#jazz piano method

[ajrdileva]

Jazz Piano for Beginners: Play "All Of You" with Rootless Chords. Tutorial

Jazz pianists often use rootless voicings to create a more open and modern sound. These voicings allow for greater flexibility in the left hand, while the right hand can play the melody or improvisation. In this tutorial, we’ll show you how to play “All Of You” using rootless voicings, and how to apply the same techniques to any other jazz standard. What you’ll learn in this tutorial First,…

[guitarguitarworld]

Free Messiaen Modes E-Book Download

Hi Guys, I made an E Book from the collected webpages and blogs from this website that wasn’t needed in the end. So, Rather than delete it I have posted it here for anyone who might be interested or find it of use: FREE DOWNLOAD: Messiaen Modes E-BookDownload If this was of use then please Subscribe to us on Youtube below, Thanks!

[orchidyoonkook]

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

���Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[gowns]

lately i have been

watching movies

reading books

practicing piano

taking long walks

being more methodical with my bedtime routine**

writing and outlining more regularly

and just generally repairing my attention span*. it's possible

the trick is to look for stretches of time where you can get it. i don't know how else to describe it tbh. and it sounds like nonsensical common sense. i guess it's like... find the tiniest stretches of time where you can't do anything else, and those are the times when you can be on your phone.

e.g. say i'm waiting for coffee to boil, about 1-2 minutes. i can't practice piano in that time, but i can check my email or instagram or whatever. but then, let's say i look at the clock, and there's nothing in particular to do for the next 20 minutes... well surely, i can practice a two page piano piece in that time. or at the very least do some scales or chords. or let's say i've just been tapping away at my work on my computer for an hour or two, it's a good time to get up and take a walk outside, or switch to paper (reading / writing). haha i know this is advice we've all heard before.

i guess like, one of my main downfalls is repeatedly checking my phone because i think a magic email or text will arrive. eventually i had to come to terms with the fact that this magic message will never arrive. and if i do have an important message, chances are i can answer it around 9am or 2pm, something like that. and if i'm checking my phone at 11pm what can i actually do about it? am i even in my right mind to do something about it?

--

*ed. note - yes i have read the things critical of the concept of "attention span" and well even if it's a fake concept let's say i struggle from a lack of this fake concept, shall we say... pathologically so...

**methodical bedtime routine: 9-10pm is ME TIME underlined three times, this is the time to watch something on TV, fuck around online, read a book, eat a popsicle, whatever. don't half ass the "me time," really go for it. if i'm half-working half-relaxing then i don't feel all the way relaxed, then i'm tempted to "steal" time back for myself post 11pm when i should be in bed.

anyway, sometime between 10-10:30pm: shower or bath, take melatonin if no sleep the night before, use water pick floss, wash face, moisturize, pajamas, drink water, brush teeth with nha toothpaste, duolingo, write in journal (if i have energy) / read book (if i have lower energy) / get in a last gasp of mindless scrolling if my energy is in the negative. last steps: turn on jazz in the rain playlist*** with a sleep timer of 30 minutes, turn off light

***somehow i pavlov-ed myself with this playlist and 5 out of 6 nights this will put me right to sleep like a bird with a blanket on its cage

[berriblossom]

Wriothesley x Fem reader!|@sparklycupcake56

It was a late evening within the fortress of Meropide. The small sounds of water dripping down the pipes, the echoes of random clinks, and clacks within the large halls of the metal prison.

However, within the warm and not often cozy office of the warden, the formidable and somewhat cold Duke of the hollow fortress.

Was light jazz. And soft piano? What could be going on?

Giggles and chuckles of laughter circle around the room as Wriothesley held your warm hand in his calloused and rougher one, your head leaning onto his strong chest, and his head resting a top if yours.

The Duke often held these warm and tender moments whenever he knows no one will interrupt or ruin the moment. However today he happily accepted your request to dance with him.

"Pleeeassse! You've been sitting down all day! One itty bitty dance won't kill you!" You whined beside him as he calmly drank his leftover tea. From the outside it looks frankly like he is flat out ignoring you, but behind the rim of the teacup he held, a small smile adorned his face. Wriothesley would never admit how cute you were when you nagged him about taking breaks, no matter how creative the method to get him away from his work for even 5 minutes you'll take it.

"And what dance did you have to think of darling? I think for how ling you've mnow me [name] I'm not a huge fan of dancing, especially somehwere like here." Not that anyone woukd interrupt the Duke and his beloved, but Wriothesley still didn't want to run such a risk. [Not like he hasn't before]

However after a few more minutes of begging him to get up from that possibly uncomfortable chair, he finally gave in and joined you in a small slow waltz for a moment. The somberness of the music and the gentle way he held you close to him.

Wriothesley pressed soft and tender kisses to your hair, his other hand holding your waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumb against the cloth of your uniform.

"I'm so lucky to have you darling, so lucky." You glanced uo to see his eyes, icey blue eyes that held nothing but warmth within them. The music softly quieted and came to a close. But Wriothesley still held onto you, swaying with you in a rhythm only in his head. Slow deep hums vibrate out of his chest, feeling his lips curl into s smile against your forehead. He pressed soft kisses onto your face, giggles and laughter sounded through the room.

After you little slow dance, You sat on the couch with Wrio, having a cup of tea as he rested his head on your plump thighs, his hands squeezing the plush of your thights a little as he laid against them. Even when you beg him to stop due to your ticklish nature, he only kept at it by placing small ghost-like kisses and tapping his fingers away at the soft skin on your legs.

Even though you couldn't really see the stars from Meropide, Wriothesley was okay with just staring at you for now. No matter the time, its always a perfect site.

"Ahaha! Okay! Okay! I'll let you back to work or I'll tell Miss Sigewinne to make you a special milkshake!"

This was supposed to go out last week however, i had school, work and had to attend a ceremony for a family friend! Sorry for y lateness hopefully my time blindness will widdle away soon!

[pianistbynight]

hi! ~a belated studyblr intro~

just realized i never did a proper intro for this blog!

so, hello, i've been flip flopping between taking lessons and self-studying piano for several years and this blog was (and still is) intended to be a studyblr to track my progress.

i'm currently self-studying as my time is split between this and STEM studies (more on that on my side blog @studentbyday) but i really really hope to finally establish a consistent practice (after struggling to do so for many years 😅) so i know i will be able to handle weekly lessons again 😤

🎓 goals for piano/music studies:

enjoy playing music (including without headphones)

establish sustainable routines so i can practice piano every day or at least every week

get over stage fright and paralyzing perfectionism

improve my sight reading

motivate myself to learn more music theory and use it to analyze my favorite songs

find fellow music enthusiasts on tumblr!

ultimately play piano at an LRCM level 🙈 (as of 2024, i am currently L6-7 in baroque/classical, L8-9 for romantic...yeah, kind of all over the place since I've been treating this very informally over the years and keep taking hiatuses lol)

💗 interests/inspirations:

classical music (my favorite composer is chopin but beethoven is a close second)

jazz

your lie in april (i read the manga online and really really wanna see the anime!)

Tiffany Poon and Animenz's playing

🎹 accumulated study tips: resources, practice strategies, coming back after hiatus, hand independence and method books

[hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog]

Okay Radio Guard Charlie deep dive written by a tired, about to pass out college student, wooo.

So this is probs gonna be long so fair warning.

To start off, Charlie, canonically in Radio Guard, barely remembers her mom (yes I am going down the super angsty route since I like to torment myself and it adds extra angst drama flare). As a trade off, Charlie has a better relationship with Lucifer so compared to other Charlies probably.

That said, it did take awhile for Lucifer to come back into the picture, so for a good while, Alastor was her sole caretaker. Like mentioned in a previous ask/lore dump, Alastor was there for a lot of core memories. And because of that, Alastor did influence a lot. Besides the stuff I mentioned before, Charlie grew up learning to play the piano. She also grew up listening to Alastor's radio show, a lot (due to a headcanon that, by Lucifer's permission or not, a study was transformed into Alastor's own personal radio studio in the castle so he could keep an eye on Charlie easier). Because of the radio show, she grew up hearing stories of Alastor's past and what he did, although she only got the full picture when she got older and Alastor felt comfortable sharing the full stories with her (graphic details and all, only if she said she could stomach them). One of the many fond memories Charlie has is falling asleep in Alastor's arms while he was doing a radio show when she was still young and waking up briefly, barely half awake, to hear Alastor speak without his radio filter and how calming and kind it sounded (she also remembers how tired he sounded but how warm his smile was. And while she knows Alastor will deny it, she vaguely remembers Alastor kissing the top of her head like how a father would with his child when she was drifting back to sleep).

Charlie personality wise is pretty much the same. She is still bubbly and happy, but not as naive as her canon self. I think, again with Alastor influence (with some of Lucifer's influence too), I think Charlie knows there are some sinners out there who just, cannot be redeemed to save their lives. It was a hard lesson for her but it was a lesson she needed to learn. I also think in a weird way, Alastor's weird sense of justice probably rubbed off onto Charlie. She doesn't agree with his methods (i.e brutally killing, torturing, and broadcasting a sinner's screams on his show), but like she gets why he does the things he does too. But even then, she still asks him to go easy on people and try to be open-minded (fun fact: the ONLY reason Alastor didn't snap Radio Guard!Vox like a twig in a blind rage when they reunited was because of Charlie asking Alastor to not hurt him and to give him a chance. That is mainly because Charlie was very in the dark about Alastor and Vox's relationship prior, but even if she knew, she would still ask Alastor to give Vox a chance since Vox didn't seem so bad).

Other stuff to note and add to! Like mentioned in a previous ask/lore dump, Charlie knows old songs. The three she remembers the most is: Daisy Bell, The Teddy Bear’s Picnic and Tiptoe Through the Tulips. Daisy Bell is kind of more angsty reason (i.e, it's a song she always heard Alastor sing but never got why he sang it until one day in the hotel she overheard Vox singing a few of the lyrics to himself). She has a record player where she plays a lot of old music or jazz. She does actually have a radio, it's a small little portable one, that is more of a 1940s model then 20s or 30s (she saw it in the window of a store one day and begged Alastor to get it for her when they were going on a walk). For a good bit of time, growing up, she spoke solely in 1920s to 1930s slang. Alastor found it funny, Husk did not. They begged her stop though when she kept demanding giggle juice, as giggle juice is booze and she thought it was just juice that made you happy. (Alastor voice: It does but you are like 9, so, you cant have it. /j).

As for clothing style, if you remember her pilot outfit, the one with the suspenders and that is black and white. Yeah that is just her canon outfit now. She wears a lot of suspenders and more masc 1920s clothing. Alastor helped her pick out the clothes when she asked if she could wear clothes similar to his era and he was happy to help (and he will deny he cried tears of joy, no rosie, you have no photo evidence of that, what do you mean?). She even has a cute little news boy cap to match her outfit! I also think Radio Guard Charlie's hair is either shorter or always in a updo, like a messy bun!

(and smacking this near the end, while writing this, i took a small break and got notified of the fic with radio guard alastor and just, chef's kiss, I love it. 10 out of 10 fanfic anon!)

-⚔️ anon

LORE LORE LORE

Alastor's comment on the "giggle juice" had me laughing for several minutes ngl. I love love love the outfit you've come up with for her too

[toreadorcaretaker]

OHHHH ROSAIREEEE‼️‼️‼️‼️

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional?

🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy?

YAAAAY let's goooooo!!

౨ৎ˚₊ ♡︎ Rosaire/Rosalee Rivest ♡︎₊ ˚౨ৎ

🎶 Rosalee's music tastes have developed a lot over the years because music is a big part of her skill set and she wants to stay up-to-date. She started out liking classical piano pieces, dabbled in opera for a while, then became interested in jazz and blues during the mid 1900s, and most recently she also got into goth (Clement is going to be so excited hehe!) Overall, she gravitates towards soft, contemplative, sort of ethereal music. Even the goth stuff that she likes is that way - think Cocteau Twins.

🖤 Yes, he's killed a fair amount of people, unfortunately. But they were all in self-defense or out of desperation in some way. When he was openly performing, he had to deal with obsessive fans and ummm...tended not to be particularly merciful. And after being on the run, he had to retaliate whenever someone learned too much or threatened to expose him.

As far as heartbreak, well...Clarette. Though it was arguably not his decision to break up. He has also broken the hearts of many fans. He very rarely breaks promises, though. He's never betrayed a friend.

🧐 She's super logical! Fear is really her main emotional weakness - she can't help making emotional decisions when panicking. But when she's calm, she thinks methodically and tends not to make impulsive decisions. She weighs pros and cons and tends to make backup plans.

🤓 Rosaire is quite shy. He's anxious in crowds and mostly stays silent around new people, just asking a few short but insightful questions and allowing them to talk. But because of this, he's known as a good listener and other people feel at ease around him.

[graceshouldwrite]

How to Write Musicians

I hope that this post is helpful for anyone who's writing musician characters! As a musician myself, I love reading about them and definitely encourage people to write them, so much so that I'm actually considering adding instruments like violin or piano into my fantasy world...

1. Determine what type of musician you're writing about

The most typical character that comes to mind is probably the instrument performer, but musicians come in all shapes. Composers, conductors, accompanists, recording artists, etc. etc., do research on what YOUR specific musician character is.

Genre is also an important consideration. A classical musician, rock musician, or jazz musician will probably each have a different approach when it comes to things like:

practicing

performing

attire

friend circles

thought and composition processes

Each musician will probably differ in all the aspects listed above depending on what instrument they play, as well.

Finally, think personal. Musicians, like anyone else, will also have varying goals depending on their personalities. For example, a more shy person might naturally gravitate towards composing offstage, while a spotlight lover could enjoy performing. Or, a fame-driven person might dream of making it on Broadway, while a more modest one aspires to teach music instead.

2. Don't forget to spend time BTS

If you're writing a pro/aspiring pro musician, they will—or should—spend a ridiculous amount of time practicing!

Lots of media like to glorify only the moments onstage. The characters bask in the spotlight and wear fancy clothes and get roses thrown at them, but that's the product of lots of sweating offstage.

Depending on skill and performance level, most professional musicians often practice anywhere from 3-8 hours a day (with many falling in the 4-5 hour range), which is a lot of work. So, dedicate more time featuring the actual practicing, rather than just the performances, or at least have your musician characters MENTION the practicing instead of everyone being a flawlessly sight-reading/photographically memorizing child prodigy.

Writing practice scenes can also be excellent characterization—for example, you can show their patience level in how much they might rage over mistakes, or how perfectionistic they are if they obsessively repeat measures over and over again until they sound flawless.

3. Research their instrument

All instruments have different mechanics and terminology, so do proper research regarding what they're playing.

You may write your character spending time on instrument maintenance; if I were to write about a wind player, for example, I'd have to do a lot of research on things like cleaning a mouthpiece or tightening the joints (I'm just a piano player!).

4. Use specific descriptors

Much like how certain writers use art-specific terms to describe things when writing an artist character's POV, or someone in any other specific discipline, emphasize music's connection to the character's life by using some music terms.

For example, a musician has a higher chance of describing sounds as "percussive" or a "crescendo" than, say, a person who's worked at a blacksmith their entire life.

Don't try to shoehorn in a music term every line, though—like anything else, it'll get overbearing and unnecessary. Be subtle about it! Try to find words that CONNOTE music, but are still generally used outside of it (like "lyrical," or "rhythmic").

5. Read about the lives of actual musicians, current or historical

Like anyone else, each musician can lead a very different life. For example, there were widely celebrated, famous musicians like Liszt, existing in the same era as musicians living in general poverty like Schubert.

With different personalities, writers could also explore various compositional methods and performance stances. Some people like Liszt valued virtuosic playing, sweeping sounds, and impressive, flashy performances, while others like Clara Schumann detested this emphasis on virtuosity and valued simplicity.

Other musicians like Bach or Wagner wrote for greater causes, such as religion or nationalism, respectively. More interesting angles could be taken regarding the musicians composition methods, like Berlioz, who wrote a symphony inspired by unrequited love and insane opium trips.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

Let's ignore this random months-long hiatus! Life updates on the gram, soon...

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated :)

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

[askfletch]

Asks Open!!

Status: At my desk- active

Note: {nothing yet}

———————————————————-

Please read before interacting!!

TW: mentions of violence, profanity, abuse, internalized ableism

Will answer some nsfw questions but DON'T make it weird and DON’T push it!

Willing to converse with other rp accounts, especially whiplash rp accounts!

——————————————————-

Bio/Story:

Terence Fletcher is a middle aged jazz big band professor at the prestigious Schaffer Conservatory in New York. His main instrument is the piano. He is narcissistic, manipulative, stand-offish, and, frankly, a real asshole. Fletcher’s goal is to shape the next “great” jazz musician of the 21st century, no matter the cost. Aside from his *delightful* personality, Fletcher is prone to throwing chairs and offensive quips alike to his students as a method of drawing out “greatness”. His most promising student, 19 year old drummer Andrew Neiman, is a particularly annoying thorn in his side, but he sees promise in him.

Internally, Fletcher is a bit of a recluse. He doesn’t like to interact with people when it isn’t business/music related. He has a few old friends and bandmates, but doesn’t keep anyone close. Possibly on the spectrum but absolutely refuses to admit it or get tested for it.

Fletcher has some skeletons in his closet, and there’s a soul inside him somewhere if you decide to dig deep enough ; )

Family:

Divorced. Has 1 adult daughter who he rarely sees. As a husband and father for a brief period, he wasn’t around much at all. His focus was (and still is) almost always on jazz, performing, teaching, and his quest to find the next jazz great.

Blog Tags:

# ask fletcher

# fletcher rp

# fletcher answers

[dustedmagazine]

Modney — Ascending Primes (Pyroclastic)

Ascending Primes is a number game. Violinist, composer and improviser Modney (née Josh Modney) grew its music from his ongoing interest in the intellectual logic and sensate satisfaction imparted by just intonation (hereafter referred to as JI), a tuning system that favors whole number ratios over the book-cooking compromises of the more widely known equal temperament, which has been the world’s tuning standard since that beautiful sound-culture neutralizer, the piano, made its way around the globe.

Modney found in JI a method that made sense of his instrument; it simply sounded better. But he hasn’t kept the pleasure to himself. The performance units he has assembled for this double album advance in steps dictated by the progression of prime numbers — one, three, five, seven and finally 11 players. His violin, sometimes amplified, is the only instrument to appear in every aggregation. As the ensembles expand and change, so does the music. It is never simple, but neither is it cluttered or unnecessarily busy. Playing alone, the sound of each of Modney’s violin string leaps out, illuminated by the overtones that JI enables and coarsened by liberally applied distortion.

The smaller line-ups are non-standard but exemplify the chamber music aesthetic of exposed interaction between players. At different points Sam Pluta’s electronics and Cory Smythe’s JI-tuned piano disrupt the flow. But as the ensemble’s increase in size and diversity of instrumentation, jazz elements creep in. Ben Lamar Gay’s puckering cornet and Charmaine Lee’s swooping voice adopt jazz-informed, solo voices within the septet, poised atop the multi-directional rhythms of Dan Peck’s tuba and Katie Gentile’s drums. The largest ensemble is also the most inclusive, marshalling hackle-raising strings, gut-rumbling horns, rhythm-opposing clusters, angelic/demonic vocal exchanges and straight-up noise into a sequence of events that seem to be pushing against implacable time-keeping.

There’s a lot of JI music, especially that made by string players, that seems to treat tuning system’s sonorities as ends in themselves, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But Modney has taken another tack. Like Anna Webber, who appears in the largest ensemble, he puts the sounds to work alongside the genre elements to create music that is stylistically unlimited and viscerally affecting.

Bill Meyer

[mywifeleftme]

196: Earth // The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull

The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull Earth 2008, Southern Lord (Bandcamp)

The most money I’ve ever spent on a vinyl record is on the stupid fucking quadruple LP Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness boxed set, but that was only because I allegedly scuffed the first track on the first side of LP1 of my friend’s copy while putting it away at a party, so I had to buy him a replacement and got his old dinged one—but I’ll write about that another time. The most money I’ve ever spent on a vinyl record I wanted was on Earth’s The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull, and specifically on one of the editions bound in faux Bible leather that Southern Lord reissues from time to time. From the first time I heard the record back in 2008, from the first time I read the title really, Bees has held a strange fascination for me. Despite being a broke college kid, I ordered a Bees Made Honey hoodie using my first credit card and hemmed and hawed over whether to snag the leather record, though I didn’t even know how to use a turntable. I didn’t end up actually scoring a copy till more than a decade later, by which time I’d already pretty well carved the thing’s grooves so deep in my brain I didn’t need to listen anymore to hear its contents.

The inner sleeve.

Still, there’s the pleasure of handling it, opening up the gatefold and reading the hoary language in elaborately-filigreed gold text:

“from strength sweetness from darkness light the bees made honey in the lion’s skull”

A1. Omens and Portents 1: The Driver A2: Rise to Glory B3: Miami Morning Coming Down II (Shine) B4. Engine of Ruin C5: Omens and Portents II: Carrion Crow C6: Hung from the Moon D7: The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull D8: Junkyard Priest

I grew up just religious enough to really fear God and love His language, especially as filtered through all the fantastical art that’s borrowed the diction of the King James Version to command a sense of gravitas. It’s a tone of voice that still compels me, and it’s the perfect dressing for this era of Earth’s looming, desertified music. Starting with 2005’s comeback Hex; or Printing in the Infernal Method, Earth has been working on a form of Western-inspired instrumental post-rock that looks to the Bible and fire-and-brimstone writers like Cormac McCarthy for words to match the weathered lurch of Dylan Carlson’s lithic guitar. Bees continues this direction, and it’s broadly considered the best of the band’s later efforts: something elemental captured in the songs; extra pristine production; sterling contributions from Steve Moore on a variety of pianos and organs, plus famed jazz guitarist Bill Frisell; and above all the languid pulse of drummer Adrienne Davies, the sheer weight of her pauses (best exemplified on the title track).

When Davies joined the band in 2002, she became the long-term musical partner Carlson had never really had, and her playing has become as distinctive a signature of Earth’s sound as his. In the exhaustive 2023 documentary Even Hell Has Its Heroes, her interview is the most enlightening from a musical perspective. An amateur when she began casually jamming with Carlson, she soon found that all of the drumming instructors and guides she consulted emphasized focusing on how to refine the angles of her playing, minimizing the time and effort required to play a beat. But for Davies, playing in a band whose rhythm swells and resides like the breathing of a massive steer, this advice ran counter: her arms wave in slow, swooping arcs, drawing out the tempo in the air before falling into the drums, letting gravity provide the consequential force.

Despite the band’s mugshot stares and stupendous volume, that signal phrase holds: “from strength sweetness / from darkness light.” There’s no violence in this songs, only some obdurate quality of endurance; no aggression, only flickers of the transcendent among the amps. That’s the notion embedded in its title, a nourishing work transpiring within sinister ruins.

196/365

[vyl3tpwny]

I've been wanting to learn how to play piano but I have absolutely no idea where to start. Do you have any tips for this?

i never had lessons and have no idea how to actually play piano properly no matter how good it MIGHT seem i am at it. i just play by ear so i dont rlly know whats happening LOL.

best advice i can give is learn how to play fifth chords. pick any note on a keyboard and then whatever note is 7 semitones (keys, including the black ones) up from it, add that. play both notes at the same time and that's a fifth chord. then experiment with adding a note in the middle of those two notes. play around and see how each combination feels. once you've gotten that down, move the notes up and down octaves. say you have a fifth minor chord, ADD the lowest note of that (root note) and move it to the lower octave (12 semitones down). that adds a lot of extra fullness to it because you're enforcing the chord with a bass note essentially.

once you have a good idea on how to play chords using this method, you can start to experiment with putting chords together in sequence, i.e; a progression. there really aren't any rules for any of this, but there are lots of progressions and chord pairings that obviously work for different contexts. just play around by choosing one chord and then finding a chord that should come next. play them in sequence and see how it makes you feel. then choose another one to add on. and so forth.

once you have some experience making progressions, you can start to get more noodly and fiddly with your progressions. that chord you're playing, instead of playing it as one sustained thing, dance your fingers around and see about making those chords move around within their legal notes. add that to whenever you play out a progression.

this is pretty much how i learned how to play piano i taught myself by ear and have no formal training and i dont even know that much traditional 'music theory' aside from some otherwise necessary terminology. i even decided to just pretend i knew how to play jazz piano at one point by playing big complex chords even if they sounded wrong or dissonant. eventually, i developed a muscle memory for things that sounded good and can somehow play some reasonable jazz piano now i guess. trial and error, fake it till you make it really.

heres a video i put up on twitter a few days ago of my own piano playing. again, no formal training, entirely self taught. my advice is probably super ill informed and a very incorrect method to learning piano but it worked for me i think. even if it isn't everything you personally need to learn, maybe it's a cool jumping off point idk. thanks for asking!

[qutemag]

The only problem with Babylon is Chazelle directed La La Land first -- an essay on La La Land and Babylon

by Benjamin Harkin

(Spoilers for both movies.)

Damien Chazelle is one of the most talented auteurs working today in Hollywood, and his two epics La La Land and Babylon are inverse meta mirrors Hollywood sees itself in and Chazelle interrogates the nature of the industry with a beautiful sense of composition, acting, scripting, and music. He recalls the classic Golden Ages where Hollywood is wistfully looked back on and punctures these periods where other directors of similar stature at their time in their careers tried and failed. Babylon should have been THE movie of 2022 into 2023, sabotaged only by a botched ad campaign and a sense that it wasn't another uplifting light movie like La La Land that everyone expected.

Take La La Land. Although set in modern day, the film is obviously a pastiche and ode to the cheerfully innocent and brightly coloured world of the 50s and 60s spate of Hollywood big budget musicals about young love and finally making it in the big town, following your dreams and being rejected right up until you find yourself, the person you're meant to be with, and then seeing everything fall into place with your passions. Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) is a talented jazz piano player who is sick of marching to other people's drums. He diverts from the set list of his gig at a bar to play a melancholy but more tuneful song, leading to JK Simmons giving him the sack for his repeated impertinence, proving to be a pivotal moment when Mia (Emma Stone), a struggling up and coming actress who's spritely but can't quite land roles, bumps into him and looks to compliment him on the sheer artistry and vulnerability but he pushes past her, a Hollywood moment of meet cute that's tailor made to elicit a sweet moment. Their first date isn't told in flirty dialogue and smiles like a Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan rom-com, but purely in a song and tap dance number that channels Sinatra and Singin' in the Rain (1952), not as overdone and rigidly artificial as (500) Days of Summer's memorable break out of song but more a heartfelt melding of two people, realising they compliment each other against a scenic sunset perfectly.

The film effortlessly transitions in and out of song and dance numbers, each telegraphing where the two main characters are at in their lives, playing out character building scenes with music rather than words. Unlike Scorsese's flaming wreck of a passion project New York, New York (1977) that endeavoured to do the same sort of thing but got the cardinal rule of Hollywood musicals wrong: they can't be a downer. Chazelle covers the same material but ditches the abusive relationship angle that mucked up Scorsese's go for having between the musical numbers a wonderfully blossoming young love. This is a master at his craft firing on all cylinders. The party scene where she runs into him again is hilariously goofy, thoughtfully playful, and the camera tracks across everything going on and Mia's POV with a zest I've not seen from any other director. He gives the filmic electricity to let Emma Stone's bouncy acting and Ryan Gosling's smoldering nervous hot guy energy soar. Chazelle lets the camera roam free over his set pieces and its such an exhilaratingly unrestrained feeling that you can't help but be swept along.

Sebastian sells Mia on picking yourself up and following your dreams, and of course after he unloads on his love of jazz in a bar (winning her over on the genre as well) she of course starts getting call backs on her auditions. He's so thrilled after the date he wanders ponderingly along a beachside walkway and where any other two-bit director would have a silent scene of the waves methodically lapping and the protagonist deep in thought, Chazelle has Gosling whistle and play with a hat he spies on the ground, singing softly "city of stars, are you shining just for me?" in the fact he can't believe his luck, before taking the wife of an old couple passing by for a few dancing spins before moving on, the trace of a song done in what's both an understated way and faithful to the mood of that oft reused trope across romance movies of a protagonist staring into a public bench in contemplation of what could be.

Mia still flubs a few auditions but ducks out of some boring career networking dinner to find the one person she connects with and show him her passion -- cinema. They reunite when Sebastian thinks he's been stood up and goes into the movie anyway, and she walks in front of the screen and almost beckons him to join her in the movie onscreen as she walks to his seat and it moves swiftly to that classic shot of their fingers sliding together over their thighs, before the projector cutely goes on the fritz and they decide instead to reenact the scene portrayed in the movie they were just seeing and visit the observatory, sparks depicted as flying literally of a shot of a tesla coil shooting them out. They consummate their love in dancing into the stars of the observatory, the film breaking all reality with them floating up into the galaxy of the space observatory ceiling and they dance on the Milky Way briefly before coming back to the real, sitting in chairs making out.

The film then zips along all the familiar beats of these young love stories, with an extended cameo by John Legend to ruminate on the state of modern jazz thrown in for good measure. Sebastian and Mia start a scene bathed in bisexual lighting for no other reason than Chazelle is on his victory lap, then sit at a piano in Sebastian's cramped apartment and sing through the relationship.

Sebastian's music career goes on the up, his lame two key piano accompaniment for the big act to make a living no longer some hokey party band hire but John Legend's sold out rock band performances, the spotlight starting with him, then another on Mia so he can wink at her sitting in the audience that he's made it.

Cut to the fall season in Mia feeling left out with his career obligations. He makes an effort to win her over with an intimate dinner date but it proves a failure, Mia already is emotionally checked out underneath the familiar banter. The dinner becomes an uncomfortable truth when she confronts him on the fact he's in a steady ridiculously successful band career doing shit two key piano accompaniments for a rockstar. No better than when he was doing the trashy electronic keyboard at the party. Mia, despite all her career failings, remains true to her passion and Sebastian trades in his dream of owning a jazz club to follow the money. The dinner unceremoniously fails when Sebastian breaks any sense of politeness to take a shot at both Mia's failures in securing any acting roles and his belief rigidly pursuing her dreams has blinkered her to any chance at success, saying that she only liked him when he was down and out like her.

The movie goes the way you expect. At a photo shoot where Sebastian is expected to embrace his inner hated rockstar persona when asked to play something for a little flavour, he plays that same melancholy tune that got him booted from the jazz bar gig. He tries and tries to get Mia back but she's moved on.

The film balances an innocent sense of naivety with a bittersweet reverance as La La Land moves effortlessly to the climax of their time together. The film transcends reality once again and ends in a beautiful montage curving backwards on itself, running back all the memorable points of their relationship that could've gone wonderfully different with a swelling medley of song and dance set pieces. Their romance seen one final time through Hollywood's saccharine musical pomp. One final waltz and encore. A thoroughly Hollywood ending. The film of course was the talk of 2016 and an awards darling. Oscar bait at its finest.

Babylon is a similar structure and filmic style, only transplanted onto a film so radically different in tone, character, and outlook that you'd think someone attempted to recreate La La Land in hell and all they had was the putrid and terrifying scenes lying around them. The film is a three hour bravura tour de force of disgust, near constant nods to abuse and exploitation in Hollywood, and a thesis that with the transition from the silent era to sound, practically every actor, filmmaker, and crew member, was hung out to dry as Hollywood reinvented itself for new technology, and yet Babylon is still somehow also a celebration of cinema like La La Land if only by showing just how much blood, sweat and tears goes on behind the camera of that perfect shot. It's Fellini's 8½ with arthouse sensibilities substituted for too much cocaine and elephant scat play. In the film production moments you can see Chazelle like Fellini getting out his frustrations and reaching catharsis in throwing the curtain back on the downsides of filmmaking.

The film opens with an elephant shitting onto the camera, a too long and too uncomfortable moment almost telling the audience to abandon hope and turn this off barely minutes in. This moves to an utterly depraved Hollywood orgy of all kinds of unspeakable acts, some based in real stories of scandal. Fatty Arbuckle, the first in a long line of Hollywood players revealed to be utterly depraved people, has his scandal depicted here of what could've been some sort of sexual assault or a lethal case of peritonitis, the story nobody could quite figure (still opinion is firmly divided on what transpired, even now), despite multiple trials that resulted in a woman dying in a trashed hotel room, and his career the first in the industry to have to be properly amputated over alleged sexual misconduct, unable to make the comeback only because the whole incident ended up a gift to fatphobia and a fateful heart attack the day Hollywood signed him another contract. Babylon depicts this as her peeing on him and then OD'ing and he left bawling in the aftermath shaking her limp body like a toddler having had his toy broken from smashing it too hard against the ground. The executives stand over the dead woman and Fatty's pathetic display and decide to move the real life elephant (yes, the one who shat on you) crashing the party up from 4am to 2am to distract while they wheel out the corpse.

Oh there's still a jazz band in this one all right (not a Chazelle film if there's no jazz), playing in the middle of the debauched proceedings all African-Americans, seemingly the only ones there among a sea of white writhing bodies, playing some twisted version of the last salute to decency. Threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes, and the masses between people writhing in ungodly dance, mountains of cocaine for the people who start to lag, some guy bemoaning the fact he put an erratic chicken on too much coke and it has to be rescued, offhand mentions of pedophilia going on upstairs. Despite being about 100 years ago, not much has changed in Hollywood's dark corners.

Margot Robbie arrives as perhaps Emma Stone's shadow from the underworld, the complete loss of innocence after Mia actually having gotten parts and seen the inside of the industry rather than turned away every audition, abused and traumatised already so much before the movie begun that she enters the fray fooling the bouncer with a ridiculous stage name Nellie LaRoy as a vain and shallow attention-seeking hanger on, but her looks and scant dress, barely rags, wins over the rest as the life of the party, and her dream of living whatever heights of this twisted Hollywood life are realised on that fateful night. She dances with the best of them, spinning out of control only to prostrate herself and run her hand along the filthy floor like it was a plush couch for a moment before jumping back up to toss her cigarette and continue the dance. Her turn at stardom only comes because an executive sees her dancing on a table in his eyeline in the middle of dealing with corpse disposal and needs to give a director a hot woman to trial for their titillating silent film the next day.

Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt) turns up in a suit as the classic A-lister, the Humphrey Bogart, frequent relationship troubles in lieu of his deep insecurities over career and inability to settle in tow. He is too good to get involved in anything overtly morally reprehensible but he still leaves every woman unhappy in marriage. He orders far too many bottles of alcohol in watching the nightmare to wash out his thoughts on the latest impending divorce.

The film centres on Manny (Diego Calva), a Mexican immigrant who works as a low rung assistant at this party, somehow both in the background and involved in making calls the executives don't want to dirty their hands doing. He weaves in and out of the party as our vehicle into the picture, his shock long left for a determination to get the job done well and a possible promotion into a start in Hollywood. He consults the executive after suggesting to him the elephant to distract from the unsightly body, and the party wound down to strewn party streamers and the odd hungover person stumbling around, to suggest an aspiration to the Hollywood ladder and is instantly cut off and shot down: "You are where you belong."

This sets the stage for the next three hours. Manny falls in love with Nellie's wild child affect and is left in the dust for her celebrity-chasing, the first moment of many. He helps a thoroughly drunk Jack Conrad back to his mansion, where Jack pontificates a bit incoherently on the direction of Hollywood to an opera record he puts on before falling off his balcony, hitting a tiled roof on the way to splash in his pool face down, getting out with a flourish like his absolutely hammered behaviour was another one of his great performances.

Then comes arguably the best set piece in the film. Babylon splits into an utterly inspired montage of insanity in film production. Underpaid and unsafe crew members assemble en masse to chase Manny around a paddock after he drives a still deeply hungover Conrad to set. Producers throw Manny as a sacrificial lamb to the workers in their unwillingness to negotiate. The filmmakers talk over a shot with their star while he's chased by a giant crowd of angry labourers far below in the background.

Nellie LaRoy, having been picked at random, gets her dreams come true as a woman director sighs that she doesn't have the big tits they wanted but she'll have to do. Chazelle casted his wife Olivia Hamilton as the director and she does what's one of the best performances in the film, a woman director making her way in an industry of sleazy men, drama queens and kings, and so many flaming out alcoholics, dead focused on nothing but getting the movie in the can, but with enough funny hand gestures and eyebrow cocks to make the moments that much more farcical. Manny winds up having to be a director assistant to an absolute nutcase of an 'eccentric director', staging epic battle scenes where people are both fake and really are being killed in pursuit of the shot. They stand over a flag bearer who died by being run through by a flag, and make up the excuse on the fly he somehow did it himself and also he was probably going to die anyway. The montage contrasts with Nellie LaRoy getting her chance in a bar scene, which she dutifully whores her body in a drunk sweaty manic ballet of flashing and groping to all the men for the perverted pleasure of the camera capturing the moment. The woman director watches and is suitably impressed, like her, for Nellie's willingness to absolutely give herself up for the movie. Although of course there's a visible boner in an extra's pants that ruins the take. On top of this, Chazelle contrasts with Jack Conrad dictating a rewrite of his scene, doing his whoring offscreen, riffing for dirtier versions of famous lines in cinema that go beyond the period (this is set in the mid 20s) -- "And then he says hasta la vista, motherfucker." "And then he says frankly Scarlett, you're a cunt." And ending each with a "Type it!"

All this is hung on a narrative of Manny rushing to town to grab a replacement camera before the camera hire store closes, as the horses in the battle scene trampled over the ten the production had. He's told it'll be a half hour wait that becomes an hour. He gets back with whatever type of lens they had spare and Jack Conrad manages to stumble out his tent for the single most perfect shot of a romantic embrace at sunset, all the chaos and destruction for this one minute of film. The score in all these scenes is this bizarre riff on La La Land's music, a musical narration technique to have a throughline in these moments, a cacophony of drums and saxophone that keep the pace brisk and at tempo. Chazelle's work is frenetic filmmaking that's perfectly controlled.

The rest of the film is similar scenes of chaos in filmmaking and the industry. And nearly all the characters are composites or loose adaptations of real Hollywood figures of the time. Jack Conrad can't make the leap from silent to talking films and blames the one movie critic who used to flatter him. Nellie projectile vomiting at an upper class party with Hollywood elites where she's supposed to be upping her career profile. There's a subplot of the first major Asian-American actress in Hollywood Lady Fay Zhu (Li Jun Li) (based on real life counterpart Nancy Kwan of The World of Suzie Wong (1960) fame, a film exemplifying the issues), someone of grace and considered thought, her secret pleasure being the unspeakable lesbianism of the time, only to also be debased and wrote off constantly as 'the exotic Oriental' stereotype that dogged representation in Hollywood until only recently. Manny finally getting a chance at director, only to fuck up by trying to cast a by this time well off the rails coke fiend Nellie, and then debasing the African-American jazz lead Sidney (Jovan Adepo) by making him do the performance in caricature, blackface because the lights shining on him make his skin lighter than his colleagues, and they need the American South demographics to make profit so there has to be racism. A Mexican immigrant selling out another person of colour in order to make it.

And yet, beneath all the chaos and exploitation and Hollywood fucking over everyone, the film finishes with Manny years later coming back and seeing his beloved industry onscreen. Babylon ends with a romp through the history of film and Manny watching with tears flowing, a triumphant celebration of cinema magic set to a brilliant image of film being developed in the chemicals as all the noted movie scenes interplay across history. Babylon reveals itself as a tortured love letter to film, and at the same time the opposite message of La La Land, a thoroughly deranged epitaph to the fact Hollywood has no soul, and all those people who were hurt in bringing you that cinematic experience.

Babylon of course came out and bombed. The biggest flop of 2022. The trailer for the film sells you on fun parties and a deliciously gaudy time when the film goes out of its way to be uncomfortable in amidst the farcical comedy. Nobody who turned out for Margot Robbie in Barbie will want to tune in for her unhinged performance here.

The biggest problem though is unfortunately just which movie came first. Expectations were set by La La Land, and then torn apart by Babylon. Chazelle made a terrible calculation that the dark of Babylon would be a fitting follow up to one of the biggest and most upbeat Oscar darlings of the past decade. People went into Babylon expecting La La Land, and while they indeed got the most perfect companion piece, unfortunately people don't want to look at those dark corners Chazelle spotlighted. They wanted La La Land 2, and that closed mindedness and conservative nature of the mainstream moviegoing public is a shame. I can understand people not having the stomach for the film, but I thought there would be a few more interested.

(This actually isn't the first 8 minutes, but this is probably the most illustrative section of the film for this essay.)

La La Land is currently streaming on Stan.

Babylon is currently streaming on Paramount+.

[audio-luddite]

Nothing is real or correct.

I am making headway on the ARC amp, but it made me think.

Decades ago a rather pompous man created an audio magazine because only he knew best. Actually come to think of it that has happened several times. I am currently talking about "The Absolute Sound" from just outside of New York City in the 70s.

His concept was two fold. The sound of any component should be judged only in comparison to live performances in Jazz clubs and concert halls or some similar site. It sounds like a good idea but is it even a little realistic? The second fold was to not take advertising from manufacturers as that is a conflict of interest. That fell away after a few years as it takes money to produce a real printed magazine. A friend and I were early subscribers and devoured each new issue. I know better now.

In a symphony concert every seat in the place is slightly different. I have sat in several concert halls and listened to lots of music from different seats. It is not the same at home on the system. I find my home system sounds better than live performance in general. I guess I cannot afford the best seats, but recording engineers tend to place mikes in the best places. Yes that big drum in the back is impressive live, but the rest....

In a Jazz club all the sound you get comes through a PA system of not necessarily high end quality. And be real, you are there for the performance not the audio or should be.

In a Stadium Rock event I need ear plugs as it is always so FN loud.

So comparing a system to live is not truly valid. Whatever you get is a matter of taste and luck

Consider the rather long chain of custody the sound endures from musician to your ears.

Start with the venue. Most recordings are done in purpose built studios with usually extensive sound treatments. Likely totally unlike your listening cave. How the musicians are set up and what equipment they use is very dependent too. How many times have you seen singers and instrumentalists in isolated boxes or behind barriers in a studio so the mike they use does not conflict with the ones around them. How natural is that?

Or how about recording a Piano. You always see several mikes around pianos for Jazz or solo or small group performances. I only have two ears solidly fixed to either side of my head.

Next microphones and mixing consoles all have characteristics and a voice. The type and brand and technology of the microphone all are adjusted and tuned. The sound in the mix is adjusted to get just the right effect. Accuracy, what's that?

One of my favorite audiophile albums is Cowboy Junkies "Trinity Sessions" Nice big room with natural sound, the band set up around a single 3D microphone using the gear they use on tour and basically no mix. WYSIWYG. But if you were there it would have sounded different than the recording as you would not be where the mike was. Still likely as accurate a recording as you can get.

Another is Steely Dan's Aja. Every track is fiddled and massaged and made to sound just so coming out of the studio speaker. Very clean and totally unreal.

A very good album is Diana Krall live from Paris. Listen to the group and "see" where the mix has placed each musician. Then look at the photo of the group on stage. Not the same is it?

Then the fun really starts. Is it analogue tape and which brand of machine Ampex or Studer and which vintage? Is it DSD digital or lowly PCM? Which processor! All those have a voice.

And now jump into your media. How is the product distributed? Vinyl rules! Well that's my thing. Which master remixed the master, what plant pressed it?

Both streaming and hard copy digital are valid and can claim lower noise and distortion usually. But those are just numbers.

Each electronic device has a voice some more subtle than others. The higher you go the clearer and cleaner it gets or should at least.

Thinking of phono pickups there are so many methods and products. It is really impressive how linear and consistent those things are in spite of all that. Many writers go on and on about velocity versus displacement and when that happens I know they are full of it. It turns out that blind tests show that what some call clarity and detail is just a slightly different frequency response. Or even a resonance in a convenient place. A few db here a few db there makes all the difference.

Still I find it remarkable that I can extract as much information off of a flat disk as I do with my modest three figure phono pickup. At the very base of the issue is like choosing a microphone. People have favorites.

In the digital domain you are depending on microchips. A DAC may have exotic this or that attached to them, but all the chips come from one factory or another made by people in bunny suits. Discrete components cannot keep up to digital speeds so the chips rule.

And we have not even got to preamplifiers and amplifiers. Tube verus solid state you have to choose a tribe. Both are best and neither is. Frankly it is the place you choose the type of distortion you like. The flaw with every tube amplifier is the output transformer. They all need them and they have a major hit on the sound. The flaw with every solid state amplifier are the gain devices and the feedback used to tame them. Tubes use feedback too!

Designs that avoid or just minimize feedback just force you to accept an acceptable distortion.

As I am bouncing between the tribes now recall that tube amplifiers are rated at 1% distortion. Transistor amplifiers at about ten times less. (Sometimes tens times ten times ten less.) Much better, but not better. It is the sound of the distortion that makes the difference and the preference. Some people like different stuff.

Oh time for the worst offender, the speakers. The frequency response is pathetic compared the quality of the signal going in. Why fret about an amplifier being plus or minus 0.2 db when the speaker is plus or minus 6 db. And the room has modes and reflections and well unless you are rich enough to build very special room you just have to hope your brain gets fooled.

And that is it really. Your brain wants to be fooled. If you listen to any system long enough you get used to it and adapt. If you only listen to single ended triodes into horn speaker you come to think that is the way things should sound. And you will find a tribe to support you like a cult.

It is a flawed process from beginning to end. But it lets you experience brilliant music and performances when you want to. With care and attention to detail you can solve the puzzle in many different ways.

And no it is never like a live performance, its maybe better.

There is no best.

[patricksmusicblog]

2023 Album Ratings(So Far)

These are some thoughts on some of the albums I've listened to throughout the year. Some of them are just thoughts others are mini reviews.

Owl City- Coco Moon: Solid sound/production, okay vocals, mediocre lyrics, and overall songs. It may work with a more youthful audience. 6/10

Princess Nokia- I Love You But This is Goodbye: This is a good little EP about the ends and outs, ups and downs of heartbreak. As usual for Nokia, it's elastic and expansive. However, there are moments when I find Princess Nokia's vocals to be weak. There are moments when her passion and authenticity cut through. 7/10

Aly & AJ- With Love From: With Love From is a quality summery indie-pop/rock album. There are a lot of tracks to play loud on an open road with the top down in somewhat breezy, sunburned weather. Lovely harmonies and hooks abound. The slower hooks slow things down to an extent. With Love From is not an album I imagine I'll go back to much, but it accomplishes its goal. 7.0/10

Weezer-SZNZ: Winter: Solid effort from Weezer; some catchy alt-rock tunes, nerdy songwriting Coumo's nasally vocals all things Weezer is great at and known for here. Not essential, but good. 7/10 

Conway The Machine & Jae Skeese- Pain Provided Profit: A tight and concise project that's a commonly gritty Griselda affair, grimmy and yet soulful and contemplative beats matching Conway and Skeese's ability to be braggadocious and heartfelt at the same time. A solid EP 8.0/10

Logic- College Park: Maryland MC Logic's eighth studio LP is a quality follow-up to his album Vinyl Days, released last year. If last year was Boom Bap Logic, this year is Jazz Rap Logic. It's a good album; there's much soul-baring about substance abuse and avoiding those pitfalls and ideas of getting more true to who he is. There's an 8.5-9.0 album in here somewhere, but lesser tracks water it down. There are seventeen songs here, which is just too many, but ultimately, it's still a solid effort and something long-time Logic fans can get into. 7.5/10

Statik Slektah-Round Trip: The latest LP from Statik Slektah is a dope effort that has a piano-driven and somewhat jazz-rap-driven sound that features a mixture of 90's legends and younger artists, some of which are legends at this point now as well. It's a 20-track project, and the first half is where the most potent tracks lye. All are great, but the best include "Unpredictable" feat Inspectah Deck, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon and Method Man, "Ain't Too Much Too it" ft Conway, Life & Times ft Joey Bada$$ and "Lion Heart" with Elzhi and Boldy James. Lesser guests and less entertaining beats slow the rest down. All in all, it is a solid effort, particulary for those who love the current crop of underground MCs that have been making noise from 2018 to the present day. 7.5/10

Paramore- This is Why: Paramore is ever-growing; their last LP was a foray into synth-pop, and this one is more of a post-punk album. This album is musically sharp; there are a lot of strong guitar riffs and layers of sounds underneath the mix. Hayley is vocally great at shifting velocities and tonalities during a given song. Lyrically, the album is as content-rich as any Paramore album. It's a tight album, ten great tracks 8.0/10

7XVETHEGENIUS-The Genius Tape: 7xvethegenius is a solid rapper; this project feels like a lyrical exercise for her coming from the drumwork camp. "Brainstorm" ft Conway the Machine is a highlight, as is the storytelling on "Lost on Mars," and then there's the Rome Streets and Che Noir-assisted "Neck Protected". 7.5/10

Conway The Machine-Won't He Do It: Conway follows up with 2022 essential God Doesn't Make Mistakes with Won't He Do It, an album that features more versatile production and different sounds from the lush "The Chosen" to the piano-laden "Monogram" or the R&B influenced Water to Wine" you don't know what to expect track to track on this Conway The Machine album and I enjoy that. This album, while not having quite the depth and soul searching of the previous album, is more celebratory and features an array of flows and skill sets. He sounds comfortable and effortless on this project. Great work 8.5/10 

Killer Mike-Michael: Michael is Killer Mike's sixth LP and his most personal and forthright album. The production features some gospel/soul influence that feels classically Atlanta. The album tackles issues he dealt with as a youth, from naively poising the community (Something for The Junikes) to adolescent love mishandled (Slummer) to the impact of losing his mother and grandma. This album gives you a sense of the good and bad that shaped Killer Mike. I also love the EL-P-assisted "Don't Let the Devil" for a more southern-fried RTJ feel. I appreciate what he's speaking to on "Two Days" regarding the prison industrial system and the politics that keep it going. At every turn, Mike is sharp, heartfelt, and thoughtful. The features on the album all come through with good performances from Atlanta pioneers like Ceelo and Andre 3000 to current-day essentials like Young Thug and Future. Michael's an excellent album and a refreshing solo effort, a nice change of pace from Mike's work with EL-P. 9/10

Nas & Hitboy- Magic 2: Nas and Hit-boy continue their run with their fifth album in 3 years and 2nd edition in the Magic series. While the 2021 Magic felt like an exercise in traditionalism, finding Nas rhyming over an updated 90s sound with rhyming up to par with his prime. On Magic 2 Nas finds himself more aligned with modern times; tracks like "Motion" and "Earvin Magic Johnson" sound more car and club-ready than anything on the original Magic. Songs like "Abracadabra" are more thematically aligned than most of what's on the original Magic. The more thoughtful and reflective tracks tucked in the back of the album are the strongest, "What it Really Means", "Slow it Down" and "Pistols on Your album Cover" are all great pieces of work. Par for the course at this point. 8.5/10 

Meet me @ the Alter- Past//Present//Future: Meet me @ the Alter is a pop-punk band that has been working toward this moment for a while through a series of EPs and singles that showed a band bustling with pop-punk energy and hooks that only come from a strong appreciation for the pop-punk we came up on in the 00s. Past//Present//Future is the baby of all that hard work. I love the catchy and snarky "Say it to My Face." I also enjoy the chunky, distorted guitars on "Try" a song that speaks to pushing through anxiety and going for things anyway. "T.M.I" is my absolute favorite on the project. It's the best vocal performance from Edith Victoria, the best chorus, and the most well-written tune here. The bass and big chorus on "King of Everything" make for a good close to the album. It's a fun project for the band that leaves plenty of room for improvement and expansion musically and lyrically. 7.5/10

Protomartyr-Formal Growth in the Desert: This is the sixth project from Detroit post-punk band Protomartyr. As customary for a Protomatyr album, you'll get sprawling guitars and walls of atmospheric sound. Also, you'll get lead vocalist and lyricist Joe Casey's passionate vocal performances and great lyrics. "Fun in Hi Skool" is a great song seemingly about the inability to let go of the past to the point where it ruins your present and future. "Let's Tip The Creator" is my favorite on the project; I think it has some of the best guitar playing and drumming. Protomartyr has always been adept at shifting tones and adding sonic layers as tracks progress. With Joe Casey's lyrics being thoughtful yet abstract at times, it invites more and more listens that'll be sure to reward with time. 8.0/10 

Dream Wife-Social Lubrication: Dream Wife's third full-length album is much like their previous efforts, a selection of songs where youthful exuberance meets thoughtful contemplations and some righteous rebellion. There's "Who do you want to be?" A call to mobilization instead of stagnation. The title track speaks to being buttered up and being made to get comfortable with getting screwed over. "Leech" is about men, companies, people, etc., who exploit and use women for what they provide—all great tracks. You still get simple punk tracks like "I Want You" or "Orbit," a song about an attraction that almost feels meant to be. Sonically, the band switches between straightforward punk and a post-punk sound, which is more beneficial when trying to get a message across. It's their 3rd straight great album, in my opinion. 8.0/10

Noname-Sundial: Sundail is the third full album by Chicago rapper Noname. Noname is a rapper who has always been adept at rhyming conscious, straightforward, but abstract at the same time. She's an artist who wears her culture on her sleeve and cares deeply about the state of it. She's also someone who has just gotten better and better at rapping over time. She's always had an agile and fluid flow, but this is her least quiet album yet; she's come through with a more substantial presence on the mic and more charisma. Topically, "Hold Me Down" speaks to black people only holding each other down when it's convenient, particularly monetarily. "Balloons" on why there was a musical hiatus for Noname in the first place, which is the exploitative nature of selling black trauma to voyeuristic white people entertained by black trauma. "Beauty Supply" tackles the self-loathing that inherently comes with adapting Eurocentric beauty standards. There's no turn on this album where Noname has nothing to say. There's very little wasted space on the album. Yet there are lighthearted and fun moments here like "Boomboom" or "Toxic." It's a great album that will reward with more listens. 8.5/10

Nas & Hitboy- Magic 3: Nas completes their fantastic run with their third installment in the Magic series Magic 3. To the surprise of no one, It's another high-level project that features excellent production and rhymes from Hitboy and Nas. From the production standpoint, Hit-Boy dives more into a soul sample style here, with many soulful beats and vocals floating in the background of these tracks. Meanwhile, Nas showcases his skillset; rapping well is a prerequisite for him at this point, so it's really about the direction and how the tracks meld together. "I Love This Feeling" track 4 on the project, is the first song that I think is steller on the project; it has a great soulful, almost jazzy sound, and Nas is just sharp and speaking to loving the place he's in. "Based on True Events pt1" and "pt 2" find Nas getting into his storytelling bag, both efforts are vivid. The first one is seemingly a little more personal, with him speaking about investigating a friend's supposed suicide and honoring Havoc of Mobb Deep's brother, who was murdered. Pt 2 echo's a song like "Nigga's Bleed' the late great Notorious B.I.G. "Blue Bently" and "Jodeci Member"are both bangers on the album tracks you could ride in the car too. The album tetters between celebratory and contemplative, and Nas is great at both. The lone feature on the project is Lil Wayne, who shows out his flow is fluid, and he rises to the occasion. It's another great effort from Nas & Hitboy, and in the end, this is an excellent send-off to their run. 8.5/10 

By: Patrick Griffin II