, your eyes naturally seek him out. Nanami is there, as always, sitting at his usual table. But tonight, there’s no distance between you. He’s no longer just a quiet admirer in the shadows; he’s someone who knows your stories, someone who’s seen you in your most vulnerable moments. And when your gaze meets his, it’s like the whole room falls away, leaving just the two of you connected by the music.

Your voice carries through the club, each note filled with a tenderness that wasn’t there before. You sing for him now, every word an unspoken confession, every melody a shared memory. The song is more than just a performance; it’s a dialogue, a way to say all the things you haven’t yet put into words.

Nanami watches you with a quiet intensity, his eyes soft and warm. You can see the emotion there, the depth of feeling that he so rarely shows. And as you sing, you can feel it too—a warmth spreading through your chest, a sense of belonging that makes you feel more alive than ever.

The final notes of the song hang in the air, a delicate echo that slowly fades into the silence. The crowd erupts in applause, but all you hear is the quiet, steady beat of your heart, all you see is the way Nanami’s lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile.

You take a small bow, but your eyes never leave his. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent promise that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together. And in that moment, under the soft lights of the club, with the music still lingering in the air, you know that you’ve found something special—something worth holding onto.

As the night draws to a close and the crowd begins to thin, you make your way off the stage, your steps light and purposeful. Nanami is waiting for you, his figure a steady presence amidst the shifting shadows. He doesn’t say anything as you approach, but his eyes speak volumes—filled with a quiet devotion that makes your heart swell.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying just above the soft hum of the remaining patrons.

“Thank you,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “For everything.”

Nanami nods, his expression gentle, and without another word, he offers you his hand. You take it, feeling the warmth of his touch, the strength of his grip—a silent promise that whatever comes next, you won’t have to face it alone.

And as you stand there, hand in hand, with the music still echoing softly around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[theeverlastingshade]

Merriweather Post Pavilion- Animal Collective: 10th Anniversary

               While it may have seemed evident for the first time in their career up to that point where Animal Collective would go on their next LP given the sounds of their brilliant, and game changing previous record, Strawberry Jam, and Panda Bear’s landmark third LP, Person Pitch, Merriweather Post Pavilion presented another remarkable departure for the band, bringing them as close to cultural ubiquity as they would ever get. In continuing within the progression from SJ that found them ditching their guitars for samplers, alongside Panda Bear’s newfound adherence to crafting loop-based jams over working within traditional song structure parameters on PP, MPP was unlike anything in their discography. It was by far their most approachable album, but thankfully despite the heightened emphasis on melody and danceable rhythms they don’t compromise an ounce of their singularity, ability to distill a myriad of disparate influences seamlessly, or otherworldly strangeness. Even at their most inclusive Animal Collective sound like no one but themselves entirely. Ten years later MPP still stands as a towering piece of work that sounds like one of the most compelling albums to legitimately, inadvertently bridge the gap between the underground and mainstream this century.

                 Throughout their career Animal Collective toured their new material, work shopping the songs in real time in front of audiences, before they were properly released, and the material on MPP was no exception. After the release of SJ Deakin left the band due to a combination of touring fatigue and undisclosed personal reasons, and so Avey Tare, Panda Bear, and Geologist set out to record their following LP without him throughout the following winter. The demos for MPP began circulating in an email chain between band members throughout 2007, and while songs for the record would seep into their live sets that year they didn’t formally reconvene for recording until February 2008. Without Deakin in the mix it was a given that guitar would play a markedly diminished role in the recordings, and working with Ben H. Allen as a producer helped further heighten the populist sensibilities that had always existed within their music, albeit usually buried under heaps of noise. As a result, MPP is noticeably cleaner sounding, and far more bass heavy than any other their records, but thankfully just as dense and mesmerizing. The previously unprecedented emphasis on a thick low-end, coupled with cleaner production, and brighter, richer harmonies than they had ever attempted resulted in a bewildering level of immediacy that wouldn’t have been fathomable five years prior.

                 Everything about Animal Collective’s work following their remarkable 2005 LP Feels has been informed to some degree by PP. It’s importance on their subsequent work simply cannot be overstated. Their music has always been defined by hyper-saturated textures and sonic exploration, but from Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished through Feels they were still working within the parameters of rock instrumentation, despite the arrangements being so bathed in effects that they at times hardly seemed to suggest their origin. On MPP, instead of recording themselves playing these arrangements on traditional instruments they repeatedly sampled themselves, and then spliced up the various samples, looping them together in a dizzying array of colorful sound. The songs born from these samples are more meticulously assembled than anything that they had attempted prior, and like a few of the songs on PP, they seem like they could go on forever with samples occasionally shifting shape while the overall composition continues to ride on the maximalist repetition. Despite the complexity of their construction, the songs on MPP shine with an impeccable melodicism that had been unprecedented to that degree within their canon.

                 Though not overtly presenting as one, Animal Collective have been a pop band at heart since STGSTV, and here they unabashedly embrace that impulse while continuing to evolve and challenge themselves. Much in the way that SJ was Avey Tare’s record, as it marked a shift away from the sun-streaked, blissful psychedelia of Feels to something more visceral and manic, MPP is a return to the band’s tamer side, and is undeniably Panda Bear’s record. A few of the songs existed in demo form while Panda Bear was touring PP, and even after having been fleshed out into proper songs by the rest of the band, they still retain his vibrant melodic touch. Despite Geologist’s stunning sample work that consistently envelopes these songs with plenty of indiscernible sound to latch onto, the band’s tunefulness reaches its peak here. Both Avey and Panda’s voices are relegated to a much higher place in the mix than than usual, which further heightens the distinctiveness of each while amplifying their anthemic qualities. While their voices had never rung clearer, they’re also both consistently lathered in a thick coating of reverb which ensured that it wouldn’t be quite as obvious which one of them was singing when presented in tandem with one another, despite their singular inflections. While it’s easy to lament the sharp contrast, particularly in regards to the absence of Tare’s feral shrieks, the seamless interplay between their vocals is an absolute marvel throughout, and it’s never sounded as tight, before or after.

                 It seems only fitting that the album of theirs up to this point that contained the most otherworldly, synthetic sounding compositions was equally defined by their most endearing, human lyrics to date. Avey Tare and Panda Bear had both gotten married a few years beforehand, Panda Bear had just become a father, and Geologist was in a relationship that would lead to marriage by late 2009, so the lyrics throughout touch on themes of family, responsibility, sense of self, discovery, and healing. “My Girls” finds Panda Bear singing about his desire to simply provide for his family “I don’t mean to seem like I care about material things/Like a social status/I just want four walls and adobe slabs, for my girls”, deeming anything in addition to sustainability an afterthought. “Guys Eyes” details Panda’s longing for intimacy while on tour “I really need to show to my girl that I need her”, while “Daily Routine” unpacks the minutiae of the newfound habitual schedule that emerged since Panda Bear became a father “Make sure my kid’s got a jacket/And keys and coat and shoes and hat”. “Bluish” explores a moment of pure bliss that Avey experienced with a lover “I’m getting lost in your curls/I’m drawing pictures on your skin”, while “Taste” explores issues of identity and how we manage to define ourselves “Don't let your temper rise, don't get a bitter face/Don’t judge me on my kind of taste”. While the music splits the difference between dense complexity and all-encompassing immediacy, the writing succeeds in achieving a delicate balance between sincere simplicity and universal human experience.

                 While the production throughout MPP provides the songs with a level of approachability that previously eluded the band, there are still a few songs here that rank among the best that they ever wrote. “Taste” stirs to life with ambient samples that seem to approximate the buzz of insects before a massive kick drum, delicate synths, and the gorgeous back and forth vocals of Panda Bear and Avey Tare slide into the mix. It’s one of the finest displays of their vocal interplay to date, and despite just how dense the mix is, it doesn’t detract from what’s handedly one of their strongest melodies to date. “Daily Routine” begins at a crawl with brief organ stabs before Panda Bear’s voice descends upon the mix alongside the now iconic organ riff. Shortly before the halfway point the riff is perpetually looped, and alongside breezy guitar strums and droning new age synths that creep along the periphery of the mix Panda Bear’s voice soars above it all as he provides the grandest delivery in their discography “Just one sec more in my bed”, the mix practically trembling with catharsis. Even as the record veers toward unrelenting maximalism, “Bluish” comes in to provide sensory relief in the form of a tranquil comedown. Though still steeped in a hypnotic array of texture, the tempo, vocals, and instrumentation are as subdued as the band have allowed since Feels, and their restraint pays off immensely as Avey delivers one of his most tender vocal performances to date.

                    As accomplished as these songs are, the crown jewel of MPP is the final song, “Brother Sport”. Equally uplifting and heartbreaking, “Brother Sport” was written by Panda Bear as a balm for his brother Matt to help him cope with their father’s death “I know it sucks that daddy’s done/But try to think of what you want/You’ve got to open up your/Open up your/Open up your throat”. It’s the song that most resembles something that could have wound up on PP, and the ingenious pacing of the samples allow the song to end in a much different place than where it began with the transitions sounding as effortless and natural as breathing. “Brother Sport” begins as an afro-electronic rave that continues building steam before transitioning into an explosive, full-blown psychedelic freak-out that’s bursting at the seams with Panda Bear’s jubilant vocals, frantic tribal drums, blaring synths, and a bounty of hazy texture.

                   While “Brother Sport” was the furthest that they’ve strayed from their psych-folk roots up to that point, and the closest that they’d come to reaching a full-on embrace of club culture, it’s still far from a shameless cash-grab. “Brother Sport” comes off like the peak of a summit that they’d been climbing since STGSTV. It’s the natural culmination of their progression up to this point and it incorporates much of what they’ve made their calling cards through their career (angelic harmonies, unrelenting noise, tasteful use of space and repetition, infectious, complex polyrhythms, and heaping doses of unorthodox texture) while looking decidedly toward the future of where they could take their idiosyncratic sound. It’s a perfect conclusion to the record, and while sonically and thematically cohesive with respect to everything that precedes it, it’s more impressive than everything else here.

                    While not necessarily their best album, MPP is nonetheless the record of theirs that’s all but guaranteed to stand the test of time longer than anything else that they’ve done for everyone outside of the hardcore faithful. It addition to capping off a decade of brilliance with a career arc that was more consistently compelling and unpredictable than that of any other band this century, and changing form on an album to album basis from the lo-fi psych-folk of STGSTV up to the maximalist electronic art-pop of MPP, they rewrote the rules for how musicians would most commonly operate throughout this decade. Although the shift was truly kicked into gear initially by Panda Bear on PP, MPP without question cemented the “ditch the guitars for samplers” approach that became so commonplace for the the acts that were lumped into the chillwave scene, as well as the hypnagogic pop acts, and the bands that drew from psychedelia that all emerged this decade.

                     So much underground pop music today seems unfathomable in a context that wasn’t preceded by MPP, and yet it still sounds like the work of no one else. Even with the existence of their disappointing subsequent LP, Painting With, MPP still sounds like an utter anomaly within their canon. Later in 2009 Animal Collective would release the stellar Fall Be Kind companion EP, which marked the last time that they were nearly unanimously regarded as a critical favorite in addition to their brief brush with the mainstream. The following albums of theirs never reached the highs of their work throughout the last decade, with their solo work (deservedly) largely eclipsing their proper albums. While I’d love to believe that Animal Collective have at least one more great album left in them, they’ve already given us far more than we deserve. Regardless of the future quality of their music, MPP will continue to exist as a triumph of the human spirit; a beacon of perseverance, warmth, and the miraculous achievements that are possible when you dismiss your inhibitions and the expectations of others in favor of keeping your head in the clouds.

Essentials: “Brother Sport”, “Daily Routine”, “Taste”

[dans-les-fleures]

In Too Deep

OC X Socialite!Namjoon Length: 6k of sin, how fitting. Recommended OST: (x) and (x) and maybe House of Cards depending on what you’re into.

Warnings: Smut, sex, alcohol mentions, you know the works  

     It’s 1a.m. or what they call the peak of the night; the hour where the buzz of alcohol is the main fuel for irrational impulses and suddenly the lines between cheeky and outright ballsy disappears. Sticking the far wall of the venue, you’re observing the evening’s happenings with a reoccurring mixture of disdain and amusement— it’s always the same every night— this scene having long lost the enchantment and luster it used to possess in your eyes. Being born into wealth, you’re obligated to attend such parties to keep up good relations with What’s His Face and connections with That Person and of course to keep your own ass in the spotlight. Influence does not grow overnight and once cultivated, who are you to let it die? It’s hypocritical really, the fact that you were jaded by the fame but at the same time refuse to let it go. However, the wealth is as valuable as fools gold when every action is a diamond encrusted lie and every word is coated with a layer of shimmering sweet sarcasm. So you continue on kissing cheeks and forcing smiles, dancing away the night and drowning in this erratic rhythm of your life.

    They always approach for a reason. Dressed to the nines with a little mahogany slip lined with lace, you’re not surprised to see eyes wander and attentions captured—you want them to look after all. Usually, they stop at that initial look, intimidated by the name you stand behind and the consequences of pursuing the girl that’s known to be a heartbreaker. A little wink is enough to get them blushing and if their eyes don’t immediately cast downwards then a smirk is usually the end game. A group of boys crowd around the bar, the one in the center most likely being pep talked into approaching some clueless girl. Tiny spark of surprise twinkle in your eyes when you see that their target is you, so you play along with a charming smile. As predicted, when the corners of your lips lifted, they immediately back away; the guy in the middle dragging this friends away with flustered complaints and puffy cheeks. Tsk, how boring you sigh as you swirl the wine around in your glass. It’s not like you’re absolutely heartless, but rather you have yet to find a partner that will rid you of this all engulfing boredom. People birthed to wealth and fame, their motives are too predictable. Ultimately your pursuers are only driven by two things and two things only: greed and lust. Once those desires are fulfilled and they see that there’s nothing else that you can do for them, they depart, leaving you in your false limerence. This happened repetitively over the years, so often that you’re tired of justifying their actions and instead choose to accept the lonely nights and numberless days. So it comes as a surprise to you when someone catches your eye.

    He’s dressed impeccably in his tailored suit, designer no doubt, but that’s not what piqued your interest. Though he’s surrounded by celebrities and gorgeous women he couldn’t look more disconnected, his dark eyes wandering, shifting from time to time as if the objects in the room aren’t enough to hold his attention. That is, until his curious eyes met yours over the crowded bar and understanding seems to pass between the intimate eye contact. He’s unrelenting— his gaze, ever so expressive, continues to cling onto yours even when you offer him a tentative smile. Shock jolts through your body when he reciprocates, it’s been so long since someone offered you the time of day or well… night. The girl clinging to his arm seems to notice his lack of response or rather his lack of attention to her needy whines because next moment her shadow rimmed eyes follow his gaze to you. Startled at what she finds, she leans into him, pressing every curve against his body and pushing her lips against his ear, no doubt dissuading him from taking even a step closer to the mystery that is you. Offering the pair a wicked grin, you cock your eyebrow at the girl’s brazen move, but remain grounded with your glass empty and a familiar fire burning down your throat to every cell of your body. He lets the girl whisper useless nonsense to him, his silvery hair falling slightly in his eyes when he leans down a bit to offer the girl his ear, all the while his gaze never leaving yours. The tiniest of sighs escape your lips when you place your empty glass down and turn away from the couple to leave them to their affairs in favor of finding a more potent drink when you feel a cold hand slip around your wrist.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” his voice is rough, still casual in tone but his breathing is labored. A smile tugs at your lips because he didn’t have to run across the room to catch you but you appreciate the gesture. He whispers right into your ear, still loud and clear despite the pounding bass of the room, causing you to shiver as the puff of air produces goosebumps on your skin.

“No,” you begin, turning around on his hold and feeling pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t back away, his nose nearly touching yours, “I don’t believe we have and that’s a problem isn’t it? My reputation is going to go to ruins if I can’t name every face in this room.” you quirk your eyebrow ever so subtly.

He pulls you in closer with the hold he has on your wrist, boldly crushing his mouth against yours. In normal circumstances perhaps you would’ve smacked some sense into him, pushed him away and give him the talk of his life, but the taste of liquor is as prominent on his tongue as on yours and all your pretenses have already slipped out the window. It’s not like you didn’t want to taste those lips from the very beginning anyways.

“Namjoon,” he breathes in your breaths, “Kim Namjoon.” he pants as his hand falls down to grasp your fingers in his large hands. Pulling your hand up, his lush lips plant a kiss on each knuckle; the gentle touch eliciting yet another shiver down your spine and his eyes twinkle in mischief when he notices your body quivering.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Shin Hye”

The rest is history once his name left his lips to engrave itself in your brain. Discarded items of clothing litter the hallway to his bedroom, the penthouse sleek and minimalist like him. Working little purple galaxies onto his neck, you’re frustrated at the amount of clothing he still has on as your nails click against the button of his white button-down and trail down to grip the buckle of his belt. You give the leather a harsh tug, bringing his form flush against yours, a little disgruntled at how his height allows him to tower completely over you even in your tallest pair of heels. You hate feeling inferior, even if it was such a superficial thing as height.

“A little impatient are we?” Namjoon chuckles next to your ear and nips on the lobe, his hot tongue a contrast against the cold silver roses in your ear. Scoffing, you wordlessly grasp the bulge forming in his pants, causing his body to go completely rigid and a low hiss to slip from his lips.

“I wouldn’t tease if I were you Kim Namjoon,” you murmur against his now exposed collarbone, accentuating each word with increasingly painful nip, “I’m not like your other playthings.”

“No,” he drawls as his fingers move towards your clothed core, the long digits dangerously close to where you wanted him most, “you’re much more interesting.” he sighs against your lips and rips the lace from your flesh.

Namjoon shows you how much he enjoys the puzzle that is you. He breaks you apart only to put you back together again, hips ramming you into the mattress so good you feel him at the back of your throat. His lips explore every curve of your body as if he’s trying to sketch out your form in his mind, occasionally painting your body with splotches of wine and maroon. As you both near the climax his pace begins to increase in desperation, those pretty lips whispering such filthy words in your ear you blush despite yourself. Come on princess, let go for me. He groans into your mouth when you clench down on him in response, the both of you not willing to be the first to let go. It’s an exhausting mix of push and pull, but it was absolutely enticing. Unfortunately you lose the battle when he picks the both of you up, still buried deep in you and forces you to sit on his lap as he thrusts in slow and deep from below. Nearly screaming from the position change, you wanted to smack his hands away when you feel his cool silver rings press against your clit but you’re far too gone to care about the competition and instead allow him to push you higher towards your release.

“Now be a good kitten and come.” he growls, demanding and firm as he pushes in deeper—if that was even possible— the constant strumming of his fingers against your clit unrelenting as his pace. His name falls off your lips repetitively like a prayer as your nails paint angry red stripes down his back when the coil finally snaps and you’re seeing the stars and beyond behind your eyelids. Namjoon pauses when you finally come because how can he move when you clench down on him like that? but he resumes to chase after his own climax after he finally recovers. You can feel him paint you in white, his hips finally slowing down just enough to milk the last of the shudders out of both yours and his system. Basking in the afterglow and tiredness, you can feel the tendrils of sleep and it clings onto your consciousness, pulling you in farther and farther until you’re drifting on the entrance of dreamland when Namjoon whispers,  

“You’re definitely much more Shin Hye.”

Sleep claims you then before any response is formulated in your brain.

It’s been several months since your first meeting and one way or another Namjoon has latched onto your lifestyle. His place became your second home and by this time you have learned so much more than you had hoped about him. It leaves you cautious and weary because you’re still waiting for the day he loses interest in you. They always do.

“What is it that you want from me Namjoon?” you muse as you lounge around on his bed one evening, or is it morning? You crane you neck to see his electric clock display the time: 2a.m. in crisp black letters and you mentally remind yourself to tell him to fix his nonexistent sleeping habits, but that would not go too well because you’re just as guilty when it comes to sleeping at a reasonable hour. His silky sheets pool around your lap, the black color not exactly a good choice since it displays all too clearly your activities on it a couple of hours ago. He turns his attention from the window that displays the twinkling cities lights to your the light reflected in your eyes and a gentle smile curves around the edges of his lips.

“Can’t I just want you?” he answers easily and you almost feel special until you reprimand him,

“Careful there Kim, your cheesy lines might just make me fall for you.” you giggle when his easy smile falls askew by a fraction,

“How many distressed damsels have you picked up using that one?”  

His disgruntled sigh leaves his lips in a muttered you’re impossible as he decides to rejoin you on the bed, his head falling naturally on your lap as you take his hand in your right and strokes his hair with your left. With your hands busy, you mind begins to run once again and your thoughts are unfiltered as you ramble them out,

“I really cannot figure you out. It frustrates me.” you confess as you begin to twist one of the numerous silver rings on his fingers. Namjoon chuckles at your confession, his eyes coming to a close when you begin to run your nails along his scalp and a contented moan falls off his lips. He’s like a cat you think as you continue your little rant.

“It’s not the money, you’re already on your way up as far as I can tell.” you mumble as if to yourself but Namjoon can hear every word and it amuses him to no end because he himself does not seem to know the reason either, but he has a glimmer of an idea. You’re not wrong, he has everything he could possibly want and if he doesn’t then he knows how to get them. All of them. Except you.   “Not the fame, you already have those annoying cameras following you around and you’re not one to have your ootd taken by the paparazzi.”

Namjoon chuckles at that because he didn’t think you noticed his eccentric fashion sense and his love for it, but you do.

“Definitely not the sex. God knows you have an unholy amount of women at your feet. What is it? Do you like the chase? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Opening his eyes, Namjoon studies your pouty expression and smiles at how terribly frustrated you look, like a kid confronted with a difficult math problem. He graces you with his full smile, the one with that adorable dimple you’ve grown fond of and you feel your heart accelerate and your stomach twist, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your stomach and blood rushing to your cheeks—God no. You know this feeling, what it entails and you’re panicking, your brain unwilling to accept the message that your heart is sending: You love him.  

“I think,” Namjoon starts, temporarily distracting you from your epiphany, “you give yourself too little credit, love.”

You freeze at the pet name but recovers when he starts to trace your bottom lip with his index finger. His eyes darken when you slip it in your mouth and he loses his ever shortening patience when you bite on it hard enough to draw blood. With his form pressing against yours, you allow him to take tonight, too caught up in your thoughts and how you were going to hide your own unwarranted feelings.

“I swear to God Shin Hye if you tell me you’re pregnant I am not adopting the kid.”

Dasom greets you on the first ring, her irritation understandable when the time reads way too fucking late, but the monsters known as your thoughts can’t seem to leave you alone.

“Great to hear from my best friend too.” you giggle out and only get a strangled groan of drowsiness from the other end of the line.

“What can I expect when the last time you called me you weren’t the one speaking and the nurse had to tell me you ended up in the hospital because of alcohol poisoning?” she sighs and you can hear sheets rustling and a faint click signaling her lights being turned on. Dasom is one of the elites of society, her image as clean as a blank slate because she’s the daughter of a governor and even you do not fuck with politicians, but she keeps you sane; her constant support always unwavering throughout your most thoughtless actions.

“So, I’m here. What is it? You never call unless it’s serious.” she begins for you because both of you know that you can’t and with that simple sentence all the mirth leaves your tone and instantaneously the giggles taste bitter on your tongue.

“Dada, I think…” a shaky breath, “I think I love him.” you rasp and nearly cry when the sentence only confirms the fact you’ve been trying to deny this entire week. The fragile lie you’ve been telling yourself is shattering, raining down in iridescent drops with one single truth.

“Dammit, Shin Hye you should’ve just told me you got too drunk again.” she groans over the phone but her joke is tinged with her worry,

“Just tell me about it.”

So you do. You tell her about how you fell for the silver haired monster, his crazy antics and his strange bouts of romance. How it’s not really about the sex, though it is amazing (Dasom nearly hung up when you told her this) but how you’ve slipped and taken interest in him as a person. His strange quirky personality that will leave him thoughtful even when he’s surrounded by people, the way his dimple on his left cheek is the first telltale sign of his amusement and how his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him smile. His hair, the color of starlight when he sits pensive by his window at 4a.m and how he enjoys being scratched like a kitten on lazy days. How he’s caring and despite his seemingly cool exterior because he warms you to the very core every time he holds you. There were moments where Namjoon was the one to pull your pieces back and just hold you tight until they meld together once again. You tell her about he gratuitous amount of money he spends on the daily because he apparently breaks his belongings every other day and laugh at the irony of his ability to break objects because somehow he also crumbled that wall that you have so carefully build around yourself over the years. You’re left vulnerable and terrified beyond belief because for the first time, someone saw through the facade you crafted right to the little girl that grew up a little too fast and was forced to learn that her glittering world is filled with darkness. Dasom listens diligently, never interrupting even when you find it hard to articulate the full extent of your feelings. It’s not until your sobs die out and you’re left with mind numbing realization that she whispers,

“Knowing you though, you plan on letting him go aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

You fully plan on cutting off this budding love because knowing you, you don’t trust yourself enough to nurture it.

They say the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all, but you’ve never paid heed to proverbs.

You’ve also never been good at lying. In fact, you might just be the worst liar on the planet and it shows in your straightforward comments and careless actions. As a result, you can’t bring yourself to continue your relationship, or whatever it was, with Namjoon unless you were ready to admit your undying love for him (not likely). Parties, premiers, anything that involved you being in the presence of Namjoon you would avoid like the plague, carefully arriving just before and leaving right after you’ve paid your respects to the host. He calls and texts and calls again but you don’t have the heart to look at them, knowing that his honeyed words can make your knees weak and dissolve any resolve you’ve mustered up. He stops after a week or so to send you one message a week later, nothing more. Truthfully, time is of no relevance to you, but all you know is that he stopped and —ow, did it hurt. It’s for the better, you try to convince yourself but the self doubt consumes you and the only thought that occupies your head space is that you didn’t mean that much to him in the first place. Not that it mattered anymore, considering you will never see him again.

Oh boy, how wrong you were.

Strictly speaking maybe you should not have been surprised considering your address is not a exactly a secret. With some effort it is quite easy to find, but you were surprised because you didn’t expect Namjoon to put in the effort. You’re in the process of settling down after an event, your silky robe hanging loosely on your body, constricting dress long discarded and hair pushed back into a bun when the doorbell to your apartment rings. Assuming it was your pizza (paprazzi are filtered out by your security team) you have no qualms about opening the door without looking at the peephole, but you take a glance anyways and only catch sight of a figure leaning against the door. Curious, you peep your head out to be met with your beautiful nightmare.

Namjoon’s eyes widen when they make contact with yours and he reaches out to grasp the door before it reaches it’s destination: the bolt. A startled yelp is torn from your throat when he pushes against the wood and even your entire body weight cannot close the door completely back into it’s lock.

“Shin Hye! What is with you? Let me in!” he half yells against the door, still mindful of his surroundings but you’re too occupied with the thought of keeping him out to process his words.

“I don’t want to see you.” you yell at the door, knowing that if you so much as glance at the other side he would come waltzing back into your room and your heart once again.

“Well I do.” he grunts and the door opens in just a fraction more.

“I need to talk to you.” he continues and you can feel yourself slipping backwards as the door continues to open slightly.

“I have nothing to say.” you claim but your voice is wavering just as your strength is and the next moment Namjoon is in front of you, his labored breathing fanning your face. One part of you is terrified and the other, more demanding part drinks in the image of the man before you. Pictures truly do him no justice. You’ve spent weeks avoiding the news because he is plastered on every social platform, each time with a new pretty little thing that isn’t you. But now that he’s towering over you, trapping you against the walls of your own home his jaw tight and his eyes livid, you’re greedily taking in every detail from the curve of his lips to the tie that hangs loosely on his neck.

“Bullshit.” He fumed, his body pressed even closer to yours now, but you refuse to meet his eyes.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” he implores, bits of weakness seeping through his voice that tempts you to look up to meet his eyes but your gaze remains fixated on the floor as you gritted out,

“I’m not.”

That’s when Namjoon has had enough of your poorly executed lies and forcefully pick you up, causing your robe to slip off somewhere on the way to your bedroom. He doesn’t falter when you scream and kick your legs, gripping on you tight so that you’re left helpless as he strolls through your apartment for your bed.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar Shin Hye” he grunts as he throws you on the mattress, his tie coming off in the next second and before you can even tell up from down your wrist are wounded together and attached to the frame of your headboard. Namjoon scoots away from you, climbing off the bed to stand at the foot of it, now that he has you where he wants you he’s in no hurry. He tsked when you continue to struggle, your hair falling out of your bun and into your eyes but it’s no use, you’re captivated by the man standing in front of you. As the seconds tick by you’re painfully aware of how naked you are with scraps of lace on your body and nothing more, but your discomfort does nothing to hurry Namjoon as he continues to turn the gears in his head, his dark eyes watching your chest rise and fall.

“I didn’t think much of it at first.” Namjoon begins his thought, you usually love it when he spills out what he’s thinking, but this time you’re not too sure you’re ready to hear what he has in that busy mind of his.

“And really I shouldn’t have minded right? It’s not like we were ever more than people who understood each other.” he continues, his eyes meeting yours from the foot of your bed; his words stinging your already open wounds. In contrast to his cold words, he physically moves closer to you, fingers fiddling with his white button down and situating himself right in between your legs when all the buttons are opened. Your eyes rake over the offered flesh of his honey tan skin.  “I continued on with the same routine before our paths crossed. It worked for awhile, until I realized how empty it was. It has always been empty. I just didn’t have anything to compare it to until you.” he whispers, fingers trailing a mindless, winding path up your thigh.

“Namjoon—uumff” you start, some sort of excuse ready to tumble off your lips when he presses his mouth urgently against yours. It’s rough, all tongue and teeth as his tongue fights with yours for dominance; his teeth trapping your lower lip between them and he tugs on it just enough as he pulls away from the kiss, causing you to whimper at sharp pain.

“Shhh, I’m not done princess.” he warns as he kisses down your jawline to your earlobe, tip of his nose skimming down the column of your throat, basking in the familiarity of your body against his.

“As I was saying,” he calmly picks up right where he left off, but this time his lips are kissing down the valley of your breast, making it near impossible for you to think of protests and listen to him at the same time.

“And here you are, stubborn as ever. So damn convinced that you would be able to function in this world alone— you almost had me fooled too, love.” he chuckles against the perked bud of your right breast, tongue teasingly flicking over it over the lace, leaving you writhing underneath him.

“God, please, Namjoon.” you keen when he sucks on it, hard. But that mouth of his is is occupied with scolding you so he pushes himself farther down, his head now resting on your stomach, leaving you ever so apologetic at your actions.

“Right when I thought that you would finally open up to me, then you just get up and leave.” he sighs as if the separation still hurts him, “You left me empty again… all because you were too scared, now don’t you think that’s a little selfish kitten?” he emphasize his words with a squeeze to your hips, no doubt leaving purple blossoms on your hipbones, but you could care less at this point.

“You deserve much more than me, Kim Namjoon” you finally voice the thought that has been tormenting you ever since the moment you realized you loved him. He stops his actions then, his eyes looking up at you and in one fluid motion he hoists himself up until his face is only centimeters from yours, the longing made tangible in the limited space between the two of you.

“I don’t want anything more than to other than you Shin Hye.” he murmurs, looking vulnerable even though he is the one above you.

“Why can’t you understand that you, your very existence, everything about you is more than enough for me?” he brushes away the tear you didn’t know you shed and with that once sentence all your walls come crashing down along with the anguished tears. Pulling against the confines of the ties at your wrist, you crash your lips to his and he eagerly accepts.

“I’m sorry.” you sob into his mouth, tasting your own tears there, “I love you.”

He smiles finally, his dimpled smile and presses an I love you too into your cheek. At that moment however, he pushes away from you, his eyes twinkling in mischief when you whine in protest, you wanted him close, closer.

“You still need to be punished, princess.”

“Namjoon, please I said sorry.” you sob in desperation when he drops the white material of his shirt on the floor, his skin oh so tempting to taste. He’s pulling his belt out of the loop when he looks up to meet your eyes, the hurt in them still evident,

“You left for two months Shin Hye. No explanation. No text. No call. Nothing. I was terribly lonely you see. I missed you so much” he sighs as he crawls over to you with nothing but his briefs, leaving your I miss you too choked in your throat. He gasps you thighs in his hands and pulls them apart, settling close to your clothed core, “My princess should show me just how much she missed me.”  he growls against the thin fabric of your panties before his teeth scrapes your flesh and he drags the material down with his teeth, leaving you exposed before him.

“Hmm already so wet for me, such a good kitten.” he muses. Too caught up in your emotions earlier, you ignored any signals your body might have been screaming at you but now that he mentioned it; you’re painfully aware of just how your arousal is embarrassingly noticeable, making you want to clamp your thighs together, but strong hands keep your legs spread and a warning nip to your inner thigh earns a frustrated mewl from you as Namjoon begins his little torture.

“Namjoon please, just get on with it.” you scream when he licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit as retaliation, nearly trashing out of his hold from the unexpected stimulation. He pushes in his index and middle, the rings there cool against your heated flesh and you lose all thoughts when he begins to wiggle his fingers, brushing that spot inside you just barely, maddeningly slow. He sucks your clit into his mouth, not caring that he’s gathering heat your belly at an alarmingly fast rate. Continuing to thrust his digits in lazily, he shifts to kiss you, his lips shiny from your own juices but your desire clouds all better judgement and you savor the taste of yourself on his tongue. Thrusting you hips up to meet his fingers you’re desperately chasing your own release despite your craving for more, his fingers are already a stark contrast to your own. You’re approaching your climax and Namjoon can tell, so when you start to clench around his fingers he slips them out of you entirely.

You nearly cried for the second time that night but for an entirely different reason.

“Namjoon I swear to god!” you shriek at the smirking man above you. He even has the audacity stick his fingers in his mouth, his tongue laving the digits and though the image is insanely sexy the fire pooling at your belly is already disappearing into a dull, throbbing ache.

“I did say that this is punishment, princess.”

Having had enough of his antics, you let your ankle run up the inside of his thigh, ignoring his hiss of warning and savagely press your foot against his bulge so roughly that you can feel it twitching against the top of your foot.

“I will only put this nicely once so you better listen to what I say. I need you, please” you begrudgingly beg, but the response is instantaneous when his eyes darken and his jaw set tight so hard you can hear the subtle grit of his teeth as he tries to maintain his composure.

“Please fuck me.” you whisper into his ear, nibbling the lobe and completely throwing out the window any semblance of Namjoon’s self control. In record time he rips off his briefs, leaving his leaking erection to bounce against his stomach as his ravenous eyes devour your form, completely spread out for him on the bed. He notices how you lick your lips at the slight, your mouth practically watering to have a taste, but Namjoon has no patience for that tonight as he kisses you one last time and promises, “Another time, baby girl.” before he grinds his cock against your folds and slowly thrusts in inch by inch. Simultaneous moans echo through the empty hallways and electricity shoots through your spine at the stretch.

“Hmmm fuck, kitten. Always so tight— so wet for me.” he groans into the crook of your neck as your heels dig into his lower back to prompt him to move. Namjoon wastes no time in setting a pace that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids within seconds, his hips drilling into you so fast you can only attempt to thrust up to meet his creaseless rhythm. He reaches up to slip the tie off your wrist and the return of blood flow to your arm only serves to amplify the tingles running down to your toes. Grasping the comforter into your hands, you ball them into fists when you come easily from his unforgiving thrusts, waves of pleasure dragging you down farther into a haze of lust when he flips you over and takes you from behind, unfazed by the position change.  A little grunt is the only response you get when you scream his name repetitively and you’re falling limp against the mattress having already came; Namjoon’s bicep around your hips the only thing keeping you from tumbling over.

“Such a slut for me.” he pants, accented with the stuttering of his hips, “Always take me so well.” he grunts but his filthy words only spur you to force him over the age. When you clench down on him his smooth pace stutters, just as desperate for release and you push back on him on a particularly hard thrust. He comes a second later with a growl, sucking a bruise onto your left shoulder blade  that’s no doubt a giant galaxy of purple against your skin. Goodbye backless dresses for a while you sigh when he finally slumps down on you with a contented moan, his arms looping around you to pull the both of you onto your sides. He hastily pulls out which causes a hint of a shiver to ghost down your spine once again.  

“God, I love you” he sighs as he soothe the bite marks he made on your shoulders. Your heart nearly burst at the confession, butterflies fully erupting this time now that you let them.

“I love you, too” you whisper to his sleepy form, your hand reaching up to intertwine your fingers, never willing to let go ever again.

.

.

.

“Hand up.” you hiss at Namjoon when you feel his palm against your ass. You two were at a formal event. Formal being the operative word so you weren’t looking to have your boyfriend grope you in front of the multitude of cameras in front of you.

“Babe we’ve been dating for four months now. Well, publicly at least” he shoots you his award winning smile and the paparazzi eats it all up with greed.

“They don’t need to know how you’re—“ your words are cut off when you feel his lips press against yours in a sweet kiss, leaving you breathless and quite stunned at his public display of affection. Camera flashes, screaming fangirls and wolf whistles fill your ear as the press lean forward to ask you their multitude of questions, but you can only smile apologetically as Namjoon drags you into the venue, smacking him occasionally when his rich chuckle can be heard over the crowd.

“You have some nerve kissing my best friend at my own party.” a familiar voice rings once you’re inside and you escape Namjoon’s hold in favor of your friend’s arms. Mouthing Good Luck over her shoulder you leave Namjoon to suffer the consequences as Dasom no doubt gives him the scolding of his life.

[themusicenthusiast]

Saturday, May 13th, 2017 – Cheers!: Manny the Martyr Caps Off a Five Year Run with One Last Epic Party at The Curtain Club

All photos by Jordan Buford Photography This was the night no one wanted to come yet everyone was kind of looking forward to: it was the night that Manny the Martyr would put to rest. Fans and friends were eager to see what the sure to be epic final set would be like, and on top of that there was a sense of excitement about the homecoming of Jake Cravens for the band’s first club show since March, after which he moved to Chicago. That would play somewhat of a significant role in the performance; and further making this one final party was the fact that they enlisted the help of several of their friends to warm up the stage for them. Dear Rachel kicked things of early, the pop/rock outfit being able to squeeze in the majority of the songs from the two-month-old But Really, Only You, kicking things off with the high-energy “Hollywood Called”. It wasn’t long before Alex Casado commented on the significance of the night, saying they hadn’t cared what time slot they got this night, they just wanted to be a part of the bill, thanking Manny the Martyr for making it happen.

They continued tearing through their 29-minute long set; Trey Williams launching them into “Backseat Driver”, Casado noting it would be their next single. Deservedly so, because it, and for that matter, everything in their arsenal, has a mainstream appeal while retaining a freshness about it. “Translate” would conclude their time on stage, and what a striking closer it was. A great song in general, it seemed intensified this night, everything else they had done building up to that moment, allowing it to provide an explosive finish to a dynamite show. And the night was just getting started. The turnaround time between bands was quite quick (then again, with six bands playing, it needed to be), and in no time at all Werewolf Therewolf was ready to go.

No band sounded the same this night, each one bringing a little something different to the table, the Denton-based outfit expanding upon that greatly with their brand of progressive rock with a pop sensibility. It’s something completely unique, ensuring they stand apart from anyone else. But all the same, they’re still a rock band at their core, as the quartet demonstrated this night. There was an undeniable intensity about much of their material, singer and rhythm guitarist Daniel Galvan effortlessly belting out some of the lines when necessary; the vocalist even making a joke or two when he was able. “You guys having a good time?” he asked several songs in, the patrons that where there cheering and applauding. “Good, ‘cause that would be weird if you weren’t,” he commented.

From precise and technical to powerful, raw rock ‘n’ roll, Werewolf Therewolf traversed a wide spectrum, Carlo Decanini, Aaron Caruthers, Cameron Sather, and Galvan holding nothing back. They found their stride early on, but even so and with around thirty minutes to fill, one couldn’t help but think they were still just scratching the surface as the curtain closed on them. All the same, they were crucial to enlivening the atmosphere at the Curtain this night. Given Manny the Martyr’s unique sound, it was fitting that some other reggae-esque band be on the bill, and Burning Slow filled that niche perfectly. Leaning more towards the heavier side of rock, they weren’t without a little reggae and even funk flare to their music; and since Clinton Styles had prior commitments, Brian Scheid of Triple SP was filling in with them, pulling double duty for the night.

He meshed well with them, and thanks to the confidence they all exuded, those who didn’t know better wouldn’t have had a clue that wasn’t the official Burning Slow lineup. They weren’t too far into their 27-minute long set before some fans started shouting for “Justice”, Matt Brodeur promising they were getting there, what has become their signature song eventually finishing off their time on stage, fanfare from the ever increasing number of patrons seeing them out. Triple SP had the stage next, Scheid seemingly ready for more, especially since that now entailed songs he had helped write. Only about a month out from a little West Coast tour, they would prove to be a completely different Triple SP from when I had last caught them, and with that being about two years ago, that had been too long.

Their 38-minute long set was comprised of plenty of classics of theirs, such as the opener, “Alone”, which acted as a call to everyone in Curtain Club to congregate around the stage; singer and guitarist Derek Procter cutting loose during that one, taking a few steps back form the microphone and wailing on his axe. Almost immediately they revealed themselves to be a cut above, their time on the road, being able to play a series of consecutive shows and deepen their chemistry, having incredible results. “Closure” was one that exemplified that bond, from the rhythm centric intro to the blazing riffs, lead guitarist Brad Mccain putting on a clinic at times and often mingled and jammed with Procter and Scheid. “How you doing?!” the bassist asked during one of the instrumental stretches, going the extra mile to get everyone pumped up, the crowd responding with plenty of shouts.

“I Want it All” was one of those numbers that saw a phenomenal duel (and dueling) guitar solo; while “Drugs” further intensified the rhythm section, Jacob Bobo hammering out the beats with a fury, as he and Scheid demonstrated what a dominant force they are. They breezed through their set, or at least they made it feel as if they had, continuously growing more compelling, until everyone was eventually left wishing they had more time to work with to squeeze in a few more numbers. Triple SP helped bring things to the next level, truly helping build the excitement of the night. The musicianship they displayed was staggering, and they were so impeccably tight that most acts would be envious of such chemistry.

A noteworthy band of D-FW for a while now, they were a whole other kind of impressive this night, the touring shape they’ve gotten in elevating them to something grand. Despite having heard the bulk of the songs they played a few times over, they all sounded fresh this night, a little more kick added to them. In turn, that made it all feel almost new. They tore it up, fiercely rocking the stage and easily proving themselves to be one of the most notable bands here in the music scene. The main support slot went to Innrcor, who whipped everyone into shape with some straight up, slightly heavy rock ‘n’ roll. Their set wasn’t without some slight hiccups, some guitar trouble occasionally plaguing them, though the other three members marched on with what they were playing, making the best of it, which is the only thing that can be done in a situation like that.

By the time they finished it was pushing midnight, and the main act was yet to come. This wasn’t the sold-out event everyone had anticipated. In fact, more people turned out to see Manny the Martyr back in March than they did at this final show. Somewhat surprising, though that was their loss; and even then, upwards of a couple hundred people were in attendance on this Saturday night to help them wrap up their five year run. A little sadness still hung in the air, but for the most part everyone was ecstatic about seeing Manny the Martyr again; the band members earning a laugh every now and then when they would suddenly poke their head out from between the curtain, surveying everyone before disappearing again. It was 12:22 when they got their 90-minute long set going, kicking it off with a moody jam, the curtain remaining closed for a time as they built up the suspense before launching in to their first song. It was a night in which they tried to hit as many highlights as they could, touching on all of their albums and many of the covers that had become standards.

Their first two cuts came in rapid succession, Jake Cravens having just enough time between them to comment, “I have never felt so much love in life!” He was beaming as he said, and he and his band mates aimed to return that love with the best possible show they could deliver, promptly ripping into the funky fresh “Play The Part”. They stayed on their Bail Me Out EP, doing a song that has always been a fan favorite, though one Cravens was always reluctant to play, as it could be a bit strenuous on his voice. To help with the screams featured in that song they enlisted the help of Adakain’s Ryan Ray, the frontman having some kind words to say about Manny the Martyr before helping them pull off an unforgettable rendition of “Sink Or Swim”, the two vocalists commanding the stage and working together in perfect harmony. “It’s something special…” Cravens remarked as they hit their first break of the night, the singer, still overcome with emotions, talking on how amazing it was to leave his hometown and come back to a reception like this.

As they continued on, they even did a few new songs from the Full Range EP they were releasing this night, one’s they hadn’t played before, at least letting their die-hard fans know how they would sound live. One of those was “Ad Nauseum”, which stood out as one of their most creative pieces of work. The mix of funk, reggae and rock was even more intriguing than usual, the chords being mesmerizing, Mike Ubben and Brad Green being methodical and intense in their playing. It was one they had been sitting on for a while, hearing it being well worth the wait, even it was the first and only time. Everyone knew what was coming after being asked, “Where are my weed smokers at?” cheering in response. It was with “Boogyman”, an absolute classic of MTM’s, that they really hit their stride, settling into a whole new level of comfort and confidence for the night, performing it seeming more like a reflex. Jason Stark was in the zone, the bassist strolling around the stage, kicking the air every now and again throughout the night. However, the most memorable moment of that song came when Cravens welcomed a young kid up on the stage, allowing him to sing some of the lines. “…I got usurped!” he quipped, saying he felt confident they had just found his replacement.

They followed it up with the subsequent track from Brighter Sun, Cravens mentioning, just in case no one knew, that his brother had passed away while he was serving his country a few years ago. Hence why “Too Soon” was never played too often, it was often an emotionally exhausting one that, understandably, brought up strong feelings, though it was one they felt needed to be a part of their final show. He was up front in stating he didn’t think he would be able to get through it, asking for help from those who knew it, who were happy to chime in when necessary. Even at the end of the night the emotions weren’t as high as they were during the performance of that song, Cravens noting afterwards that there was something about the fact that he knew he’d never play that song again that made it even more difficult. Still, I think everyone would agree he kept his composure a lot better than most could. “Anteman” was another from the last batch of songs they released, and while it had been heard at their final few shows, they had apparently been holding back on the full version, specifically the guitar solo that Green ripped into. It was said to be his first live solo ever and he slayed it, catching everyone off guard as he laid into his axe.

A chance to catch their breath followed, the band’s plaque they had earned a few years prior being brought up on stage to them, Cravens saying he grew up coming here, mentioning bands like Drowning Pool and SouthFM who had earned their rightful place as icons of the music scene, seeing their plaques and making it a personal goal to get one of his own. It represented an older era of MTM, a couple bass players ago, and Cravens sounded excited talking about what he planned on doing do it, like making a few adjustments before hanging it on his wall. Dedicated to their longtime fans, “It's Alright” ended with a joke that only those who had been with them since the very beginning would get. The closing “And that’s okay” became, “Dad, I’m gay,” Cravens adding the context afterwards, recalling a show at House of Blues where, after a few drinks, he just thought that would be a funny addition to the song, and felt it only fitting he repeat the move for its final performance. “Cereal Killer” would be one of the final originals they would do this night, the remainder of their set being mostly covers, such as their delightful rendition of “No Diggity” that had the whole place moving. They had another one at the ready, however, after being put up to a vote, an original won out, leading them to busting out “Brighter Sun”, a little extra funk flare added to the breakdown.

Thus far, Joel Simka had been drumming like a champ, even going above and beyond what’s normal for him, and that was made exceptionally impressive due to the fact that he had thrown his back out just a couple days before the show. “…He’s in extreme pain right now,” Cravens pointed out, asking everyone give Simka a hand. Last time they were here they celebrated 311 day slightly early, playing a couple 311 songs to commemorate it, and now, they gave those who missed it a taste of what it was like. “Beautiful Disaster” had everyone raving, but before going any further, much to Cravens surprise, his dad actually got on stage with them. He had another cover in mind, trying to coax his son into playing the first song he taught him, while stressing to everyone that it had taken thirty years to get Jake to the point he’s at now, all thanks to his training and watchful eye. “I have video of him on the back porch in diapers singing this song,” he informed the audience while still prodding his son to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider”. He wouldn’t, though his band mates and everyone else in the club had no problem with it, adding the nursery rhyme to the set list.

That drew some laughs, though there were also some tender moments shared by the father and son. And before he left the stage, he had something important to say. “Son, I’m gay, too,” he finished, the room erupting into laughter, that being the last thing anyone would have expected to hear, but oh, it made the night. The quintet got back to it with “Creatures (For A While)”, and with two-o’clock fast approaching, it was nearly time to end it. Not even because they wanted to, as it looked like they could have played another hour, but because they just had no more time to work with. Because of that, they said their cover of “Stand by Me” would be it, and that could have been a fitting end. Like most of the other songs they’ve tried their hand at over the years, that one is unexpected but they make it sound stupendous. As had become customary, Cravens got out among the people during it, making it into a sing along as the audience clustered around him, making the most of the final few moments they had with Manny the Martyr. As fitting an end as that may have been, it just didn’t feel right, and no sooner had they finished it and they fired up one more song. The last song, and one of the first ones they wrote after starting the group. Cravens would joke this night that it was his band mates fault he got tied up in all of this, answering a Craigslist post about needing a singer, first being told it was going to be more of a covers gig, and then they decided to get into the original music game, becoming a part of the club scene. Not that he would have wanted it any other way.

Just like so many times before, the action-packed “Hit the Brink” saw them out, leading to an electrifying finish not just to the night, but the career. Ubben, Cravens, Simka, Stark, and Green stood arms around one another, taking that final bow on a stage that had been their home more than any other venue; Cravens delivering a eulogy of sorts, choking up as he spoke of how much this experience had meant to him. How grateful he was the to the guys standing beside him and how much he appreciated everyone that had supported them. “…The last five years have been a blast because of you!” he said shortly before the curtain closed on them. It was sad, to an extent, though this was a perfect final show. It was a celebration of what Manny the Martyr was, being incredibly fun right up until the very end, capturing the essence of what they were about. That’s one of the things that will be missed most about them, the sheer enjoyment they got out of performing. It’s a rare treat to see a group of musicians have the amount of fun they packed into every show, which made it even easier for the onlookers to get pulled in. On top of that, there’s the fact that they stood out from every other band in the scene. There’s plenty of rock outfits and metal bands, and indie acts are still in abundance, too. But bands like MTM, ones that mix rock, funk, reggae and even a little ska, those are virtually nonexistent. That’s not a slight against all the other styles, but Manny the Martyr offered something refreshing. It was unique, even among the bands they molded themselves after, and that diversity they brought to the scene will be sorely missed as well. I know that was what drew me to them a few years back when I stumbled upon them here at the Curtain Club. I don’t recall who I was there to see that night, but Manny the Martyr certainly made a lasting impression. Five years may not seem like long, but a plethora of great memories were made in that time. Thanks to the five of them for making that possible by sharing their talents with others and best of luck to them in any and all future endeavors.