#your composite male image is also white

[ssruis]

Wrt the people talking about the new set as fan service: my initial reaction was also “oh cute” & moving on, but after carefully reading the full arguments of the people who found it distasteful, I agree with their points. I’d normally link or post screenshots of the points made, but since the Prsk fanbase apparently is jumping people over this on twt I don’t feel comfortable doing that. To summarize and add some of my own explanation:

> everything in gacha games is fan service, which doesn’t have to necessarily mean it’s sexual - ode for the pure of heart featuring rui/touya (popular with female audience) looking very princely was fan service. The white day knight/fantasy theming is fan service (popular & well loved aesthetic). Fantasia squad was fan service for the players who like the male characters, etc etc.

> I don’t feel like arguing about all of the cards, so I’ll just point out what bothers me about the most egregious example (Rin’s card)

When considering art, you have to consider the deliberate choices the artist made, and what messages they are trying to get across with the atmosphere they have created.

Why choose the maid aesthetic? Why make these cards a player pov? Why choose framing that (using the grid composition, contrast and lighting from the window, the way lines direct the eye) makes the points of interest and emphasis Rin’s face *and* butt? Why choose that pose, with Rin looking over her shoulder, with a surprised expression and prominent blush? Why is the posing reminiscent of art of vintage pin up girls (or any other similar art movement)?

It’s male gaze. The answer is male gaze.

The male gaze is often just associated with overt sexualization, but that’s an overly simplified definition. The male gaze can also be portraying women in positions of servitude (most often within the home), emphasizing body curves (even through clothes), voyeuristic povs, emphasizing cuteness/demure-ness/shyness, etc. It’s about the (assumed male) viewer having power over the female subject.

Rin is cleaning, the light from the window heavily highlights her butt, the framing of window itself specifically draws the eye from her head to her back to her butt using contrasting colors/light/point of interest, the parallel lines in the piece direct your eyes down her body (Japanese audience, reading image from right to left). If the emphasis was on the action she is doing, rather than her body, the light source and brightest colors would be on the other side of the image, the duster would be brighter, as would the objects/set pieces she’s interacting with.*

Sexualization/male gaze isn’t restricted to the very obvious “woman sexy posing in a bikini” image, and having that viewpoint will only serve to limit the ways you understand art and artist intention. It’s similar to taking “all art is political” to mean “all art is either republican or democrat” and responding “well that’s stupid and you’re stupid.” You’re missing the point.

I’m a little disappointed the knee jerk reaction here seems to be “you’re wrong and you’re actually a freak who sexualizes minors for pointing this out” here, especially because the point of calling this out is to say that it’s distasteful to do a card like this for a character who is, despite not having a canon age, pretty much portrayed as younger than the main cast (making her 15 or younger).

Nobody is saying “this set sucks you can’t like it if you like it you’re problematic and project sekai should be cancelled forever”, it’s just something to keep in mind. You don’t have to agree with the argument, but acting like anyone pointing this out is insane isn’t fair or justified.

> also just as a side note: maid cafés have a pretty long history of sexualization, with the emphasis/appeal of having power over the workers and them being your servant while dressed cute. I don’t entirely think this set was going for a maid café look, but I do think it’s something to be mindful of.

> *it’s a little hard to articulate/explain this, and my knowledge on how much the average person knows about stuff like this is skewed due to my own education in art/art history/design/etc. If you find this confusing, I’m willing to explain more in detail and specifically point out what I’m talking about.

> I have a different post on the taisho/daisho romance elements, which is an entirely different discussion, so I’m not bringing that up here.

[glitch--gamer]

🏳️‍⚧️Today is trans day of visibility.🏳️‍⚧️

As a trans man, I wanted to make a small image to mark the day.

I found an MMD chest binder, so I made a trans male version of reverse AU Nines (also added some piercings since I saw a human Nines design with piercings that looked interesting).

For those that don't know, a chest binder is basically a compressive garment used to create a flatter contour for your chest (can be used by people from various gender identities including trans men, trans masculine people, non-binary etc...)

This binder is pretty much exactly like the one I used to wear before getting top surgery. It was a white, half length tri top. Wearing a binder for the first time in public was a moment of gender euphoria for me.

Credits

RK900 model by Enpitsu

Chest Binder by Fynt/fyfynttsu

Body by BadEyepatch

Stage by Shiruhane and chrrox (I edited the textures and composition)

Piercings by nayabarlaxx

GV900 jacket by me

[republicsecurity]

Behind the illusion

Don't read this if you are afraid of getting your illusion and fantasy destroyed. Read this if you want to embrace this kind of creativity and maybe help in writing stories, reports or snippets from this world.

Some people have asked how I generate this stories and the artwork. It is simple: it's a mixture of midjourney AI generated pictures and processing done in Affinity Publisher. The text are made with the help of ChatGPT after setting a lot of parameters or learning the model.

So how do I make the pictures? I have found pictures look well if you design them around the following prompt:

"A Cinematic Scene from 2023, sci-fi Drama, "Resilience", close up shot, one smiling teenage male cadet in red one piece uniform with shaved head, talking on videoconference, captured by Handheld camera, film directed by Greta Gerwig, Inspiring, toom call, --style raw --ar 21:9"

Midjoruney gives me this for examples and I use the upscale button to make the bigger.

--ar 21:9 = defines a hight and wideness. Here I choose to make the pictures wider. If you do nothing you get 1:1 which you can well use for instagram.

The prompt should be structured like this:

Setting the scene - (closeup, panorama, bird eye,...), then the subject, then more info about the camera, film. it's also possible to go for a style. I often opt for "ODST", by "Syd Mead", or "Tron".

See full instructive article: https://linusekenstam.substack.com/p/tutorial-dynamic-prompting

Also you can use the pan option:

to get these by simple repeating the command:

For angles use this guide

Another technique I like is varying this prompt:

I got this from him:

A photo from first person POV | while climbing through a street at golden hour | talking to a cadet in red body suit with shaved head | like a FPS videogame | from the angle, style of ODST --ar 16:9 --style raw --no helmet

As you can see I used "style of ODST" and "ar 16:9" to have a video game like image. Not every command produces what you want and you have to settle for it sometimes or try.

How to make these into more complex Images?

I do some creative after processing. Lets show on this picture:

As you can see, this is already some interactions of the base prompt. I then copy the picture into Affintiy Publisher:

I then use the image adjustment tools "fx" to change the colours and thus often the moods of the images. So you can make it look like a green tinted night vision image.

Also through publisher I add text overly, the helmet POV corners, symbols, etc...

Items and Mockups

From time to time its nice to have some items and mockups, sometimes in colours that they are not necessarily in real life.

Here in the Accessories page I created everything, except the chastity cage by Midjourney. The prudes don't let you create these things, so for sexual stuff you have to either use things that looks like it or use other sources.

I then combine these images on a bigger DIN A4 sizes canvas, that often emphasises the meaning.

mockup of a red flightsuit uniform on white background --style raw

I usually upscale and then use the picture I like best.

Examples

panorama shot a group ODST paramedic cadet with helmet in red full body armour, shot on Kodak Chrome, marching on a training ground, in the style of double exposure, red and green, mixed race , male --style raw --ar 16:9

a young men with a shaved head trying on some red ODST body armour, workshop, captured by Handheld camera, mixed race; image split into 4, shot from different angle, bright colours --style raw

Angles

Futuristic Filmschool Portrait, young cadet with shaved head in red flightsuit uniform, standing in front of a grey wall, Detailed Face, Minimal Composition, Simplicity, Awardwinning Muted Colors --ar 9:16 --seed 5000

Text

Text and story is an entirely different thing. I use chat GPT after i gave it some basic instructions, biggest problem was to let it write about mind control and chastity without disapproval. I still don't remember how I made it do that.

[mortedeveles]

Model For Me

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid, awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her. And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki's personality is anything but shy and he doesn't hesitate to undress in front of her. It's for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions. 

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

HERE: PART ONE

PART TWO.  PART THREE.  PART FOUR. PART FIVE. PART SIX. 

a/n: this was originally going to be a oneshot but it was too long to be 1 oneshot, so the chapters will be rather short (1k-2k) but all of it together would be too long for a oneshot so it’s staying as a short story. i have two pointers for this short series!

1- reader is not white in this oneshot!  (i don’t specify reader being white in others, but skin color isn’t usually mentioned) (i’m using the term poc since i’m not sure what else to use) nationality or ethnic background won’t be stated so feel free to employ your own! this isn’t really relevant tbh but i just wanted to clear it up in case someone got confused.

2- reader’s best friend here is Aneko! i would’ve used (F/N) but it would have been more troublesome so i decided to name the friend! 

 enjoy!!

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission. 

''This month's assignment is human anatomy,'' your teacher stated. She walked around in the cramped classroom, holding a beautifully drawn painting of the nude female body to her chest. 

Even though your classes weren't high end or expensive, you were still at awe at how talented your teacher was, especially since the classes were held in a small recreational center that was on the poor end. Since the classes were cheap, you would've thought that the art teacher would be inexperienced or an amateur. Sometimes you wondered how an artist like her didn't have more recognition.

''Since I'm familiar with all of your abilities and weaknesses, each of you will have a specific kind of rules,'' she said. She passed the papers around the rectangular table and once you got your hands on your copy, your face paled.

The bold words GENDER: MALE stared back at you as you swallowed nervously.

While you weren't shy or timid around the opposite gender, having to sketch a naked guy with his dick out sounded... unpleasant.

Your eyes only widened as you continued to read the rest of the rules.

The assignment must be done in a live session with the model, do NOT use images or any other type of resources.

Male must have a muscular and athletic body.

Preferably, the model should be in a position in which they are using their quirk. 

Medium: charcoal.

The model must be drawn with the background as well. This assignment also includes a linear perspective. 

You slowly raised your hand as you bounced your thighs nervously with the tip of your toes. The teacher raised an eyebrow and beckoned you to speak.

''Ma-Ma'am, is it necessary to do the assignment with a nude male model? Can I change it?'' You said nervously.

You could hear your friend snicker beside you and you elbowed her in the stomach without glancing, keeping your eyes on the art teacher. A soft 'ouch!' was heard from your left. 

She sighed in response and stared at you through her glasses.

''Yes, Y/N. Everyone received different requirements. I will revise the progress every three days and I expect the project to be done by the end of the month. Remember that this assignment won't be done in class, so try your best and remember to use your knowledge to your advantage.''

You nodded and ducked your head, swallowing nervously. Who would you even ask to model for you? Money was tight at the moment, you were too broke to hire a model. And besides, most of your money would go to the art supplies you needed to restock on for the assignment.

''Aww, is the baby too shy to see a guy naked?'' your friend's teasing voice made you snap back to reality. Pouting, you turned to face her evil grin and stick out your tongue at her.

''Shut up, Aneko... I'm not shy! I've just never...well...'' you stammered, fiddling with your hands.

Aneko smiled smugly in response as she lowered her head to meet your nervous gaze,

''Never what...?'' 

You shook your head in response, refusing to admit that you'd never seen a naked guy. Scratch that, you had, through a screen of course, but being in the same room as a naked guy...? Nope. Hell, it was a rare occasion for you to be alone in a room with a boy. But staying with a naked boy?! You sighed. You can already feel the headache forming. 

The teacher's firm voice snapped you out of it. ''Very well. The class is over. I'll see you all next week. Have a great weekend!'' 

Everyone rose from their seats, stashing away their art supplies and heading out of the small classroom. You stayed behind with your best friend Aneko, chatting about nonsense.

''So, who are you going to ask model?'' she said casually, stuffing her can of spray inside her ratty backpack.

''I don't know...'' you mumble. ''I don't really think I'm close enough with any guy to ask him to model for me...''

''Don't say that!'' Aneko chided. ''Well.. there is one person you can ask....'' she grinned at you as the two of you walked out of the classroom.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her words. Who was she talking about? From all the boys you knew, someone who was a male had an athletic build and a flashy or useful quirk, you'd say it would be...

Katsuki Bakugou.

Suddenly, you froze in the middle of the hallway. Aneko raised her eyebrows and she stopped as well, questioning your actions.

Thank god for your dark skin, otherwise, Aneko would've noticed you were blushing. She tugged your hand and urged you forward. But nope, once his name had surfaced, you were frozen. Thoughts of undressing your friend Katsuki were all over your mind, making you feel more flustered with every passing minute. 

''Y/N, is something wrong? Why are you...'' she trailed off and her voice died down. But a devious grin rose from her lips and something told you that she knew exactly what you were thinking.

''Ohhh. Naughty Y/N! You're thinking about him, aren't you?! Asking Bakugou, your big, fat crush to be na-'' her next words were muffled violently as you pressed a hand against her mouth and with the other one, grabbed her ear and dragged her out of the run down the recreational center. 

Aneko was screeching in protest, but her noises were muffled by your hand, keeping a firm grip around her. Once the two of you were outside of the center and no one was around to hear, you dropped your hand, grimacing when you saw that Aneka had tried biting you. Several times.

''Ouch, ouch! Why'd you do that?'' she grumbled, rubbing her sore ear.

''Don't say that when we're in public!'' you hissed, rubbing your warm cheeks.

''Even though he's still a student, Katsuki Bakugou gets a lot of attention from the media! Not to mention, I'm a U.A student too! If someone heard a word of this, who knows what they would've done with it! I don't want to be part of a teenage scandal!"

''Sorry...'' your friend mumbled as she glanced towards the ground. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

''It's okay, Anne, just please be more careful next time,''

Aneko smiled sheepishly and gave you a thumbs up. You smiled and shook your head in disbelief and the two of you began to walk home.

''Do you really think I should...ask Katsuki to model for me?'' you blurted out. Aneko shot you a glance as the two of you crossed the road and continued walking forwards.

''I think Bakugou is the type of person that will never back down from a challenge,'' your friend said. ''And besides, he'll probably agree so you don't ask another guy to strip for you. He'll get really mad.'' she snickered.

You gasped and you felt the familiar warmth travels across your face. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you shook your head in denial and frowned.

''No he wouldn't!'' your voice was a pitch higher and what was intended to be harsh, ended up sounding like a harmless squeak. 

Your friend laughed loudly and her laughter turned into relentless wheezing as she bent over her knees and leaned against the wall. Her lips were quirked upwards and her eyes danced with amusement.

''It's so funny seeing you all riled up when I mention your crush,'' she cooed.

Scowling, you stomped away and you were so angry that fumes were basically rolling off your body. You could hear Aneko's joyful laughter as she picked up her speed and caught up to you. 

You were frowning deeply with your arms crossed, gaze focused anywhere but your cruel, cruel friend.

''Come on babe, don't get upset! You know I say it because I know it's true!'' there was a hint of pride and smugness in her last sentence, making you stop dead in your tracks and point a finger at her.

''You don't know that. He'd never like me...'' you mumbled. ''I'm too awkward and a dumbass to be with someone as confident and loud as him,''

The hope in your heart was quickly extinguished when you realized she was merely joking. Huffing, you shook your head and grabbed her by the ear, dragging her all the way home, though she kept complaining and whining the entire time. 

''Don't you get it?'' the look in her eyes was sincere. Slowly, you could feel a hint of hope growing in your heart. ''You guys are a perfect combination!''

''He's a tough and strong grunting caveman and you may be a dumbass, but you're his dumbass,'' she cooed. ''He'll protect you from anything!''

''Please don't tease me a lot of that,'' you spoke up once you had reach your door. Your gaze drifted to your doorknob. ''I know you don't mean any harm but...it just makes my hopes get up. And in the end, it never works out. And I just get myself hurt for no reason.'' You smile at Aneko's pained expression and opened your door.

''I'll see you later, Anne. Take care and don't forget to text me once you get home, okay?''

Your friend nodded mindlessly and walked away, sending you a final wave. You waved back, smiling softly. Once she was out of your sight, you closed the door and leaned against it. With your phone in your hands, you shakily texted a risky message.

Katsuki had been your friend since the beginning of U.A, since you were quick to befriend him, despite his violent and rude attitude. You didn't mind. It was funny and endearing seeing him react to the smallest of things.

Y/N: hey katsuki, can you stay behind after school tomorrow? i have something to ask you.

Once you had hit SEND, you threw your phone on your couch, a giddy smile on your face as you spun and looked like a clown for a few moments until you calmed down. Sending the message had sent a surge of adrenaline and confidence into your heart. 

Maybe Aneko was joking, but if you were up to the task, you could get closer to Katsuki. And if you were lucky, you'd score a date with him. 

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission.

[sfxdesign]

Art Style Instagram Pack

30 stories and banners for Instagram, Facebook and VK in “male” colors: blue, black, and white. Perfect for promoting fashion, perfume, other products for men and corporate events.

Captivating Blue Choose blue as a fresh harmonious color with an inspiring touch. The color of the sky and the sea, it symbolizes freedom, intelligence, reliability, stability, and aristocracy. It makes your content look calm, serious and balanced.

Energetic BlackBlack means authority, power and protection. Brands “dressed” in black look sophisticated, strong, and more expensive. It’s also best for businesses selling high quality professional products and luxury goods.

Elegant WhitePositive and fresh, the white color makes the content noble, clean and soft. It’s used to emphasize simplicity, accuracy, the beginning and the new. Depending on its shade and texture, white gives a soothing and peaceful feel, or a strict businesslike tone.

Features:

30 templates stories size (1080x1920) and banner size (1920x1080) Fully layered and well organized Smart Object ready Editable text and images Photos are not included The pack includes 15 vertical and horizontal compositions:

Minimalist black template with a neon smile and a black and yellow sticker symbolizing a warning. Dynamic banner with a blue background, two golden chains crossing the screen and shards of gold. Black and white urban banner with two text lines crossing the screen and a yellow sticker where you also can type your text. Refined template with a white background and two golden splash of lightning. Elegant grey template with golden chains. Joyful black banner with colorful confetti, round sticker for your text and a rainbow sticker. Cheerful blue template with two light blue ribbons and hand raised with the sign of the horns. Black and white typographic poster with big bold letters on the background, small text lines and a yellow round sticker for your text. Optimistic banner with sunny green, violet and black ropes tied together and a blue background with huge letters. Sunny blue template with two small text stripes crossing the background. Minimal grey template with three balloons and a yellow sticker. Positive white banner with two small blue text stripes crossing the background. Optimistic banner with sunny green, violet and black ropes tied together and a grey background. Typographic blue template with a man statue, round sticker and two small text stripes crossing the background for your text. Festive blue banner with shards of gold.

Get yours here on: https://creativemarket.com/SFX_DESIGN/7027602-Art-Style-Instagram-Pack

[wehavethoughts]

Darryl Carter Review! Part 1: The New Traditional

The New Traditional by Darryl Carter With Trish Donnally Photographs by Gordon Beall Clarkson Potter Publishers, 2008

I’m venturing out of my comfort zone in both form and function. This book is from 2008, so not the freshest on the interior design scene. Additionally, the sophisticated style is far from my personal taste. Regardless, I also thought it’d be fun to have a two-part review, rating Darryl Carter’s two books. Carter is Black and male, and I’m trying to include non-white cis-female authors in my reviews. I was going to do two books in one post, but I think each one stands on it’s own. This post will address The New Traditional and next time, I’ll review The Collected Home. Welcome to Part 1. 

This large-scale, hardcover volume is fit for a coffee-table, with impressive photos and a very intimate writing style. Carter lauds a classic and calm sensibility, as he describes it, and repeatedly refers to logic. When I took a breath from the fantasy, the book did feel out-of-reach. Old money vibes. Overall, I award this book 5 out of 6 worldly geese. 

The New Traditional is a very refined aesthetic catalog guided by precise and thoughtful prose. Three subtitular key phrases span the top of the front cover: reinvent, balance, and define your home. The book really carefully details a design philosophy, pulling from anecdotal experience and the discipline of craft. Carter does an excellent job articulating this new approach to a traditional style, emphasizing in particular a mix of modern and antique. Elegant images of dining rooms and studies, in the limited color palette of warm neutrals, free from clutter or disarray, upon closer inspection, reveal a very intentional composition of old and new, worn patina and sleek smooth surfaces. 

As I mentioned, many of the rooms portrayed aren’t my particular style. Carter enjoys antique mechanical tools and centuries old figurines, for example. The rooms are also pretty sparse and formal. I still was able to enjoy him narrating countless examples of his design reasonings, what he did when a challenge presented itself, how he put a fun twist on a found piece of furniture. This book is generous in sharing knowledge, but I must be clear: he fancy. But he comes from traditional arts schooling (and law!) rather than a scrappy, DIY ambition. So yes, he’s dealing with nicer homes and nicer stuff, but the tone of the text (which can also get pretty fancy) is warm and insightful. And, I mean, the pictures look like they’re from a museum!

I think the reason I’m okay (I think) with this clearly well-funded designer’s interiors is because the written content expresses a tremendous amount of care and appreciation for the materials of the objects in the home. Carter is keen to preserve antiques and to experiment on pieces that aren’t. He hopes that any furniture piece or any room is not too precious to go unused, which is a very precious insight. He consistently encourages his readers to lean into their own style, to find harmony and use cooperation to achieve balance. I love how he playfully uses pieces outside of their intended function: using a dining table as a desk, altering a couch arm to hinge down for more lounging space, putting shuttered doors in front of windows for the illusion of a terrace. One of my favorite nuggets of his advice is to use the reverse side of a rug, as it preserves the rug and shows more muted, abstract colors which is to my taste. His philosophy does not seem to identify with excess, but rather with having a hand in making home feel like home for those living there, for the things they actually do… his clients just have money. 

Small critiques here. Firstly, most of the pictures were not on pages nearest the text describing them. Carter would paint such a vivid picture, I would think to myself, wow that would look cool, and then 20 pages later there it’d be: the picture he was describing! So I don’t know what the editing team was doing there. A second thing is a question: there were like 800 (hyperbole) ancient Chinese figurines mentioned, and I hope those clients were Chinese. Rich Westerners just hoarding artifacts from non-Western cultures is whack. More on this in Part 2, as The Collected Home goes into more depth about obtaining collections. 

Finally, I just wish someone who seems to be ridiculously classy would also care about using more sustainable resources. So many times he’d suggest using synthetics and other machine-made materials because of all the benefits that technology has come to provide (mostly durability). I feel a little sad, thinking, of course he can recommend that. That’s why people pay him a lot! For the result! Even if getting there isn’t green. 

In the end, 5 of 6 sumptuous geese for Darryl Carter: Part 1. I was very pleasantly surprised and actually enjoyed The New Traditional even though it wasn’t ‘my’ style. On the surface, Carter’s other book, The Collected Home, looks like more of the same, but I could be surprised again. Let’s see what more there is to see in Part 2!

With loving curiosity,

DesignMod

[sarahkempphotography]

Clean White Research

After some research I came across a photographer named Lois greenfield and was instantly captured by her work. Lois Greenfield is an American photographer best known for her unique approach to photographing the human form in motion. Lois began her career as a photojournalist but was later drawn to the potential of dance. She covered the experimental dance scene for the Village Voice (an American news and culture paper) from 1973 to the mid 90’s. Her unique approach to photographing the human form in motion has radically redefined the genre and influenced a generation of photographers

Her series of work

Anti Gravity

Geometry

My favourite pieces from her projects

I find this image very captivating, the clean white background contrasted with the checkered bodysuits the models are wearing captures your attention straight away. The models pose creates an interesting shape which makes this image interesting as it isn't the sort of pose you're use to seeing in portraiture. The framing of the Image is slightly off centred which gives the image a lot of negative space which again helps the models stand out. The floor in the image appears to be glossy as it is reflecting the the checkers, personally I think it is slightly distracting but it also gives more dimension to the image as well as the shadows that are being casted on the floor

This image has a great composition, the poses done by the models creates amazing lines in the image. Their facial expressions contrast with each other as the male model is smiling and the female model is showing no emotion. The movement of their clothing and hair creates motion in the image.

[canmom]

If someone else was turning VECTOR into a hyper commercialized franchise, how would they butcher your baby?

lmao well, very kind of you to imply it’s not already star wars level bad. (the web novel in question if anyone’s wondering)

problems i think i have is that the State in VECTOR is too simple, too ‘obviously’ evil - because it’s kind of written off-the-cuff in pursuit of striking images. so it would be very easy to paint it as another sci-fi evil empire that has nothing to do with our own society.

but here’s a few ways you could ruin it for me:

go for the modern ‘gritty shakeycam realism’ choreography instead of something extremely stylised, dance-like and anime-inspired (if it couldn’t be, well, outright anime - VECTOR was kind of an attempt to emulate a sense of Kaneda-school, Imaishi-esque cinematography in prose before I decided to take a shot at becoming an animator for real)

make it less horny/less guro. the hypersexualised setting is a p vital part of its identity to my mind; likewise the violence is supposed to be overwhelming and hit hard or it’s pointless. obviously this means it would get a hard 18 rating and never sell! i know this shit is niche.

how they might write dialogue/characterisation, less traumatised characters. if you had the girls doing american-style action movie quips, you’ve missed the vibe.

making all the protagonists really skinny (and white, they might try that too...) instead of like, athletic, having muscles.

deciding it needs to have a ‘male lead’, or any heterosexuality whatsoever, which would completely undercut absolutely everything I’m trying to do here lmao.

likewise: casting cis people as any of the VECTORs. (casting cis ppl as the resistance members would be ok though ideally not all of them; the Director/CHIASMUS’s parents/random cops and such would be necessarily cis. the metaphor is not subtle, but you could imagine they’d try it.)

giving it a straightforwardly ‘happy ending’. I haven’t reached the ending yet so I don’t know what it will be but, I v much want to avoid cleanly tying everything up and leaving no lingering unease.

that’s some things i’d be afraid of, the other fear would be that, improbably, it does succeed, only to spawn endless franchise tie-ins that rehash the original story without doing anything new with it.

outside of those obvious errors... well, nobody’s ever gonna adapt my stuff so it’s fine lol, but there’s a very vague, ephemeral sense of visual inventiveness that i associate with like, broadly older anime and French comics, occasionally some American works that draw on those sources like Aeon Flux, or most recently stuff like K6BD’s extended riff on wuxia. without that sense of direction, the confidence with composition and colour and negative space and etc., it would feel kind of pointless.

basically: look at the differences between the original Aeon Flux animated series by Peter Chung, and the movie they made of that. or for a prose example, the YA novel Mortal Engines, and the movie they made of that. i’d hate to see something like that happen. tbh with the American movie industry as it is, I wouldn’t want them to touch it.

that said, I think there’s definitely plenty of places VECTOR could be improved. the opening is quite weak, for example, and I plan to rewrite it at some point. the ending to the last segment could potentially have more emotional weight.

setting-wise, I think the Witnesses (the steppe nomadic culture in danger of colonisation) need a lot of fleshing out beyond their brief appearances so far, with at the very least sensitivity reading and if it was going to film, giving someone writing input who has a personal stake there. I also feel like the everyday functioning of the State barely comes across. right now it’s sort of a cartoon setting: fleshing out by a good artist or writer, even if it’s barely relevant to the story directly, could add a lot of texture to it that I haven’t been able to give it yet.

honestly if I was to adapt VECTOR to anything, I think it would have potential as a webcomic. (animation would be ideal but that’s kind of beyond me working alone from my bedroom). I wouldn’t want it to be adapted in its current form - it’s too rough around the edges, and maybe a more polished rewrite as a comic with a consistent update schedule could find a real audience. who knows...

ty for the ask, it’s a fun thing to imagine. thankfully almost nobody reads my stuff so we’re in no danger here :p

[dweemeister]

Movie Odyssey Retrospective

Bambi (1942)

In the early 1920s, Austrian Felix Salten began working on his best-known novel. Salten, a prominent Jewish author, was an avid outdoorsman who closely observed the habits of wildlife in the Viennese countryside. His experiences led him to write Bambi, a Life in the Woods, which became a bestseller in Europe. It was a bestseller in the United States, too, but Salten’s work had somehow been recategorized as a children’s book when exported across the Atlantic. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) producer Sidney Franklin (1942’s Mrs. Miniver, 1942’s Random Harvest) purchased the film rights, but he experimented and failed to find a satisfactory way to adapt Salten’s novel. Frustrated, Franklin handed the reins to Walt Disney. While Disney took on this new project, the Nazi Party banned Salten’s novel – claiming it to be, “a political allegory of the treatment of Jews in Germany.”

Salten, who soon fled for neutral Switzerland (never to return home to annexed Austria), may have inserted some such allegories, but that is not his novel’s primary intention. In one of the novel’s most memorable passages not present in the Disney adaptation, Bambi’s father shows his son a poacher’s corpse – another human has shot this poacher. In realizing humanity’s fragility and its sameness to the animals of the forest, a frightened Bambi, while examining the poacher’s body, declares, “‘There is Another who is over us all, over us and over Him.’” Salten’s novel and the 1942 Disney adaptation directed by David Hand are about the inevitability and universality of death – subject matter not exclusive to children.

Bambi was slated to be the second animated feature by Walt Disney Productions (now Walt Disney Animation Studios). Due to production delays, narrative confusion, aesthetic difficulties, and especially the Disney animators’ strike of 1941, it is the fifth and last entry of the studio’s Golden Age. Whether because of or despite these delays, Bambi seems an outlier in the Disney animated canon. It bears scant artistic resemblance to any of its predecessors or successors. To the bewilderment of viewers who believe that a great movie requires plot, Bambi dispenses of such notions. If conflict appears, it is resolved immediately – with one continuous exception. As Walt Disney insisted on the animation being as realistic as possible while retaining anthropomorphic qualities, the True-Life Adventures series (1948-1960; fourteen innovative nature documentaries that continue to influence the subgenre’s narrative and visual grammar) remains Bambi’s closest cousin in the studio’s filmography. Bambi – wildly innovative, underappreciated upon release and today – completes a consecutive run of five animated features for a Golden Age. Rarely matched today are the standards set by those five films.

This film is a coming-of-age tale; more specifically, it is about a male fawn’s experiences and observations on the natural life cycle. It begins with Bambi’s birth and concludes as Bambi inherits his father’s role as Great Prince of the Forest. This animated Bambi is less pedantic than Salten’s book, which focuses on Bambi’s survival lessons from the other woodland creatures. Instead, story director Perce Pearce (1940’s Fantasia, 1943’s Victory Through Air Power) and screenwriter Larry Morey (primarily a lyricist; 1937’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) adopt a free-flowing episodic structure where Bambi lives life innocently, with violence puncturing through the idyll rather than being omnipresent. We see him befriend the rabbit Thumper and skunk Flower, learn to observe his surroundings before grazing in the open meadow, and play in the snow and on the ice come his first winter. There are comic misunderstandings and warnings about men, neither of which dominate the film.

Bambi also takes time, for a minute or a few, to avert its concentration from its protagonist to other animals. In a less disciplined film, these decisions might undermine the film’s goals – in this case, to portray nature as faithfully as possible within the bounds of a loose narrative. But each of these scenes focused away from Bambi either strengthen Bambi’s characterization, the liveliness of the forest, or the film’s messaging.

A handful of scenes including the elderly Friend Owl introduce us to Bambi and his mother as well as those adolescent, animalistic romantic tinglings he calls “twitterpation”. Friend Owl moves the film forward in ways that abided by the censors at the time, as well as introducing concepts to Bambi and friends in just enough time that is necessary. The most graphic moment during the first scene featuring the hunters (who are never depicted, aurally or visually) does not concern Bambi and his mother, but a few nameless pheasants. Covered in shadow by the long grasses, one of these pheasants speaks of the impending danger, and the audience hears the terror in her tremulous voice. Flying out of the underbrush in a desperate attempt to flee, she is shot by the hunters, and drops to the ground. The frame shows the pheasant’s corpse, but does not linger. This is the only depiction of a dead animal in the film – contrary to the recollections of many viewers. For younger and older viewers alike, this scene emphatically communicates the dangers that Bambi’s mother has warned about, priming the audience for what is to come, and doing so without sensation.

It leads directly to a scene that has become a sort of childhood rite of passage. The death of Bambi’s mother in a later scene has traumatized multiple generations of viewers – intrepid, timeless cinema. As Bambi and his mother are grazing on early Spring grass in the meadow, the latter senses movement and pokes her head up, turning her head realistically as if on a swivel. Her eyes are wide, unnerving. She looks straight at the audience; this would be the stuff of fourth wall-breaking comedy in any other context, but here it is almost inquisitive. Bambi is one of the few Disney canonical films in which what is happening off-screen is equally (if not more) important than what the audience is seeing – something most evident here. The film stubbornly fixes its perspective on the deer and the snow-blanketed backgrounds that emphasize how exposed they are. They flee. There is no cover as the editing becomes more frantic, closing in on the deer’s terrified faces as they rush back to the thicket. A shot rings out. The film’s score – a constant presence throughout Bambi until now – decrescendos from broadening string lines to a chorus vocalizing pianissimo (mimicking the wind-blown snow drifts), and disappears completely when the Great Prince of the Forest appears.

The Great Prince is obscured by the falling snow.

“Your mother can’t be with you anymore.”

Silence. Stillness.

Bambi sheds but a single tear. He walks away with his father and, mirroring his deceased mother, looks towards the audience – this time, not in accusation or inquiry, but faint hope. Cynical viewers label this scene as anticlimactic due to Bambi’s lack of expression. But the filmmaking preceding it – a combination of the editing by Thomas Scott (1939’s Beau Geste, 1948’s So Dear to My Heart); the compositional decisions by composers Frank Churchill (Snow White, 1941’s Dumbo) and Edward H. Plumb (1944’s The Three Caballeros); the attentive character animation by artists too numerous to single out here; and the moody lighting and brushstroke textures to the backgrounds set by Tyrus Wong (1956’s Giant, 1969’s The Wild Bunch) – helps justify Bambi’s reaction. Some of the most important, at times traumatic, moments in life are silent and still. There is just enough pathos here without being anticlimactic or maudlin, or to be patronizing towards young viewers.

And yet the next scene shows Bambi grown up, in the middle of Spring, at play. There is no allusion to the tragedy on-screen a few minutes prior. The filmmakers are not minimizing Bambi’s trauma or nature’s violence, but saying that life nevertheless continues. There is growth, the acceptance of grown-up responsibilities, romance, love, child-rearing. Stags – like Bambi and the Great Prince – mate with does, but do not participate in the lives of their fawns. Unlike other Disney films where animals assume greater anthropomorphized qualities (1967’s The Jungle Book, 2016’s Zootopia), Bambi’s naturalistic approach contradicts any application of human norms and values onto its animals.

For years, this meant struggling to animate wildlife – especially deer. Rendering deer in appealing ways is difficult, due to the shape of their face and the positioning of their eyes on either side of the face. In the end, the animators went with character designer Marc Davis’ (Davis also led the character design of Thumper, Flower, and Cruella de Vil from 1961’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians) outlines: maintaining realistic deer anatomy, but exaggerating the face with a shorter snout and larger eyes. The Great Prince’s antlers proved most infuriating due to the intricate perspectives in animating them. When the animators resolved that they could not animate antlers from scratch, a plaster mold of deer antlers were made and was Rotoscoped (projecting live-action film onto an image for an animator to trace it) the film’s animation cels.

But the most remarkable contribution to Bambi comes from Tyrus Wong. Wong, a Chinese-born American artist, established the look of Bambi’s painterly backgrounds. Based on landscape paintings from the Song dynasty (960-1279; a Chinese historical period when landscape painting was in vogue), Wong’s concept art caught the eye of colleague Maurice “Jake” Day. Day, a photographer, illustrator, and naturalist, spent weeks in Vermont and Maine, sketching and photographing deer and the woods surrounding them. His sketches, however, were deemed too “busy”. By comparison, Wong’s concept art – using pastels and watercolors – is impressionistic, deeply atmospheric. Disney, impressed by Wong’s work, appointed him to be lead production illustrator, and instructed the other background animators to take inspiration from Wong’s concept art. Wong’s lush backgrounds have graceful dimension (a hallmark of Song dynasty landscapes), seemingly extending the forest beyond the frame. A brushstroke implies dimensions to the forest unseen. Wong’s sense of lighting – whether soaking in sun-bathed greens or foreboding black-and-white, blues, or reds – helps Bambi smoothen otherwise abrupt tonal shifts.

Nevertheless, history downplayed Wong’s enormous contribution to one of the greatest animated films ever made. The studio fired Wong shortly after Bambi’s completion as collateral damage from the aftermath of the Disney animators’ strike – by the terms of the agreement with the strikers, Disney recognized the animators’ union but would lay off a union-approved equal ratio of strikers and non-strikers. Wong later found work as a Hallmark greeting card designer and a production illustrator for Warner Bros. Retiring in 1968, Wong was contacted by Disney to serve as a sketch artist for Mulan (1998) – Wong declined, stating that animated films were no longer a part of his life. Only within the last decade has Wong, who passed away in December 2016 at 106 years old, received due recognition for his contributions that his on-screen credit does not reveal.

Perhaps inspired by his meetings and collaboration with conductor Leopold Stokowski and music critic Deems Taylor for Fantasia, Walt insisted on a film score to be present across Bambi’s runtime. Composers Frank Churchill and Ed Plumb take inspiration from the Silly Symphony shorts made prior to Snow White – Bambi’s score and soundtrack occasionally blends with the sound mix and it liberally uses “Mickey Mousing” (the synchronization of music with actions, most notably footsteps, on-screen). With the writing team periodically revising Bambi, Churchill and Plumb waited until the final structure of the story was set before composing the music. Transcripts from the Disney Archives also reveal an emboldened Walt – again, perhaps inspired by his experiences from Fantasia – to insert his own preferences in how the music should sound. Walt, a man who once professed that he, “[didn’t] know beans about music,” was more musically articulate than he had been before Fantasia, and was unusually influential in the film’s orchestration. In the end, the Churchill and Plumb score is largely framed by the opening credits number, “Love is a Song”.

Love is a song that never ends. Life may be swift and fleeting. Hope may die, yet love's beautiful music Comes each day like the dawn.

In a few short stanzas, the composers begin a score that falls silent only two times: when Bambi’s mother mentions “man was in the forest and when the Great Prince of the Forest appears shrouded in snow. If one did not already associate it with the actions of the film’s characters, Bambi’s fully-orchestrated score sounds like a lengthy, motif-filled tone poem that can be heard in a concert hall. Listen to the string harmonies supporting the “Love is a Song”-vocalizing chorus during “Sleep Morning in the Woods/The Young Prince/Learning to Walk” beginning from 4:19-5:20. That sort of harmonic density would not be out of place in a late Romantic-era concert hall. Occasionally, that tone poem of a score gives way for the limited musical soundtrack like “Little April Shower” – the film’s best song, and one where instruments and vocalizing humans serve to simulate the sound of rain and wind. Bambi contains some of the tenderest music, reflecting the film’s thematic content, in the Disney canon.

Upon release, many critics and audiences found Bambi a step backward for Disney, caring not that the studio’s namesake and its animators agonized over its realism. Disney had upended the moviegoing world’s expectations with Snow White and spawned competing studios looking to replicate that alchemy. But in doing so, the studio also coded audience and critic expectations that animated film should only be fantastical. To strive for realistic animation to reflect nature was, “boring” and “entirely unpleasant” – for these critics (who say nothing about how animation can guide emotion), animated fantasy was innovative because it bent reality in ways live-action cannot portray. Echoing the most vehement criticisms hurled towards Fantasia, Bambi’s then-contemporary naysayers implied that even attempting to animate nature realistically and ignoring fantasy would be a pretentious exercise. In columns and tabloids, the American media also devolved into a mud-slinging debate over whether Bambi – because of its off-screen portrayal of humanity – defamed hunters.

By similarly contradictory logic, animated film in 1942 was mostly perceived as children’s entertainment – an attitude that has been dominant ever since, and one that yours truly tries to discredit with exasperating frequency. With no other rival animation studios attempting anything as ambitious as a Fantasia or Bambi, gag-heavy short films from Disney and its competitors contributed to these widely-held views. With World War II underway, the dissonance of expectations would only escalate. American moviegoers, though wishing to escape from the terrible headlines emerging from Europe, North Africa, and Asia, believed animated films too juvenile for their attention. Bambi – a dramatic film intended for children and adults – faltered under the burden of these wartime contradictions. It would not make back its production costs during its initial run.

This commercial failure, on the heels of the animators’ strike, cast a shadow over Disney’s Burbank studio and on Walt himself. Walt would never publicly admit this, but he believed he had been too focused on animated features. So much of his creative soul and experimental mind had been dedicated to the Golden Age films, but at what cost? The critical and commercial triumphs of Snow White and Dumbo were offset by Pinocchio’s (1940) budgetary overruns and the headline-grabbing negativity (by music and film critics) that financially drowned Fantasia and Bambi. Internal divisions that led to the animators’ strike nearly destroyed the studio; heavy borrowing from Bank of America resulted in runaway debt. Walt – spiritually and physically – would not be present for the rounds of layoffs (mandated by the agreement with the striking animators) that almost halved the studio’s staff after Bambi’s release. He accepted a long-standing offer from the Office for Inter-American Affairs to embark on a goodwill tour of South America to help improve relations with Latin American nations (as well as collect ideas for future animated films).

Bambi remains a sterling example of Walt Disney Animation Studios’ artistic daring. The film pushes realistic animation as far as the technology of its time can. It does so not only for the sake of visual realism, but to reinforce the profound emotions it has evoked for decades. The film’s tragic dimensions are legendary, oft-parodied; yet this does not (and should not) define it. Almost eighty years since its debut, Bambi’s reputation continues to be mired in the contradictions that first greeted its release. There are some who still believe that animated cinema, by its nature, is specifically for children. And by an extension of that thought, some believe tragedy has no place in animated cinema. What a limited view of art that is, an underestimation of humanity’s capacity for understanding.

Bambi concludes the Golden Age of Walt Disney Animation Studios. Since its departure from theaters, moviegoers have rarely been treated to animated cinema of equal or greater maturity – let alone from Disney itself. The artistic cavalcade of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Pinocchio (1940), Fantasia (1940), Dumbo (1941), and Bambi (1942) resulted in five consecutive films resembling nothing like the other, but all united in ferocious innovation. The central figure of this Golden Age, Walt Disney, was personally involved in each of these works; the end of this so-called Golden Age comes as he stops dedicating himself so completely to the studio’s animated features. In their own ways, each film helped define what animated cinema can be and who it is for. That debate remains fluid, one where the principal interlocutors learn from or disregard the lessons of this Golden Age.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

This is the seventeenth Movie Odyssey Retrospective. Movie Odyssey Retrospectives are reviews on films I had seen in their entirety before this blog’s creation or films I failed to give a full-length write-up to following the blog’s creation. Previous Retrospectives include The Wizard of Oz (1939), Mary Poppins (1964), and Oliver! (1968).

[hinatahyugacute]

This is the song recommended by voice actor Nana Mizuki! Pick up 10 songs! This album should be bought first!

Voice actor Nana Mizuki who entered the 20th anniversary of her debut as a singer this year. Mizuki, who is famous as the queen of Anison, often uses the word "voice actor first" to describe her success as a singer.

She is a top runner of the times, with many achievements such as winning the 1st place in the Oricon weekly ranking, performing at the Tokyo Dome, and appearing in the "NHK Kohaku Uta Gassen". He is still one of the leading anison scenes.

It was also a big topic that he announced the holding of his first online live "NANA ACOUSTIC ONLINE" the other day and showing that he would continue to take on new challenges in the current situation. In addition, her 40th single, which includes a serial number for purchasing online live viewing tickets, will be released on October 7th this year, so her activity is drawing attention.

Today we would like to introduce 10 Animate Times recommended songs from Mizuki's songs! I will also introduce the albums you should buy first, so I hope that it will be a reference for those who will touch on Mizuki's songs in the future.

This album is the first to buy! "THE MUSEUM Ⅲ"

Amazing contents such as almost all the recorded songs are tie-up songs!

CD with all 17 songs, MUSIC CLIP of "Iki Koi" which is the first recording of this album, and "Sugafest! ~ Miracle Festival once in 20 years" to commemorate 20th anniversary of Suga Shikao's debut. A 2-disc set of Blu-ray (DVD) with patterns recorded.

This album, which contains single songs, is the third of Mizuki's best album. From 26th single "Synchrogazer" to 36th single "TESTAMENT" are recorded, many songs that are unique to Mizuki are recorded, such as collaboration songs with TMRevolution and reconstruction assistance songs with Koichi Yamadera.

Also included in the video is the live classic "ETERNAL BLAZE". It is exactly the content of Mizuki's singer activity, and you can feel Mizuki as a singer with both your ears and eyes!

Introducing Mizuki's recommended songs!

Here are 10 recommended songs from Mizuki's famous songs! We have selected from classic live songs to nostalgic masterpieces, so if you plan to participate in future live performances, please check!

Deep bass and terrible hard sound ""Let's live at this moment-when-"

◆ Collected works 39th single "METANOIA" Released on July 17, 2019　

◆Music information TV anime "Senki Zessho Symphogear XV" opening theme. A song with a magnificent finish that seems to be the opening of the 5th Symphogear series. It has a different approach from the previous series songs, and you can see different aspects from other series songs such as male chorus and rap. This is a Nana Mizuki song, with a feeling of "singing" to follow the work! A song that gives the impression of.

Recommended second song "STARTING NOW! ]

Nana-san's cheerful support song "I have a dream that only those who know everything can touch it"

◆ Recording work 36th single "STARTING NOW! 』2016.07.13 release 12th album "NEOGENE CREATION" 2016.12.21 release Best album "THE MUSEUM Ⅲ" 2018.01.10 release

◆Music information The cheering song "STARTING NOW!", which has a pleasant running feeling, is the opening theme of the TV anime "There is a problem with this art club!" While it's a refreshing rock tune that will support all your love and dreams, it's also a lively fun song. In the lyrics, there's "Please come!!", but the phrase is very Nana-like, reminiscent of the closing words of the radio "Nana Mizuki Smile Gang."

The song "Dream Coordinates-Zodiac-Gently Write" of the work

◆Recorded works 21st single “PHANTOM MINDS” 2010.01.13 release 8th album “IMPACT EXCITER” 2010.07.07 release Best album “THE MUSEUM II” 2011.11.23 release

◆Song information The single that recorded this song was the first voice actor in history to be “1st place on the Oricon weekly single chart”, and was also shown at the second appearance “61st NHK Kohaku Uta Gassen”. This song, which is the theme song for the movie version "Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha The MOVIE 1st", is a companion song to "innocent starter", the opening theme of the first Lyrical Nanoha series.

The emotion expressed in "innocent starter" at that time is drawn in a different way. Of course, it's a lively song, but it's also a song that strongly reflects the work "Lyrical Nanoha".

Recommended 4th song "Shinai"

I'm sure I can't help but tell you "I can't reach you no matter how much I think"

◆Recorded works 19th single “Shinai” 2009.01.21 release 7th album “ULTIMATE DIAMOND” 2009.06.03 release Best album “THE MUSEUM II” 2011.11.23 release

◆Song information This song has achieved various records, including the Oricon single daily chart second place. The ballad, which is also the theme song of the TV animation "WHITE ALBUM", has the image of this work, and the melody reminiscent of a popular song is impressive.

Mizuki's various thoughts, such as the feelings of his father who died just before making the lyrics and the image of "WHITE ALBUM". A quick ballad inspires the lacrimal gland.

Recommended 5th song "Orchestral Fantasia"

This is exactly the "sea of ​​strings" "Wandering in the sea of ​​strings"

◆ 6th album “GREAT ACTIVITY” released on November 14, 2007

◆Song information

This song, which is loved by many fans even though it is an album song, is a work in which so-called strings such as acoustic guitar and violin stand out. It is a song full of Mizuki's taste, with the strings' fantasy melody and painful lyrics in harmony. The guitar quartet presented at "LIVE THEATER 2015" is a must-see.

Recommended 6th song "SUPER GENERATION"

Support song that will not fade even after many years "Let's go find the most important thing"

◆Recorded works 13th single “SUPER GENERATION” released on January 18, 2006 5th album “HYBRID UNIVERSE” released on May 05, 2006 Best album “THE MUSEUM” released on February 07, 2007

◆Song information Mizuki-san was the first song in charge of composition, and if you say Mizuki-san's style, it is the first child (Mr. Mizuki calls herself the song No. ◯◯). Even 14 years after its release, it is a support song that fascinates fans without fading at all. If it is performed live, the cheers of the audience will become louder. Especially, the last big chorus of "LaLaLa" can feel the unity like "Nana Mizuki's live!"

Recommended 7th song "ETERNAL BLAZE"

A sense of words that shines everywhere in the lyrics "Yes, surely it starts here..."

◆Recorded works 12th single “ETERNAL BLAZE” 5th album “HYBRID UNIVERSE” released May 05, 2006 Best album “THE MUSEUM” released February 02, 2007

◆ Music information Even if you are not very familiar with Nana Mizuki's music, there are a lot of people who know this music. This song is the theme song of the TV anime "Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha A's" and is counted as one of Mizuki's successes.

The lyrics are written by Mizuki-san, and the words that have a unique reading, such as "Goddess-Tenshi-" and "Nightmare-Maboroshi-", are scattered everywhere. This song is a classic live song! I think that there are many people. In particular, the shout of "ETERNAL BLAZE!" during the interlude responded to Mizuki-san's agitation, and the excitement of the hot air in the venue explodes at once.

Recommended 8th song "Tears' Night"

Mizuki-san and Uematsu-san The origin of the tag! "Tears' Night Repeated Your Name"

◆ 4th album "ALIVE&KICKING" released on December 08, 2004

◆ Music information This is the first work by Noriyasu Uematsu (Elements Garden) and Mizuki, who work on many popular songs. A lyrical song that seems to be Mr. Uematsu's music, with a fantastic and speedy melody, and Mizuki's passionate singing voice makes you feel comfortable and somehow sad.

It was performed at the first full orchestra concert "NANA MIZUKI LIVE GRACE -ORCHESTRA-", and it is a masterpiece stage, so please check it out!

Recommended 9th song "New Sensation"

Representative presence of Mizuki-san's support song "One-off life should definitely be enjoyed"

◆ 7th single "New Sensation" 2003.04.23 release 3rd album "DREAM SKIPPER" 2003.11.27 release Best album "THE MUSEUM" 2007.02.07 release

◆ Music information Akio Mishima, who is in charge of producing many King Records artists including Mizuki, is also a support song that pushes the drum. It has been sung in many live shows so far, and was also shown at "LIVE EXPRESS 2019" held last year.

The lyrical lyrics and the melody with a deep groove make the listener feel energetic, and "Men energize" makes the song feel like Mizuki. In addition, it is a song that attracts attention to guest artists, such as welcoming Masami Okui to the chorus.

Recommended 10th song "POWER GATE"

The classic song that has been sung every year since its release "We can change the times"

◆ 4th single “POWER GATE” 2002.05.01 release 2nd album “MAGIC ATTRACTION” 2002.11.06 release Best album “THE MUSEUM” 2007.02.07 release

◆Song information Mizuki has sent many popular songs to the world. Of course, there are many songs that are standard songs for live performances, and it seems that it will become one album by itself. Among them, this song, "POWER GATE", is the most sung live and popular with fans.

You can feel the power of the singer "Nana Mizuki" no matter what the energy of the song and the sense of unity at the live performance. Mizuki-san sings in the song, "We can change the times," but a support song that is so compelling is rare.

source: https://www.animatetimes.com/news/details.php?id=1598603646

[ask-de-writer]

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

///////////////////////

These had been made with fine, supple leathers taken from the destroyed village of the Marquosts. They had originally held pictographs of things that the Shamans and Totem Society leaders had thought worth recording. Their pictograms, like Egyptian hieroglyph or Chinese ideograms were a genuine written language. That was one of the ways that the Marquost society had been more than a little different from that of the Indians about them.

The men had a Society of Shamans lead by the Great Shaman. They had the charge to do the mighty magics that needed the Blackwall and its power. I was descended from that tradition.

The women had charge of the assorted Totem Societies. Most Indians drew inspiration from their totem animals. The Marquost women did more than draw inspiration from their totems. They became them. They were not lycanthropes, cursed to change with the moon. Marquost women were skin-turners. They donned the skin of the totem animal and became that creature in truth but with a guiding human intelligence and cunning. They were lead by a woman known as the Mother of Change, who could become any animal from any of the Totem Societies — and if rumor be true — any other beast as well.

The High Shaman and the Mother of Change were the ones who wrote and decided what to write.

After three hundred years, their wisdom and spells were coming to light again on my computer monitor. As the English writing was subtracted from the Darkmoon palimpsests, I began to notice something else.

My hackles rose the way that they will when you find that something is very wrong. When I examined the original photographs of the book pages more closely, I found the cause. The originals were genuinely ancient. That was almost beyond doubt. When you are a Shaman, as I am, you get a feel for such things. The problem was in the handwriting. I had a three hundred year span of books open to me. Everywhere that I sampled the Darkmoon Dairies I found the same thing.

The Darkmoon Diaries were a forgery. A unique forgery. I was willing to give long odds that there was no other such forgery in the world.

Efforts to make the handwriting different from writer to purported writer had grossly succeeded. It was the little things that betrayed the forgery. The downstroke of the f’s and s’s. The loop form of the e’s. They were common throughout. It appeared that one person had written all three hundred years worth of dairies.

The most recent volume revealed the likely author.

Just as I was pondering the diaries, Allison delivered a note from Laelia inquiring about my progress and inviting me to assist with cataloging the Hilstrom house. I put aside my problem with the dairies for the more immediate one of helping with Hilstrom house and seeing what might be of use. A Shaman may benefit from much that the ordinary person might not even find interesting. There might be things in there that could lead me to other surviving descendants of the ‘Founding Fathers’ of Flocking Bay.

Because of the age of the Hilstrom House and the contents it was known to have, it was necessary to catalog everything. We would assess what to include in the sale or even if the place should be sold at all. Some of the contents, at least, would have to be auctioned off and some kept for the library and the Historical Society museum.

The Hilstrom House was worth putting aside my petty mysteries. It would be an easy restoration to bring the house back to its original state. Most of the original hand hewn planks and timbers were still there and in place. The electricity and gas had been put in with no attempt to hide the wires and pipes inside the walls.

The fireplace still had the original hand made crane to hang cooking pots over the flames. The andirons were a recent addition. The originals we found later, cast out into a bramble thicket behind the house.

The whole place could easily become a colonial museum. When I breached the idea to Laelia she agreed that it could be done at little cost. The only problem that she foresaw was the simple one of maintenance cost. Such museums rarely paid their way and the township was simply too poor to support another one in addition to the Historical Society museum.

“Don’t give up, though,” she said, patting my hand. “You can propose it at the township meeting. If it is approved, they will find a way to do it.”

I felt that odd hackle-raising twisting that tells you where magic is. It led me to a corner of the living room. There, in a window seat made to serve as a storage chest, were many papers and books … and the source of my feeling.

The old matchlock musket appeared to be in near perfect condition. It was mounted to a plaque with an engraved brass plate just as the diary had said. It read, “This gun won us the town now called Flocking Bay. Eben Hilstrom shot and killed the Shaman with it. The gun would never fire again after.”

Laelia reached past me and took the old gun. “The Historical Society will want this testament to the shameful deed that founded this town.”

I looked at her strangely. I was beginning to fear that Laelia might be a descendant of one of the Founders. A check of ship passenger manifests from 1645 through the end of 1648 showed none who could be Laelia or her ‘ancestress.’ Something would have been in those records even if she had been a stowaway. What did she have to hide? Several things that she had said before flitted through my mind. The unique forgery of the Darkmoon diaries. The Darkmoon crest. The timing of her ancestress’ arrival in Flocking Bay. The low price of the indenture.

With a winning smile, I said, “Laelia, I think that these papers will be enough to keep us busy for the rest of the day.” “Let’s take them back to your place where we can catalog them over some of your wonderful tea.”

We strolled back to Changer’s Court in a pleasant afternoon, with the wind playing with leaves and trying to steal our booty of history.

Back at Laelia’s cottage, I breached a different topic as she puttered about her modern kitchen with its gas range, making tea for us. “Laelia, I have some of the palimpsests done. I think that you will be interested. I found your indenture contract. You can even see where Eben Hilstrom altered it.”

The puttering in the kitchen stopped for a moment. You could hear the strained smile in her voice as she see replied, “You mean the indenture of my ancestress. I’m not THAT old.” She resumed puttering purposefully about and emerged with the tea tray.

As she set it down on the coffee table, I said, “I’m afraid that you’re not telling me the whole truth, Laelia. I can prove that you wrote all of the Darkmoon dairies and I can also prove their age.

“I need to ask you some questions about your origins. I can only think of a few reasons that a person might live so long.”

She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. Resignedly she said, “Have some tea and ask what you will. It was a long run from Poland for my sister and I. She was killed in France. The Crest says it all, to those perceptive enough to read it, as you seem to be.”

I raised my tea to my lips and smelled the aroma. My hackles rose again. I could smell and feel the power. It was a familiar power, like my mother’s but stronger. I had my answer.

“No,” I said, putting down the cup untasted. “You have lied long enough. You are not a werewolf and you are not Polish either. Though being one would account for your age. I know who you are.”

I spoke in Marquost, the old Indian tongue of the area when I said, “Ask me what you want to know, Mother of Change. This Shaman will tell you truthfully what you wish to know without the power of that.” I pointed at the tea.

For a second, she appeared startled. Then she let out the same laugh that I had heard and liked earlier. She replied in the same language, “Your accent is abominable! Still, I haven’t heard anyone use this language at all for years!” Her speech was the utterly relaxed, easy flow of a native speaker.

“Near enough to three hundred years, I expect,” I said softly. “You must have been lonely, living among your enemies for so long.”

“Not so lonely as you might imagine,” said Laelia with that calm that comes only from utter assurance. “I have been stalking my prey. I have got to know them and listen to their Councils and give them advice. When the time is right I take one of my skins and turn it. Then an enemy suffers. That is when proper vengeance comes. They have suffered and must suffer for a long time yet to come. That is why your killing them is not to be accepted. Do not do that. It may put them on their guard.”

Startled, and just a bit guilty, I said, “Mr. Hilstrom was the last of his line. He was old and a bachelor. The Hilstroms are gone.”

Her cheerful laugh interrupted me. “Where did you get that silly idea? That was only the end of the male line. What is the true line of descent?”

I was dumbfounded. I had forgotten, been taken in by the white man’s patrilineal lines of descent. So proud of my own matrilineal descent from the last Shaman, I had used the white man’s genealogical rules to track my enemies! I would have to start my genealogical work all over.

I hung my head in shame. Determined, I raised my head looking Laelia in the eye. “A Shaman must acknowledge his error and try to remedy it. I must begin to search for the neglected lines of descent. Our enemies must die!” I said firmly.

She rebuked me gently but with absolute certainty. “They must NOT die! Death is the END of vengeance. I swore ETERNAL revenge to the Blackwall, pouring on it the blood of my foes. When the last of them dies, so do I!”

Smiling, Laelia said, “I help them in their need and see to it that they stay within my reach.” Her eyes going lupine, she added, “I stalk them down the trail of time. In each generation, they all suffer. A few die. They go on. And so do I.”

I looked at Laelia with new eyes and a heightened respect. I said softly, “Mother of Change, I am sure that your eternal vengeance is more suitable than my slaying. This Shaman opens to you the whole power of the Blackwall.”

—THE END—

<==Previous

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

This completes Met by Moonlight. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr

[jincherie]

a lullaby on canvas | ksj [m]

��� pairing; seokjin x reader ✧ genre; neighbour au, siren au, artist au, fluff, smut ✧ words; 15k ✧ rating; m ✧ warnings; explicit sexual content; oral (receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial/control, light choking, unprotected sex, creampie, marking/hickeys, minor siphoning of energy, pet names, uh I feel like there’s more but I suppose I’ll remember later! ✧ notes; happy birthday seokjin!!! also behold, my emerging coughchokingcough kink that is probably spawning thanks to a certain SOMEONES *narrows eyes at half the crack chat*

Your neighbour, as far as you knew, was mute. You weren’t sure what exactly had happened, but you figured that perhaps it contributed to the stunning works he created with paints and clay. You were curious, and that curiosity led you to grow closer – but perhaps, in growing closer and getting to know him, you were getting a little in over your head.

posted; 04.12.2018

gif source: @sweaterpawsjimin (I’ll link to the excact post in a rb)

It was with a sigh that you allowed your head to fall back with a soft thump against the headrest, the hum of your car’s engine fading as it cooled and drew to a halt. Now that the air-conditioner was off, it was quickly beginning to grow stuffy inside the cabin, yet still you remained in place a moment longer. You’d just finished a particularly long day at work and needed a few moments to collect yourself before you emerged from this safe little haven to face the world once more.

You loved your job, you really did, but some days... some days it was particularly draining. Childcare in itself was an oft underpaid industry, especially considering the hard work and hours required, but when the children were having a bad day, it usually didn’t mean well for you as staff either. There were a few children that attended the centre where you worked, endearing triplets with chocolate hair and big green eyes from a lovely wolf couple, and most of the time they spent the day attached to you by the hip. Today, however, the pups had arrived in a mood, and had retained it throughout the whole day—and when you were dealing with toddlers, that usually spelt trouble, and a lot of tears and tantrums. So after such a day, you were understandably exhausted, and had only managed to make it through your shift thanks to the promise of last night’s leftovers waiting for you in the fridge.

Chicken noodle soup, with rich flavouring and hearty chunks of meat… god, your mouth was watering just thinking about it.

Letting out another huff, you grasped your bag and eased open the car door; you didn’t bother attempting to hide the groan that escaped you since the basement floor of your apartment building was practically empty anyway. Even so, you weren’t a fan of the way the sound echoed.

You managed to take a few steps before the loud THUD of a car door shutting broke through the air, bouncing heavily off the concrete walls, and making you jump about five feet in the air from fright as it alerted you that you weren’t the only person down there like you thought. You were too startled to swear, whipping around with wide eyes only to falter and flush slightly as you caught sight of the basement’s only other current resident.

Kim Seokjin, the man who occupied the apartment right next to yours, was standing by the boot of his sleek black car in all his glory, perhaps a dozen or so bags settled at his feet. You caught the huff as it left his mouth, watching as he bent and began gathering bags in each hand. His dusty rose locks were tousled, similar to how you imagined they would be after a trip to the beach ruffled by the breeze, and his smooth, honeyed skin contrasted nicely with the thin, white material of his shirt as it stretched over his broad shoulders and back. A flush of heat washed over you as it usually did whenever you came within close proximity of him, knees wobbling slightly. You cursed this schoolgirl reaction as always, but couldn’t help it—not when he always looked so good and had such an air about him that drew you in so completely.

You blinked and suddenly he was attempting to lift the bags he had in hand, what looked to be four heavy bags in each grip, and felt your throat grow parched at the sight of his biceps and forearms bulging, veins rising to the surface from the strain and tension in his arms. Lord. You really needed a moment.

A moment you didn’t really have, however—you quickly realised you were just standing there with your jaw on the floor, ogling, as he struggled, and hurried to correct that.

“Ah, hey Seokjin!” you urged your limbs into motion, thankful you didn’t stumble on your wobbly knees. “Did you want some help?”

The male jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, spinning as quickly as the load in his grasp would allow to stare at you with wide eyes. When he saw it was you however, a soft grin slipped onto his full lips and he lifted his fingers from where they were weighed down with bags in his best attempt at a wave of sorts. In response to your question, he nodded, dusty pink locks sticking to his forehead slightly from the small amount of perspiration he’d managed to work up. You had to give it to him though, it was so stuffy down here that had that been you, you’d no doubt be drowning in sweat by now.

At his acceptance of your offer to help, you quickly made sure your own bag was adjusted over your back and scurried over, picking up the remaining shopping bags. The contents seemed to range from groceries to small metal tools that you’d glimpsed a few times before but never caught the name of, no doubt things he used in his craft. Now that you were even closer to him than before, your nose picked up the familiar, enticing scent it usually caught mixed in with the cinnamon and vanilla aroma the male carried—brine, a peculiar addition to the mix but somehow, it worked. You loved the ocean after all, so you didn’t exactly mind that he always smelt a little bit like it.

The male waited patiently for you as you picked up the remaining bags, silence filling the air, but you didn’t really mind it at all. In fact, it was to be expected.

“Did you want me to take some off your hands?” you asked, smiling a little when the male shook his head. “Alright, let’s get them up to your place then.”

He offered you a bright grin, pearly teeth flashing briefly before he turned and began to move towards the stairs that led to the first floor and lobby. You admired the toned muscles of his back as you followed, in awe of how his body didn’t even lean or sway from the weight he was carrying, unlike yours. God, this man was unreal. You really hoped he couldn’t feel the weight of your stare. Once more, silence filled the air between you, broken only by your soft humming and the sound of your footsteps slapping against the cool concrete of the steps. Again, you weren’t surprised by the lack of conversation, and didn’t really mind it. You’d be kind of a dick to be bothered about it.

Your neighbour, Kim Seokjin, was mute, after all.

You didn’t really know what had happened, had never dared to ask the details since it felt too, well… too invasive. But you knew that you had never heard him utter a word, and the friends of his that you’d met had confirmed your suspicions after the first time you’d ever run into him. Seokjin didn’t talk, couldn’t talk— you mused that perhaps that was why he poured so much of his time, effort, and soul into other mediums.

The trip up to the floor the two of you resided on was fairly quick, and before you knew it the male was attempting to fish his keys from the deep pocket of his ripped jeans. You were almost going to offer to help when he finally found them, sliding the metal into the lock and turning it with a satisfying click. To be honest, you expected him to just liberate you of the bags and bid you farewell at the door, but to your complete and utter surprise, he marched right in, turning to beckon you after him with a hand. Giddy with excitement, you adjusted your grip on the bags and scuttled in after him, eyes already swinging around in awe. You’d waited and wanted so long to get another glimpse of this place.

Seokjin was an artist, and the artworks he had hung and displayed around his apartment, both complete and otherwise, were almost addictive to look at. The first time you’d come in here, not long after you’d moved in next door, you’d been lucky enough to glimpse a few of the paintings he had been working on—one set up on an easel in the living area, only at the beginning of its journey, and others leaning against the wall in various stages of completion. Even though it wasn’t finished, something about the way his works were, the way the brush strokes swirled and ended, the colours popped off of the canvas, and the composition of the image—it all caught your gaze and kept it for hours, days after. You’d found yourself thinking about his works long after that initial visit, and even now you could remember vividly how they’d looked. They weren’t anywhere to be seen now, of course, and it wasn’t paintings but small sculptures and various clay body parts that lay in partial completion across the coffee table in their stead.

With a tinge of regret, you tore your eyes from the clay shapes and hurried to follow after the pink-haired male, finding him just around the corner in the kitchen. He was plopping his bags on the floor, having taken up the bench space with some already, and you joined him in depositing the bags down. He began to rifle through them, searching for something, and you allowed your attention to wander for a brief moment as your gaze flitted about distractedly.

“Ah!” the noise escaped you suddenly at the pleasant surprise flooding your senses, eyes lighting up as you caught sight of a large canvas sitting alone on the dark wood of the kitchen table. “Oh, wow!”

You didn’t even notice Seokjin’s gaze on you as you shuffled around the bench to get closer to the painting, an awed grin already tugging your lips as you scanned the canvas before you. The colours appealed to you instantly, soft sky blues that blended and curled into deep turquoise and aqua, sea green in the places where it caught the light. It wasn’t really a portrait of anything distinct and distinguishable, yet you could tell that it encapsulated something from the nameless emotion that began to rise and swell in your chest beneath your lungs. You didn’t know what it was about it exactly that evoked such a strong reaction in you, but you loved it. Your gaze flicked to the side where you saw a few words scribbled onto a piece of A4 note paper, only one remaining that hadn’t been crossed out— ‘lullaby’.

“Seokjin, this is beautiful!” you gushed, turning to give him a bright grin. You felt your cheeks flush when you found his gaze already on you, plump lips tugged into a smile of their own and dark eyes curved pleasantly. “I like everything I’ve ever seen of yours, but I think I like this the most of all.”

You could have sworn his cheeks flushed as he placed the item in his hand onto the bench for a moment amongst the other groceries he’d unpacked. You wondered what he was going to do as his free hand lifted now, and nearly choked as he brought it to his lips to blow you a kiss, before holding up a finger heart. The action wrought a surprised laugh from you, cheeks hurting a little from how big you grinned. An idiot. He was an idiot, but it was oddly endearing.

“You’re welcome,” you managed to say, turning your gaze back to the painting for a moment in attempt to disperse the awkwardness beginning to creep upon you. “God… it really is beautiful Seokjin.”

You admired it for a moment before your gaze strayed and you caught sight of the clock—it had been about half an hour since you’d parked in the garage and run into him. You’d been taking up his time and intruding in his space that long?! A light flush of embarrassment washed through you as you jerked away from the table, whipping back to face Seokjin with a sheepish laugh. Your heart skipped a beat as you found his gaze already centred on your form, and struggled to find your voice as a result for a moment.

“Shit,” the curse was the first thing to escape your mouth, and you smacked yourself mentally for it as Seokjin’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t realise the time! Sorry for intruding so long, Seokjin!”

The male’s lips tugged at the corners, an amused glaze catching in his eyes as he shrugged, unbothered. You were already on your way to the door though.

“I’ll let you do uh, whatever you need to do. I should go. I’ll show myself out,” you stumbled over your words, waving while you made a hasty retreat. “See you, Seokjin! Have a lovely night!”

And then you were dashing out of his apartment and straight next door to your own, eager to escape your own embarrassment and awkwardness. The rosy-haired male stared after you, blinking in surprise. If only you’d stayed a little longer, you would have seen the small profiterole he’d pull out of the package to give you as thanks.

x     x     x     x      x     x     x     x     x

 It was a few nights later that you found yourself roused groggily from deep in the middle of REM sleep, the remnants of a dream about talking crabs and a crustacean-driven apocalypse flashing across your mind before they disappeared completely, discarded to the abyss and forgotten. You lay still for a moment, blinking eyes that were still heavy with sleep, and took the time to wonder exactly why you’d been pulled so abruptly from the tender embrace of sleep at—you checked your phone, wincing at the brightness of the screen as it assaulted your eyes—2:35AM.

You didn’t have to wait long before the answer to your question was caressing your ears, softer than a summer breeze but just as soothing. At once, you felt the tension in your body dissipate, eyes fluttering, the soft, pillowy comfort of your bed around you all the more apparent as you relaxed into it. Someone was singing, and it was such a soul-wrenching, beautiful sound when paired with the stillness of night, the cool glow the moon cast upon the inky depths of your room, that it almost brought tears to your eyes. Hearing the melodious ring of someone singing at such hours surprisingly wasn’t uncommon. You’d not heard it in a while, but it was several times a week that you were often lucky enough to catch it. It wasn’t in a language you understood, but in all honesty, for you, that only added to the charm, the allure. Your eyes glazed over, unfocused and directed up at the ceiling, not even registering its deep blue hue, as all of your attention and focus went to your hearing.

The voice, more masculine than feminine if you had to discern, dipped and flowed, each note hitting something in your chest that made your lungs constrict and heart tremble. There was something haunting about it, the loneliness of such a strong, beautiful voice without the company of instruments and backing, but you found that you liked it that way. It made it feel special, really, as though this song was just for you, the notes resonating so hypnotically through the wall and against your chest that you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat every so often. You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, slowly lulled back to sleep by the soft caress of the nameless voice against your ears. You were quick to re-enter the realm of dreams, but this time your mind flickered with images of plush lips and sweet smiles.

x     x     x     x     x     x     x     x

 When you’d become conscious enough to register the knocking on your door, early the next morning, you’d taken a few moments too many to get out of bed and had, subsequently, missed whoever it was bothering you at such an hour. By the time you’d wrapped yourself in your silk nightgown for decency’s sake (it had been a disgustingly humid the night previous and with your poor air conditioner at its limit you’d been forced to take drastic measures regarding attire) and made your way through your modest apartment to the front door, whoever had been knocking was long gone.

In their stead, you managed to notice just in time before shutting your door in dismissal, was a package left at your doorstep. Confusion filled you at the sight—you hadn’t ordered anything lately? It wasn’t all that big of a package, but it certainly wasn’t small; it can’t have been all that important either, as the deliveryman hadn’t even waited for a signature. Curious, you bent and retrieved it from the ground, twisting it in your hands in search of the label that would clear up all your questions.

“’Deliver to: Mr Kim Seokjin’,” you read aloud, letting out a surprised huff afterwards. It clearly had his apartment number printed on the label, how had they managed to mix it up with yours? Perhaps the deliveryman was in a rush, you mused, and didn’t have time to check. He hadn’t knocked for very long before dashing off, after all.

Well, it would be better to clear this up sooner rather than later. Completely forgetting about your current state of dress, you left your door open and padded down the hall to the one that belonged to your neighbour. A round of butterflies tickled your tummy at the notion of seeing him again, as it usually did. Curse these damn hormonal reactions. You shook your head to clear it of the ridiculous thoughts beginning to clutter it and raised your hand to knock.

It was frozen in its path, however, when the door creaked slightly open from the gust created by your abrupt movement. It was already open? Damn it, one of these days Seokjin was going to get mugged if he didn’t lock his damn door. Making a note to talk to him about it again, you went to knock on the doorframe instead when the sound of a voice from inside the apartment reached your ears.

“You’re being ridiculous,” it was decidedly masculine, and growing louder with each second that passed. You distantly registered the sound of two pairs of footsteps, but any alarm you might have felt was squashed when they stopped several feet from the door. You strained your ears to catch what was being said and discern who exactly was speaking—it surely couldn’t be Seokjin, could it?

“You’re really still on this?” the voice came again, youthful in its tenor and somewhat melodious despite the sharp edge of frustration riding in its tone. “You’re really still attempting to keep this act up?”

There was a pause, then shock had your heart skipping a beat as the voice continued, “Ridiculous. How long are you going to keep pretending you can’t talk?”

You felt your mouth drop open, your brows shooting up in absolute appal. But the voice was not done yet, despite the budding rage beginning to bloom in your chest.

“Your voice isn’t going to disappear just because you don’t use it, Seokjin. You can only escape what you are, who you are for so long. What’s so great about this place, this world, that you would refuse to come home, refuse to embrace your own gifts and blessings—”

Unable to take anymore, you smacked the door open and marched inside, catching sight of the two males barely a few feet from where the door smacked into the wall. Seokjin’s eyes were wide in shock, mouth parted slightly, as he registered it was you bursting into his apartment like that. It was such an open expression, so startling to you that a surprising shiver rolled down your spine to accompany the gasp that fell past his full lips. The male next to him seemed equal parts surprised and unimpressed at your abrupt entry, large brown eyes narrowed at you in an expression of his displeasure. You couldn’t help but notice that he had the same sort of air as Seokjin, the barest scent of brine brushing your nostrils, and was just as attractive if a little more youthful in his looks due to the roundness of his cheeks. You caught it as his strong jaw clenched and ticked, arms crossing over a firm chest. You didn’t let his appearance stop you from letting forth what was on your mind, though.

“Who the hell do you think you are, standing there and saying those things?!” you demanded, anger hot beneath your skin and no doubt flushing your cheeks. “How rude and insensitive do you have to be?”

The male seemed slightly taken aback by your outburst, apparently having not expected it, but was quick to recover. His eyes narrowed further from where they’d shot open in a doe-like look of shock.

“Jungkook,” he responded curtly, tone sharper than you’d heard it before but just as mellifluous. “And I’m Seokjin’s friend, practically his brother. Who are you?”

Despite your surprise at the information, it did nothing to quell the anger still bubbling in your veins. In fact, if anything, it only added to it. “I’m his neighbour,” you answered shortly, “And you’re ‘practically his brother’ yet you’re still standing there saying those things? What the hell is wrong with you?! What gives you the right to come in here and be a prick like that?!”

The male, Jungkook, went to open his mouth and retort when a sudden hint of realisation washed over him, his expression shifting and a sly curve tugging his lips. His dark eyes flicked from you, to Seokjin, and then back again—you missed the look of dread that passed over the rosy-haired male’s features from the side.

“You’re absolutely right,” he hummed, completely throwing you for a loop with his sudden change of tune. He even smiled at you, without a hint of malice, bunny teeth flashed your way. You refused to acknowledge the sheer amount of rage he quelled with just that single action. “It was very insensitive of me to say those things, especially considering… well. I should have known better.”

Something shifted in his eyes as his gaze turned to Seokjin, leaving you standing there in absolute shock as he seemed to convey something with his expression. His voice seemed to drop in his amusement, “I should get going. I am sorry, Seokjin. I’ll remember to be kinder in the future.”

He then took a step away, timberlands thudding loudly against the hardwood floor. His gaze swept back to you and you were rendered frozen to the spot for a moment in your dressing gown with the package under your arm. His eyes slipped over the length of your body before meeting your own. A sly smile tugged his lips, something akin to mischief glimmering in the dark chocolate of his iris. There was something particularly lilting and hypnotic about his voice as he spoke this time, “It was nice to meet you, y/n. Do me a favour and take care of Seokjin, give him a kiss on the cheek for me. Goodbye to both of you.”

And then he was turning on his heel and exiting through the open doorway, disappearing quickly down the hall. You stood a moment, basking in the bizarre turn the conversation had taken and the way your anger had all but completely fizzled out, before turning to face Seokjin. The moment your gaze connected with his form, it was as though something came over you and you were stepping forward and leaning up, pressing your lips to the soft cushion of his cheek. As soon as you performed the action, you seemed to snap out of it, and you lurched back with all the speed of someone who’d just been burnt.

You flushed and stuttered, eyes wide as you realised what you’d just done—why had you done that?! Why the hell did you just kiss Seokjin on his cheek?! God, your shoulders were pinching up from the sheer embarrassment flooding your form in such a debilitating manner. Seokjin was staring at you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly as you stuttered, his cheeks flushed a couple shades lighter than the colour no doubt staining your own.

“I—” you fumbled with the package and your words, knees shaking from your nerves. “I’m so sorry I don’t know what just came over me! I just came to give you th-this, since they delivered it to the wrong door! I’m so sorry! Have a nice day, Seokjin!”

With that you were thrusting the package in your arms towards him, barely making sure he’d grasped it before you were turning on your own heel and dashing away. You managed to close the door behind you just in time before absolutely legging it to your own and slamming that behind you as well. You let yourself drop back against the wood, sliding down the door with your heated face pressed into your hands.

That. Was so. Humiliating.

Over on the other side of the wall, Seokjin brought his hand to his cheek to chase the phantom feel of your lips against his skin, the smallest of smiles curving his lips.

x     x     x     x     x     x     x

 Due to the intensity of the embarrassment you still felt about that little incident almost a week ago, you’d been doing your absolute best to avoid your attractive neighbour, if only for a little while. You weren’t doing too poorly, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d managed to avoid him thus far without problem, effectively preserving your dignity yet another day. You were embarrassed at the action, at the fact you’d up and kissed poor Seokjin on the cheek like that out of nowhere, but you were also confused as to why you’d done it. You weren’t someone to do things so impulsively and on a whim, and hadn’t had the thought or impulse to kiss him on the cheek in the first place. Despite this, the second you’d laid eyes on him, you’d acted without hesitation or room for thought—the helplessness of it, the lack of control, was what frazzled you so. Therefore, until you could sort out that particular cocktail of emotion, you were going to avoid him.

As was the case with most things though, this avoidance couldn’t last forever and was soon to come to an end.

The end in question came one Friday evening when you rushed up the concrete stairs into the apartment lobby, making a mad dash for the packed elevator before it closed and left you to wait for fifteen minutes. Usually there wasn’t much traffic through the elevators, but it was around the time that each working man and woman came home, and so the small compartment was crammed full of people in suits and dress clothes.

“Hold the door please!” you called across the space, hoping you didn’t sound as desperate as you really were, while you scuttled over. You didn’t get to see who you were squishing against as you effectively threw yourself inside, hands holding your bag close to you in a poor attempt to make yourself as compact as possible and reduce how much space you were taking up. There was an annoyed groan from someone in the corner as the doors shut behind you and you leaned around the person in front of you to shoot a bright smile in that direction, ignoring how their attitude annoyed you. “Thank you so much for waiting!”

With that you leaned back, taking an involuntary sniff through your nose as you did. To your surprise, instead of the usual musty aroma of dust, body odour and fresh sweat that was so familiar to the elevator, it was the soft tinge of brine and something floral that brushed your nostrils. You blinked, turning to face the person in front of you, who you were essentially pressed chest-to-chest with. All at once the blood drained from your face then flushed back in to colour your cheeks what was no doubt an alarming shade of embarrassment exclusive only to you.

Seokjin’s lips were tugged into an amused smile, eyes creasing at the ends in his mirth, and you very much wished for the floor of the elevator to open up so you could drop down the shaft and escape this humiliation.

“Oh, hello Seokjin,” your voice was small and you could hear the fluster riddling your tone. “I didn’t see you there. I hope your day has gone well?”

The male managed to nod down at you before the elevator jostled slightly, jerking a little as it came to a stop. There was shuffling from the back as the doors opened and you realised with dread what was about to happen.

“Hi, sorry, excuse me—” it was a woman in her mid-forties that squeezed in behind you, disregarding the fact that there was absolutely no room for her. You squeaked as her entry meant you were now properly pushed up against Seokjin’s front, your bag clamped to your side. You felt the movement of his chest against your own as he inhaled sharply, a shuddering breath, and you were sure your face couldn’t get any more flushed as the elevator jostled into movement once more and had you rubbing against him. This was it, this was how you were going to die—of embarrassment, like you always thought.

There was a plastic-like rustling and crinkling by your shoulder and you turned your head slightly to see plastic and cellophane, wrapped neatly around a large bouquet of spring blooms, the bundle assortment of colours that found their home in the sky at sunset. You were sure more than one of the flowers in there could match the colour currently staining your cheeks.

“Flowers?” the word slipped from your mouth before you could think to stop it, gaze flicking back up to Seokjin whose dark eyes were lidded slightly as he gazed down at you. Your breath caught in your throat slightly as you were suddenly made hyperaware of him— the scent of him mixed with the summery allure of the flowers, sweet and cloying as it brushed your nostrils; the golden tone of his skin as it contrasted and complimented the magnetic warmth and darkness of his eyes and brows and the dusty pink of his hair. His plush lips were parted just slightly but pressed together after you finished speaking, one side tugging up.

He lifted his hand, apparently not accounting for the cramped space. It brushed your hip and the side of your breast as it rose to the air, making you jerk slightly in surprise—lord, now you were even more aware of how your front was pressed so much against his, the heat of his form through your clothing almost overwhelming. A brief look of mortification flickered across his features at the accident but he managed to hide it just as quickly as it arose, the only remaining tell-tale sign of his embarrassment being his pink cheeks. You were torn between fluster and endearment.

He brought his hand so that you could see it clearly and posed it like he was holding a pen, or similar instrument, before moving it through the air a little. Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in realisation.

“Oh, for reference?” you guessed, warmth bubbling in your chest when he nodded with a bright grin, teeth flashing. You didn’t notice how he was angling his lower body away from yours slightly, as much as he inconspicuously could manage in the tight space.

The elevator halted, and you glanced up in time to see that it was your floor—you’d never been so thankful that you didn’t live closer to the top. As soon as the doors creaked open you sprung forth from the tight space, ignoring the huffs of relief from the residents behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know that Seokjin had followed you out, but you still paused and waited for him to catch up anyway. When he stepped beside you, a smile on his face and the bouquet of flowers held lax in his hands in front of him. You resumed your pace and he was quick to join you, the two of you walking in ambient if somewhat awkward silence. You had pretty much all but forgotten about what had happened last time, too busy getting over the embarrassment this encounter had caused.

The male seemed like he wanted to express something to you, but remained focused on where he placed his feet with each step, right up until you reached his door. You offered him a smile in farewell, preparing to turn and continue to your own door, but he halted you in your steps as his hand shot to wrap around your wrist. Your skin buzzed where it came into contact with his, the surprising cool of his palm very welcome against your heated flesh, and you turned to him expectantly, eyes wide.

He dropped your wrist as soon as he had your attention, and you found yourself missing the contact the second it disappeared. He was barely over a foot away, close enough that you could reach to touch him yourself—you just barely managed to hold yourself back, cheeks warmed by your loud thoughts. He held up a finger, something you took to mean ‘wait a moment, please’, and so you did, with as much patience as you could muster. Seokjin shifted in his stance, resting his weight on the opposite leg and bringing the bouquet up closer to his face as he used his hand to carefully pluck a flower from the bunch.

It was a pretty strawberry-coloured bloom, with petals that were stained a deeper, darker colour in the centre, which was decorated with a light lemon sphere of pollen. You blinked in confusion as he separated it from the rest, holding it before him to inspect for a moment. It seemed to pass whatever criterion he was holding it to, as in the next moment he was holding it out to you. Bewildered, you took it, and he flashed you a grin. The only explanation he offered in answer to the confusion splayed across your features was a finger pointing to the petals, and then to his cheek—your cheek.

You flushed further, wanting to run now that you knew for sure your face was completely taken in the throes of your embarrassed blushing.

“Th-thanks,” you managed to stutter out, already edging closer to your door. The male, whose own cheeks still had yet to recover from the incident in the elevator, shot you a bright grin. He lifted a hand and slipped the flower from your grasp, slotting it in and tucking it firmly behind your ear. Your cheeks could have cooked something they were so absolutely scorching with how utterly flustered and embarrassed you were.

Luckily for you, Seokjin was the first one to step away. He turned to his door, bouquet in his grasp, and fished his keys out of his pocket before giving you an enthused wave. And just like that, you were free from whatever spell had kept you standing there as long as you had been— you took a step back of your own and returned the wave.

“Thanks, Seokjin,” you barely managed to articulate without another sudden bout of stuttering, “See you around!”

He nodded, already slotting his key into the door and letting himself into his apartment. When he disappeared inside with a final wave, door thudding shut behind him and the lock clicking (for once), you hurried to do the same and let yourself into your own apartment.

With your heart racing, butterflies rampant in your abdomen, you shut the door behind you, and couldn’t help but think that one of these days, Seokjin was going to be the end of you.

x     x   x    x     x     x     x     x     x

 In the short amount of time after that most recent incident with the elevator and the flower, you ceased your active attempts to avoid Seokjin, but didn’t end up seeing much of him anyway; the two of you led very much separate and individual lives and that meant that a lot of the time your personal schedules didn’t always align. So while you weren’t consciously trying to miss him this time, you ended up only glimpsing him once or twice over the week or so since the last incident—once as he was climbing into his car in the basement, and another time as you walked through the lobby and caught sight of him entering the gym on the bottom floor. The second time had you scuttling away as fast as possible, admittedly, because he’d slipped into a singlet that exposed a lot of golden skin and toned back and arms and you really weren’t out looking to suffer. You didn’t have an explanation for the way your body behaved and reacted at just the mere sight of him, but it was damn dangerous. You were going to have to find an outlet for all of this pent up energy sometime soon because if you didn’t you had no doubt you were going to be even more of a mess than usual around him and you simply couldn’t take that amount of embarrassment because clearly, as witnessed already, you weren’t that great at handling it.

Tossing the little square of chocolate into the air and thankfully caching it with your mouth, you allowed the sweet treat to melt on your tongue as you returned your gaze to the television. It was some drama that you’d put on initially as background noise, but had unwittingly gotten a little invested in. The characters were quirky and funny and you found yourself developing a bit of a soft spot for the most extravagant and boisterous one. You refused to analyse why exactly that was. The current conflict in the series was more of the emotional type than traditional outside forces—it was riveting.

You’d been watching this, binging it all day. You didn’t have work on the weekends, thankfully, and you’d had the thought to do something productive with the time you now had but ended up relaxing and moulding yourself into the couch instead. Sometimes you were a little too self=indulgent, but you didn’t mind it all that much when you could afford it on days like today.

It was early evening, and you would think that with such a show-stopping distraction in front of you, you’d be able to avoid thoughts of a certain someone—but alas, that was not the case, and yet again you found yourself thinking about your neighbour and, oddly, the singing you’d begun to hear almost every night the past week or so. You wondered how he was, whether he was woken by it and heard it too—the rare few times you’d glimpsed his face, he’d seemed somewhat deep in thought, distracted, and you hoped he was able to hear that lovely voice that sang at night because then he’d be able to relax as he listened to it, much like you did. The tune of the song had changed lately, it sounded different but was just a haunting, just as mesmerising. You still couldn’t understand the words sewn so wonderfully into the air, but felt in your gut that the mood of these melodies had shifted. You were relaxed upon hearing them, as expected, but also filled with a tug, a pull and a longing, nestled in your chest and wrapped around your heart and lungs. You didn’t know what, but you wanted to do something, to go somewhere. It was a little odd that you got such urges at midnight and the early hours of the morning, but you were able to ignore them for the most part.

You let out a loud gasp, unchecked in the midst of your solitude, as the two characters on screen, enemies at the current time, kissed. You straightened so abruptly in your seat, eyes wide, that you nearly knocked the block of chocolate you’d been nibbling from off the armrest. A precarious position, you knew, but you didn’t want to put it on the cushion and risk squishing it with your ass or something. You were wearing your lazy outfit, which consisted of black tights and an oversized sweater that hid the cute lingerie you had beneath—the baby pink set with silk and lace weren’t your first pick for a lazy day, but you’d gotten behind on your washing and they were all that was left. Thankfully, they were comfortable, so you didn’t have that many complaints.

As the shock began to wear off at what you were seeing, your form began to relax back into the couch—that is, before a god-awful, ear-splitting, absolutely blaring noise, only barely muffled by plaster, assaulted your eardrums and you jumped so hard you nearly fell off the cushion. It took you a few moments to realise what it was, and then a few moments more before you realised exactly where it was coming from.

It was a fire alarm, sounding from the apartment right next to yours—Seokjin’s apartment.

You were a little worried, but figured he probably just put his toast in for too long or something—these alarms were really sensitive, you didn’t have enough fingers to count all the times your own had gone off on you suddenly for cooking an egg or bacon or similar consumable product.

So you waited a few moments, thinking it would turn off as the male no doubt hurried to fix the culinary happening that had led to this situation—but you waited, and waited, and the alarm continued to blare on, and on, and on. More than a little worried, considering the male should have been able to get it off by now even if he had to take the batteries out as a last resort, you rose from the couch and quickly dashed down the hall to your front door.

The sound was a little more muffled in the hallway of the complex, but you could still hear it well enough—you quickly made a beeline to Seokjin’s door, raising your hand to knock and accidentally pushing the door in from the gust of air that resulted from the movement as it was, once again, left unlocked. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes; it was like the male was just asking to be robbed or something. You really had to remind him to lock his own door, huh.

At the persistent ringing in your ears from the fire alarm as the sound slipped through the crack in the doorway, you weighed your options for a brief moment. To enter, or not to enter. You had a brief image of poor Seokjin knocked out, or something equally dramatic, and immediately came to a decision. Your palm pressed to the cool wood of the door, pushing it open, and you quickly dashed inside. Immediately, you were greeted by the sight and acrid smell of smoke—so something was burning.

His apartment was in pretty much the same state as it had been last time you’d been privy to its contents, except the artwork you’d seen had all been switched out again. Actually, you amended that observation as you entered the kitchen, passing the dining table on the way and catching sight of a familiar painting on the wall. Something flickered in your chest briefly; Seokjin had hung up the painting you’d complimented last time, ‘lullaby’ if you were recalling correctly. The knowledge brought a smile to your face before another large waft of smoke assaulted your nostrils and you were reminded of the current situation at hand.

As soon as you stepped foot in the kitchen, you were able to pinpoint the source of the smoke—and what it had originally been, if the barest scent of fish was anything to go by. You were quick to take the frying pan off the stove, the charred remains of what you presumed had been seafood more like ash at this point than anything edible. Just how long had it been sitting there on the glass-top stove, burning away?

Dumping the pan in the sink and blasting it with water from the tap, you left it running while you rushed to open the windows along the bench—at the scent of fresh air and the cool breeze on your face, you let out a pleased sigh. Grabbing the first tea towel in sight, you started to fan the smoke out, wrinkling your nose at the smell as the heat was doused in the stream from the tap.

It took only a short while to silence the fire alarm, your ears singing praise the second it cut off. You’d managed to fan most of the smoke out of the room, although the smell was lingering a fair bit. You turned the tap off, leaving some water in the pan for good measure, and took a step back.

This whole time, you still hadn’t seen hide no hair of Seokjin.

Worry curled in your abdomen, wringing your stomach, and you hesitated for a moment. You felt a bit uncomfortable barging through his apartment like this, but you also wanted to be sure he was okay. Ultimately, it was a worse ending if you didn’t go looking for him and something actually turned out to be wrong. Biting your lip, you steeled your will and left the kitchen, double-checking the stove was off as you went. The heat coming off of it was almost unbearable at this point, and you were glad you’d thought to come in and check on things.

Seokijn’s apartment was very similar to yours in layout, the main difference being the fact that it was flipped and, obviously, the different furniture and décor. You were prepared to go searching through every room for him, but with the alarm no longer blaring obnoxiously in your ears, you quickly caught the sound of running water as it brushed your ears, somewhat muffled. The bathroom…?

Quick to act, you started in the direction the noise was coming from, finding the door to the room ajar by barely an inch and the sound of running water most definitely coming from inside. Was this something else he had left on? Lord he was going to be in so much trouble with your landlord—

Pushing the door open and stepping inside, your feet slapped against the thin layer of water pooling across the floor, cold where it hit your skin, and you didn’t even get to scan the whole room before you caught sight of an image  that answered a lot of the questions you had bouncing in your head, yet also thrust you into such a state of shock you nearly slipped right over there in the doorway.

Seokjin was in the bathtub, head and upper body completely submerged as water continued to flow unchecked from the tap, rippling and splashing across the surface that lapped and spilt over the edge. The way it flowed over the side of the tub reminded you of a water feature as it spilt down to the floor, pooling across the tiles and trickling slowly down the small drain situated in the middle of the room. You might have been alarmed that Seokjin was completely underwater were it not for the other part of the scene that had your breath catching in your lungs and shock rooting you in place.

Seokjin’s upper body was beneath the water, in the depths of the tub, but it was not his legs that hung over the side—no, it was a large tail almost twice the length of his upper body, and it was rich, glimmering turquoise that bled to black at the end, scales iridescent and gleaming soft pinks, purples and summer blues as it flicked and dragged across the floor. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, the way droplets of water caught the light on the surface, the way it shifted and the thin, wispy, shimmering fins that decorated the sides and trailed to the end would follow the motion. A tail… Seokjin was…

You barely had time to conceive let alone process the thought before the water shifted and rippled, Seokjin’s body moving as he sat up and broke the surface, the contents of the tub sloshing over the sides to slap and splatter against the tile. His eyes remained closed as water cascaded down his face, streaming over his fine features and plastering his rosy hair down before he brought a dripping hand up to brush it up and away from his eyes. A flush of heat washed over you at the sight of him now, droplets slipping over the smooth planes of his chest and shoulders, lashes wet against his cheeks—he was so beautiful, so incredibly stunning in this moment that it made your chest ache inexplicably.

Then his eyes opened and swept to meet yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the look held in their depths, the heat that you could feel seeping into your skin, that was currently making your knees weak and core throb. You didn’t even notice the gasp that escaped your lips, too bewildered and shocked at the turn this day had taken. Seokjin’s stare was unwavering as he held your gaze, and the longer you remained trapped in it the more heat you felt flush over your body. It was only when his lips parted and his tongue darted out to wet them that you snapped out of it, immediately a discomforting combination of mortified and strangely aroused.

You stumbled back, very nearly slipping in the water still overflowing from the tap and pooling on the floor. Your voice caught in your throat and almost broke as you blurted out apologies, “Shit, I-I’m so sorry, Seokjin! Fuck, I—I’m—”

Floundering for words, you just gave up and succumbed to your desire to flee, turning tail and dashing out of the room. You needed more than a moment to process this whole debacle.

Distantly, you registered the sound of a tap twisting and shutting off, and then the sound of water splashing and sloshing. In your panic and embarrassment, you ended up going the wrong way and scrambled further into the house rather than back out to the kitchen as you’d intended. You were just about to spin on your heel when there were footsteps behind you and a large, wet hand grasped your wrist to keep you from moving. You had a moment to adjust to the scorching heat, the searing of his palm against your skin, before you arm was firmly but gently tugged and you were spun around in place.

“y/n, y/n, y/n…” the voice that graced your ears was a low, dulcet purr, velvet against your eardrums. It took a moment as your gaze flew to Seokjin’s face, hair still damp over his forehead and the odd droplet of water still decorating his skin, for you to realise the voice was coming from him, that it was his plush lips shaping your name in such a sultry way. Another wash of heat fell over you, your gut dropping and knees trembling; somehow he’d managed to throw a towel haphazardly around his waist, the material slipping low on his hips, and the rest of his body was still damp from his recent dip. Something began to smoulder in your abdomen as Seokjin’s eyes caught yours. Your mouth dropped open with the urge to speak but no words escaped.

His lips curled at your speechless state, fingers drumming softly against the skin of your wrist as he pulled you closer before beginning to urge you backwards. It was only now that your own voice returned to you, legs wobbling as you stumbled backwards, the doorway to a room you didn’t know passing over you, “Seokjin, y-you—”

“I’m not mute, no,” his voice was melodic and clear, a daze of sorts washing over you and arousal beginning to swim along your veins at the sound of it. The back of your legs brushed something soft and he ceased in his gentle urging. “But I have to admit, seeing you defend me so heatedly, so passionately… If I hadn’t already been wanting you since the very first day I saw you, I might have fallen then and there.”

His words had your heart skipping a beat, his free hand coming to grasp your other wrist and a pleasant heat searing where his skin met yours. You were quivering, not in fear but in need, a kind so deep and primal it felt like your insides were ablaze. What was he, that at just the sound of his voice your body was reacting so strongly, like it never had before?

You wanted to talk, to speak, but couldn’t find your tongue let alone the words to grace it, mind running too fast to keep up with even with the haze beginning to cloud your mind; he seemed to understand. His hands trailed along your arms, eliciting a deep shiver along the length of your spine, and then came to brush down your sides until finally resting upon your hips. His grip tightened momentarily before he pushed once, sending you backwards. Your form met the bed softer than anticipated, elbows sinking into the mattress to prop yourself up slightly. Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed up at him, mesmerised.

“Do you know what I am?” he asked, breathless, as he advanced and slid his knee onto the bed between your thighs. Your core throbbed wantonly as he climbed over you, gaze never once breaking its hold on you.

“Siren,” you breathed in answer, stomach fluttering at the way his gaze lit up and his lips twitched. “I knew you were too attractive to be human.”

He let out a laugh, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard then you didn’t know what would be.

“You’ve always been perceptive, sweet flower,” he cooed, the depth of his voice as it caressed some of the words and the pet name making your stomach dip. “Yet you’ve never quite caught on, have you?”

“To what?” the question almost caught in your throat as he hummed softly, gaze slipping down your neck to caress your form.

The smile that curved his full lips was indulgent, enamoured. “I want you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, butterflies rampant in your abdomen and your heart racing in your chest as he continued, “I’ve wanted you, resisted you, for so long; the draw of your energy, your soul… But I cannot resist it— resist you— any longer. You’ve seen me.”

He was breathless now, an undercurrent of excitement threading through the mellifluous timbre of his voice. He lowered slightly, breath brushing your ear and the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke, “You’ve seen my truest form, and now you lay beneath me smelling so sweet with arousal, your body singing my song. I can hardly resist,” he let out a soft chuckle as he lowered his head further, lips brushing your throat—your heart was racing so fast it was like a hummingbird fluttering against the confines of your chest. “Fancy this, a siren caught and ensnared in your mortal wiles.”

He pressed a kiss to your throat and you shivered, hands coming up to grasp the smooth, heated skin of his biceps. Pleasure, light and airy, tingled along your limbs with each soft brush of his lips to your neck. Your voice trembled as you asked, “Why did you never speak?”

You saw his shoulders shrug, a soft hum vibrating against your skin.

“It’s always been much easier to show,” he murmured, avoiding the question and what you’d intended to ask. He distracted you with a firm kiss to your neck, tongue darting out to lave over the skin and tearing a sharp gasp from your throat. He began to decorate your neck with his lips, hot open-mouthed kisses making your knees weak and your core throb.

“Are you going to show me?” you could hardly keep your voice level, a tremble of nerves and excitement still present in the undertones. He shifted in his position, resting on his elbows and allowing his hips to lower between your thighs. At the sudden pressure, the roll of his hips against your throbbing core, you let out a soft whine of need; even through the thick material of the towel you could feel the heat, the hardness beneath, and the observation had your head swimming in the throes of your arousal. You’d never felt such all-consuming desire for someone.

“Tell me, y/n,” he paused to suckle underneath your jaw, the sensation eliciting another sharp noise from your throat—he seemed to bask in it. “Do you want me?”

You were lucid enough that you still felt the embarrassment such a question caused, but taken enough by your desire for him that you were able to answer him nonetheless. Your response escaped your lips on your next breath, “Yes. I-I do.”

The siren hummed his pleasure against your neck, rewarding you with a tender scrape of his teeth against your throat and a roll of his hips into yours. His voice ran like velvet over your ears, “Then I will show you.”

With that his lips were on you with renewed fervour, kissing and suckling tender bruises across the expanse of your throat; soft, gasping moans tumbled from your lips and you tilted your head back so he had more access, fingers gripping him hard. With each noise you made, he seemed to grow more and more excited—and with how skilled he was with his mouth, you were making a lot of them. He decorated all the flesh he could reach in tender marks that bloomed the colours of twilight, the occasional drop of water hitting your skin from his still damp hair as it tickled you wherever he went.

Soon enough, he met the barrier that your sweater presented, and was quick to sit up, gaze taking you in for a moment—your flushed cheeks and lidded eyes, the hickeys he’d just dressed your neck up with, the way your thighs trembled with the urge to close and rub. He let out a low, throaty groan that had your stomach flipping and was quick to grip the bottom of your sweater and rid you of it. Your pants went next and when he was faced with the sight of you in nothing but the lingerie you’d donned this morning as a last resort, he froze.

“Fuck,” his voice was thick and caught in his throat, but even then it retained its silky, mellifluous quality. Soft pink locks, still damp, fell across his forehead as he let out a shuddering breath. His large hands came to hover over your form, fingers tracing your shape and trailing over the soft skin of your sides—your cheeks were so scorching you were almost worried, and at the heated look in his eyes elicited by the sight of your body almost bare before him, you felt you might explode. “So pretty and perfect for me, kitten.”

You shivered at the change in pet name, this one infinitely more out there and potent than the last, but you didn’t find yourself minding one bit. He lowered himself down once more, but not before his gaze fell upon what was no doubt the wet patch your arousal had soaked in your underwear. He let out another groan, a delicious rumble that started in his chest, and then his head was dipping down and his mouth was on you once more. One of his hands found your own and threaded your fingers together, making your heart skip a beat, and the other cupped your breast before dragging down your side and over the soft swell of your tummy.

The siren returned to sucking marks across your flesh, your body serving as his personal canvas as he decorated you in a mixture of rosy pinks, reds and purples. The attention he paid to your neck and throat had you whining loudly, hips rolling up to grind against his own and fingers gripping his hand harder. He relished in each noise he managed to elicit, fascinated with the sound of your needy whines and moans—as a creature whose gift and power lay in voice, the tantalising timbre of yours as it brushed his ears only served to make him all the more enthralled.

The free hand that had been exploring your every dip and curve began to skirt the waistband of your panties, and it wasn’t long before his fingers dipped lower to drag over your clothed core. You jolted at the sensation against your clit as he rubbed it, teasing; you were almost hypersensitive at this point, so fraught with need as you were. Your core ached for something inside of it, clenching around nothing. He drank each of your moans in as he suckled the flesh of your breast that wasn’t obscured by the soft pink bra into his mouth, teeth scraping the skin and eliciting a delicious ache.

Eventually he grew tired of the remaining barriers hiding you from him, and tugged the straps off your shoulders and the cups down beneath your breasts—your nipples were already peaking under his rapt attention and the cool air. He took a moment to survey the mess he’d made you into already before returning his attention to your skin, kissing along the swell of your breast and allowing his tongue to roll your nipple before taking it into his mouth and suckling. You let out a loud cry at that, more sensitive than you’d expected, your back arching into his ministrations slightly. The hand that had been dancing around your core slipped beneath the waistband and his fingers were soon dragging along your folds, gathering the slick nectar pooled there and using it as he rolled your clit, rubbing it in figure eights.

You moaned sharply at that, Seokjin moving across your chest with his mouth and ensuring almost every inch of you was covered. His fingers didn’t tease you for long, dipping back down to part your folds, two digits pressed at your entrance. He brought his head up to meet your gaze for a moment and at the almost indiscernible nod you were able to offer in your haze, his head dipped back down and his fingers slipped into you.

“Fuck,” he swore, muscles in his back trembling slightly. “You’re so wet.”

With how aroused you were, they slipped in easily, a long, drawn moan tearing from your throat at the stretch and ending in a gasp as the rosy-haired siren took your nipple between his teeth, the slight pinch sending little shocks of pleasure straight to your core. Your walls clenched around the intrusion involuntarily, Seokjin letting out a sharp gasping groan at the sensation. He quickly sank the digits the rest of the way in until they were knuckle deep, his thumb teasing your clit. He allowed you a moment to adjust before he was shifting his hand, rolling his wrist and beginning to fuck into you with his fingers. Your thighs trembled, fingers gripping his other hand hard as you whined and moaned.

“Seokjin,” you gasped, eyelids fluttering as pleasure began to throb throughout your body in a heady ache. “Seokjin, can I kiss you?”

The male lifted his head enough to send you an apologetic look, before he dove down to press a kiss to your cheek. “It’s not wise, flower,” he murmured against your skin, brushing his nose against yours before turning to press kisses along your jaw. “I think you know what a kiss from a siren does, sweetheart.”

You let out a sound torn between a moan and a whine, the male having curled his fingers inside you, the pads of his fingertips brushing against your g-spot. He was right, you knew what a siren’s kiss entailed, but in your lust-induced haze you could hardly find enough fault with it to dismiss it entirely from your mind. Intent on giving back even a little of the attention he was giving you, you brought your free hand to cup his face, along the sharp curve of his jaw, and as he looked up you guided his face closer to your own.

Heeding what he said for now, you pressed your lips to his cheek by his lips, the curve of his cheekbone, the tip of his nose—you got most of the way over his face before he was pulling back with pink cheeks and an endeared smile.

“Cute,” he noted, tone dipping melodiously, making your own cheeks flush with heat and causing your hand to leave his face as it came to cover your own in embarrassment. He let out a chuckle, peppering soft kisses across your collarbones and humming at the shiver it elicited.

It wasn’t long before Seokjin deemed you ready enough to add another finger, slipping it in with the other two—you gasped, mewling at the stretch, and you felt his lips twitch against you.

“You sound so sweet, kitten,” the siren purred, dulcet tone deep and low as it brushed your ears. He began fucking into you harder with his fingers, curling them each time they breached your walls. You were a gasping mess, your body writhing from the pleasure that resulted from his actions. Rapidly, you were approaching your peak, and you could hardly catch your breath from the suddenness, the intensity of it all. Seokjin’s next words only pushed you closer, heart fluttering in your chest, “I’ve dreamt so long of having you mewling beneath me like this—you sound just as I imagined and better.”

You were too taken by the pleasure to respond, arching into Seokjin’s ministrations wantonly. “F-fuck, Seokjin! I’m—”

“You’re close?” he guessed, voice like velvet against your ears. Something different shifted into his tone, intertwining with his words, “Come now, kitten, cum for me.”

You weren’t sure what, but something in your snapped at his words—at his command. You recognised distantly it was a gift often belonging to sirens, but could hardly focus on the thought when the sound of his voice as he directed you sent you forcibly off the precipice of your release and spiralling into an orgasm that had you crying out, keening loudly, as pleasure flooded your form and set your nerves alight. You clenched around him as he continued fucking his fingers into you to ride you through your high, hips bucking up and thighs shaking.

“Good girl,” When you returned to the present moment and the pleasure faded to a pleasant buzz beneath your skin, you found Seokjin cooing at you, thumb brushing over your hand soothingly. When he noticed you were looking at him once more, chest still heaving as you attempted to regain your breath, he continued, “You sound so pretty when you cum for me, flower.”

He peppered fond kisses across your chest, a soft laugh escaping him when he pressed them to your breasts and their pebbled peaks and you jerked, somewhat ticklish to the action. It was as though he was especially attuned to your body, as the second any remaining oversensitivity ceased he was slipping his soaked fingers from your core and moving his kisses southward. You moved to fight him on it, wanting to give some back, but he simply pressed you back to the mattress and sent you’re a firm look. One by one he slipped his fingers into his mouth, deft tongue ensuring none of your essence escaped on his watch—the sight had your breath catching in your chest.

“I’ve waited so long for this, kitten,” his lips tugged into a salacious smile. “Won’t you let me make you feel good? Won’t you give me some more of those pretty sounds, pretty girl?”

Your cheeks were instantly set ablaze, yet the undeniable ache of arousal began to settle in your abdomen nonetheless. He pressed one final kiss below your navel and then was quick to ensure you were bare before him, slipping your remaining garment completely from your form and grasping your thighs to part them. You heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight and scent of you and had to fight the urge to close your legs in embarrassment.

You had barely any warning before Seokjin was dipping his head between your thighs and delivering a long, deft lick along your folds, your ears burning at the slick noise that resulted along with the sharp, abrupt moan that escaped you. He hummed against you, pleased with your reaction, and began cleaning your folds with broad , firm licks of his tongue. With each swipe it flicked and brushed your clit, and your hips rolled slightly, unable to help it as the fire of desire was rekindled so easily in your abdomen.

It took him a shamefully shorter time to begin working you up again, tongue quickly changing directive and rolling your clit instead. You cried out at this, hips twitching up into the ministration on instinct as pleasure shot through you once more, core throbbing with the same ache you’d been stuck with in the first place. You rose back up to the peak at a steady pace, soft moans and Seokjin’s name tumbling from your lips as you grew closer and closer to your second release—that steady climb was shot to hell as Seokjin grasped your thighs and began to wrap his plush lips around your clit, continuing to flick and roll it with his tongue as he sucked it into his mouth, against his teeth.

The hand he wasn’t using to hold your thighs apart brushed back up your body, cupping your cheek a moment before trailing down to wrap loosely around your throat, thumb and finger brushing the tender, marked flesh before settling over your pulse points. The male’s dark eyes swept up to catch sight of your expression as he began to apply a little pressure, monitoring your features for any sign of displeasure or discomfort as he continued to stimulate you with his tongue. This wasn’t territory you were all that familiar with, but you were familiar enough with it and Seokjin’s nature to trust him, and when he increased the pressure a little more and your head began to fuzz just slightly, you couldn’t help but let out a choked moan.

“F-fuck!” your voice wavered and trembled, more than enough to tell the pink-haired male that you were close once more with this new sensation adding to the pleasure. He hummed, continuing to work you up, and you were drowning in the pleasure—right up until you were on the precipice once more and he abruptly slipped his mouth from your core. His voice was firm and laced with the familiar note the command from last time had carried.

“Don’t cum until I tell you to,” he instructed, and the softness of his voice and features contrasted sharply with the firmness of his tone—all of which had your heart stuttering in your heaving chest and your stomach flipping giddily. With that he allowed a slight smile to cross his lips and he was ducking down to return them to where you ached for them to be most.

You might have paid his words no heed, except that from the second he uttered them it was as though you were stuck on the precipice, a tantalising millimetre from your next release and unable to cross it. Seokjin’s fingers and thumb teased your circulation, your head filled with a pleasant buzz that exacerbated your pleasure but was never enough to push you over.

One of your hands slipped down to wind into the siren’s damp pink locks, the other gripping his bicep for something to anchor you. He continued lapping at your folds, rolling your pearl with his tongue and even grazing it ever so carefully with his teeth—you were constantly stimulated, held on the edge for much, much longer than you were used to. You began to grow even more sensitive, so sensitive, and the pleasure was so hot and all-consuming you were easily going to lose yourself in it and go mad, if only you could hit your release.

“F-fuck!” you ended up letting out a sobbing moan, body arching and chest heaving as you gasped for breath when Seokjin let his grip on your throat relax for a moment before resuming. You were feeling so much all at once, too much, yet none of it was enough to push you off the edge—it was torture of the most exquisite kind. “F-fuck, please—“

You were so wet that when Seokjin returned a finger to tease at your entrance, all that resulted was lewd noises and wet squelching. You were absolutely soaked, your body continuing to gush in its prolonged, heightened state of arousal. Your senses were quickly beginning to overload, filter disengaging as tears began to bud in your eyes and pleas tumbled from your lips.

“P-please can I c-cum—” you gasped, hips twitching as he suckled your clit once more and another sobbing moan tore from your throat. “Gah, f-fuck Seokjin, I can’t take much more p-please let me c-cum—”

He hummed against you, drinking in your sinful sounds as he leisurely lapped up your essence, pussy constantly gushing with more of the sweetness thanks to the prolonged arousal he’d brought upon you. A part of him wished to hear more of your begging, your pleas and whines as your body strained to come undone, but his heart throbbed in his chest and he found himself wanting to indulge you more.

“I want to hear more of you, but you’re begging so nicely, being such a good girl for me,” the siren hummed, delivering a rewarding lick to your core between words. He lifted his hand from your throat, fingers ever so gentle and tender as they brushed away a tear of frustration you hadn’t even realised had fallen. “Tell me kitten, who is it that’s making you feel this way?”

You nearly sobbed your response, limbs trembling and nerves alight from the prolonged pleasure, “Y-you are! You are.”

He purred, pleased with your obedience and compliance. He had one last request for you. “Say my name, kitten.”

“K-Kim Seokjin!” you burst hips straining to roll away as the male in question brought his thumb to your clit.

The siren smiled, pressing a tender kiss to the soft flesh of your inner thigh before humming, “Good girl. Now—cum.”

Almost instantly, at his words, you’re finally thrown off the edge and headfirst into your long-awaited orgasm, and it was blinding, almost debilitating in the force with which it ravaged your senses. Pleasure ricocheted along your limbs, your eyes clenching shut as you let out a loud, keening cry, more tears squeezing from your eyes, in relief this time.

It took you more than a few moments to come down from this high, which thankfully Seokjin hadn’t ridden you through—you were currently too sensitive, and if he’d done anything more than catch your release on his tongue you didn’t know how your fried nerves would have handled it.

Your breathing was ragged, chest heaving as you came down from the peak of your pleasure and euphoria. It was as though your senses had been muted briefly, and they came back to you now—it took you only a moment longer to realise that Seokjin was hovering above you, arms either side of your head and shoulders as he cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently over the skin of your cheeks. The action had your heart fluttering and you attempted to offer him a smile, even if it came out more fucked-out than intended.

Seokjin’s voice was a gentle, lilting coo as he continued caressing your face with more softness than you ever thought someone capable of, “Are you alright? Can you take some more? Use your words for me, flower.”

You couldn’t help the giddy giggle that escaped you, your hands coming to cover your face in embarrassment. Although the male wasn’t moving against you directly, his hips were still pressed to your core and you could feel the throbbing heat of his member through the towel. Shamefully, you were already beginning to get a little aroused again—just what had come over you today?!

“I’m fine,” you managed to breathe, allowing Seokjin to remove your hands from your face so he could meet your gaze. “I just—just need a minute, because that… whew.”

The male’s face broke into a stunning smile, dark warmth in his eyes gleaming as he chuckled. In an odd turn of events, he dropped his head to hide his face in your neck bashfully, nuzzling the tender, bruised skin affectionately. It was such a sweet, unexpected action you felt your stomach fluttering and flipping in response.

Seokjin pulled back for a moment, and you might have wondered what he was doing if he didn’t immediately follow through—he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you with him as he rolled onto his back. You let out a squeak as you were suddenly brought on top of him with your thighs either side of his hips, his thick, heated length resting firmly against your core with the only thing separating you being the towel that had miraculously managed to stay wrapped around his hips this whole time.

At your surprised gasp he shot you a boyish smile, hands trailing down your arms to grasp your hands and intertwine your fingers. Still catching your bearings after that second orgasm, you allowed yourself to drop forward slightly, resting your face in the crook of his neck. You heard the way his breath hitched and hid a smile into his skin.

In all honesty, it took you much less time to recover than you would have thought— and if you were being completely honest it probably had something to do with the way Seokjin had begun rolling his hips just slightly, enough of a motion that it teased you back into a state of arousal without being too much at once. Soon enough, you were ready to go again, no doubt staining the front of his towel with how soaked you were becoming once more.

Allowing your hips to roll back and grind your core against his pelvis, you relished in the sharp moan that caught in his throat. You decided to give him back a little of what he gave out, pressing your lips softly along his skin before beginning to suckle and mark it much like he had done to you. He had the slight taste of salt and sweat that graced your tongue, his soft, lilting moans more than sweet enough to make up for it as they brushed your ears. His fingers tightened in their grip, slipping from your hands to come grasp your hips.

You lifted yourself up for a moment, sitting back and raising your hips so you could slip the towel from his waist. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, cock twitching to attention the second its cover was no longer present. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of him, thick and long, swollen with desire and leaking generous beads of precum at the tip of the straining member.

“Fuck, Seokjin,” you didn’t even realise you’d spoken, hand coming to trail tentatively along his length. He hissed and moaned sharply, hips twitching along with his member.

You could feel his eyes burning into you as you reached down to your pussy, gathering the generous amounts of slick from your folds so that your hand was coated before you took him into your grasp. The flesh of his cock was searing against your palm, throbbing in your hold, and if Seokjin’s soft whine was anything to go by then he was more than a little desperate for some sort of stimulation. Tightening your grip so that it was firmer, you began to stroke him, wrist rolling so that the movements were more fluid.

“y/n—” he groaned, head falling back against the mattress. You continued to jerk him off, thumb running over the flushed, sensitive flesh of his head with each upward stroke and relishing in the gasping moans that were elicited as a result.

Eventually he reached a hand to halt you in your motions, bringing you forward so that your hips were hovering over his own once more—you understood what he wanted and were eager to comply, grasping his length in hand and holding it steady as the head brushed your slicked, aching entrance.

Seokjin was content to wait for you as you allowed yourself to slowly sink down on his intimidating member, relishing in the slight burn of the stretch and the way his cock was splitting your walls and spearing into you. Sharp, keening moans tumbled from your throat unchecked as you slowly sank down, your thighs trembling as he was finally completely seated inside of you. Your arms shook a little, one hand going to find his and lace your fingers and the other resting against his chest.

“Move when you’re ready, kitten,” the soft comfort of the siren’s voice was all the encouragement you needed, thighs already beginning to burn a little as you lifted yourself up until only his tip was embraced by your walls, and then lowered to slowly spear yourself on him once more. The next time the entirety of his length was inside you the tip hit a bundle of nerves that had you crying out, clenching around him from the sudden flush of pleasure along your spine.

“Fuck!” you could have wept, wavering in your position atop of him as your pussy throbbed deliciously. “F-fuck…”

“Kitten, if you keep doing that I’m not going to last very long,” he warned, dulcet tone dipping into a moan at the end as you began to resume your slow, leisurely riding of his cock. You struggled to find words for a moment, gaze falling across his features and aweing over how stunning he was even now, sweaty and still damp from his bath. Even so, he was glowing—your gaze flickered to his lips, plush and bitten red, and you couldn’t help the question that rose to your lips.

“Seokjin,” you began, somewhat breathless as you shifted your hand to run your thumb over his nipple; he gasped, hips bucking up and pelvic bone grinding against your clit. “Can I kiss you, Seokjin?”

At your question you could see the dilemma cross his features, a look of regret making itself known despite the gleam in his eyes that told you he very much wanted it. “Flower, you know why—”

“I know, I accept it,” you lowered yourself so that your lips brushed the shell of his ear with your next words. “I want it—I want you. Please?”

Seokjin didn’t say anything for a moment, and you might have thought he was going to pretend you hand said anything at all, but then he groaned, long and deep, and uttered a low swear. His arms came up, one wrapping around you and the other coming to grasp your hip.

One moment was all you got before he grasped you tight and took over your job from your aching thighs—he snapped his hips up from the bed, slamming the thickness and length of his cock into you in its entirety. You keened, fingers digging into the bed and his shoulder at the sharp crack of pleasure and desire that shot through you, thighs trembling and walls clenching around him. Once he started that brutal pace he did not stop, holding you to him in place as he fucked up into you, cock slamming into you so hard and so good each time that you were nearly sobbing on top of him.

He pressed soft kisses against your jaw, your ear, the side of your face as he repeatedly speared into you, cock dragging against your aching walls with each stroke and sending your senses absolutely mad. With each forceful thrust he hit that same bundle of nerves inside of you, eliciting a new cry and moan from your throat. He drank them all in, each of them only fuelling him more and more in his sudden frenzy. A coil began to wind tight in your abdomen, quick in its pace.

“Fuck, Seokjin!” you cried out, teeth scraping his collarbone. “Fuck, I’m—”

Seokjin’s hips were beginning to stutter, the two of you too worked up for this to last all that long despite your best efforts. His hands left your body to come cup your face, bringing it gently but firmly before his own. He waited just long enough, gaze boring into your own with all the heat of a thousand suns, for you to reach the edge once more, before he brought you closer still. His breath brushed against your lips as he spoke, voice once more laced with the familiar edge of a command. “Cum for me, kitten.”

And not a second later you did, right as he brought your face down and slammed your lips to his. The sensation that took your body by storm was indescribable, and in combination with the incredible orgasm that had you crying out against his lips, body stiffening and pussy clenching around him, it was very near debilitating. Your release had pleasure washing over you like the heat from a fire on a cold day, sharp and distinctive but pleasant—but the sensation of Seokjin’s lips against yours, his siren kiss, as he took some of your energy, your life essence, for his own… it was as though an electrical current was zapping through your veins, a pull and tug that made your heart patter and stomach flip.

At the clenching of your walls around him and the taste of your essence, Seokjin came undone. His cock throbbed inside you and then he was cumming, his release painting your insides with scorching heat and filling you to the brim. He moaned against your lips, tongue darting out to deepen the kiss to which you hardly had the mind to reciprocate but happily obliged. Seokjin continued to hold his lips to yours, drinking in a combination of your moans and energy as you both began to come down from your high.

When he was no longer in the throes of his orgasm, the siren was quick to release you, jerking back as though he had been burned and gasping, “F-fuck, flower, y/n, are you alright? Did I take too much? Are y—”

It was a drowsy giggle that bubbled in your throat this time as you buried your face in his neck, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to the skin there. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Well, better than fine, actually.”

At your words the male relaxed, a relived sigh escaping him as one big gust of air. “Thank gods…”

You turned your head to peer up at his face, admiring how he seemed to glow despite the activity you’d both just partaken in. Of course, you supposed, it figures considering he was a siren.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, before letting out a yawn as your exhaustion caught up with you all at once. You were thankful he didn’t seem to want to go another round, because you honestly couldn’t take it. “Sleepy though.”

The male hummed, amused, as he brought his arms up to embrace you and hold you tight; neither of you paid any mind to his member where it was softening inside you, a combination of your fluids leaking out to dribble onto your skin. “I’m sure you are.”

He allowed you to rest a few moments, your eyelids drooping, before he began to ease out from under you, transferring you onto the bed as he got up. “Stay here for a moment while I get something to clean you up, flower.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, eyelids already fluttering closed as you curled into the comforter that had become unmade from the bed in your little tousle. It felt like only a moment later when Seokjin returned, damp cloth in hand, and made quick, gentle work of cleaning up your abused pussy. He pressed a kiss to each thigh before rising and depositing the cloth somewhere, then joining you in bed, peeling back the covers properly and tugging you up so your head was resting on an actual pillow.

You were barely lucid as he looped his arms around our waist and tugged you closer to him, but you welcomed the warmth and made sure to lean back into him—the pleased purr he offered was reward enough. Distantly, you remembered there was a lot you needed to find out, a lot you wanted to ask the siren currently spooning you, but right now you were too tired, too spent, to even entertain the thought of asking him. So for now, you allowed your eyes to close, and your body to relax back into him—those questions could wait for tomorrow, when your energy and your body have had time to recover.

In the meanwhile, you enjoyed the warmth and security you found in Seokjin’s embrace, and allowed yourself to slip into sleep where you dreamt of a honey, dulcet voice singing all your worries away.

[yeollieayheehoo]

Mulled Wine

a gift for @chensuggababy 

Summary: Jimin can’t keep his hands off of you. 

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (female)

Genre: smut 

Rating: M

Warnings: Explicit sex, explicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (female giving, male receiving), light BDSM themes, bondage (tie) 

Word Count: 2.4K

He is the color purple.

He is late sunsets, dancing across the sky with shades of orange and pink just kissing the horizon as night falls, slowly being swallowed by the dark abyss of the midnight sky. He is the purple Egyptian cotton of your shared bedsheets, soft and everywhere at once, a tangle of body and soul; a tangle of words whispered against skin in the delicate light of dawn without haste. He is your favorite coffee mug, holding something sweet; the scent of him drowning you in the soft floral notes of his lavender body wash, his taste inebriating, a slow drug that courses through your veins creating a burn in your veins until you are glowing with flames only he can create.

He is the dress you are wearing, velvet fabric gliding against your pale skin as you move around your home, greeting guests from his law firm. He is the deep cut of its’ neckline, leaving you exposed; tearing down walls you’ve built to keep everyone out, undressing you until you are nothing but bleeding heart and forgotten scars. He is its’ full length sleeves, holding you in, keeping you together; a warmth creating a flush across your skin.

He is across the room, voice carrying as he laughs with his firm partners; the sound floating throughout the room, creating a home in the walls, soft tenor tickling your senses, creating a home in you. His attention is on the words Taehyung is saying, but his eyes are on you. He’s been watching you since you walked in through the door, immediately taking charge and directing the catering company on what h’orderves to serve when. He watched as you dressed for the evening, carefully sliding into the dark purple dress you stood in now; watched as you adorned your neck with the small diamond necklace he’d purchased you for Christmas last year.

Even now, he is watching you as you glide throughout your living room, placing gentle touches along the arms of his employees wives, grinning with a brightness that outshines the sun, laughing with a softness that makes Bach turn in his grave at the composition. He is across the room, watching as it revolves around you, guests drawn to you as if you held them in your own gravitational orbit, a planet rarer than the rest.

He is drinking you in.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Taehyung. There’s something I need to discuss with my wife.”

You feel him before he touches you. He is the moon, the blood in your veins the ocean, called to him by something powerful beyond your knowledge, creating waves in you as he draws near. You smell him before he touches you, the delicate mix of his expensive cologne and body wash. You think of him as something of an apothecary, creating notes of himself that wrap around you, dressing you in the essence of himself.

His hand is warm against the small of your back and you lean into the touch, beaming up at him in the way that steals his breath, the way that sends men to their knees in worship of you. “Ah, Jimin, Mena was just discussing a couples retreat her company is going on in a few weeks. How would you feel about visiting Sweden again? We haven’t been in years.”

“Of course, my sweet. Will you excuse us for a moment ladies?” My sweet. The name turns you into something soft and malleable, into something reserved for behind closed doors in the early hours of the day, the night stars disappearing taking your whimpers and pleas with them.

Your voice has turned into a breathy thing as you excuse yourself from your group, letting Jimin lead you down the hall to your bedroom. The atmosphere has become heady, the air thick, slowly sliding down your body as he circles you. He is almost sinful, a muse worthy of DaVinci in his designer suit. His hands are at his tie, pulling the knot free as he lets his eyes replace his hands.

“Do you know how tempting you are, sweet?”

“Our guests are right down the hall Jimin, they could hear.”

“And you think they don’t when I have you across my office desk?” He smirks at the flush that dresses your cheeks. Your voice tells him one thing, but years of learning your body tells him otherwise. He notices your dilated pupils, the way your chest rises and falls with your heavy breathes. Your body leans towards his, the attraction reversed as he draws you into him.

“I’ve wanted you out of this dress since you put it on. Take it off.” His voice has dropped an octave, his gaze expectant. He is out of your touch, unbuttoning his jacket as he sits in the white armoire chair in your room.

He is dangerous like this. Like this, he is your king, you a willing subject; he is your oxygen, you gasping for breaths. When he is like this, you are compliant, something pliable and submissive. Your eyes are on his as you slide your dress down your body, watching him as his tongue darts across his bottom lip when the fabric hits the floor.

You are exotic. You are rare. You are a flower in bloom, skin calling to him the way the moon calls to the sun. You deserve the universe, gifted to you on a silver platter. “On your knees, crawl to me.” He loves the way your skin pinks, the way the air around you transforms from something nervous into something wanton, need and want dripping from your pores as you sink to the floor.

You can see something primal grow in him as you inch closer to the chair, can feel the thick atmosphere of his arousal that slowly coats your bedroom. He clicks his tongue as you kneel before him, leaning forward and grabbing your chin, pulling your gaze up to his own. “No underwear my sweet? Since you want to act like a slut, perhaps you should be fucked like a slut. Should I ask Taehyung to join us? Let him fuck your pretty mouth while I use your tight cunt?” In truth, Jimin knows why you’ve opted out of underwear to avoid the lines in your dress. In truth, Jimin also knows the images running through your mind as your pupils dilate at the mention of Taehyung; nights where he decides to share your bed, to share your body.

You are melting. The blood in your veins has turned to molasses, slowly flowing through your body like a wild fire, consuming everything you are. You are burning from the inside out, need coating your existence as you swallow, your mouth dry as your arousal drips down your thighs.

In public, Jimin carries himself like he knows he is important. He is the head of his law firm, title inherited from his father when Jimin graduated Yale. He is poised, polite, dots his ‘I’s and crosses his ‘t’s. His employees are loyal to him, because Jimin is loyal to them. He is stern when it is needed and understanding always. At work, he is a boss.

When he arrives home from work, he is a husband. Briefcase in hand, he sets out for you, finding you in the kitchen most nights, already comfortable as you start dinner. His hands are soft, kisses gentle, words affable.

Behind your bedroom door, he is dominant; pulling something small and meek from you as you bow to him. Outside of the bedroom, you are the queen. Inside the bedroom, he is the king.

“Answer me sweet. He’s just down the hall.”

“No sir.” Your voice is: a tender melody, a rising and falling cadence, a prayer spoken in empty chapels, a spell cast on a dark night in a humming forest.

“Good girl. You know what to do” Jimin leans back, sliding his hips forward as he gets comfortable, hands resting on the arms of the chair.

Your hands are steady as you pull his cock from his pants and boxers. He is a picture of perfection as he watches you, eyes hooded, gaze locked on you through thick eyelashes. Your eyes are on his as you tongue the vein at the underside of his cock, relishing in the way his body gives to you, eyes fluttering close with a hiss.

You nestle yourself between his knees, hands on his thighs as you wrap your mouth around the head, starting a slow descent down his length the way he likes, the way that turns him from lion to docile, his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

Tenor swears slip from his full lips as you hollow your cheeks around him when your nose touches the soft flesh above his cock. You know what this will do to him, what he will do to you, and you moan at the thought of it. His hand is hard against your head as you go to move, keeping you in place, until your fingers are digging into his thighs, edges of your vision turning white from lack of air. It’s then that he releases you, pupils blown as he watches the trail of spit that connects your mouth with his member still.

Jimin’s nerves sing as you wrap your lips around him. His skin is something combustible, body a bomb as he watches your head bob up and down in his lap. It’s like this when he realizes how much he needs you, the way you save him from himself, from his father, from the turbulence of his life. It’s like this that his heart pounds and he wonders why it isn’t him on his knees in front of you.

Your mouth is warm against him, creating a blaze in his blood that consumes his entire being, consumes his entire soul. You are a drug; addictive, a fire in his bones until all he knows is the heat. You are the moon, calling to him, the sun; he is both none and all of the light you give off, something cool, something beautiful in it’s simplicity, in your simplicity.

The fingers in your hair grip hard, pulling you up to his mouth as Jimin stands. It’s all teeth the kiss, his tongue swirling around yours until all you can taste is his expensive bourbon, until all you can taste is him. “Please.”

“Please what my sweet?”

“Fuck me.”

“Hands behind your back, lean over the chair.” The silk fabric of his tie is smooth against your wrists as he ties them together, his hand firm against your back as he pushes you farther over the arm of the chair, face planted against the seat, still warm from Jimins’ ass. Your voice is a whine as his fingers slide through your folds, a deep chuckle coming from Jimin that vibrates in your chest. “So wet from sucking me off. Do you like choking on my cock, my little minx?

“Yes sir.”

“I could leave you here like this. Return to our guests, tell them you’re feeling ill and leave you here, tied up for me to use whenever I want. What do you think about that?”

“Jimin please..”

“Please what? Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to pound into this tight little cunt of yours until you’re begging me to come? I bet you do, don’t you? You love how I fill this pretty pussy up, the way I stretch it out.” His breath is warm against the shell of your ear as he leans over you, rolling his hips against yours in a way that turns your legs to jelly. You can feel his hardness against your ass, his fingers creating crescents in your hips. “Yes..please..fuck.”

Jimin doesn’t speak, instead lines himself up before thrusting into you, burying himself to the hilt. Your voice leaves you in a scream, echoing off the walls in your bedroom, body raising on your toes as your walls clench around his thickness. A roll of his hips makes you lose sight for a moment as he moves deep and your fingers curl into fists. “There, oh god, Jimin there.”

“So fucking tight.” His fingers curl into the tie, pulling your body up as he rolls his hips again before pulling out, only to slam back into you, pulling a whine from your chest. “Let them hear, let them hear how good I fuck you.”

You don’t know where you start and where Jimin ends. His hands are everywhere, laced in your hair, on your hips, on your ass, teasing your nipples. Your body is a temple, one in which he worships in, sings praises of your name, confessions of his sins in the form of kisses to your skin.

Your voice is a wanton thing, moans falling from your lips as a wave forms in your body. It starts in your toes, making its way up your legs to your core. The chuckle from Jimin lights a way up your spine, “Ask my sweet.”

“Please.. can I come? Please let me come, let me come on your cock.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna milk my cock?”

“Yes sir, please.”

His fingers find your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. Your body arches as the wave builds, peaks forming in your stomach. “Come for me sweet, let me feel you.” This is all it takes for the wave to crash, body shaking as your orgasm tears through you, walls clenching around his cock. You scream and you know your voice reaches your guests, Jimins name a garbled mess that resonates throughout your home. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, where do you want it?”

“My mouth, I want to taste you.”

“On your knees.” The loss of him makes your knees weak, and you all but fall to your knees, mouth open and tongue out, eyes on Jimin’s as he strokes himself. Jimin moans as he comes, semen coating your tongue, the same way his voice coats the walls as you swallow.

 Jimins’ hands feel like anothers’ as he unties you, fingers stroking the small red lines left from his tie. His touch is gentle as he helps you back in your dress, smoothing out the tangles in your hair before pressing his lips gingerly against yours.

“We’re going to be the office gossip for a while.”

“They can say what they want. Taehyung’s going to be jealous.”

“Next time.”

[ch-dld-bft-brit-omm]

Runtime: 54 min Language: English Country: USA Color: Black and White Director: Ivan Kral & Amos Poe Cast: Blondie ... Themselves David Byrne ... HImself (lead singer, Talking Heads) Wayne County ... Himself Jay Dee Daugherty ... Himself Chris Frantz ... Himself (member, Talking Heads) Jerry Harrison ... Himself (member, Talking Heads) Deborah Harry ... Herself (lead singer, Blondie) Richard Hell ... Himself Lenny Kaye ... Himself Ivan Kral ... Himself Patti Smith ... Herself Richard Sohl ... Himself Chris Stein ... Himself Talking Heads ... Themselves Johnny Thunders ... Himself Tom Verlaine ... Himself Description: An invaluable document of a long-lost era, The Blank Generation "sets the style for the Punk Documentary—raw, sloppily spliced, unsynched footage of bands, with sound recorded by cassette. The effect is total disorientation and CBGBs performances by Talking Heads ("Psycho Killer"), Blondie ("He left Me"), Ramones ("Shock Treatment", "1-2-3-4, Let's Go") Tuff Darts and many of the other New York bands fill up this frantic, crowd-pleasing film. CBGB, the small Bowery Avenue club that spawned and nurtured American punk and New Wave music in the mid-70s, closed earlier this fall after a three-decade run. Fortunately, New York filmmaker Amos Poe was hanging out at CBGB in its early days and began filming performances by many of the musicians who would become the stars of the late 70s/early 80s as the rest of America embraced punk and New Wave music and style. Taking his silent 16mm footage and separate audio cassette recordings, Poe and co-director Ivan Kral (guitarist for Patti Smith) put together a documentary, "Blank Generation" (1976), that exemplified a punkish attitude toward film structure with handheld zooms, angled compositions, floodlight lighting, extreme close-ups, elliptical editing, flash pans, and a general in-your-face and “up-yours” stance. Sound and image purposely do not synch. In many cases music and image were recorded on separate nights more economical because of the high cost of raw film stock with sound, but also an aesthetic nod to Jean-Luc Godard who had slashed the umbilical cord uniting sound and image. Out of the French New Wave came the New York No Wave. Neither a collection of music videos nor a straightforward documentary, "Blank Generation" captures in embryonic form vital appearances of the Talking Heads, Blondie, the Ramones, Television, and, most belligerently of all, Patti Smith. In the film the Patti Smith Group performs a rousing version of “Gloria” that makes you want to jump, scream, and run around the room/block/world. With her androgynous looks, thriftshop clothing, snarling voice, biting lyrics, and middle-finger attitude, Patti Smith is obviously well on her way to becoming the intellectual godmother of punk. Television (with Tom Verlaine) performs “Little Johnny Jewel,” complete with an insert of a portable TV being tossed off a building (a forerunner of music videos incorporating performance and dramatic recreations). The Ramones come on with “Shock Treatment” and “1,2,3,4, Let’s Go,” providing a sad moment while realizing 1,2,3 are already gone. Their leather jackets, sunglasses, pageboy haircuts, and plenty of proto-punk attitude helped establish one style for male punks. Looking very art-school, almost preppie, David Byrne and The Talking Heads perform “Psycho Killer” and bring their soul-stirring rhythms into the mix. The outrageous Wayne County with his big hair wig, high heels, and shapely legs in fishnet stockings (obviously influenced by Charles Ludlum’s Theater of the Ridiculous, John Waters’ films with Divine, and the New York Dolls in their gender-bender period of 1973) sings the lovely “Rock ‘n’ Roll Enema” while brandishing a toilet plunger. Not a pretty sight but not meant to be. And then there is Blondie, with the deadly gorgeous Deborah Harry and her perfect cheekbones, artful makeup, and blonde superstar hair. A complete antithesis of Patti Smith, Harry harkens back to the era of the chanteuse and the Hollywood siren of the 30s. The presence of both artists at CBGB shows that it was a very flexible musical era. Even the title of the film, inspired by the Television song, indicates open possibilities in the mid-70s "The Blank Generation" suggests that in 1975-1976 it was still a [fill in the blank] generation with no definition, self-imposed or media-determined. That was a post-Watergate, post-hippie, post-activist time of new possibilities, all clearly championed and captured in Amos Poe’s film. —Chale Nafus, Director of Programming, Austin Film Society 12/06

HERE: http://ubu.com/film/poe_blank.html

[fivepercentgodsandearths]

WHAT is the Five Percent Nation's culture?

I’ve written a number of articles in the past concerning WHAT the culture of the Five Percent is. The purpose of those articles have always been to clarify our perspective and how we choose to attend the world. Not just for the outside audience who may live and work in proximity to Five Percenters, I also did that for those for insiders; those who say they are Five Percenters.  I am starting to see online posts and discussions again about whether our culture is God-Centered, Supreme Mathematics, Supreme Alphabet, I Self Lord And Master [I.S.L.A.M.], 120 Degrees or etc. So the question is, what is our culture and what is it not? Is it possible that all of these, and other elements, represent various aspects of our way of life? If so, what is the middle point of our culture that all of its people activities are centralized around? As a Nation, and primary to that worldview, is our Universal Flag; the Sun, Moon, Star and Seven. This flag is an emblem of our Nation which means that we share a common culture or people activities such as language, diet, customs, social norms and chronology. The Sun, Moon, Star and Seven on our Universal Flag are all seen from the perspective of the Planet Earth [a woman who has brought forth/bringing forth life]. As a nuclear family, the Sun is symbolic to man, the Moon is symbolic to a woman's Mind and the Star is symbolic to the child. Seven is the number of perfection or divinity which means that Godliness must be central to our family unit. Seven is in the middle of our Universal Flag because its superimposition is a sign of protection, not misogyny or male chauvinism. "I-God" is also used to describe our culture in our National Anthem 'The Enlightener' [Supreme Team Version]. The 8 points are all right [alright] angles that ensure that our cipher [family] is complete: 8 × 45° = 360° [cipher]. The white represents clouds of deception that reminds us of the inner/outer deceit, trickery and treachery that can undermine our ability to be a unified family. As a family we share a common culture or people activities such as language, diet, customs, social norms and chronology. Does our flag accurately express cultural perspectives that are primary to our worldview? I would say yes. I've seen some argue that their culture is Supreme Mathematics. Yet when people make this statement they are not referring to the supreme application of various fields of mathematics. They are saying that their entire culture is based upon adding something to something else; 1 + 2 = 3. Supreme Mathematics IS NOT just about simply reducing digits until you reach a single-digit number. That's like only using addition in Arithmetic. 😳 For example, when some folks say Wisdom Understanding borns Power [2 + 3 = 5], they just talk about Power without ever elaborating on HOW Power, in principle, is a composite or synthesis of the individual principles of Wisdom and Understanding. If this were Chemistry, Power would be a Compound and Wisdom and Understanding would be the Elements that are bonded together to create that Compound. As Elements they have their own unique identity and when fused together they forge a new substance called a Compound. Water [H20] is a natural Compound composed of the Elements Hydrogen and Oxygen. Image striving to explain what Water [H20] is without defining how its Elements forged it... What makes our Mathematics Supreme is our ability to demonstrate the higher application of life principles through any field of mathematics, not just simple addition in Arithmetic. Mathematics is the operating system of the universe. Supreme Mathematics is a higher order operating system. Consider its application in teaching Prime Numbers. A Prime Number is a whole number greater than 1 that is composed of one set of factors. For example, 3 is a Prime Number because it is composed of the factors 1 x 3; one times itself. 7 [God] is the highest Prime Number in the Arabic Numeral system 1-9 and 0. As a Prime Number, 7 [God] is also composed of one set of factors 1 x 7; one times itself. This means that there is only one set of circumstances [factors] or one primary condition that contribute to the outcome of being 7 [God]. That single condition is self awareness/consciousness; 1 [Knowledge] x itself [7]. Without Knowledge [awareness/consciousness] of self as a primary factor, it is impossible to know how to identify and express the best possible qualities of strength, influence and godliness. In other words, it is impossible to determine what a Prime Number is without first identifying its set of factors [circumstances]. Some people claim that our culture is Islam meaning "I Self Lord And Master." The 9th letter in our Supreme Alphabet is the letter “I” which represents “I or Islam”, Islam being I Self Lord And Master and I Sincerely Love Allah’s Mathematics. The Arabic, yes Arabic numerals 1 through 9 and cipher [0] correspond to our principles of Supreme Mathematics. When you add our use of Arabic words within our language such as Allah, Islam, Koran, Muslim, Musa, Muhammad and etc. it is easy to see what some people would think we are Islamic. The numerical system and alphabet that a Nation of people use are cultural tools that help construct, calculate, quantify, compute and communicate our people activities. Do our Supreme Mathematics and Supreme Alphabet accurately express cultural perspectives that are primary to our worldview? I would say yes. Then there are those who state that our culture is 120 degrees/lessons. 120 degrees is like 120 landmarks on a map of human geography. Some of these landmarks represent actual people, places, things and events. Some of these landmarks are also symbols of people, places, things or events. Whether these landmarks are actual or symbolic, our exposure to them plays a critical role in how we begin to see, define and navigate this map of human geography. The first lesson or landmark we learn is who the original man [and woman] is. Because I know and have studied this extensively, my view of the world, and how I attend it, is very different than someone who does not know this. If we were both looking at a city landscape, this is one landmark of importance to me that is either unseen or not of equal importance to someone else. This would be no different than a person driving by a gated enclosure they rarely noticed until someone proudly brought it to their attention that several of their family members are buried there going back six generations. What one person drives past, another person makes it a point to stop and visit. Neither is right or wrong, I am simply pointing out how we navigate life and that our GPS [Global Positioning Device] is determined by what’s in our head. So when someone who had or has lessons no longer uses them on this map of human geography, we must ask ourselves what device are they using to globally position themselves? Do 120 degrees accurately express cultural perspectives that are primary to our worldview? I would say yes. I think one of the problems is that some people are looking for a single palatable soundbite to describe our culture to outsiders. Ask an Irish, Italian, Punjabi, Cuban Cameroonian or other citizen of a Nation, "What is your culture?" and see if they can give you one answer. When they do give you an answer I am sure that it would be a combination of things that are primary to their worldview. This is the same kind of response you will get from Five Percenters. It is a combination of our Universal Flag, Supreme Mathematics, Supreme Alphabet, 120 Degrees and  other elements such as language, diet, customs, social norms and chronology that represent our people activities. Our culture IS NOT just centrally or singularly one of these elements, it is all of those elements and much more! In sharing our worldview it is important to meet people where they are. If I am talking to a person who is health conscious I may discuss the dietary aspects of our culture with them. If a person is coming from a Christian background I may discuss their biblical principles that coincide with our cultural worldview. If someone is invested in the youth I may discuss the youth advocacy and community outreach emphasis of Allah, our Nation's founder. The landmark court cases that our Nation have won in correctional facilities around the country were only possible by meeting the Administration and Government where they are through the use of legalese. The irony to the question, "WHAT is the Five Percent Nation's culture?" is that it is a personal and collective inquiry about the identity, nature, or value of our Nation. That is a question that we individually and collectively answer each and every day by how we are living. The more consistent we are, individually and collectively, about living our culture, the less confusion there will be concerning our identity, nature, or value of our Nation. That is what is the true middle point of our culture

Peace, Saladin

Click on link

[tomasistrill]

“Don’t look; but I Think The Elephant In The Room is Wearing An MF Doom Mask..”

By @tomasistrill

December 12, 2019

The Manifesto

“I am the elephant in the room;

bringing doom,

really soon.”

-TOMMY TRILLY

-Form & Shape

The image is sized to be square to eligantly frame my thesis of the symmetry that outlines all things asymmetrical.

Using dimensions of 1080x1080pixels gives the piece functionality & purpose as cover artwork for an important project being manifested as we think, speak & breath.

The color scheme is purposely & purely monochromatic. Starting from left to right; the viewer will immediately see that black is the dominating color of the composition.

However, dominant, is nothing less than an understatement. When working with black on this piece; I found myself compulsive, aggressive & even manic at times.

I strayed far from my initial concept of having the black fade to an almost white tone; never truly giving my viewer the graceful embrace of a pure white.

Instead; my fanatical usage of black lead me ever deeper into the enigmatic labyrinth of my subconscious & a graceful awareness of the courage to create.

-Ethos, Pathos & Logos

The toxic love affair between my creative mania & the color black conceived a scene no longer so two dimensional; contrasted with a character that will never be anything more than it’s two dimensions.

The character is depicted in the center of the room. However, because he cannot escape his two dimensional existence, the center of the room is a place he can only observe from afar. He doesn’t understand why none of the people in the room pay attention to him.

His body language communicates a lonely disposition; arms hanging at his sides, hands [possibly] in his pockets & eyes staring far into the abyss; painfully conscious of his glaze matched by the depths of true existence.

On the left & right of our self-ruminating character; reads “S†≡≡Z.”

A word meaning to have style with ease; made popular by hip-hop on the East Coast. In my meditations on the word, came to me, the most clear understanding of grace & what it means to have it.

Bruce Lee describes it as the effortless flow of water; taking the shape of whatever contains you; the body containing the mind & the mind then containing the soul.

This journey inward in search of the holy S†≡≡Z requires you to courageously be yourself purely in the face of adversity. Everytime you choose fear over courage; you’re taking steps outward & away from the S†≡≡Z!

-Spiritual Subliminals

Diving ever deeper into the art & the messages it has for us; we’ll turn our focus to how the word “S†≡≡Z” is communicated to the viewer. Using things such as; color, form, shape, symbology, typography, etc. I was able to effectively communicate ideas to the beholder, in a very visual, yet subtle way.

“S - - -Z”

The “S” at the beginning represents a wavelength that’s smooth from crest to trough.

While the “Z” at the end presents an opposite, but equal wave; this one being more aggressive in it’s frequency.

This is the inevitability one faces in making the decision to be themselves.

Sometimes the wave is S & sometimes the wave is Z, but if you know how to surf; the ride is always steezy.

“- † - - -“

The letter “T” here serves at a ✞ symbol standing for the divine power of love & forgiveness within Man.

“- - ≡ ≡ -”

The arrangement of three horizontal lines is an angelic numerical sequence “111” that tells the intuition to take action.

Encouraging you to keep following your spirit; if you see this listen to your gut/heart.

The double “EE” sequence is made of three horizontal tic marks, similar to a traditional capitalized E, but instead here we see “≡” used; one of the eight trigrams used in Daoist cosmology meaning “Heaven.” 乾 Qián ☰ Heaven|坤 Kūn ☷ Earth|震 Zhèn☳ Thunder|坎 Kǎn☵ Water|艮 Gèn☶ Mountain|巽 Xùn☴ Wind|離 Lí☲ Flame兌 | Duì☱ Lake

This rendering of “S † ≡ ≡ Z” is then contrasted across the longitude of the entire ensemble; painting a polarizing picture of the age old existential struggle of the inner against the outer.

The only usage of a true white tone is in the first occurrence of S†≡≡Z; in the darkest section of the piece. Then, almost mockingly, right in the middle of the lightest area, we see the return of darkness; in the second & final occurrence of S†≡≡Z.

This beautifully illustrates; when the world is dark, the individual will intuitively become the light he so desperately seeks.

We can then safely assume if the world becomes illuminated in mankind’s brilliance; the individual will only find peace in the shadows of his own world.

Narrative-

MF Doom:

A character/persona written by british-born EMCEE Daniel Dumile.

From his upbringing in Long Island, New York to his controversial rise to infamy; his story is trill hiphop lore. He became a man deep in the minds of millions & they don’t even know his name.

Initially, rapping under the alias Zev Love X, he formed the rap group KMD & signed to Elektra Records. Just before the release of the group’s second Album, boldly titled “Black Bastards,” the doom rapper’s late brother DJ Subroc was struck by a car & killed.

That same week the group was dropped from their label & the album was scrapped. Dumile left the industry & lived essentially homeless from 94’ to 97’.

He then left New York to settle in Atlanta, Georgia. Still recovering from his wounds; the rapper would don the iconic DOOM mask & take revenge "against the industry that so badly deformed him".

Thus the notorious villain of the hiphop underground MF DOOM was born.

He is often praised as not only one of the illest lyricist to ever do it, but also as a genius producer.

However, inspite of his immaculate discography & significant respect from industry legends, he is still widly unaccepted by the community he’s devoted his life to.

The Elephant:

Elephants are known as a keystone species; meaning it has disproportionately large effect on its environment relative to its abundance.

In fact, by simply existing; the elephant has the power to inflict change in the world it lives in. They, as all animals do, move across the earth manifesting their every desire; unconcerned with anything & everything that isn’t necessary to life.

Effortlessly laying the foundation on which nearly every other speices, within it’s domain, inevitably builds it’s existence.

They themselves embrace a matriarchal lifestyle; in which the feminine is the primary power within society.

Family Groups, consisting of mainly females & children, are led by the eldest female matriarch; with many of the males choosing a more solitary existence.

The elephant recognizes itself in a mirror; demonstrating a capacity for self-awareness found only in apes & dolphins. They also morn their dead & show signs of stress when loved ones aren’t well.

It is well known that the elephant’s memory is stone; able to recall locations of watering holes, family members, vast migration routes, etc. all over their 70 year lifespan.

Conflict:

It’s no surprise that elephants have inspired many literary, mythical & religious cultures; traditionally the elephant has been a symbol of strength, power, wisdom, longevity, stamina, leadership, sociability, nurturance and loyalty.

We see these things reflected in political ideologies of the American Republican Party; who’ve used the elephant as a mascot since 1874.

Conveying a message to undecided voters to preserve the values of the past & to have noble principle guiding your actions.

On the surface level this is honorably patriotic, but as I dived ever deeper; I found a story of people divided simply by perspectives based on how reality presented itself to the misdirected & misguided naiveté of the ignorant & innocent.

The parable of the blind men & the elephant originated in the ancient Indian subcontinent. A group of blind men, who never encountered an elephant before, all touch a different part of an elephants body & insist they know exactly what it is in front of them; based on their limited experience, they all go on to describe what they understood the elephant standing in front of them to be. The first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said "This being is like a thick snake". Another man, whose hand reached its ear, said it seemed like a kind of fan. The third man, whose hand was upon its leg, said the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk. A fourth man who placed his hand upon its side said the elephant, "is a wall". Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.

In this parable; I found a moral of the subjective truths we face every day in our common lives.

All of these men share a deep common attribute of blindness & thus will cling to shallow differences in sensual experience & each man will have a different ideology for why he does so.

Man will neglect fellowship with his fellow man if, in his limited experience of reality, he finds it to be a necessary action in his life.

Unfortunately for a more modest man; life is often misunderstood by his neighbors.

Perhaps he dreamns of power, so he creates the illusion he has a higher knowledge of the elephant. Maybe he’s a coward & would rather formulate an opinion than walk away, because he fears rejection from the group.

Man has a habbit of claiming to know the absolute truth based on their limited, subjective experience. As they ignore other people's limited, subjective experiences. Which may be equally true; only ever able to justify their claims with fear or courage.

Resolve:

Courage requires immaculate moral responsibility & higher knowledge. To stand in the face of destiny with the heart of a warrior is an endeavor most men can no longer dream of.

It requires too much & so most men spend their lifetime in the same predicament the elephant himself is in; standing in a room being ignored by those whose hearts call out to him! To be the elephant in the room is a tragedy largely ignored.

The expression "the elephant in the room" is a metaphorical idiom in English for an important or enormous topic, problem, or risk that is obvious or that everyone knows about but no one mentions or wants to discuss because it makes at least some of them uncomfortable or is personally, socially, or politically embarrassing, controversial, inflammatory, or dangerous. This same sociological & psychological repression operates on the macro scale of modern society.

Should something as conspicuous as an elephant be overlooked in codified social interactions? Of course not. You are the elephant in the room.

Conclusion:

Not only has he not forgotten; but the elephant himself, in all his divine S†≡≡Z, stands in a room full of people he remembers from the beginning of time. They talk of the old days; almost every word hinting at his presence in the room, but they just go on rambling as if the elephant himself isn’t standing next to them. They’re completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a god damn eight-foot seven-inch Asian elephant with a fucking MF DOOM mask on right there. He’s tired of being ignored; soon he will escape from his interdimensional hell & bring doom.