#edith piaf is a given too
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Emmrich’s prep room playlist is almost entirely classical music (strong preferences towards Tchaikovsky and Bach, but will fuck with Mozart from time to time) as it “inspires creativity and encourages an artful hand.”
BUT there are a few sneaky Depeche Mode tracks snuck in there and it turns out he’s actually secretly a huge fan of The Cramps.
#emmrich volkarin#emmrich#dragon age emmrich#dragon age#datv#emmrich headcanon#am I going to make him a prep room playlist?#probably#ooooh and lots of nina simone and ella fitzgerald#edith piaf is a given too
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The Perils of Translation: The Law According to Lidia Poët/La legge di Lidia Poët
I have Netflix access again. I have watched very few things in the last two years, so if you have a recommendation, feel free to suggest.
In related news I was watching the second season of The Law According to Lidia Poët/La legge di Lidia Poët and realized at some point they weren't translating a certain curse word. The reason I hadn't noticed was 1. It's pretty clearly the Italian version of my late father's favorite curse word to yell at people in traffic. it sounded so much like the French version I didn't notice when 2. The subtitles included it in Italian.
Once I did finally notice it had been going on like this for… idk. I didn't bother checking 1st season and it was pretty late in second season. I clocked multiple instances when I did notice it.
At first I thought, "Are they Bowdlerizing this?" But usually when they Bowdlerize subtitles or close captioning, they replace the word with things like "darn" or find a way to leave it out. which is infuriating, but also occasionally accidentally funny. (I went to see La Vie en Rose in the local art cinema when it first came out and laughed my ass off because they had the notoriously foul mouthed Edith Piaf saying gosh and darn when that was absolutely not what she was saying and the juxtaposition was hilarious. I got a lot of weird looks. Apparently I was the only one in the theater who knew French profanity).
Then I thought about the word itself. I don't speak Italian, but given the givens such as context, delivery, etc. I'm betting it has the same meaning. If it does, then that might have created a serious dilemma for the translators. If you do a literal translation it carries a completely different weight in English and would definitely distort the meaning that it would have conveyed in French and I'm betting the same in Italian. If you translate it based on how people use it and look for an English language curse word with similar cultural weight and usage, you need to leave direct translation behind.
What you want here is a beautifully dressed (seriously the costuming for men and women in this thing is so, so good), properly brought up upper middle class woman of the late 19th century saying a word that men were only supposed to say and never in front of ladies. If this were the 19th century, the idiomatic choice might be "Fuck!" because the literal translation is right out. Except Americans of all ages and genders say "Fuck" now. Literal translation is still way too strong in English and distorts meaning because we don't use that word as an expletive, but as a gendered insult. Most everything else I can think of like, say "damnit" isn't strong and shocking enough or has other problems. For example "Motherfucker" would shock you right out of period, by sounding to modern. "Son of a Bitch," maybe? Idk. "Fuck" might still be your best choice.
So I'm thinking they kept the word in Italian as her tone and performance carry it well enough, though not quite the level of period cultural meaning to an English ear.
Translation is hard, fam.
I am just really excited they are getting a third season.
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Jeff Buckley: They Don't Even Know Me Yet
Martin Aston, MOJO, January 2003
In 1992 Jeff Buckley gave his first ever press interview. A decade later, MOJO unearths this incredible, little-seen document.
AUTUMN IN NEW YORK, 1992. A tiny East Village cafe, the Sin-e. It's packed, but there's a seat near the very front, under the singer's nose. His, eyes are clenched shut. He's nervous, edgy, but it's a truly memorable show; jittery, comical, thrilling, mesmeric. When he's singing the voice is pure, stretching high-low, curling around a song. He closes on a song that could very well be a lullaby, and your eyes close with his.
Three days later, in another tiny cafe, via a mutual friend who knows Tim Buckley is your all-time favourite singer, and who told you, 'You gotta hear his son', you meet Jeff. He's dressed down — plaid shirt, jeans — which draws you to the face; short, thatched hair, looming eyes, rich lips, a wary expression. It's his first ever interview, and he's nervous, defensive. The first thing he says, almost before handshakes, is whether you're here purely because of Tim. No, but then again, yes. He accepts that there's little point writing about Jeff simply because you love Tim, any more than you can avoid Tim because of Jeff. In the end, only Dutch magazine OOR takes a chance on an interview with a total unknown: based, of course, on the familial connection to Tim. The interview is never published in the UK. By the time everyone catches up with Jeff the interview is out of date. But now, given his death and enshrined appeal, it's timeless.
When did music first make an impact on you?
As a child. There was my mother's breasts and then there was music. It felt like another person in the house that floated with me everywhere. All my life, I've sung along to the radio, stuff like [Spiral Staircase's] 'I Love You More Today Than Yesterday'. My mum would drive me to school, playing mellow Californian radio, stuff like Chicago, Crosby Stills and Nash, Blood Sweat and Tears, Sly and the Family Stone, James Brown, The Temptations, every day! She married a car mechanic, who couldn't carry a tune, but he had amazing taste and he turned me on to Booker T, Led Zeppelin and Joni Mitchell, Hoyt Axton and Willie Nelson. My mum pretty much sung to me — she's a classically-trained pianist and cellist. So it was mainly me and my mum, because my parents split before I was born. I hung around my grandmother too — she'd play me stuff like The Chambers Brothers.
It's rare to hear someone smitten with both traditional blues and modern blues. I'm thinking of your cover of 'Fare Thee Well'.
That's Dink's Song. It was originally written by a washerwoman. That's where the best music came from, from old European-American criminals bringing Africans to America. My favourites are Robert Johnson and Bukka White, The Staple Singers, Billie Holiday. I cover 'Strange Fruit', too. I figured I wouldn't be able to meet these people, so I learn from them by hearing them sing. Some of the coolest music is Johnny Cash, which isn't a black or white thing. I love Mariachi music, Ray Charles, Edith Piaf, the Sex Pistols, Muddy Waters…I just saw gifts dangling from them and wanted to take it. I guess I want to be an archetypal entertainer, an archetypal bard, a minstrel. I guess I have a romantic vision. Even though punk happened to me, and Robert Johnson, I want to be a realty good storyteller, and those songs have great stories.
What do you love about 'Twelfth Of Never'?
I cover the Nina Simone version. It's just the way she does it. I can't get into Elvis's version, it doesn't capture my imagination, though he had a beautiful voice. Every time I hear 'Can't Help Falling In Love', I cry. I can't separate Charles Manson from The Beatles or the Clambake movie from Elvis, though. But I love all music. I'm the Cocteau Twins' biggest fan, too. They allow their deepest eccentricities to be the music itself, and not just something they want to project. Liz Fraser is one of the only originals. They're just regular people, too. I got to meet her once, she was very shy, which puts a weird curve on music as well. Imagine that sound coming out of her mouth when she's in the kitchen scrambling eggs.
Was music your first true love?
Besides sex? One surrounds the other. I can remember being obsessed with my stepfather's stereo, getting into trouble for using it. He was really possessive of control over it, like a car. It was expensive equipment, so I was really careful. Then one day, I wanted to listen to a live bootleg of Jimi Hendrix, and he went mad. I had a tape player in my room, I shared it with another kid in the family. You had to stick a hanger in it for it to work.
How do you feel when you open your mouth and sing?
Like it's real. I feel like crying. I feel like I am crying! It's the middle point between laughing and immense joy and crying. I feel the best when I'm singing.
When did you start?
In front of an audience at a family get-together. My stepfather got drunk and fell asleep in front of everyone, and my grandmother got really embarrassed, so to direct attention away from him, I sung every Elton John song I knew. I was a huge fan then. They gave me some silver dollars for doing it. I was 13 (laughs). My friend and I started play electric guitars, you know, 'Stairway To Heaven', for a talent show at junior high school. We lost…We were living in southern California then. I later had a band in northern California, in Willetts, called Axxis. It wasn't my idea. It's one of the 19 cities I've lived in, I attended four high schools. One I spent two weeks in. My mum was quite a gypsy.
What did you make of your own voice?
I hated it, but I got over it. I'm horribly self-critical. I think the first time I heard it, I thought no way could I ever keep anything from anyone, it was all there in the voice. Some ways that people sing, they put it across in language, and it's almost impossible, because they have a wall between them and the expression. I'm trying to get deeper in the hole, trying to learn things when I hear voices.
Did the concept of singing on a stage come easily to you?
It was totally natural, I just did it. It was like going to the beach, like, I'm going into the ocean! I never thought about it. I first sang at a dance in Northern California Methodist Church, to high school kids. When I was 13, I already knew what I wanted to do. My all-time favourite was Led Zeppelin, and I knew I wanted to belong to that. In the '70s, there was an overspill of rock life, which becomes coffee table material, with books on Kiss and rock stars on TV. I knew it was possible for some people to do it for a living. I spent hours listening to Magical Mystery Tour. I felt like an archaeologist, which is fine, because I liked dinosaurs! But that was the wrong direction.
I left home when I was 17, because I was tired of moving around. I played in lots of LA bands, just to make money. There was a reggae band for a while, The AKB Band, a rag-tag motley crew, with one rasta guy. I played guitar. We ended up backing up U-Roy, Shinehead and Judy Mowatt, and at the Bob Marley day at Long Beach. We did cheesy session work for demos, too.
What did the experience teach you?
The simplicity. I guess it didn't teach me much at the time. It's like your parents telling you what not to do. But Pablo, the rasta, everything he said about playing makes sense now. Forget the next band. I then decided not to spread myself that thin. I didn't like southern California, LA especially. Hollywood isn't a real town, but that's the reality of it. I'd wanted to see New York since I saw it on TV when I was 12, to experience the energy, so I took off in 1990. I got a couple of jobs, and went hungry for a long while, before I got an offer to record songs in LA, so I flew back, and recorded four songs. I went back-and-forth a bit, before I met Gary Lucas at a show in New York, at a tribute show to my father. I thought playing with Gary would be interesting but it turned out to be a disaster. We had two completely different paths…the cart was before the horse. But I learnt to go out and sing, in impossibly intimate settings, when guys are right up against you. You learn how to move a room. The biggest challenge is to put a song across live. The audience shouldn't see your face, or your body, they should just hear you.
Do you enjoy the New York scene?
I dig it. If I was in LA, I wouldn't be doing anything, but here, there's a real respect. There's a respect for anything original. Maybe I'm overpoweringly romanticising New York, but so many amazing things happen here on an ordinary level, like Lou Reed lives here, wow! I first heard him in '76 but he got into my soul, it just takes one time, like Helen Keller…it's just the sound of the song. I was in somebody else's car, feeling lonely. Heroin is so beautiful, like a big black kiss, the way it builds. He sounds like a punk who knows everything. He's got such erudition, but he's not too smart.
What stage are you at right now?
Always at the beginning. I'd love to make a record. Clive Davis at Arista wanted to sign me but he hadn't heard me, it was just on the basis of what his right hand man, the head of A&R, had said. I plan to start from what matters. In September, I'll perform all new material, a lot of covers, and I wanna find people to play with. Yeah, a band, just because of the certain feeling I need. An energy.
Can I raise the delicate matter of your dad, Tim?
Sometimes, with people who knew him, they've come for a nice night out, but they see me, they don't think about him. Those who do, I don't hang around them. We're different. The people who knew him, they have apparently a very magic memory, but it's been a claustrophobic thing all my life. I knew him for a total of nine days. He never wrote, never called.
Do people claim that you're just your father's son?
If anyone mentions that, I walk. If I go to a club, and some writer uses that area, then I rip the shit down and say, Fuck you, see you later, we can talk about this next time, because I'm on my own.
Do you listen to his records?
Yeah, mostly to learn about him as a person. He wrote a couple of songs about me and my mother, which is sometimes tough. His style has nothing to do with what I do. It's funny that we were born with the same parts, but when I sing, it's me. Technically, I can do what he did, but our expression is not the same, it's a completely different sphere. His was a different time, influenced by Dylan and the folkies. I don't even talk like him. But I can do a good impersonation of him, knitting up my eyebrows, which makes people laugh.
As far as music goes, so many people who I know and love, who give me so much, they don't even know me yet. I want to make something completely new. I was into Miles Davis in 1984, he said he could tell when people were paying tribute to him but it was just copying. The only way to pay tribute is to bring something new to the fold. I want to work so hard that everything of me bums away, like the chemical in the match. Which leaves what really is me, or what I think is me. It can be such a joy. Like the Beatles, they were geniuses, you know? Music's like a sign language between people, so when a guy from Iran or America hears The Beatles, they go 'Wow!' They don't think of killing each other. There's something about music that hits the cavemen in us, even more than a speech or painting. I just want to achieve my own vibe. I want to go someplace else. There's more ways of saying 'I love you', more ways of saying 'where the hell do I fit in?', more ways of saying 'why doesn't anyone love me?, 'when is somebody going to want to kiss me?' I'm sick of waiting, waiting to be understood. And it's nothing arty, nothing lofty, it's just fucking different, and I want to leave this world behind a little so that maybe I will see that it's bigger and I haven't left it at all.
#jeff buckley#jeffbuckley#Jeff Buckley: They Don't Even Know Me Yet#Martin Aston#MOJO#January 2003#1992
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The Nanny
request: “Hello, could you write something where a few years after the death of his wife Draco hires a new nanny for Scorpius and ends up falling in love with her... could have anguish, but the ending would be happy? Please!My first language is not English I'm sorry if you got confused.” - @trouxa2x
a/n: i hope this is what you wanted! and your english is great don’t worry :) also-there is a phone call which is in italics and song lyrics for La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf in italics
pairing: Draco Malfoy x Nanny!Reader
word count: 2.2k
warnings: mention of death for like a moment
summary: After the birth of his son and the death of his wife, Draco Malfoy needs a nanny
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The day Draco Malfoy’s son was born was the happiest and saddest day of his life. His loving wife Astoria had been diagnosed with a blood curse that killed her moments after Scorpius was born. His first breath, had been her last. Although he knew this would be the likely outcome, it was still crushing. Draco didn’t like to talk about his emotions and knew the only way to get over his wife’s death would be to burry himself in his work as a Healer. But with a baby, he couldn’t just shut out the world. He needed help. It was obvious he was struggling.
During the long process of making amends after the war, Draco had some how become close to the golden trio he had despised so much as a child. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had all come by to meet Scorpius and check in on Draco. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were worse than during the war. “I have a friend who is looking for some work as a nanny, she’s great with kids, babies especially. I’ll get you her number” Hermione said, rummaging through her purse looking for her contacts book. Draco nodded slightly. He had considered getting a nanny but the idea of another woman acting motherly toward Scorpius made him feel sick. However, Draco politely took the number and thanked Hermione.
As the months continued on Draco found it easier to care for Scorpius. He had taken up a job as a consultant for the hospital so he could spend most of his time at home with his son. But as the months stretched into years, Draco grew depressed. Scorpius became fussier and fussier and the hospital was begging for him to come back as a full time Healer. “It’s time” Draco thought. He looked through the drawers of his desk until he found the phone number Hermione had given him nearly two years prior. He dialed the number, feeling anxious and unsure of exactly what to say.
“Hello?” a female voice answered.
“Hi um is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?”
“This is she, may I ask who is calling?”
“Oh yes um this is Draco Malfoy. I’m a friend of Hermione Gran- I mean Weasley’s.”
“Oh hello! I remember she mentioned a few years back you might be in need of a nanny.”
“Yes! Well, I had been handling it pretty well but now I am finding myself in need of some help so I can go back to work…”
“I see. Let me guess, those ‘terrible two’s’ are in full swing right about now” she chuckled.
“Yes exactly! I was wondering if you would consider interviewing to become a live-in nanny for my son Scorpius. I am not sure for how long or what I would pay you but-”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” she interrupted. “I’m sure we could conduct a formal interview as well but may I come over and just meet Scorpius first? I find that sometimes the baby will tell the parent whether or not the nanny is the right fit, even before an interview.”
“Yes of course. Can you come over around 11 am tomorrow?”
“Yes. See you then. Good day”
“Thank you, cheers”
He hung up the phone. He looked over at Scorpius sitting in his high chair. The baby gurgled and threw some cereal to the ground. Then seeing his cereal on the ground, Scorpius started to wail at an incredible volume. The interview couldn’t come soon enough. The next day at 11 am sharp, Y/N knocked on the door. When Draco opened it, she was met with the chaos that had become his daily life. The house was a mess and Scorpius was screaming. “Hi, welcome. Sorry about the mess” he stammered, showing her into the house. “Nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy” she replied cheerily. Seemingly unfazed, she walked into the living room, put down her purse, and sat down next to the screaming baby. Draco watched her as she began to rub the baby’s back and started to softly sing. The baby slowly began to quiet down until he was quiet enough for Draco to hear what Y/N was singing.
~Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu’il me parle tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d’amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça m'fait quelque chose….~
The baby began to smile as Y/N picked him up and cradled him, still singing.
~Il est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie. Et dès que je l’aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat..~
She then began to hum the tune more quietly and sway lightly. Scorpius’s eyes fluttered closed as he drifted to sleep. She smiled and looked up at his father. Draco was standing with his hand over his mouth, tears falling from his icy blue eyes. “Are you alright Mr. Malfoy?” she whispered. He nodded. He cleared his throat quietly before speaking. “La Vie en Rose was the song Astoria and I used for our first dance at our wedding”. “Oh I’m so sorry, if I had known I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head at her. “No it’s alright. I just… miss her”. She tilted her head sympathetically. “From what I’ve heard of her, she sounded lovely. I wish I could have met her.” Draco nodded and looked down at his shoes, trying to hold himself together.
“If you would tell me where his crib is I can put him down so we can start the formal interview. If you’d like” she said, knowing a subject change was what needed to occur. Draco nodded and gestured for her to follow him. Once Scorpius was in his crib, the adults went to the living room to discuss the particulars of the arrangement. Y/N told Draco about how she discovered her love for child care when she worked as a nanny for a short time while traveling in France. “When I came back to England, I worked for a few other Wizarding families including Hermione and Ron for a short time. Ron actually nick named me ‘the baby whisperer’” she said chuckling. “After what just happened, I’m inclined to believe him!” Draco replied. Without needing to consider it, Draco offered Y/N the job.
A year later Draco was still kicking himself daily for not hiring Y/N sooner. His life and mental health had improved drastically since she moved in. He was able to go back to working at the hospital full time and help people like he had always wanted. The two had developed a close friendship and Y/N became part of his family. The house felt almost foreign when she was gone. Though she was a live-in nanny, Draco still encouraged Y/N to take days off, and when she would go, Draco missed her terribly. He could tell Scorpius missed her too.
“You’re falling in love with her!” Hermione teased. She had come over to see Y/N and Draco and knew immediately. “What? No, she works for me. That would be highly inappropriate” he replied defensively. Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco looked across the room at Y/N. She was holding Scorpius near a window and was pointing at something and talking to him. Scorpius was giggling loudly and clapping his little chubby hands. Draco couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt that he was fond of Y/N, but did he love her? She was great with Scorpius, she understood Draco’s feelings (sometimes better than he did), and she was beautiful. But her beauty wasn’t just external, she had a truly beautiful soul. Another six months went by before Draco was sure. He had fallen for Y/N. He hadn’t meant to fall for her, but she was easy to love. He tried not to act differently towards her but after the realization of his feelings, he couldn’t help it. It started with lingering glances and lead to going out of his way to have little moments of physical contact with her. Whether that was reaching for the same toy to give to Scorpius, or squeezing her hand to get her attention while Scorpius was sleeping. There was not a doubt in his mind about it. He loved her, whole heartedly.
Draco woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Scorpius crying. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. He walked down the hallway and into his son’s room, only to find that Y/N was already there. She was standing with her back to the door, rocking Scorpius and singing to him. Draco stood outside of the room, leaning on the door frame as he watched Y/N calm the crying child. He couldn’t help but smile at her. Eventually, she stopped singing and spoke to Scorpius. “You are so loved Scorpius. Your dad loves you, I love you, and your mama loves in all the way from heaven.” Draco continued to smile but in a more melancholy way. Y/N had always made a point of talking to Scorpius about his mother, even though she knew the baby didn’t understand what she said. Draco still found it difficult to talk about Astoria, but Y/N had always insisted that Scorpius know how much his mother loved him, even though she was gone. She rocked him a few more times before placing him back into his crib. When she turned to face the door she smiled at Draco. “I’ll see you again in an hour or so” she joked. She walked past him and exited the room, making her way down to the first floor. Draco watched her walk away before returning to his room. Scorpius didn’t cry again that night but still Draco couldn’t sleep. He decided to go down to the kitchen and fix himself a sandwich, besides, if he was awake he might as well do something to pass the time. As he made his way down the hall to the stairs, he noticed a light was on in the kitchen. He walked down and found Y/N sitting in the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of pasta and reading a book. She looked up when she heard him enter the room. “Can’t sleep?” she asked. He chuckled and nodded. “Welcome to the club. Look I even saved you a seat!” she joked, gesturing at the chair next to her.
He rummaged through the pantry and complied his sandwich. He then joined her at the table. She put her book down and angled herself in his direction. “You seem different” she said. He looked down at his plate, feeling a pit in his throat. He gulped. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You just seem…I don’t know, happier recently. I can’t put my finger on it”. Did she know about his feelings? Was she trying to bait him into admitting it? He forced himself to look at her. Even at 4 in the morning she was beautiful. He took a deep breath and decided to answer honestly. “I recently decided that I’m ready to open myself up to the idea of love again. Astoria wouldn’t want me to be alone for the rest of my life and something just told me its time” he said. Y/N smiled. “That’s really great Draco. I’m so happy for you”. She had a slight glimmer in her eye, she had to know. He eyed her a bit suspiciously. She laughed. “Ok ok don’t give me that look! Hermione might have mentioned to me that you had found someone and I had to ask! Whoever she is she’s a lucky girl” she turned back to her book.
Draco couldn’t believe what he heard. Y/N, the girl who some how knew him better than he knew himself, didn’t know he was in love with her! He smiled and rolled his eyes as he stood up and leaned his back against the counter, putting his hand over Y/N’s book. She looked up at him, some what puzzled. “Y/N, it’s you. I’ve fallen for you. Totally and completely” he said, hopefully sounding more courageous than he was feeling. Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t speak. She mouthed “me?” and pointed to herself. Draco’s smile widened and he nodded. She grinned. He cupped his hands around her cheeks and leaned in closely, so closely it was a wonder their eyelashes didn’t brush against each other. He waited for her to give him permission to close the gap between their bodies. “Kiss me” she whispered. He closed the gap and their lips touched, gently but still passionately. She stood up from her chair and rose to her tip toes as her hands played with his hair. The kissing became laughing as they came up for air. “I didn’t think it was possible to kiss someone and smile at the same time” Y/N said. “With you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling”. There was a comfortable silence as they rested their foreheads against each other, enjoying being close. “I love you Y/N”. She looked up and into his eyes. “I love you too Draco”.
#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x nanny!reader#scorpius malfoy#draco malfoy one shot#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fluff#harry potter#harry potter au#draco malfoy au#hermione granger#ron weasley#draco malfoy imagine
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Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin
moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was.
Pairing: Jimin / Reader
Rating: 18+
Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom
Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+ Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos. Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3 - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base. Hope you enjoy!
Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.
It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.
Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.
Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.
There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ���Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.
You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.
Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.
As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.
“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.
“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”
“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.
“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”
“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”
“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”
“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”
A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.
“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”
“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”
“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.
By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.
Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.
Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.
You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.
You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.
But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.
Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.
You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.
As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood. At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.
An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.
The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.
Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.
Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.
It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.
You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.
You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.
It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.
You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.
So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.
Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.
Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.
Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.
You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.
Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.
By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.
“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.
“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.
“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”
“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.
You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.
Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”
“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.
“Thanks, you too.”
You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.
Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.
For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.
Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.
And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.
After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.
It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.
Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.
The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.
So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.
It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.
“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.
“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”
“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.
“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”
“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”
“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”
“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”
“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”
“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”
“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.
“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.
“Not yet, why?”
“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”
Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.
“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”
“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”
He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.
Why not?
“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”
The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.
Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.
“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.
He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”
A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”
“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.
“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”
“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”
How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.
“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.
“Deal.”
He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.
And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.
“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”
“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”
“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”
“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.
“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”
Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.
“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”
“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.
If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.
God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.
This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.
“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.
“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.
“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.
“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.
“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?
“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”
“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.
“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.
“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.
Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”
“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”
“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”
You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.
“What else does destiny want us to do?”
You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?
“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.
First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.
“Sounds like a good idea.”
And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.
Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.
It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.
He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.
You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.
And lord almighty, it is crowded.
You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.
You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger.
Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.
It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.
For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.
He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.
The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.
It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.
Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.
You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)… That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.
Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.
“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.
“That’s okay.”
You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.
“Let’s dance, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.
Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?
You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.
He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.
It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.
All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.
“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.
“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”
“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”
“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.
“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.
Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.
“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”
“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”
“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”
“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.
“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.
“Sure, let’s go.”
There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.
You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.
“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.
“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”
It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.
“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”
You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.
“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.
“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.
“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”
“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”
You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.
After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.
“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.
You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.
“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.
“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”
Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.
You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.
Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?
So you do.
You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.
Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.
You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.
You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.
You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.
You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“
With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.
It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.
You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.
He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.
And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.
“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”
Fuck everything.
You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.
Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.
You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.
Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.
You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.
Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.
He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.
The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.
“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.
The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.
Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.
“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?
“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”
“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.
“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”
“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.
“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.
It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.
“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.
“Thank fuck we’re already here.”
You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.
“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.
“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”
“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.
“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”
“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”
You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.
Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.
“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.
“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.
You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.
You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.
“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”
“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”
“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”
“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.
“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”
“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.
There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.
“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.
He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.
Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.
Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.
You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.
“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.
He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.
“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.
“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.
“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.
It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.
“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.
“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.
“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”
The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.
You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.
He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.
He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.
After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.
“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.
He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.
“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.
“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.
“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”
“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.
“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.
You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.
No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.
“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”
“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.
“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.
You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.
Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.
Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.
You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.
“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.
“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.
“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.
“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.
You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.
Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.
“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.
He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.
“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.
“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.
“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”
“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”
It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.
The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.
You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.
You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.
His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.
It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.
You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.
You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.
“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”
“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.
“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?
“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.
“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.
“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.
“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.
“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.
“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.
“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.
“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”
“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.
You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.
“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”
With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.
You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.
He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.
“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.
“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”
“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.
“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.
Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.
But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.
Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.
“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”
“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”
You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.
How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…
“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.
“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”
“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”
“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.
You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.
“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.
“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.
Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens. A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.
You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.
It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.
Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.
The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.
You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.
“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!”
Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.
It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.
Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.
“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”
He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.
Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.
He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.
No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END
#jimin smut#bts smut#jimin scenario#bts scenario#jimin#jimin fanfic#bts fanfic#bts fic#bts au#jimin au#park jimin#jimin writing
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Promo "Liebe Ist Für Alle Da" (2009), Olivier Riedel — Interview by Morgan Rivalin, 07-07-2009 (Rock Hard #91)
'Mehr' ("More"), whose riff is somewhat reminiscent of 'Rammlied', focuses mainly on a "concrete breaker" chorus which pounded more and more. Although he does it with a certain talent and his structure evolves noticeably towards the end, this one does not surprise much. At least, not in a way comparable to 'Frühling In Paris' ("Spring in Paris"). From an acoustic universe where arpeggios of guitars and very melodic keyboards are kings, here we are witnessing the rise of saturated guitars and even a hint of double pedaling on a tribute that Edith Piaf had certainly not seen come. Because on this wink addressed to our beautiful country, Till Lindemann literally screams, in a French after all quite understandable : “Non, rien de rien ! Non, je ne regrette rien !". Truthful ! If the presence of this song is confirmed today on the album, it seems that it came close to that it is not the case.
"Some members of the band don't like it too much, but as far as I'm concerned, I think it has its place", reveals bassist Olivier Riedel through a german translator, before adding laconically : "These differences of point of view should not be surprising. After all, we still haven't agreed on the title to be given to this album anyway, nor on which singles we should extract from it, so..."
Obviously, the practice of democracy within a Rammstein whose life has not always been a quiet river remains a delicate art. Once is not customary, getting the whole group in tune was not easy. After a necessary break in 2006 and a long phase of pre-production spread throughout 2007, the recording locations of the album, boxed both in a rented house on the San Francisco side and in a Los Angeles studio were thus new sources of conflict.
"We like to change the environment for each album, but we still have to come to an agreement" begins Oliver. "Two camps were formed. Half of the band "dreamed" of recording in California, the other half - of which I was a part, along with Flake and Till - didn't want to hear about it. Do I need to say which half of the group ended up giving in to the other's enthusiasm ?"
Fortunately, he doesn't seem hopeless."In 2006, we were in dire need of a break," says the bassist. "Our different personalities fit together very well musically, but they clash in other areas. We knew for a fact that we had to get away from each other to want to find each other and create something new together. It took a long time and this journey was marked by tensions but, personally, I have never doubted our ability to come up with a new album as successful as this one."
But then, what are the titles that find favor in his eyes ? "I like the album as a whole, but right now I have a soft spot for 'Ich Tu Dir Weh'. In terms of lyrics, I was particularly won over by Till's work on the lyrics to 'Wiener Blut' written as this sordid Austrian news item found its way into the newspapers. It was obvious that this was the perfect medium for a piece by Rammstein, and the result exceeded my expectations."
Liebe Ist Für Alle Da (album) © Eugenio Recuenco
#rockhard magazine special rammstein 2021#rammstein in press#rammstein interview#rammstein#oliver riedel#till is love 🖤#till lindemann#flake lorenz#paul landers#christoph schneider#richard kruspe
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A silly head canon ask but what do you think about the character's taste in music in ADON? We have a pretty clear idea for Jimmy, and we know Maya was going to a music festival, but I'm also curious for like Rose, Harvey, and Dr. Bose too on what they might/might have liked.
Jimmy we seemingly have a decent idea of , given the ambient music / carnival esc. stuff that he plays in the hotel at all times. But as for the rest it is an interesting idea...
Maya seems like she must be into pop music in some regard to go to a music festival (although I say this a bloke who goes mostly for atmosphere, so who can say), but I like the idea of her naturally being an extroverted pop/EDM/dance music girl and it's just that Jimmy unnerves into awkwardness. I think she has a playlist mainly comprised of songs with a similar energy to one another, rather than of specific artists.
Bose gives me the 40-50 year old man who listens to Queen and Bon Jovi over and over again vibe, except he only revolves said taste around 3 songs from each band. Maybe some of Oasis or Blur or such too? He likes stuff that has sing-ablity and is relatively well received and liked.
Harvey listens to rock akin to something like The White Stripes (I'm specifically thinking "Icky Thump" or "Fell In Love With a Girl", here) or maybe Pink Floyd - he's on the opposite end of the dad rock spectrum to Bose and he makes it apparent. I love the headcanon that he was a rebel in his youth and some of that energy is maintained in his music taste. Maybe Madness... I could see that too (just had a good bonus thought of him telling Jim that "Baggy Trousers" is his song and blaring it when waiting to pick him up from primary).
Rose is into things like The Coral or Dean Martin I think, different vibes but both fit; like songs that you dance to rather than sing along with. That, alongside more operatic tracks, namely right now I'm thinking of Edith Piaf's "Non, Je ne regrette rien", something with a grandness too it. Opera could be a good fit for Rose but my knowledge starts and ends with "Con Te Partiro".
#asks#headcanons#this was fun to think about definitely#maya#bose#rose#harvey#i tried to keep relatively to the era#dekujin#baggy trousers is the BIGGEST young jimmy song so listen to that#i also tried to lean to British stuff for obviously reasons but yknow
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If you’re reading this,
Please know that nothing is ever your fault; it’s actually your family’s own fault that they hurt you because they’re sick in the head and just wanted a scapegoat. No, they’ve never punished you because you did something wrong; they actually only punished you because you existed. You were never a bad kid; you were just an abused kid, an easy target for them to take their stress, anger, frustration and hatred out on you. It didn’t even matter what you did; you could be bad and get punished; you could be good and still get punished. They made sure that there was no other way out for you. You couldn’t even make them stop because they didn’t want to; after all, they knew damn well that you were completely powerless and just kept making sure that it always stayed that way.
Also, you didn’t deserve anything they have done to you; you deseved so much better than that! You deserved better parents than those you were unfairly given; you deserved a better brother than that; you deserved a better family than that; you deserved a better childhood than that; you deserved a better life than that and YOU. DESERVED. BETTER.
Also, you were never immature (nor acting like a baby) for watching those “yucky” cartoons that they knew damn well other kids your age were watching at those times; you were just a kid; you were just doing normal kid things and they would just rather turn you into a miniature adult that they always wanted you to be...and I know why they did that. It’s because they always wanted you to wear very “fashionable” clothes (oh, excuse me, designer clothes that are extremely fancy, extremely expensive, extremely tight and extremely uncomfortable), to strive to look your best for the likes of men, to never say “no” to anything they said, to watch cooking shows (or news or even movies that are too mature for you) without complaining, to only listen to music that they approved of (i.e. Joe Dassin, Edith Piaf, Patricia Kaas, Charles Aznavour, Yaki-Da, Teach-In, Matia Bazaar, Mirielle Mathieu, Yves Montand, Space, Salvadore Adamo, Bimbo Jet, Paul Mauriat, Amanda Lear, Toto Cutugno, Mina, Ricchi e Poveri, Gepy & Gepy, Adriano Celentano, Pupo, Blue System, Modern Talking, Secret Service, Arabesque, Alla Pugacheva, Al Bano & Romina Power, Bad Boys Blue, DJ Bobo, Vaya Con Dios, Falco, Dalida, Demis Roussos, Eruption/Precious Wilson, Gilla, Dchingis Khan, Alain Delon, Victor Lazlo, Mylène Farmer, Leonard Cohen, F.R. David, Joy and more), to never get angry and to just be obedient; therefore, they just wanted you to be a perfect woman and to only exist for men. Disgusting! You don’t exist for men; you exist to be happy instead!
Again, please know that it was never your fault and that you didn’t make them abuse you; if anything, they chose to abuse you. They chose to beat you up and hurt you. If there was a time machine, I would gladly go back in time and do my best to save you. You deserved better.
-My letter to all of my younger selves of all ages
#child abuse#childhood abuse#sibling abuse#abusive mother#abusive father#abusive brother#abusive parents#abusive family#misogyny tw#enbyphobia tw#exorsexism tw#childhood trauma#abusive childhood#trauma#ptsd#cptsd
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📻 and 👾 :D?
📻 fav song right now! uhh it changes like every day but today its either la foule or milore by edith piaf!! she has a lovely voice
👾 do you believe in aliens? yes!! yes yes yes all the way >:)) the truth is out there!! given all the accounts from different people in different places over like. all time there’s gotta be!! how boring would it be to be just. alone in this universe,, it’s too big to be just us!
#edith piafs vibrato makes me lose it#asks#music#aliens#lewis rambles#ty for the asks dear friend ripley!!!
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The oc asks: 5, 12 & 18? Btw hope you’re doing well!!
First of all, oh my effing God THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AHHHH! I always love talking about my OCs but I never get the chance to bUT NOW YOU GAVE ME THAT CHANCE AND I’M OVER THE MOON RN!!!! I have about 16 OCs but because I don’t wanna spam my followers, I tried to narrow it down to some of my favorites to talk about. I’ll include some doodles of them so you have faces to assign their names to.
What are their favorite songs?
Spectra- Your Soul by Forrest. It's just so funky and catchy and he can't help but dance when it plays :)
Autumn- La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf. Given Autumn is French but lives in America, she likes indulging in a bit of her own culture. This song was her favorite as a child and it's become a comforting and nostalgic song for her.
Lucas- The Only Thing They Fear is You by Mick Gordon (from the Doom Eternal soundtrack). Lucas is a heavy metal musician so obviously, his favorite song is gonna be metal. He loves listening to this especially when exercising because of the immense feeling of power it gives him.
Iris- Resonance by Home. Iris's favorite genre (second only to heavy metal considering she is bandmates with Lucas) is vaporwave so naturally, her favorite song would be the one that started it all.
Icarus- STFU by Pink Guy. Icarus is a comedian whose style was heavily influenced by the style of Pink Guy. He loves making fun of the overly edgy and obnoxiously offensive “humor” used by most teenagers trying to be cool and edgy. He loves the aggressiveness of this song and often listens to it to vent his frustration at people who really get on his nerves.
Doré- Derniere Danse by Indila. Doré being born and raised in France loves indulging in her culture through French music. This song just has this enchanting beauty that makes her want to get up and dance.
Lorenzo- Nocturnes Op. 9 by Chopin. Lorenzo has a taste for the finer things in life and loves classical music with culture and history behind them. He also quite enjoys Gymnopedie No. 1 by Erik Satie as it was one of the first songs he learned to play on the piano.
What is something they carry with them always or never leave the house without?
Spectra- Spectra is a mega softie especially for his girlfriend Autumn and his brother Neon who disappeared years ago. (There's a whole plot behind Neon’s disappearance. I’ll summarize it at the bottom*) Spectra likes to keep the cork from the wine bottle he and Autumn opened on their first date. He also likes to keep a bandana that Neon had before he disappeared. Spectra found it while he was searching for Neon and kept it as a motivator to keep up the search.
Autumn- Autumn has had some seriously traumatic stuff happen to her. I won’t say it here because it could be triggering to someone so I’ll put it in the hashtags if you wanna know. She has gained a strong passion for protecting children as a result of her trauma to the point where it’s become her life’s mission. She keeps a picture of herself as a child before the traumatic event happened to her as a reminder to never let what happened to her happen to anyone else.
Lucas- Despite Lucas’s intimidating appearance, he is a massive softie off-stage and is very sentimental. To make a long story short, he had a freak accident when he was young that left him severely disfigured and scarred. He felt really self-conscious about this until he discovered the heavy metal community. He quickly gained fame because his appearance fit the heavy metal aesthetic really well and he made good music. He used his fame to promote body positivity and has helped a lot of people with scars and disfigurements accept them and learn to love themselves. Lucas likes visiting children’s hospitals and has kept a few mementos from some of the kids he’s met. Most of these include drawings and cards kids made for him.
Iris- Iris loves living the aesthetic lifestyle and tries to make everything she owns fit her aesthetics. Lucas being her boyfriend knows this and gave her a gift of a keychain with a bunch of vaporwave and retro futurism-themed pendants. She cherishes it and keeps it with her everywhere she goes.
Icarus- Icarus is not really one for being sentimental but he secretly keeps a bottle cap his dad gave him. He has a strong bond with his family (though he never shows it to other people) so he treasures that bottle cap as a piece of his family.
Doré- Doré is a transgender woman and likes keeping pride memorabilia on her as she goes about her daily life. Her husband Lorenzo (although he is cis and straight) is incredibly supportive of her and likes giving her pride related gifts, one of which is a little heart-shaped crystal pendant of the trans flag with a pure gold rim. She keeps it as a bit of trans pride and a symbol of her and Lorenzo’s love.
Lorenzo- Lorenzo is incredibly romantic and deeply in love with Doré so naturally, he would like to keep a (kinda literal) piece of her with him. Doré is a golden orb weaver spider that gets its name from its golden-colored silk. She is a luxury fashion designer and she uses her silk in many of her products (which is why they’re considered luxury). She made a little handkerchief for Lorenzo made purely out of her own silk that he cherishes as if it were his firstborn child.
Do they love getting hugs or giving hugs?
Spectra- Spectra is a giver of cuddles through and through
Autumn- Autumn doesn’t like touching people but she likes getting hugs from Spectra
Lucas- He likes to give and receive.
Iris- She likes giving
Icarus- He’s not a hugger
Doré- She likes getting hugs, primarily from Lorenzo
Lorenzo- He’s a giver
*About Neon’s disappearance: To make a long story short, Neon and Spectra are the sons of the two main Gods in this universe and Neon was fascinated by Earth so he traveled to it and became mortal. He stayed too long, forgot he was a divine being, joined a gang, betrayed that gang, and is now constantly on the run from the authorities and the gang he betrayed. Spectra has dedicated himself to find Neon and bring him back home.
#oc stuff#ocs#original character#original characters#furry#fursona#arachnophobia tw#tw just in case#as for what happened to autumn she got r4ped as a child by a stranger
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Organs of the Circus
Calliope is a very old name that would later belong to an instrument that wouldn’t exist for centuries after its creation. It was a beautifully crafted tool often used in entertainment mainly the Traveling Circus although originally meant to replace church bells.
It’s very light and up beat sounding and is usually played on those speakers at either Disneyland, or the fair, or other huge theme parks. It was invented in the U.S in 1850 by A.S. Denny and later patented in 1855 by Joshua C. Stoddard. An article on Mechanical Music Digest quotes the Player Piano Treasury has a description of the instrument by Harvey Roehl.
“…The first instrument consisted of 15 whistles, of graduated sizes, attached in a row to the top of a small steam boiler. A long cylinder with pins of different shapes driven into it ran the length of the boiler. The pins were so arranged that when the cylinder revolved, they pressed the valves and blew the whistles in proper sequence. The different shapes enabled the operator to play notes of varying length. Later, Stoddard replaced the cylinder with a keyboard. Wires running from the keys to the valves enabled the operator to play the instrument like a piano.”
It was a large cylinder “clockwork music box” with large and usually bronze whistles coming from the top and upper panel into the lower panel where the boiler is. The first design used pins to push steam through the pipes to play different notes and keys; they were later replaced with a piano keyboard and wires instead with the frame becoming a more modern looking upright piano instead of a cylinder for playability. Some people called it the Steam Organ as some were often mounted to steam boats and looked like smaller organs that operated on steam.
Some might confuse Calliopes with Fairground Organs (Sometimes called Band Organs) which are entirely separate. The main difference being that Fairground Organs never used steam and were always more mechanical and automatic. Those used in dance halls and ballrooms were dubbed “Dance Organs” which were quitter que to being played inside.
The Fairground Organ used either a crank similar to a music box or strips of data called music rolls in a music book. They were designed to be played without an actual performer and are keyboard less. For the most part electronic nowadays or completely replaced with standard speaker sound systems were a grand addition to the Fairgrounds themselves with their own Fair Organ Preservation Society.
They were essentially large elegantly designed jukeboxes that sometimes came with animatronic puppet bands and other instruments like wooden whistles and xylophones for further entertainment making them rather large, the world’s largest being the Wurlitzer Model 164 Band Organ according to organ historian Stephen Bicknell.
One of the most popular and decorative being The Moriter aka The Emperor which was almost as big as a pipe organ.
“The Mortier is a fascinating beast: where the fairground organ is tarty like a can-can girl the Mortier takes you straight into the world of Maigret and Edith Piaf.”
There are a few odd exceptions of the Fairground Organ’s punch card reading ability mixed with the keys and design of the Calliope. Although they are rare, some Calliopes used rolls too such as the CA-43 Tangley Calliaphone Calliope one of the last calliopes to be manufactured in the modern age that is even equipped with SD midi compatibility.
Named after the ancient Greek goddess of music and poetry, it was often held on a pedestal just as high as a tribute to her. The Chief of Muses, Calliope, (also spelled Kalliope) goddesses of music, song, and dance whose name means “beautiful voice”.
She is the daughter of Zeus and the Titan goddess Mnemosyne being the oldest of the younger muses as well as the wisest and most assertive sister making her the leader. She is often referred to as The Muse of Epic Poetry, normally depicted with a tablet or scroll in hand.
Calliope was also the goddess of eloquence and would appear before mortal kings as they were infants to glaze their lips in honey. This was so that whenever they spoke, their voice and words would be almost as beautiful as hers.
Greek myths tell stories of her marriage Thracian king Oeagrus and their wedding in Pimpleia given them their children; Orpheus and Linus. Orpheus was and heroic bard in most Greek mythology, and his brother Linus the creator of rhythm and melody.
Of course no beauty comes without flaws. You see, the ancient Greeks would spell Calliope’s name two ways; C-A-L-L-I-O-P-E and K-A-L-I-O-P-E (sometimes spelled with two l’s) this created a split in musical communities about how it should be spelled and pronounced.
· Kal-e-ohp
· Kal-e-ohp-ee
· K-all-e-ohp
· K-all-e-ohp-ee
Or even the Calliaphone as suggested by Norman Baker, one of the world’s last Calliope builders.
“Reedy's Mirror” a magazine or paper company that’s name was later changed to “The Mirror” in its revival in the 1920s tried to settle the pronunciation debate with a section from poem that spelled it in a very rare fashion and pronounced them both ways.
It was called “The Kallyope Yell” (Spelled K-A-L-L-Y-O-P-E) and is a poem written by Vachel Lindsay in November of 1913. Vachel was a very famous poet for his time with his first book ‘Where Is Aladdin’s Lamp’ in 1904. Despite his parents hostility towards his work he still made many a classic poem.
I am the Gutter Dream,
Tune-maker, born of steam,
Tooting joy, tooting hope.
I am the Kallyope,
Car called the Kallyope.
Willy willy willy wah hoo!
Although it was an almost magically constructed machine it was often difficult to maintain. The older generation of Calliopes, widely known as steam organs, were very difficult to maintain due to the issues with moisture and travel. A Calliope player would have to clean and polish each part before and after a performance, god forbid it rains.
Eventually a newer generation of Calliopes were made to accommodate the nomad lifestyle of the instrument. First, the new age were called Air Calliopes as the name suggests these Calliopes used compressed air as opposed to steam. These were more portable as well as easier to maintain and durable however, no new technology is flawless.
While yes, the Air Calliope was far easier to set up, move, and fix; they were far quieter. Older generation Calliopes and Fairground Organs could be heard miles away all around the midway, from the boardwalk to the forest. These newer ones were not only quieter but also mostly run on either helium or gas both of which were more costly than the old boiler was; both were very costly at the time and even more so now. The few Fairground Organs and Calliopes that survived years of war, transport, tear, and wear are both expensive and delicate.
What used to be a staple of entertainment and fun is as ghostly as the wail the organ pipes themselves, fading into the memories and sounds of the great Carnival its self.
+o+
#Circus Circus!#Calliope#Kalliope#music#carnival music#circus music#vintage#facts#clown history#instruments#mythology#research
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Into the New Year for Jazz
I have submitted the following to a dear friend who runs the jazz show on Toledo Public Radio for inclusion on the website.
INTO 2020 WITH JAZZ SPECTRUM
Even as I gladly accept these invitations to sum up the year or, even this time, the decade, I don’t quite do as I’m told and so don’t color between the lines I’ve been given. Sorry.
Like you, our listeners, I rely on Jazz Spectrum to introduce me to current developments and to fill in gaps between 1982, say, and 2015 when, alas, jazz wasn’t my primary listening. It is again in no small measure due to this show that I am back in this wonderful game. I am developing enough current knowledge to be on the lookout for current players (let’s start with the members of Artemis who do fascinating work individually and collectively--more shortly) and trends, but I’m not auditioning dozens of recordings every week, putting together a four hour show, and doing all the work that makes the show such a resource.
So I don’t have a best of 2019 or best of the 2010s to offer. But, I do have some thoughts.. So, bear with me, or don’t and go re/read our host’s more fine grained observations.
In thinking about the impact on hip hop on this music, I offhandedly texted my old friend that jazz has always been fusion music. I didn’t happen to have a teenager bring home the latest incarnation of African American popular music, rhythm, and rebellion, so I’m learning about it indirectly when I see Terence Blanchard, Robert Glaspar, and Stefon Harris. Brilliant players all of them with crack bands and a deep grounding in the wider tradition from which they can bring the new energy into the music. Today I prefer pianos to guitars and acoustic instruments to electric ones, with little affinity for vocoders, looping, and effects. The beats are infectious and jazz drummers are amazing for their huge ears and magical abilities to move the beat around, using the timbres of the drums to comment on everything the rest of the band is doing. As an example I was just able to watch Nate Smith+Kinfolk via live streaming from our local club. He was a dynamo with as much energy and power as the rest of the band--solid and smooth as they are--combined.
Hip hop has to be part of what propels this rhythmic invention. If my kid perversely stuck with our traditional English and Celtic folk music, then, that I don’t get hip hop from him is my problem, not jazz’s. I embraced my generation’s fusions--rock, funk--and went back to Latin, Afro Cuban, rhythm and blues, show tunes, Third Stream, gospel, blues, and ragtime and saw them come into jazz. So I’m prepared intellectually at least to welcome these latest developments. These fusions have made and remade jazz, so yes it’s always been fusion music.
But let me borrow an idea from my quarter century looking at evolutionary biologist Edgar Anderson who worked at the Missouri Botanical Garden from 1922-1969. His signature idea was that repeated backcrossing is as important a source of genetic variation as mutations and thus gives natural selection something to work on. To apply it to jazz, it was jazz before and after Dizzy Gillespie started playing with Chano Pozo, but now we have Cuban and Latin and African rhythms in everyone’s musical DNA. All sorts of tunes from all sorts of players now can just naturally take on a Latin feel. It’s part of jazz that then continues to listen with its big big ears.
What has always excited me are these hybridizations and that is what will continue to invigorate the music into the 2020s.Kodri Gopalnath who died this October was not a jazz musician, but he brought the saxophone to Carnatic (Indian) classical music. Rudresh Mahanthappa studied with him and brought that tradition into his playing. It’s there now all the time whether in his reimagining of Charlie Parker on his 2015 album “Bird Calls” or with Rez Abassi in the Indo-Pak Coalition or his own “just jazz” gigs. This quote from his Wikipedia article captures this idea of introgressive hybridization: “In a 2011 interview with Westword newspaper about the resulting album, Samdhi, Mahanthappa said, "my idea was to take whatever I learned—take that knowledge—and really put in a setting that has nothing to do with Indian classical music.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudresh_Mahanthappa
Since some of Miles Davis’s 1970s work incorporated sitars and tablas and remembering John Coltrane’s “India,” this music has been in the mix for decades. It prompted a “Miles from India” two-CD set from 2008. I try to keep an eye on Mahanthappa, Abassi (recording 1970s fusion tunes acoustically is damned clever), and especially Vijay Iyer to watch how jazz varies and is enriched. I saw Iyer with his trio in 2016 catching extended hypnotic improvisations, one phased into “Epistrophy” before churning on. He has recorded in lots of other settings, including duos with Wadada Leo Smith and Craig Taborn and with a sextet. It is important music.
That’s one hybridization that backcrosses into jazz. Another is with Middle Eastern, including Israeli, music.Abdul Al-Malik recorded on oud as well as bass in the late 1950s and early 1960s and Anour Brahem played oud with Dave Holland and Jack DeJohnette on “Blue Maqams” in 2017. Those are first generation crosses. It’s when someone like Omer Avital plays jazz informed by his Israeli upbringing that the introgression happens, when there are new scales, new rhythms to incorporate. Avital’s own albums and with the OAM trio (including a set with the intriguing tenor Mark Turner) are favorites. I also owe Jazz Spectrum an exposure to the Chicago trumpeter Amir ElSaffar and his Two Rivers Project which explores his Iraqi roots in a jazz context.
Anat Cohen is an exuberant player, exuding joy at what she and her bands do. She has played with her brothers, Avishai and Yuval, with lots of Israeli in the mix, but she has Brazilian and Edith Piaf too. She is in the multinational band Artemis: two Canadians--leader Renee Rosnes and trumpeter Ingrid Jensen, Chilean Melissa Aldana on tenor, bassist Noriko Ueda from Japan, and the lone American, and the amazing drummer Alison Miller. Their debut album, probably with Cecile McLorin Salvant, will be a highlight of the coming year as their run here in St. Louis this October was.
I am particularly astounded by what drummers are doing these days. Of course, there are sources--Max Roach, Jack DeJohnette’s insistent but subtle cymbals--and Art Blakely and Elvin Jones were not simply powerful engines driving the band. But Miller is a fine example of, call it, “melodic drumming” where each drum/brush stroke is perfectly placed on the drum head, cymbal, even rim or side of the drum, to deliver not just a beat but a harmonic/melodic comment on the rest of the band. There are so so many players and they make just about every show I see special. Witnessing the magic in the making is why live performance is so much richer than recordings.
But to return to hybridizations, starting at least with Mid East ones, let me focus on London as a key world center for this music. Precisely as the still Metropolitan center of a thankfully fading empire (Imagine there’s no countries/It isn’t hard to do/Nothing to kill or die for), it is a hybrid zone. Yazz Ahmed is a Bahrani-Brit whose trumpet playing is enriched as she explores her Arab heritage. She does exciting stuff and has followed up “La Saboteuse” with “Polyhymnia” this year. Shabaka Hutchings has Barbadian heritage and brings that to his tenor and several key projects in the London scene. I’m drawn to the intensity of Sons of Kemet where he solos over Theon Cross’s tuba and two drummers, but Hutchings also works with The Comet Is Coming and The Ancestors. I’m a sucker for low brass, so I keep an eye on Cross too and he has his own FYAH released and is in the SEED Ensemble.
That London is a major jazz center is a development worth monitoring. I think it speaks to the vibrancy of this music and the role of these hybridizations in keeping it so exciting.
I am eager for the 2020s.
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Jeff Buckley’s links to Ireland
If he’d lived, Jeff Buckley would have been 50 next week, writes Jonathan deBurca Butler
THU, 10 NOV, 2016
Early on in his solo career, singer-songwriter, Jeff Buckley picked up a Monday night residency at an Irish bar in New York named Sin-é. Between reinterpreted covers of Led Zeppelin and Edith Piaf, the young musician would throw in his own compositions. It was here that he would hone his craft. As it turns out, the venue was also the latent inspiration behind an RTÉ Radio Documentary which airs this Saturday afternoon entitled Sin-é: Jeff Buckley’s Irish Odyssey.
The 45-minute documentary focuses on the sweet-voiced singer’s relationship with Ireland and is timely given that Buckley would have been 50 next week.
“I was a fan of Jeff Buckley in the days before the internet,” says producer, Steve Cummins. “You’d pick up snippets of information about him in record shops or just chatting to people and this connection that he had with a space called Sin-é is what really got me started. I sort of found it intriguing.”
It soon transpired that the East Village venue was not the only Irish link. When The Commitments invented Dublin Soul and took their message to the USA, Buckley became Glen Hansard’s guitar technician and a lasting friendship was born.
A trip to Ireland soon followed. In 1992, after a split from his band Gods and Monsters, Buckley came to Dublin.
“Two years before he was signed he actually ended up playing a gig at the Trinity Ball,” says Cummins. “It was his first time out of the USA and one of his first gigs on his own. He did a five-song set, a really eclectic mix of stuff, Bob Dylan cover, Van Morrisson and I have some of the recording in the documentary, which I’d say must be the first footage of him playing on his own. It’s fantastic really.
“And I think what a lot of people forget is just how good a guitarist he was too. Mostly he is remembered for that amazing voice but he really could play guitar.”
Buckley eventually signed to Columbia Records in 1994; and was paid a reported $1 million for a three-album deal. Sadly, he would produce only one, Grace, which was well-received by critics and musicians alike. Sales of the album were relatively slow however and relentless touring of the album took its toll.
“I think towards the last few years he went through a bit of a dark period,” says Cummins. “He had high standards for himself and he wasn’t too happy with the direction he was going in. He had been three years on the road and he was suffering from a bit of writer’s block. He certainly tried to get away from Grace and go for a heavier sound.” It was in Memphis during session recordings for that second record, posthumously released as Sketches from my Sweetheart the Drunk, that Buckley took an evening swim and disappeared from view.
“There is this image of him as a kind of fallen angel, a reflective quiet type,” says Cummins. “But from talking to people the big thing that stood out was his sense of humour. He was very generous and really everyone spoke of how present he was. He made you feel like you were the only person in the room if you were speaking to him.” Sin-é Jeff Buckley in a nutshell.
Documentary on One — Sin é: Jeff Buckley’s Irish Odyssey airs this Saturday at 2pm on RTÉ Radio 1.
Jeff backstage at Trinity Ball
Dublin, Ireland
May 15, 1992
#jeff buckley#trinity ball#Dublin Ireland#1992#Jeff's link to Ireland#jeff buckley's link to Ireland
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best. final exam. ever. (a blog detailing the scavenger hunt final exam for Paris 2019)
Today we did our final exam for this May Term, and I have to say: BEST. EXAM. EVER. Exploring new places in Paris? Yes please! We were given some expectations and then a list of sites to visit with a partner, and then left to figure out which route we would like to go! I’m glad I like directions and navigating because today was a whole lot of that.
(Note: I posted the pictures with the locations tagged on my Instagram, @kyliegtravels, if you would like to see exact locations. They are all under my “final exam” highlight.)
Picture from Paris Stories at Hope College Facebook
The following is the expectations/rules we were given this morning (bright and early at 8am) for the day.
Objective:
Demonstrate proficiency in Pairs by:
1. Ability to successfully navigate mass transit. You must use the metro and/or the buses to get around. NO UBER.NO TAXI.
2. Referencing only your Paris Pratique and Michelin Guide for directions—not cell phones. Should it be revealed that you used your cell phone for navigational purposes, you and your partner will receive an automatic failing grade on the exam.
3. Find historically/culturally significant locations per the list provided, and experience them.
4. Do so in an efficient way (within the 6 hour limit).
5. We encourage you to take a break for lunch, snacks, etc.
Mechanics:
· 8 am start time from the Citadines Place d’Italie
· You may NOT use computers and phones to plan the best route. Your sites are not listed in any geographical “order.”
· 2pm arrival (not earlier) at the professors’ apartment: rue Watteau
o Please bring your laptops and your Michelin Green Guide to rue Watteau. (Pick these at the Citadines before arriving at rue Watteau)
· YOU MUST VISIT EACH SITE WITH YOUR PARTNER
· Each group must take a photo at each site, and slow down a bit, and think about the space.
· Back at the professors’ apartment (or if you finish early, please feel free to begin working), make Tumblr posts documenting your groups journey—including each site visited.
o Divide the blog posts between partners/group members.
o If you reference a source, please be sure to include the citation. Your Michelin Guide is a great reference.
After reviewing these expectations, we were given our partners and the list of our sites.
Group 1: Rousseau (Emily and Kylie)
1. In front of a street sign on rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1er)
2. On the steps of the La Madeleine (8e), Place de la Madeleine
3. In the Place des Vosges (3e)
4. In the center of the Arenes de Lutece (5e), 49 rue Monge
5. The exterior façade of St-Etienne-du-Mont church (5e), Place Sainte-Genevieve
6. Galerie Vivienne (covered passage, 2e), 4 rue des Petits-Champs
7. Inside the Gare Saint-Lazare SNCF (big trains) train station, the one painted often by Monet (8e), 13 rue d’Amsterdam
8. Place Edith Piaf (20e)
9. Temple of Sibyl, Parc des Buttes Chaumont (19e)
Emily and I went to work to figure out what the best way to find each of these places would be. We used our Michelin Green Guides and our Paris Pratique to craft our path. The following is the path we followed to complete our final exam. We started out by taking line 7 (La Courneve) to Place Monge to our first site.
Arenes de Lutece:
We decided to go here first because it was the closest to our hotel, and we had seen signs for it in the line 7 Metro. It was pretty easy to find when we came up out of the metro because there were signs for it, so I expected more people to be there. We were the only people there. I’m not sure if that’s because we were there at 8:15am. The Arenes De Lutece and is located in the Latin Quarter. It is an amphitheater and could originally hold 15,000 people. It is one of the only surviving evidence of the Roman period in Paris. It was interesting to see that apartment buildings have been built over part of the amphitheater. We enjoyed appreciating the calm arena before we set off on the rest of our day. We decided earlier to walk to the next site because it was in the same arrondisement and it didn’t make sense to take a Metro.
Source: https://www.parisinfo.com/musee-monument-paris/71451/Arenes-de-Lutece-et-square-Capitan
St-Etienne-du-Mont Church and Place Sainte Genevieve:
We walked down some winding streets, which is the character of the Latin Quarter to find St-Etienne-du-Mont Church. I’m not going to lie, this was pretty easy to find because it is so distinguishable. It was cool to see the Pantheon next to it too. In fact, in 1744 King Louis XV replaced the Saint Genevieve Abbey with the Pantheon. The abbey was looted and burned in the Revolution. It was attached to what is now called St-Etienne-du-Mont Church. This is why the place near the church is called the Place Sainte Genevieve. I had never heard of this church before and] the façade of it is quite grandiose, Renaissance style. It was restored after the revolution and actually slants left due to the shape of the ground. According to the churches website, it is a product of a transition period between gothic and Renaissance styles. I think this is for sure true because of what we have learned about the two styles in class. Another interesting thing about this area is that the original wall fortification is still present in some areas and we just happened to walk by, how cool! We then continued our walk to the Cardinal Lemoine station and took line 10 (Gare d’Austerlitz) to Gare d’Austerlitz and transferred to line 5 (Bobigny), exiting at Bastille.
Source: https://www.saintetiennedumont.fr/en
Place de Vosges:
Check out Emily’s blog for this entry at. https://thepariscollective.tumblr.com/tagged/scavengerhunt!
After exploring Place de Vosges, we walked to the Chemin Vert Station and took line 8 (Balard) to Republique and transferred to line 3 (Galleieni) and got off at Porte de Bagnolet.
Place Edith Piaf:
I was surprised because we popped out of the underground Metro station into a market and the statue of Edith Piaf was on our right. Emily has the entry for this site too! We enjoyed a walk through the market before embarking to our next site, which was the one we knew the least about. We went to the Gambetta station and took line 3 (Levallois) to Pere Lachaise, then transferred to line 2 (Porte Dauphine) and got off at Belleville.
Temple of Sibyl, Parc des Buttes Chaumont:
We found the Parc des Buttes Chaumont easily In our Paris Pratique, but the Temple of Sibyl wasn’t labeled so we ended up looking it up in our Michelin guide while on the Metro and finding a map of the entire Parc. It was quite a hike to find this site (which makes sense because the 19this near Montmatre) and it was definitely not a tourist area so it wasn’t labeled from the streets. I think this may have been my favorite site we visited. In 1860, Napoleon III integrated the areas surrounding the park into the city, creating a need to make these areas “Parisian.” Haussmann played a role in the installation of this park, a large English-style park, along with the Bois de Boulogne and the Bois de Vincenne. Adolphe Alphand created this park by buying 25 hectagres of the Buttes Chaumont. Originally this had been quarries, but they were abandoned in the mid 1800s. It was a three year process to form the park from construction of artificial cliffs (the one in the lake where the temple is located is the most prominent) to digging trails both steep and flat to planting new species. The lake was created by using a local water tank. The park was inaugurated with the Universal Exhibition of 1867, when Napoleon III wanted to show off his newly Haussmannized capital. I would love to go back and explore this park when I have more time because it looked like there was lots of trails and different paths to explore. Emily has a little more about the Temple of Sibyl on her blog if you would like to read more about that. We hopped on the 7b (Pre-St.-Gervais) and got off at Place des Fetes, then got on line 11 (Chatlet) to Arts et Metiers, and then line 3 (Levallois) to Bourse.
Source: https://www.histoires-de-paris.fr/parc-buttes-chaumont/
Galerie Vivienne:
I knew from our assignment sheet that this was a covered passage, but as we stepped into it, it was much more extravagant than I expected. It felt like I was in a department store because the ornamentation of the ceiling or the glass roof and the detailed floor felt too special to just be a street passage. It was built in 1823 and now houses a cute bookstore, boutiques of various kinds, food shops, and probably more that we didn’t see because the spectacle of the passage itself was so beautiful. We walked through it and on to Rue Etienne Marcel to find our next site.
Source: https://en.parisinfo.com/paris-museum-monument/100272/Galerie-Vivienne
Rue Jean-Jacques-Rousseau:
This is the street our group was named after! Check our Emily’s blog to understand it’s importance. We walked from here to the nearby Etienne Marcel Metro stop. We got on line 4 (Cligancourt) to Strasbourg-St. Denis and transferred to line 8 (Balard) for the Madeleine stop.
On the steps of the La Madeleine, Place de la Madeleine:
You would think finding the front of the church would be easy, but it turns out we got turned around. We got out of the Metro and went towards the back of the church, and got super confused because it was locked. Not to mention, it was under construction, so that might also have added to the confusion of where the front was and it also doesn’t look like other churches in Paris, so we were a little shocked by that. Don’t worry though, we wandered around the place and found the front steps of the church. After looking into this place later, it is now well known for the little cookie/cakes that Marcel Proust made famous, but there is a deep history of the church. The church is situated between Place de la Concorde and the Palais Garnier. It is different than a religious building because Napoleon wanted it to be a pantheon to honor his armies. The iconic Corinthian colomns were under construction, but we still got to see some of them. We also saw many signs for concerts, which the church hosts regularly. From here we walked to our last location. We followed Rue Torchet towards Printemps and then Rue de Havre straight to the station.
Sources: https://en.parisinfo.com/transport/73127/Place-de-la-Madeleine,https://en.parisinfo.com/paris-museum-monument/71158/Eglise-de-la-Madeleine
Gare St. Lazare:
Emily wrote about this site too, but I want to mention how modernized this building was. I expected it to be more like what Monet painted, yet instead, it felt more like a mall. We had a hard time getting a picture inside of ourselves without it looking like a mall, so we took a few pictures inside and headed outside to get our selfie with the iconic sign.
Whew! That was a lot! We started at 8am and got done early (noon) before we had to be at our professors’ apartment at 2pm. Since we had time, we decided to pull up Dr. Janes’ food recommendations list and found Cosi, a sandwich shop in the 6th. It was fun to celebrate completing our exam with some delicious sandwiches. Then, we went to our professors’ apartment for a delicious spread and to work on our blog posts. I want to go back to so many of these places because we were on such a timed schedule today! I look forward to revisiting these places someday and knowing the history of them because I took an exam by finding them. This class was such a cool experience I never imagined myself doing after finishing my first year of college, but I’m so glad I did. My professors are absolutely amazing and I’m so grateful for them. They’ve given us such great guidance and tours at places around the city, but also the independence to wander and explore. I will never forget this trip and it was such a fun way to wrap it up with a whirlwind scavenger hunt of such a beautiful city.
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10 Figure Skating programs I love
With the FS off-season--and all related drama revelations--in full bloom, what better time to look back on beloved programs new and old.
Here are ten outstanding pieces (singles disciplines only) from the last couple of seasons that I managed to find online. I feel a bit guilty about not having put in Marin’s Romeo & Juliet. :(
10. Wakaba Higuchi - Skyfall (FS)
youtube
The best FS performance of the 2018 Worlds! I must admit I wasn’t a big Wakaba fan until this season. In my prejudiced view, I considered her too rough around the edges. Then she rolled out this season’s programs and I was sold. What’s more, she owned her FS - a mix of Bond music including Adele’s Skyfall - more than any other of her competitors. From her sleek dress to her cool final spin, Wakaba makes a case for a Bond girl movie starring her. And if her electrifying performance is any indication, it’ll be one to remember. The choreography unleashes all her power while funneling it in purposeful and creative ways, never letting the tension disperse. The crazy fast 3Lz3T may be her main weapon, but it’s the step sequence that steals the show.
9. Patrick Chan - Dear Prudence/Blackbird (SP)
I couldn’t skip over Patrick, our newly retired King of Skating Skills. Dear Prudence/Blackbird by The Beatles signaled his last great season and a return to form. A very good return, despite his jump ailments. If anyone can measure up to 60s pop rock, it’s Patrick with his effortless, flowing, confident skating. His classic elegance and somewhat old-fashion charm seem to recall a bygone idyllic spring. These are songs about inner awakening and struggles; about finding a place you belong. They seem to reflect Parick’s journey to reinvent himself. At the same time, Dear Prudence is about the beauty of nature: "The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful,” and it’s the pure feeling of connection to the music that stays with you.
8. Javier Fernandez - Malagueña (SP)
Another great skater on his way out. Coming into Helsinki as the defending World champion, Javier managed to skate this short program cleanly in its two-quad glory. For me this is his finest, most sophisticated SP to date. (I welcome the absence of comical elements.) Certain programs can only be performed to their fullest potential when given another season to grow, and Malagueña is a perfect example. It’s all about getting into character, making every movement count. Obviously, having Javier perform the flamenco - choreographed by a Spanish ballet director - and go the extra mile on every element really adds to the authenticity of the program. His effortless skating is just a rung below Patrick and Yuzuru. This is what an energetic and mesmerizing skate looks like!
7. Mao Asada - Ritual Fire Dance (SP/FS)
youtube
If Mao can’t make you love figure skating nobody can. All my favorite skaters use their bodies as silent musical instruments and Mao is the leader of the pack. Her musicality, arm movements, footwork, versatility, attention to choreography and emotional projection are absolutely unmatched. In what turned out to be her swan song, all her best qualities shine through. Portraying a mysterious black bird, Mao transformed the piano version of Manuel de Falla’s ballet with her charismatic, soft interpretation. Every step and turn, every detail of the performance appears uninhibited yet polished. She has reached a level of fluidity and complexity where jump errors no longer detract from the overall quality. Also, I love the ponytail.
6. Boyang Jin - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (SP)
Boyang is one of my recent favs despite there being room for growth in his skating and other components. Beyond the excitement of watching a young skater evolve, I think he has great potential in every area and will just get better with time. His jumps are already prodigious, his performances iconic. Underlying this program is the idea to present a more complete (and serious) version of B for the Olympic season as well as blend in Chinese elements. Unfortunately I don’t think he got the recognition he deserved. Infused with the right mix of composure and energy, this is an atmospheric character-based program that wonderfully shows his refinements in interpretation and control of edges. That step sequence is *fire*.
5. Carolina Kostner - Ne Me Quitte Pas (SP)
A very sophisticated and adaptable lady. At 31 and having lived through many system changes, Caro brings new meaning to the word “veteran” in singles skating. She first hopped under the spotlight with her stunning jumps, but stayed on the stage until today thanks to her masterful skating prowess and evolving artistic “voice”. Her effortless glide and changes of speed/direction are done on the deepest of edges; her arms move like a painter’s brush. Every movement of hers is flowing, full of love for what she does. And rather than a competitive spirit, it’s the emotions and experience she brings to her performances that keep her in the sport. As Lori Nichol said, this short program allowed Caro to be the athletic and sensual woman that she is.
4. Yuzuru Hanyu - Ballade No.1 in G minor 3.0 :) (SP)
youtube
Yuzuru knows how to start off the Olympic season with a bang: breaking his own WR in his first performance at the Autumn Classic. A horifically difficult piano composition, Chopin’s Ballade No.1, with its dramatic chords, abstract motifs, dynamic rhythm and interwoven themes running from subtle to stormy, seems to fit our agile FS King like an elegant glove. Over the years, Yuzuru gave us not less than three different and perhaps equally iconic interpretations of Chopin’s favorite music. This particular one is all about the aura and intricate details. Every element is blended with the music. The final jump combo comes out of nowhere. This emotional peak then transitions into the StSq which is majestic in its smoothness; it rumbles and flows together with the fiery chords running down the keyboard. All doubts are resolved yet the mystery persists. Nothing can be added or taken away--this is perfection.
3. Satoko Miyahara - Madame Butterfly & The Planets/Princess Leia (FS)
I adore Satoko’s skating, despite her imperfections (read: jumps). The world needs skaters like her, whose elegance, musical flow, precision, and subtle presentation touch your heart. Her body lines and layback spin are gorgeous; her multidirectional skating effortless. (That reverse Walley into the Salchow!) Satoko is a strong character performer. I loved her Goddess/Princess Leia FS from 2016/17, how original the choreography was and how engaged and fast Satoko seemed. It’s such a difficult piece to skate to yet she managed to showcase different sides to her. This year’s M Butterfly was, given the circumstances, a safer skate, but her emotional projection only increased. Her showing at the JNats was the finest in that regard. Butterfly’s anguish and suicide seem to become Satoko’s own struggle with her injuries. But the piece ends with a spin to the dreamlike yearning of Un bel di vedremo, as if we’re witnessing both Butterfly and Satoko’s rebirth.
2. Kaetlyn Osmond - Edith Piaf (SP)
IMO, to her belong the two best ladies’ performances of the 2018 Olympics. With Edith Piaf Kaetlyn has finally found an iconic short program! You can tell when a skater is truly feeling the music and looking happy while on the ice, and this program has accomplished just that for K. We meet a French young lady, sauntering down the streets of Paris, wanting to be noticed by someone special. Accompanying her is the voice of Edith Piaf, who sings Sous Le Ciel de Paris and Milord. The program has it all: purposeful choreography, powerful skating, sensitive interpretation of music, ease of movement, the speed going into her huge jumps. Her outgoing character just floats up so naturally. Thanks to her charm, K could indeed give Cotillard a run for her money.
1. Yuzuru Hanyu - Hope & Legacy (FS)
During the 2017 Worlds, Max Ambesi proclaimed this as Hanyu’s best skate, and also the best skate in history. I couldn’t agree more, even if everyone has their own favs. It was an inconsistent season before Hanyu had surpassed himself to skate clean a program massive in ambition and complex in expression. It was as if he’d become an ethereal nature spirit. He was the air, wind and water contained within the melody. He made himself appear weightless and effortless on the ice, seemingly not needing any strength to execute any of the elements. A dreamlike aura surrounded him. I just love how the program highlights his natural musicality and attention to detail. My favorite part: the serene StSq followed by the 3F as the music rises.
Bonus: Alena Kostornaia - Stella’s Theme (FS)
What a talented Junior we have! In her first international season Alena has shown she has nothing to fear from the Seniors. Her charisma, skating skills, and arm movements are those of a fairy. Her jumps are spiced up with steps/transitions. Her spins sizzle with creativity. Nothing feels rushed or incomplete. I challenge anyone to watch her lyrical, immersive performances and experience “backloading” done right. :)
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The queer community shine the brightest in Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga’s astonishing remake of A Star is Born
★★★★★
This unlikely duo transform a classic tale of love and loss into a contemporary commentary of acceptance.
There’s a reason why this film has been re-made four times. A Star is Born is a heartbreakingly honest depiction of the fight for approval and the road to success. But, it is the inclusion of the LGBTQ community in this rendition of the film which truly dazzles.
Bradley Cooper plays Jackson Maine, a long-haired, gin-soaked rock star struggling to cope with his fame and addiction. He first meets Lady Gaga’s character Ally as he staggers into a drag-bar; desperate for another drink. As a former waitress at the club, Ally performs once a week and it is whilst she belts out Edith Piaf's ‘La Vie en Rose’ that a star is born for the first time.
Having established herself as a gay icon, Lady Gaga uses her big screen debut to pay homage to her dedicated queer fanbase. Gaga’s message has given her LGBTQ fans hope for over a decade; and like many of these fans, Ally too longs for acceptance. Scorned for the way she looks and told she’ll never make it, Ally is close to giving up on her dreams until Jackson stumbles into her world.
Making his directorial debut, Cooper allows for mainstream exposure to drag culture. RuPaul's Drag Race stars Shangela and Willam provide one of the most hilarious and poignant scenes. Resting on a bar stool in front of the flamboyant women, Jackson, an overtly masculine character, croons ‘Maybe it's time to let the old ways die’. Any prejudices audiences may have believed Jackson to have are diminished; allowing all forms of masculinity to exist.
Despite its Hollywood blockbuster feel, this movie is far from shallow. The one thing soaring above the enchanting soundtrack and the booming Oscar buzz, is the jubilant celebration of the queer community and all that it stands for.
A Star is Born is in cinemas now.
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